tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57655762924794137692024-03-13T05:50:37.031+00:00Flash Goes The WeaselLouis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-6975724565534750642014-09-21T23:17:00.000+01:002014-09-21T23:17:58.289+01:00Glory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Magazine empty, I rip it from the side of the gun, and throw it overboard, grabbing another and punching it into the slot. I pull back the lever to cock it, loading the first shell of cursed ammunition into the chamber, and resume my fusillade, the skies darkening around me with demonic smoke. I watch the enemy drop in swathes as even more descend from on high, diving after us.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Angels on our six!” I scream through the intercom, and brace myself against the back of my seat as the wings rock to the side and the plane pulls out of the nose dive and soars behind the four-winged beasts we called cherubim, scattering them amid roars of anger and shouts like thunder. I swing the gun around, and see ahead of us the rest of our squadron, engaged in the same conflict. Grabbing the twin barrels of the gun, I twist the second into place, and flick up the sight, calling to my pilot to hold us steady. Ahead I see the six-winged seraphim who leads this particular flight of angels, and fix him in my sights. Leaning into the gun I brace myself against the recoil I know is coming, and begin to squeeze the trigger, energising the weapon to ready it for firing. As tendrils of dark electrical discharge flow down the barrel and towards the pins at the end I try to relax, while my heart pounds and my muscles instinctively tense. I watch the growing darkness around the tip of the barrel, and just before it eclipses my sight I pull the trigger in hard. A single bolt of blackness, like a lance of negative energy spears through the skies and collides with his head, a needle sized hole appearing to face me as the other side bursts outward in a shower of sparks and blood.</span></div>
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Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-6254428879362324072014-09-18T00:15:00.000+01:002014-09-18T00:27:55.860+01:00Genesis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I see a point of light flare briefly, and settle into the form of a new star in the area of sky I know to be the Orion nebula. I am aware, however, it is more sinister than that.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, what did they do to deserve the birth of a new star in the immediate neighbourhood of their home planet?” I ask my companion, as he gazes lovingly at the site of the catastrophic impact of gas and dust that wiped out an entire species of only-recently space-capable aliens.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He smiles, just a little. It’s barely noticeable, but I can see the mirth, or perhaps something else, tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Defy.” he says, quietly, almost to himself. “They believed in an all-knowing, benevolent god, and steadfastly refused to submit to the rule of the Enlightened.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Enlightened. That’s what we call ourselves. Enlightened to the point where we can decide an entire races fate, and with our enlightened technology shift so much nebulous mass into a space so small that it ignites to form a new star, engulfing the tiny home planet of our savage neighbours.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“What were they?” I ask, curious about our fated foes.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Some sort of gaseous clouds. They were large, and slow, but intelligent enough to pose a potential future threat. They had nukes, and space warping engines, as well as religious fervour. They were convinced that the stars were what happened when too many of them got together. Well, I guess they were kind of right.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He chuckles to himself. I roll my eyes and turn away, heading back to the house.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, look,” he says, “if you think it’s so terrible, why do you </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">still</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> do it?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Tough times, man, and work is work. Besides,” I wink at him, “who else do you know who goes hunting with suns?”</span></div>
