Shiny Things

05:46 am - 100 Stories #73 - A Dream Come True

Barry peeked through the curtain. "It's full! How many are out there?"

"Two hundred," the manager answered.

"Really?"

"That's what you wanted, right? Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." Barry stepped onto the stage.

 * * *
 
Barry left the stage, smiling and bowing. "I murdered 'em!"

"Yes, they really seemed to enjoy it."

"They loved the bit about the mashed potatoes."

"The duck was a stroke of brilliance."

"Thanks! So, what's the total?"

"At $10 per head, after the house's cut, $4000."

"It was worth every dime," Barry said. "A dream come true." Grinning, he wrote the check.

06:01 am - 100 Stories #72 - Backup

"No!" Zarnak screamed.

Grognar's foot hovered in mid-step.

Zarnak stared down the corridor, remembering a click, a soft grinding of stone on stone, whoosh of missiles, impacts to his shoulder, belly, leg. His life draining away. The pool of flaming lamp oil, illuminating Grognar's ruined face. Blackness.

Grognar returned to where Zarnak stood trembling. He put a finger to his lips. "Zarnak no do that. Wake monsters."

Zarnak looked down, wondering why there was no blood. "Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. That was weird. Um. Let's check for traps."

 * * *

"Wow, wasn't expecting that."

"Yeah. Good thing we'd just saved."

06:07 am - 100 Stories #71 - The Sunstone

The sunstone didn't merely sparkle. It flared inside with answering fire, blazing challenge to the early morning sun.

"Cover that up!" Mason said. "Someone will see."

Lydia nodded, put it away. She looked downhill at the rough timber buildings, barns, pens, the little riverboat dock. One tiny stone shrine.

"What if they're right?"

"Huh?"

"What if it really is the source of their prosperity?"

"You kidding? This look like prosperity to you?"

"I've seen worse."

"Bah. It's bad luck to be superstitious."

"Maybe it's not magic. Maybe it's just something to share."

"Hey! Where you going?"

"To put it back."

06:17 am - 100 Stories #70 - The Ultimate Fantasy World

"Tell me a story, Daddy!"

"About what?"

"Someplace fantastic!"

"Okay. Once there was a world of adventure and wonder. Its people traveled faster than wind. They spoke to each other across seas and continents. They made light from the ground and music from the air, and spires that scraped the sky. They had ancient works of beauty and wisdom, studied only by an enlightened few. Great heroes protected them from famine and pestilence and war, so they outnumbered the stars."

"What did they call the world, Daddy?"

"Well, it didn't seem amazing to them, so they just called it Dirt."

06:18 am - 100 Stories #69 - Stranded

The time machine winked out.

"I told you to stay inside!" Molly wailed.

"I wanted to see Lewis Carroll too," David said. "What just happened?"

"Someone must have bumped the controls on the way out."

They looked at Percival.

"Who's Lewis Carroll?" the puppy asked.

Molly sighed and started walking.

"Where are you going?" David asked.

"The fuel will run out in about a million years, so plate tectonics will carry it about fifty miles this way. Maybe we can find the remains."

"Walkies!" Percival acclaimed.

"As long as we're here," David asked, "Aren't we going to meet Lewis Carroll?"

06:01 am - 100 Stories #68 - Unambiguous

Guided by the ancient prophecy, the heroes had discovered and infiltrated the necromancer's lair.

"What does the prophecy say to do next, Zarnak?" Grognar asked.

Zarnak consulted the crumbling scroll.

    "12. Proceed along left wall, avoiding pressure plate traps.
   
    "13. In the antechamber, smash lion skeletons with blessed hammer before they animate.
   
    "14. Kick open throne room door. Immediately stab left to kill hidden guardian.
   
    "15. Do not attack necromancer directly: smash bone jar hidden under throne cushions.
   
    "16. Escape before castle collapses."

"Now that's a prophecy Grognar can work with!"

"I don't know. It feels like cheating," Zarnak replied.

06:00 am - 100 Stories #67 - They Also Serve

"Sir Galivale, I hear Sir Malegant calling after us."

"What avails the scoundrel, Gregor? He was fairly and soundly defeated."

"Something about 'offering,' 'widows,' and 'orphans.'"

"Perhaps he's finally repented his wickedness. Go back and investigate, good fellow."

 * * *
 
Gregor took the bound knight's purse, then drew his knife.

"I don't understand!" Sir Malegant said. "Sir Galivale spared me!"

"Aye," Gregor replied. "He always does what's right, and it'd be a fine world if all were like him. Unfortunately the world also has cutthroat bastards like you and me. I, at least, try to employ my tendencies constructively."

