Phew, Janet killed the serial killer. Just in time for Halloween! She smiles at the costumed kids.
Except that one isn’t a kid! He’s the serial killer! Janet stabs him desperately.
Phew.
Janet explains everything to a policewoman.
“Sounds pretty frightening,” says the policewoman, and looks up. It’s not a policewoman! It’s her best friend who got killed by the serial killer and now she’s a zombie!
Janet wakes up! It was all a hallucinogenic episode. Phew.
Except it’s not and the serial killer kills her!
Oh man! The surprise fourth ending! You could never see it coming!
Because of Halloweeeen!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
The log became a crocohippolion and its bone-snacking jaws vanished Stevie’s reed.
“Double trouble!” gasped Stevie. “I hope you’re ready for this, boy!” The Justin sank his toes into river mud, took up gedan and met its eyes.
My name is Amemet, they said, and I was never worshipped. Once I ate the hearts of men and gods, until the river of their fear ran dry.
Do you know how one acquires a taste for souls? Do you see how long I have starved, undying?
Do you see that I am hungry?
The Justin threw down his blade and ran.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
“Mr. Goldspratt?” says the uniformed woman at his door.
Melvin blinks. “Is this about the hotel room? It was trashed when we–”
“No, I’m from the DPJ,” she says. “I have here a copy of the liner notes from your most recent album. Could you read the highlighted section and confirm that you, as the credited lyricist, did in fact rhyme ‘sky’ with ‘high?'”
“That’s a misprint!” says Melvin desperately. “See, the character’s last name is Hy–”
The agent sighs. “Poetic license and proof of parrhesia, please.”
“What?” says Melvin. “Nobody buys rhetorical insurance anymore!”
Later, in jail, he gets stabbed.
Streetlights, and heartache, and Jimmy Eat World.
For a minute Grigory is every jacket-wearing shag-haired boy in the world, and Maryanne is every girl with a crooked smile and her arms wrapped around pain. They’re driving down a road bordered by dying grass in Espirito Santo, and Illinois, and Järvamaa; the truck’s heater coughs dust and the flannel smell of grandfathers.
They believe every generation has shared a moment like this, and they’re wrong. Recorded music and double-lane highways are less than a century old. What they share is something more important: the myopia of youth.
The Loveblind Bird chases the little skiff with sails cracking, bow high, hydrofoils slicing the sea.
“A ship that size shouldn’t be this far out!” says Ratio Tile.
“Well, he won’t be around long enough to tell anyone about us,” says Dog Shouting. “Dragalong, man the bolter.”
See Me rummages through a casket for a set of brass oculars. “Maybe he was being towed by a bigger ship, snapped his line…”
“Gimme those,” says Dog, grabbing the lenses and peering. “We can still catch him before he gets to–there, that small waystation!”
“That’s no waystation,” murmurs Ratio. “That’s the moon.”
Thursday, October 25, 2007
“You know what Stoppard said about actors?” says Pilsner. “They’re the opposite of people.”
“What, if we touch we explode?” Beulah grins. “I think you’re giving yourself a little too much–”
“No,” says Pilsner, “he meant that once you hone your voice and face to create emotional impact, once you do it again and again for months, you gain a distance from true emotion that can’t be closed. Nothing you express after that, even in all honesty, can be free of performance. Actors are the opposition to people because people react.”
Beulah blinks. “Pils, I…”
“Gotcha!” he says, just lightly enough.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
“And your income is, heh, not derived from any activity declared to be criminal,” says the county clerk with a twinkled eye. Chicago’s eyes are flat.
“Just enter the petition,” she says.
“Sweetie, we get a lot of kids in here,” he says reasonably. “I know life with Mom and Dad can be tough, but unless you have a signed form–”
“Here.”
“–and not in shaky cursive–”
“It’s notarized,” Chicago snaps.
“Emancipation isn’t for fun, Miss.” He’s flat-eyed now too. “You’ll be a legal adult and your decisions will have real weight, you understand that?”
Chicago’s heart pounds and pounds.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Pannzer belches up a load of mousse de foie gras and it falls heavily into Raumon’s body cavity, teasing him with its rich texture, its warmth, its scent–oh, that he had been denied nostrils in the transformation! Raumon spins out from the kitchen in an agony of frustrated hunger. Why couldn’t he at least have been house staff, and be off cavorting with the feather dusters instead?
“Try the grey stuff, it’s delicious!” yelps the deranged pyro maitre’d. “Don’t believe me? Ask the dishes!”
Oh, for a tongue to taste with, thinks Raumon despairingly. Oh, for a mouth to scream.
“We have to do something, Uncle!” cries Stoicheia. The hall is collapsing; above, Ferlighi roars with laughter and picks off another victim. “We have to use the words!”
Logos is gray-faced with terror. “They are forbidden,” he says. “We must not dilute them!”
“I’d rather dilute them than die!” Stoicheia shouts.
Ferlighi utters a thunderclap and scatters them. By the time Stoicheia makes her way back to him, Logos is unmoving, eyes gray and glassy.
“Priceless®!” giggles Ferlighi, and traces bright circles in the air. “And now, child, you too–”
“Nike™,” Stoicheia whispers, and her feet are like unto wings.
“I’m here about your father’s business matters and I won’t be coy, little miss,” says Buchanan, over his game hen. “You see, he left certain shares to you, but as you’re a child–”
“Aren’t you my trustee, Mother?” says Proserpina.
Her mother blinks. “Er, yes,” she says.
“Except women don’t vote on Board matters,” says Buchanan. “It simply isn’t done–yet. Now, I can try to bring them around, but I need your agreement to serve as proxy, see?”
“Perfectly.”
“That’s your pop’s spirit!” winks Buchanan.
“Could you pass the salt?” asks Proserpina sweetly. “I could do with just a grain.”
Thursday, October 18, 2007