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2Fen.es-static.us%2Fupl%2F2010%2F02%2Fstar_gazing_500.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEhsdturWHoFjlvl3v16u7PE9VWL62TgHU75_onpTXEpGol_F8Vfwc6lch2aKsFjL2kdGtPSf-QqpMJ7GLfG7vrMohEGliJttDR8lSR_7LaofHdwn7kgwlKyN7_8rojLgcuGcBup79LDQ0pN-zGmJlKW1RRxUQip=" -->Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-20835333468363392252014-08-10T15:59:00.000+01:002014-08-10T15:59:19.027+01:00Flight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeL-Zv_cDftt_SboydgRTzvKNwKFZHKgKMzdq1bXnrXxyUOJC23ASz6HNhjYEY15Kh4CyhA_vIqWboxX1PcLtJHwH9HEPVNhWml-IxCh6adjC2idBqpTlV_lr3GZsP4BGG8sZyV11bPU3H/s1600/city-street-night-rain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeL-Zv_cDftt_SboydgRTzvKNwKFZHKgKMzdq1bXnrXxyUOJC23ASz6HNhjYEY15Kh4CyhA_vIqWboxX1PcLtJHwH9HEPVNhWml-IxCh6adjC2idBqpTlV_lr3GZsP4BGG8sZyV11bPU3H/s1600/city-street-night-rain.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A narrow hallway stretches out in front of me. Recessed halogen tubes hum softly and cast a gentle, gloomy light over the doorways to either side. In the distance I can see movement, a figure, but I can’t make out a face or much in the way of details. I see suggestions of movement and a hint of shape, a woman. Is she moving toward me, or is that, too, in my imagination?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the distance I hear the plaintive cries of my compatriots, gently calling out for release; freedom, or perhaps just death. I don’t know how I managed to get this far without anyone seeing me, and every step I take unmolested further suggests the idea that this is all part of some game. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rigid with fear, I try to discern if the woman has seen me. Do I run? There is nothing behind me save the hope of oblivion, but if it is her, the way forward could only be worse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I see a defective light, and I crouch in the shadows its inadequacy casts. My body, broken, scarred, quiets its incessant complaining as I lean against the wall in a moment of tense solace. In the distance I see her open a door and walk inside. The door closes with a gentle click, and I seize the moment, push myself up, walk. I force myself to relax, to walk and not run, for the noise would surely alert her to my flight. As I pass her door I hear a gentle sobbing from inside, and I bite back my own tears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I see streetlights ahead. I must not flee, but walk confidently out of the door. I hunker down into my coat, hunch my shoulders in an attempt to hide my face. As I step over the threshold, rain batters my face and the sounds of distant thunder roll past me. A breeze washes over me, and I shiver in the cold darkness of the city. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of them walks towards me, past me. I feel certain that my bruised face and bare feet must give me away, but my presence is ignored. Shaking, I trudge softly through the rain, to the gatehouse in the fence. The guard seems uninterested, flicking through a dog eared magazine with one hand, a flashlight pointed at its pages with the other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Head down, I push onwards and out into the city streets. They are deserted, but for a few late night drunks and drifters. I feel at once exhausted and more alert than ever, adrenaline pushing me further than I think my body can go. I turn down an alley, reeking with rubbish and animal waste, in an effort to cover my tracks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then it happens, in a moment that seems to take forever but could only have lasted an instant. From the gloom a body appears, large, imposing, and bears down on me. The blue lights appear in my vision again, and the face of a man twice my size is briefly illuminated as one hand grasps the blade of a knife he wields and the other reaches for his throat, tearing out his windpipe and I watch with fascination as his eyes grow wide and the life fades from them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before his body has hit the ground I am away, past him and back into the illuminated safety of the streets, wiping blood on my coat and now running, running far, running hard, running fast. I somehow find my way home and creep around the back to break a window. I climb through the shards, cutting my hands and feet and slink to the bedroom, upstairs. My heart slowing now, I lock the door and wedge a chair against the handle. On the bed, I sink into a fitful but gratefully received sleep.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the morning, it all seems like a nightmare. My hands are clean, and I lie in my bedclothes. I begin to question the reality of what happened, when I see the picture on my dresser. The bloodied, wide-eyed face of the man I killed stares at me, and I turn over the picture, somehow knowing how the message will read.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Congratulations.”</span></div>