06:21 am - 100 Stories #66 - Cuteness

Molly entered the laboratory, then stopped. "David, what is that unsettlingly adorable creature?"

David, busy, didn't look up. "He's a golden retriever puppy, the pinnacle of cuteness in all of evolution and selective breeding. This one is named Percival."

Without conscious direction, Molly's hand stroked the puppy. Percival wriggled in delight, but the wires on his head kept him mostly still. "What's that device he's hooked to?" Molly asked. "Are you doing something horrible?"

"Of course not. I'm stimulating his cognitive and speech centers, to see if he can talk."

Percival's tail wagged furiously. "I hope it works!" he said.

06:10 am - 100 Stories #65 - Formula Number Nine

"I demand a refund!"

"Why?" Jakob asked.

"She joined a nunnery!"

"So?"

"Obviously this was not the result I desired!"

"It's neither obvious nor relevant. Our contract guaranteed efficacy, not results."

"Efficacy! It didn't work!"

"Unlikely. What happened, precisely?"

"When she drained the cup a light filled her eyes. Amazingly, she became even more beautiful. Then she said she couldn't believe how vain she'd been, how meaningless her life. She would go serve God and man and make the world better. She even begged me to do likewise."

"It appears, then," Jakob replied, "that the love potion was entirely effective."

06:01 am - 100 Stories #64: Utopia Falls

All hardship had been eliminated: the Replicator provided food, vaccine, tools, toys, and android companions: anything desired. No one was supposed to be unhappy.

Darvon was unhappy.

"What do you want?" the Replicator asked.

"Wealth," Darvon replied.

The Replicator produced piles of antique coins and gems. But Darvon was still unhappy.

"What do you want?"

"Power."

The Replicator produced a powered exoskeleton, strong enough to shatter a mountain and haul it away. But Darvon was still unhappy.

"What do you want?"

"Prestige."

"Prestige must be earned."

Darvon demolished the Replicator, then seized control using bribes and intimidation.

Darvon was happy.

08:10 am - 100 Stories #63: Plus ça Change

"This your first time?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty excited. Cheap, environmentally-friendly teleportation at last! No more commuting!"

"Yeah."

"So, how long is the wait from here?"

"About an hour." 

07:50 am - 100 Stories #62: Cizzen Creation Story

In the beginning was darkness and fire. Beasts and demons stalked the cizzens, who fought over the remnants of the cataclysm.

The nobles said, "Let a dome divide the cizzens from the beasts," and it was so. The land inside the dome they called the city, and it was good.

They said, "Let the city bring forth devices, providing food and clothing and tools," and it was so.

The nobles blessed the cizzens, saying, "Multiply and fill the city. We give you autodocs for health, and tectors for safety, and scavs for hygiene. Do your chores. Be happy."

The nobles rested.

08:03 am - 100 Stories #61: Missdirection

"You must think I'm an idiot."
She said nothing.
"You gave me so much advice on how to win over Charissa."
"Did it work?"
"Certainly. I embarrassed and impoverished myself, but she ate it up. She's already making wedding plans. Expensive ones."
"How happy you must be."
"Not really. She's a vain, greedy simpleton. I can see that now that I'm no longer blinded by her beauty."
"So what do you want from me now?" she sighed.
"Tell me how to win you over."
She looked startled for a moment, then she smiled.
"Impress me with your ingenuity," she said.

06:05 am - 100 Stories #60: Economics

"I'm a failure," Jakob said morosely.

"Nonsense!" Dunkan replied. "You've fulfilled the dream of alchemists throughout the ages! How are you a failure?"

"I didn't anticipate the consequences! And now we're worse off than before."

"You're clever, you'll figure something out. But you've had enough to drink. Let's go home." Dunkan waved the barmaid over and handed her a gold coin.

"Master Ingleman," she said, frowning, "You know that's no good."

"Oh, right!" Dunkan handed her silver instead. Then he set his gold tankard on the gold table and led his brother out the gold doors to the gold-paved street.

05:39 am - 100 Stories #59: The Craftsman

Gavin peeked over the opposite side of the workbench, trying to see better. "What are you making, Grampa?"

"Something for you," Grampa replied. He sawed and drilled and tapped and sanded.

Gavin circled, impatient and eager. "Is it a dog? A horse? An anteater?" Grampa shook his head gently at each guess.

Finally Grampa held it up. "Almost finished!" he said, then handed it to the boy. Gavin's face lit with delight, and he ran outside to play with his new toy.

As Grampa watched out the window, Gavin's mother joined him. "What did you make, Dad?"

"A smile."