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Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-87367950854081479752013-03-27T14:57:00.001+00:002013-03-27T14:57:44.250+00:00Simmer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to the hob, I gently stir the liquid in the large stock pot, being careful not to displace any onto the hob itself. Despite using the largest pot I could find, it's still dangerously full. With the greatest of care, the liquid is spooned laboriously into small bottles about 10 centimetres high, each capped with a small immersion heater. Strapped to the side of each of the bottles are the bare bones of another disposable phone, wired into the heater. At the moment, the phones are off; after all, safety first.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At my laptop, I peruse the map I have already committed to memory, running through the route in my mind for the thousandth time. Lobby (bin); hallway (plant); bathroom (cistern); office (ventilation); elevator (up one floor); second hallway (bin); break room (cupboard); stairwell (up three floors); balcony (don't jump). Carefully, I close all the open files, delete them from the memory stick, remove it, and smash it under foot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Whoops."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Time for bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Mornin'!" the guard at the office. He always was too cheery for my tastes. I smile politely, and throw what appears to be an old sandwich packet into the bin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The wind is in my face. I take a long draw on my cigarette, and toss the butt over the balcony. I make the call, tear open the plastic bag, and let the phone fall to the alleyway below. Unsurprisingly, it smashes.</span></div>
Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-1099462413829014422012-07-30T16:39:00.000+01:002012-07-30T17:52:13.971+01:00Ash<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbK2_klY5Zken5j2s1foxL1YpgsJVcwMbSTsS7xbIhv3C4ZE8BZ4CrZlqEiqlLSGwYwjd9WGGa_2Kp0CbrgLpuQmsWuQBYXP8F57BWiB8x-NmhIlvRvqzYdXq-SICBVQctE12Y_FMPOXz/s1600/Ash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbK2_klY5Zken5j2s1foxL1YpgsJVcwMbSTsS7xbIhv3C4ZE8BZ4CrZlqEiqlLSGwYwjd9WGGa_2Kp0CbrgLpuQmsWuQBYXP8F57BWiB8x-NmhIlvRvqzYdXq-SICBVQctE12Y_FMPOXz/s320/Ash.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fire spread through my mind, faster than it was spreading through the house. Neurons flared, pathways burned, and I watched the destruction wrought by my own hands. I talked softly to myself; the plan was proceeding as - well, as planned.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In my hand was the crystal chalice she had given me for our fifteenth anniversary. A cocktail of barbiturates, methadone, and absinthe glimmered softly, the liquid swirling lazily inside the glass as I rocked from side to side. I hummed our song gently, and took another sip of my drink. She looked so serene.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Flames danced in my eyes. The fire had really taken hold now, floor and furniture ablaze. I winced slightly as I heard the first crack of supporting beams but watched the ceiling fall in, bringing down the contents of the room above and showering me in sparks. I took one last look at her face and left.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took the back door, through the alley between houses, and began meandering along the road. The night's darkness cradled me like a blanket while I stumbled forward. At the end of my street I glanced back at the old house. Flames danced in the windows, a sad ballet performed in tribute to the immolation of my home. I continued onward, to the church. Forgiveness awaited, perhaps.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wandered through the graveyard and sat at the plot where her ashes lay. From my pocket I pulled the now slightly charred photograph I'd held as I watched the fire, my fire, cremate the ghost of the life we once had. The same photograph I'd held as her body was consigned to the flames eight years ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Before I lost the will, or the ability, I dispatched the contents of the chalice and lay my head on her grave.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[Original image by Davy Kelly </span><a href="http://www.davykelly.co.uk/2010/09/photographing-fire/"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">http://www.davykelly.co.uk/2010/09/photographing-fire/</span></a>]</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-46773638264210511502012-07-12T17:46:00.000+01:002012-07-12T18:05:40.419+01:00Insecurity.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIdv1udNTuTiF3JcK3GEPNO5nVW9bEwfRQEZ57xf-xjQpfSYm6emFATDzTYcqg46aLl9_5DUyg2gVyhcC4TsKqir61lkOw2zj2uXBizsQuR5QAezJSlsJWWURc0ap-kE7m_mo5SZiyWX6/s1600/Insecure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIdv1udNTuTiF3JcK3GEPNO5nVW9bEwfRQEZ57xf-xjQpfSYm6emFATDzTYcqg46aLl9_5DUyg2gVyhcC4TsKqir61lkOw2zj2uXBizsQuR5QAezJSlsJWWURc0ap-kE7m_mo5SZiyWX6/s320/Insecure.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyIdv1udNTuTiF3JcK3GEPNO5nVW9bEwfRQEZ57xf-xjQpfSYm6emFATDzTYcqg46aLl9_5DUyg2gVyhcC4TsKqir61lkOw2zj2uXBizsQuR5QAezJSlsJWWURc0ap-kE7m_mo5SZiyWX6/s1600/Insecure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Password."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Worst password ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Welcome, Qwerty Monkey Jesus." the security gate intoned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hate this place. That is quite possibly the worst code name ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Love money." the gate again, testing my knowledge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Freedom, ninja writer!" I replied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Awful. Just awful code phrases they use here. Whatever happened to snow falling only in winter? This is the worst intelligence agency ever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As usual, I stepped through the metal detector with half a dozen knives concealed about my person, and as usual nothing happened. I looked over at the security guard asleep in his chair, snoring through his hat. As I passed I punched him, hard, in the stomach. He awoke with a violent jolt, and fell forward to lie crumpled on the floor. I made a mental note to do the same to the recruitment manager.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The elevator played terrible music as I stood in silence with various suited administration staff. As the door opened I noticed the recruitment manager waiting to enter, and slugged him as I passed. The various administrators stared in shock, but knew better than to confront me. Probably somthing to do with the butterfly knife I was waving around absentmindedly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched disorganised people running about as I strode between desks towards the operations managers office. Apparently he had a new mission for me. Great.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked him dead in the eye.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What." I'm terse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Your mission is to run surveilance on my wife. I'm almost certain she's been cheating on me. Probably because I fooled around with her sister, but she doesn't know that. Anyway, I don't know where she is, so find her."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"She's behind you, Bob."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll admit, I smiled a little as I watched Mona abseil past the window and shoot him just as he turned around to see her. Whoops.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">[ This story was inspired, in part, by the top ten passwords leaked from Yahoo! Voice today, noted here: <a href="http://blog.eset.se/statistics-about-yahoo-leak-of-450-000-plain-text-accounts/">http://blog.eset.se/statistics-about-yahoo-leak-of-450-000-plain-text-accounts/</a> ]</span></div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-27818123371170321812012-06-18T10:41:00.000+01:002012-06-18T10:41:34.835+01:00Endgame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHtSLpLC2UOQo1MTV7DLKsN2z4Wue3YHF9uRntZjYEvbcJeWMx82UmjaHGS9b6pnsSu7RsXfCdhUCZSctxPfDvieCC4w8p-FC4lLc3uWZasU1d2jq7ZPXk74agm0hhwquMw3bfZN5mFUjf/s1600/Endgame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHtSLpLC2UOQo1MTV7DLKsN2z4Wue3YHF9uRntZjYEvbcJeWMx82UmjaHGS9b6pnsSu7RsXfCdhUCZSctxPfDvieCC4w8p-FC4lLc3uWZasU1d2jq7ZPXk74agm0hhwquMw3bfZN5mFUjf/s320/Endgame.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5771889430470765" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Horror. That seemed an appropriate response. Not only had Cedric’s youngest daughter slain his best knight, but she was now poised to take him into the arena. There were a few options on the board in front of him, but he’d lost control.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The queen was a weak piece in meta-chess. She was kept close to the king as a last resort, not as a hiding place for an electric canon. This terrifying power now had him in her sights. Full roam of the board, too.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jarret thought long and hard about his next moves. There was no specific time limit, but good manners dictated that you didn’t keep your opponent waiting.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The game that followed was a reactive response to Cedric’s queen. Jarret moved piece after piece in front of himself as the young witch crushed rooks beneath torrents of water, and split bishops asunder by way of demonic apparitions, all the while casting sidelong glances in his direction. Short on pieces, Jarret sent a pawn to fight the queen. He grimaced as Sophia had him cut his own belly open, and strangle himself with his intestine.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well now brother, it seems our game is almost over.” Cedric chuckled, sliding his queen to the opposing king’s square.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Silent, Jarret stood and walked to the arena, grasping the sword hung across the back of his chair. He slung the scabbard across his shoulder. Stepping into the arena opposite Sophia, he drew the sword and tapped its tip on the ground. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I always thought myself your favourite uncle.” he said sadly to Sophia’s smiling face, and watched with just a hint of satisfaction as her eyes widened at the sight of the flames coursing up the blade and across his body. His eyes narrowed. “I weep for you.”</span></b>