06:02 am - 100 Stories #58: The Caged Bird

"Good morning, Mister Rakaa!" the magistrate announced cheerily. This awoke Rakaa with such a start that his head jerked up and hit the top of the iron cage. Black feathers ruffled, rubbing his head, Rakaa glanced blearily around the crossroads until he spotted the magistrate at the base of the support post. He noted with some regret that the man was not directly below his cage before reflecting that his bowels were empty anyway.

( 360 more words... )

06:52 am - 100 Stories #57: The Deserter

Six years in the fort's small cell had been plenty of time for Horace to reflect on his mistake. Certainly he'd run because he'd been afraid, but hadn't the other men been afraid too? Why had his fear overcome him when the others had stood firm? Perhaps he'd had more to live for. As the youngest son of a nobleman, Horace had lived a life of ease before undertaking his mandatory service, and he'd expected to return to that ease afterward. But now he'd spent more time imprisoned than he was supposed to have spent in service, and with no end in sight. Execution would have been kinder.

This morning, for the first time since he'd deserted his post, he heard the howls of the weir again, and then came sounds of battle. Horace trembled as the screams and shouts came closer, within the walls of the fort. When the fighting stopped, the only voices had the distinctive snarl of the weir language. Eventually a pair of weir entered the jail. Spying him, they unlocked the cell and dragged him up to the captain's office.

The weir warchief stood over the captain's desk, twisting patterns shaved and painted in thin lines in the fur of his arms and torso. He turned his yellow eyes on Horace. "You are prisoner, so you are their enemy too," he snarled in broken Anglish. "You read papers, help us plan next attack." The warriors shoved him into the chair before a stack of reports. "Read!" the warchief commanded.

Horace reached out with trembling hands to take the stack, and found the letter opener forgotten beneath it. He paused, wondering what to do. The weir would probably honor their word, and he keep him alive as long as he helped them. And Horace had no particular loyalty to the dead men of this fort after what they had said and done to him over the past six years. He could live, and be free again. But he could never return to the life of ease he'd once expected.

Maybe that's why we suffer, he thought, so that we don't hold our lives so dear that we can't give them up when the time is right.

"What do papers say?" the chief demanded, bringing his muzzle down to Horace's face.

"They say we must stop you here," Horace replied, and he struck.

06:25 am - 100 Stories #56: The Writing Seminar

"Next question?" Mike Toburn asked, looking around the conference room. Several people were still jotting down his response to the previous question, but none scribbled as furiously as the young man in the front row who waved his other hand. Mike pointed at him. "Yes?"

"What causes writer's block?" he asked, still writing.

"Oh, yes, I know writer's block," Mike responded. "I'm afraid I've become infamous for it. I'm sure that by now most of you have heard some of the hell I've put my publishers through with missed deadlines and such. I've reformed now though. I've found a surefire cure, and that's to... yes?"

The young man was waving his left hand again, still scribbling with his right. "No, that's not my question. How do you get writer's block?"

Mike stared at the young man for a moment, watching him flip over an inked sheet of paper on his thick notebook and continue to write.

"Be afraid," he said finally. "Fear that what your writing isn't good enough, isn't creative enough, that you'll never be able to top what you've already done, that no one cares what you think, that your characters are flat, your plots are cliches, your scenery pale gray. Fear that there are thousands, millions of other writers out there that are better than you, and your voice will never be heard. Fear that your words can never express the ideas that scream in your head. Fear that you don't feel enough, that your readers will know you're a fake. Fear that the words just won't come at all, that your well is dry, that you have nothing left to give. Be very, very afraid."

As he spoke, the young man's pen slowed and finally stopped. He put his pen down and massaged his writing hand. "Thank you," he said.

"Glad I could help. Next question?"

04:13 pm - 100 Stories #55: The Intruder

( Aw, to heck with word limits... )

12:18 pm - 100 Stories #54: Only Natural

King Claudio doubled over in a spasm of pain, and his dinner spewed forth. Attendants rushed to clean the mess.

"Fetch the king's medicine!" Queen Gennifer cried, and a cup was set before him.

Claudio reached for the cup, then paused, looking warily at his pretty young wife. "This stuff doesn't appear to be helping," he said. "What's in it, anyway?"

"Only the finest natural ingredients, Highness, I swear on my life," she replied with a reassuring smile. Claudio nodded, then drank the draft.

Claudio died in the night, raving that his brother had come to wreak vengeance upon him.

Back in her chambers after the state funeral, Gennifer sighed as her lover helped her out of her magnificent black mourning dress. "I never liked Claudio. He was nasty, brutish, and short. It's only natural that I should seek someone more to my liking."

"What was in his medicine?" her lover asked.

She ticked off the ingredients on her fingers: "Fruit juice. Herbs. Spices." She giggled girlishly. "And arsenic."