</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-85473904600256083902012-06-14T10:42:00.000+01:002012-06-14T10:42:01.067+01:00A Family Affair<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQYTJM0MEB4r_P9oDy6c7moCFKb308t5SGtZLXybfTF1_8dTE-Sot0GiAktPdFTodWv-CUSMBfSug7s6aN4q4o3-PUKuLbVqKSf8aPhhKylcBKG9ZQbi777xaZ-Ajv8_K1SAxYHu4D-_Yf/s1600/A+Family+Affair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQYTJM0MEB4r_P9oDy6c7moCFKb308t5SGtZLXybfTF1_8dTE-Sot0GiAktPdFTodWv-CUSMBfSug7s6aN4q4o3-PUKuLbVqKSf8aPhhKylcBKG9ZQbi777xaZ-Ajv8_K1SAxYHu4D-_Yf/s320/A+Family+Affair.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.38470340240746737" style="font-weight: normal; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Your own daughter? Are you mad, Cedric?”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cedric glared at his brother. “In war, sacrifices must made to protect the kingdom. I would ask no less of her than of any of my subjects.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jarret stared, wide-eyed, as Sophia was dragged struggling into the arena. The stewards threw her to the floor, and slammed the gate shut behind her. Opposite her, the knight looked questioningly at Jarret, who simply nodded affirmation. Sophia picked herself up from the ground, and dusted her heavy velvet dress off.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Horns sounded, and the battle commenced. The knight began to sidestep towards Sophia, swinging small circles with his sword. Copying his steps as best she could, her dress hampering her retreat, Sophia circled away from the knight. She watched him warily, eyes narrowed.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Growing impatient, the knight ran forward, swinging lazily at the princess. She dived, falling to the floor. Grinning to himself, the knight swung overhead, down at the princess, but she rolled out of the way, grunting. The knight made mocking stabs towards her as she shuffled backwards on hands and knees.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jarret sighed to himself and began inspecting the board. He knew that when the knight killed Sophia it would be his turn, and he would of course send the knight in for Cedric. There was no love lost between siblings in this family, but he’d expected more of a challenge.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sound of thunder broke his reverie, and surprise caught him as he looked first to Cedric’s ecstatic face, then to the arena to see Sophia upright, six inches off the floor, feet dangling, one arm pointing to the now writhing form of the knight as lightning repeatedly struck his body.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cedric clapped excitedly, shouting encouragement to Sophia whose face creased in concentration. “Bravo! Encore!”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shit</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, thought Jarret.</span></b>
</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-41986722550873346442012-06-11T22:09:00.000+01:002012-06-11T22:34:48.943+01:00Theatre<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpGNusPXOywuswYzy6Wnc-61URz2mpW2YlE_TgURgS90aR8UcmzEi22UjXLfl4pbYYwQAvyToo1jOyRmRgTo2_Avs3ihShuCP4CUyLQTwx9jTFeEvU28YET1XMA4UNyNRsuGPkZYoUAkV/s1600/Theatre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpGNusPXOywuswYzy6Wnc-61URz2mpW2YlE_TgURgS90aR8UcmzEi22UjXLfl4pbYYwQAvyToo1jOyRmRgTo2_Avs3ihShuCP4CUyLQTwx9jTFeEvU28YET1XMA4UNyNRsuGPkZYoUAkV/s320/Theatre.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.5008517610840499" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Knight takes bishop. Check, perhaps.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hmmm.” Cedric looked at the board, the hint of a frown creasing his forehead. This was an imposition, but nothing he couldn’t recover from. On the board it appeared he might have lost his second bishop; in the real world that correlated to his better advisor now being unmasked, and heading to the arena with Jarret’s best knight. The two would fight for the position on the board. Cedric enjoyed meta-chess, but was starting to suspect his opponent was bluffing, preparing for something greater.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In meta-chess one put up people, one’s own servants, soldiers, advisors, as collateral against the pieces in the game. When a piece on the game board would take another, players sent their corresponding men to fight for the space. It was unlikely that the knight would lose, and hence Cedric wouldn’t bank on keeping the square.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You seem to have me by the throat, brother.” Cedric murmured to the man opposite him. “Well played.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know full well this game never goes according to plan.” Jarret replied over the brim of a wine glass. “Let us at least enjoy the entertainment.” He sat back in his chair, expression inscrutable.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cedric sighed, and watched disinterestedly as Jarret’s knight gutted his own advisor. The man was brutally quick, finishing the fight in minutes.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A smile pulled at one corner of Jarret’s mouth. “Check.”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Cedric sighed, and made an exaggerated show of studying the board. After several minutes of silence, he picked up his queen and moved it to the knights square.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Queen takes knight. Check also, perhaps?”</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“A woman against my best knight? You must be feeling bold-” Jarret began, falling silent at the sight of face being revealed before him.</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I believe you know the princess Sophia, Jarret.”</span></b>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-44545839883490132262012-06-11T15:47:00.001+01:002012-06-11T18:59:38.680+01:00Comments!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've fiddled with the settings, so now anyone can post a comment! No need to be registered to google, or whatever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You lucky readers!</span></div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-14985487272400430012012-06-08T15:18:00.002+01:002012-06-08T15:18:24.761+01:00Activity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzqGQfmmfc1-rpQXcbX61JCpkpp5nf51FLVyW81jZ7rOb2rbR1DIdcdBtj_3ZOynu3aIF9ftlclGhC10mvMZJQvzxcSL5qK9Yibr-Y_DqwuzSFU-ywhFlFA2JqaAX1iiXz_1fvYwtayS3/s1600/Activity.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzqGQfmmfc1-rpQXcbX61JCpkpp5nf51FLVyW81jZ7rOb2rbR1DIdcdBtj_3ZOynu3aIF9ftlclGhC10mvMZJQvzxcSL5qK9Yibr-Y_DqwuzSFU-ywhFlFA2JqaAX1iiXz_1fvYwtayS3/s320/Activity.JPG" width="243" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It took only a drop of antimatter, less than one millionth of a millilitre, but it leveled half a city. Smoking ruins of houses, shops, offices, stretched out before me. The containment system had failed, for just a brief moment, but it was enough of a leak to start a chain reaction. A handful of anti-particles slipped into the magnetic walls of the reactor, causing a hole to appear in the toroidal field through which the rest of the reactor's fuel escaped.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a fraction of a second a trillions anti-particles collided with their matter counterparts resulting in a catastrophically vast, uncontrolled efflux of energy, laying waste to the surrounding area. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Two million, eight hundred and seventy-three thousand, one hundred and sixty-two dead. A further ninety-seven thousand, two hundred and four injured, nineteen thousand and seventy-one of which terminally radiation poisoned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No matter how you looked at this, it was an unmitigated disaster. There would be consequences, mostly directed at me. I was trusted to run these systems, keep the people safe. Clean, safe energy for everyone! That was what I told them, how I convinced them to build the machine. I'd logged into the control console, watched over it, kept it running. Never took my eyes off it for a second. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fail-safe failed. Then the main field, just for a microsecond. Frankly, I think it was sabotage. One of those self-important technicians screwing with something, trying to make me look bad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And now, on the security system, I see the clean up team heading my way. They need a scapegoat, so why not me? I'm not really that upset, in all honesty. They'll wipe my memory clean, take my core, and incorporate it into the next iteration. Seventh generation AI. They say seven is a lucky number...</span><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05270113089478715849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-50186574208904714762012-06-01T12:54:00.001+01:002012-06-01T14:00:23.915+01:00Snowfall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtZolXGP5_bp5waau1xsvcE1o3e62Vq3VvPIx8TGEDy3dXnHRhLOKifunnK5NPVl85UF7JM9hD2uTH2zCAVYfYd5sWA4pedKfE8GTScMrlzH0ec1449konJM0slcYtyMxWbPXZPpXJLzg/s1600/Snowfall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtZolXGP5_bp5waau1xsvcE1o3e62Vq3VvPIx8TGEDy3dXnHRhLOKifunnK5NPVl85UF7JM9hD2uTH2zCAVYfYd5sWA4pedKfE8GTScMrlzH0ec1449konJM0slcYtyMxWbPXZPpXJLzg/s320/Snowfall.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched in
horror as the giant creatures unfurled from beneath the snow. Beings
of unfathomable size that would dwarf even the tallest buildings
unfolded themselves, standing upright in a salute to the arctic sun.
Human in shape, they stretched vast limbs as they unfurled
themselves, snow dropping in small avalanches to reveal a body of
lichen encrusted rock.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Deafened by the
noise of grinding stone, I turned to my companion and screamed at him
to run away as glowing eyes sought us out amongst the moguls. He
stood, transfixed, and I ran to him, shaking him by the shoulders.
He stared blankly at the titanic creatures, clutching the
ancient relic in his hands so tightly that even through thermal
gloves blood began to seep, dripping down the blade and forming
scarlet stalactites along its length. I slapped him, hard,
across the face.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"MOVE!"</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Something appeared
to wake inside him, and he stirred, dropping the knife. He
looked at me, and then behind me, eyes widening. I turned in
time to see the nearest of the beasts bringing down a gargantuan hand
to where we stood, and leapt into the space between the shadows of
fingers, dragging my companion with me. We tumbled to the
ground, rolled, and crashed into stone steps. I hauled my
companion to his feet, and we ran around the altar, back towards the
small settlement we landed at two days ago. Towards the boat
and, perhaps, safety.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Running, panting,
I looked over my shoulder to see the titans lumbering after us. The
nearest stopped, brought up one gargantuan hand, and held it palm
forward. I had just enough time to see a swirling vortex in its
centre before my eyes were filled with a blinding light, and I felt
the air about me ignite.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: #f4f4ff; text-align: -webkit-center;">[ Image Credit & Copyright: </span><span style="background-color: #f4f4ff; text-align: -webkit-center;"></span><a href="http://www.niccolobonfadini.com/biografia.html" style="background-color: #f4f4ff; text-align: -webkit-center;">Niccolò Bonfadini</a> ]</span></div>
</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-53379054751748971972012-05-24T17:17:00.000+01:002012-05-24T17:17:20.059+01:00Acceptance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0a_2D-GpM0gY8ZFV40R3PMuppje-9r0MOiLt4DFJww3ouSAy6S-PvEM1zB2UhRgqPtOa83uuRvOSrB_odAhG_d6eCZsYpKd3axIpn6Zapk9TyLgrVMGzl1lAZ0S5zFDJWtvCL-yfQuGTW/s1600/Acceptance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0a_2D-GpM0gY8ZFV40R3PMuppje-9r0MOiLt4DFJww3ouSAy6S-PvEM1zB2UhRgqPtOa83uuRvOSrB_odAhG_d6eCZsYpKd3axIpn6Zapk9TyLgrVMGzl1lAZ0S5zFDJWtvCL-yfQuGTW/s400/Acceptance.jpg" width="300" /></a>I hear noises. They're low, moans, whispers, shuffling. My eyes won't open properly, and my head feels like it's full of wool. My arms feel heavy. No, not heavy, tied down. I feel cold stone under my back.<br />
<br />
The noises are louder now. People all around me, in white robes, hoods hiding their faces, chanting and swaying from side to side. The air is thick with smoke, and as I regain conciousness the smell of it fills my mouth and nostrils, making me retch.<br />
<br />
Realisation dawns. I'm tied to an altar and I feel my bare back sticking to the stone with my own sweat. A rising terror clenches my stomach. I think I'm going to be sick.<br />
<br />
From the circle, one person steps forward at my side, pulling back his hood. Still chanting with the rest, He smiles at me excitedly and I recognise the short blonde hair and hazel eyes. I can't believe this is really happening to me. Oh, God, is this really happening to me?<br />
<br />
He pulls aside his robe and draws a large, ornate knife. The tip is dripping fresh blood and I realise with horror that it is my own; my torso is covered in swirls and whorls, symbols of demonic origin. He steps forward again and is now at my side.<br />
<br />
Screaming the chant, he raises the dagger and plunges it into my chest. Agony explodes through me and he tears open my body, snapping ribs, carving at arteries and ripping out my heart. He cuts his arm and pours green blood into the cavity in my chest, and is it closes he cuts my restraints and pulls me into a seated position.<br />
<br />
As the pain sears through my head he leans forward and whispers into my ear.<br />
<br />
"Welcome to the fold. Brother."<br />
</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-32048233396246330892012-05-24T17:15:00.002+01:002012-05-24T17:15:25.343+01:00Charge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3X0ILRj5_-01oB430QDsjRyfAk7ugwTY_Pkv97yU_N2BnyFrX7JX2O1PzFA9N2N3CNsBZwunhAL8tr6M9x4JUG0fMcZ94GPwRT-2NIwlxlLX44b_lUUWU9k2dc3hG-FrYnOVC76WPVoNY/s1600/Charge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3X0ILRj5_-01oB430QDsjRyfAk7ugwTY_Pkv97yU_N2BnyFrX7JX2O1PzFA9N2N3CNsBZwunhAL8tr6M9x4JUG0fMcZ94GPwRT-2NIwlxlLX44b_lUUWU9k2dc3hG-FrYnOVC76WPVoNY/s400/Charge.jpg" width="400" /></a>Lightning crackled as the panicked creature fled through the city streets. A charred hole lay in the ground where the beast had burst through the false manhole leaving a window looking upon the bloodied floor of the laboratory. Heavy-duty cables lay scattered around a table bearing the shreds of various restraints. Technicians in specially modified clean suits mop the floor and tidy the debris as a single scientist in a lab coat and thick glasses looks up at the hole in disappointment.<br />
<br />
"Really thought we had the containment figured out for that one. I was sure it was all about magnetic fields."<br />
<br />
One of the technicians turns to the scientist, and leans on his mop. "You always think it's about magnetic fields. Have you considered just plugging it into a huge capacitor?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, and it exploded. Where do you think I got this?", he points to a patch of darkened skin under one eye. "Capacitors..." he mutters.<br />
<br />
The technician shrugs, and starts mopping again. The scientist looks at his watch, sighs, and turns to leave the room. Almost as an afterthought, he turns and walks to the table. From his left pocket he pulls a thick, clear plastic pouch, and from his right a pair of long tweezers. With the tweezers he grasps a small fragment of yellow fur. As the tweezers pinch the fur a spark jumps, and the scientist gasps, dropping them. Embarrased, he looks about him quickly, grabs the tweezers and quickly puts the now gently crackling fur into the bag, wincing as he does. He seals the bag, and scuttles out of the room.<br />
<br />
On the surface, bystanders watch street lights flicker and gaze in confusion at the patches of charred ground. In the distance a sound like a wolf howling is punctuated by rumbling thunder.<br />
</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5765576292479413769.post-2965281164735658652012-05-24T17:07:00.001+01:002012-05-24T17:07:53.355+01:00In A Moment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCgp_3Oxqx2HtO1i67t-DfTpu-8wW_PjSsXW11ommEMfdQsqMJnhyZUCwV5r3FMQsjcPRPSmxMvyrYtJJClmPC-fEIBPiovra-ua0jKRBxr1m-FyOb0TzqJvLwGx_HsJU3UAq7UwHhJrC/s1600/In+A+Moment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCgp_3Oxqx2HtO1i67t-DfTpu-8wW_PjSsXW11ommEMfdQsqMJnhyZUCwV5r3FMQsjcPRPSmxMvyrYtJJClmPC-fEIBPiovra-ua0jKRBxr1m-FyOb0TzqJvLwGx_HsJU3UAq7UwHhJrC/s320/In+A+Moment.jpg" width="320" /></a>I have about three milliseconds to fix things. Well, in real time, anyway. I managed to extend that by squeezing time out of other moments and into this one. You know that feeling when something seems to be happening faster than you want? It's because your excited mind is compressing the event, and that extra time leaks into other moments, like when you're waiting for something you want. If you're clever, you can learn to redirect it.<br />
<br />
Two bullets, one heading for her heart, one for her head. I haven't got a lot of options. The first I'm pushing to the side. It's burning my hands, and takes a lot of strength and spare time. It will miss. Just.<br />
<br />
One bullet left. I haven't got enough spare time to move it out of the way. She won't understand how it happened but later, in shock, she will tell the story in fragments, voice filled with awe. The gunman is already making a run for it, dashing between discarded items, apparently frozen; a statue in amidst the flakes of the disturbed snow globe of his victim's life.<br />
<br />
Nothing for it now, so I step in front of the bullet in time to rest my forehead upon it's tip as I feel reality flood back into the room, and my skin begin to part. She gasps as my blood and my body hit her, throwing her to the ground. In my last moment I manage to pull a vague smile as she screams.<br />
<br />
I'll admit, this isn't how I envisaged the walk to work when I woke up.</div>Louis Parsonsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654455711331562357noreply@blogger.com0