tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71720013682005254752024-03-04T21:08:39.419-08:00101monstersDavesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-21401527191871664482011-12-07T19:04:00.001-08:002011-12-07T19:05:22.384-08:00frog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqMexk4THayi0mfSY2YARZfRCRFbRQHn57v61tXjSzlu7bymgF2irnkAdyiOGlJR0620btH9QaGXVbH5hxkOo0bdk2kM5212XVhxRmD3EvKr2p4MwKrMsRwPHL7IYYXYWfjG61RqaqA/s1600/frog-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQqMexk4THayi0mfSY2YARZfRCRFbRQHn57v61tXjSzlu7bymgF2irnkAdyiOGlJR0620btH9QaGXVbH5hxkOo0bdk2kM5212XVhxRmD3EvKr2p4MwKrMsRwPHL7IYYXYWfjG61RqaqA/s400/frog-sm.jpg" width="337" /></a></div>Andrew Tanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472679584496866691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-13706256653329308192010-04-25T08:13:00.000-07:002010-06-17T18:35:42.396-07:00roarHe kept to himself. The jagged little head. Always behind a tree or in the long grass. He'd watch the others wrestle and tumble in the dirt. He'd watch the grown-ups shopping for the best meats. He'd listen to them bellowing in the karaoke places. He'd keep his distance. Because he could not roar. They thought he was dumb because he would not even speak. Only he knew. He could not roar. Not like the other monsters was he. He didn't belong. He'd bring shame to his family name if they ever knew.<br />
<br />
So when he became a teenager, he set out for the mountains one day . Wiping away his tears, he glaced back at his monster village before the hills hid it from him. He was alone now. A tortoise became his friend. He found it crawling so slowly, he felt pity for it. So he began carrying it. The tortoise told him many wise things. One of them was : "It's not whether you can roar or not, it's how loud you can eat." And "Never stare back at a stomping giant." None of them made any sense to him. He'd just listen and not speak. And the tortoise would go on and on. But his voice soothed the monster. He'd often go to sleep smiling, listening to his friend. And the tortoise would not even know.<br />
<br />
One day, he came to the edge of the world. Nothing was before him. And only a bare desert behind them. "Nothing has been created beyond this", said his friend. "But I suggest we go forward." The monster looked at the tortoise and back again at the nothingness. He backed up a hundred meters. And then started to run. At the edge, his hairy legs lept into nothingess. Then the monster and the tortoise were gone. They could not be seen any more. A voice spoke though the nothingness. A monster voice. They were still nowhere to be seen. But now they were everywhere. And soaring. Past the desert and over the lands where they had travelled. Then down into the valley where the monster village was. All who lived there called the voice kuba, which meant "happy friend". It often spoke comforting and wise words to whoever paid heed to it. Sometimes it would roar in laughter. And no one was ever afraid of it.Andrew Tanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472679584496866691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-82906842691509644362009-10-09T23:26:00.000-07:002009-10-09T23:37:14.400-07:00outside my windowA monster grows outside my window.<br /><br />I watch it get bigger everyday. But like all things growing right in front of you, you only notice the difference after every couple months. This monster shakes my walls and gives off terrifying growls that disturbs my sanity. Sometimes, it would take a life. At night, it sleeps and all is peaceful. People walk around it, talking about it. But in the day time, they keep away, annoyed by its tantrums.<br /><br />I don't particularly like the monster. It isn't my monster. I can't wait for it to be full-grown. Then the neighbourhood will be peaceful again. Then the cursing from everyone will stop. Until another monster is born.<br /><br />I can't wait for that condo outside my window to be finished. Then I can finally concentrate on my work in peace.Andrew Tanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472679584496866691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-56317517910103725612009-09-29T19:32:00.000-07:002009-09-29T19:53:04.444-07:00FurryHe was sitting on the sofa one morning. Dazed after a good night of sleep. He tried to recall his dream last night. That's when he started clearing his throat. It felt dry and itchy. So he coughed. And coughed again. Something was in his mouth now. Sticking his fingers in, he pulled out a ball of blue fur. He stared at it for a moment. Where did this come from? It didn't feel like synthetic fur. It felt real. And warm. No eyes though. He brought it to the sink to wash off the saliva, then dried it with some paper towels. It was breathing. He could feel it pulsating in his hands. And it was getting heavier.<br /><br />Is this part of me? He wondered. It can't be. No part of him was blue. This was strange. What could he use it for? He bounced it on the floor. But it didn't bounce well. He brought it to the kitchen counter and took out a cutting board. He found a meat knife from the drawer. He began to cut. The sound of its flesh splitting was like cutting into a fishball. But more fluid. More like a pomegranate perhaps. There was no scream. No struggle. No movement now. The insides splilled out. It looked like spaghetti cabonara. And it smelled good too.<br /><br />He could not resist the urge. Quickly, he collected the mess off the board and spilled them into a frying pan. Some ready chopped garlic and onions thrown in and he was frying. The aroma filled the kitchen. Brunch would be served soon.Andrew Tanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17472679584496866691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-29774598364910235062008-12-03T00:55:00.001-08:002008-12-03T01:12:14.575-08:00The gargoyleTim left the house after cutting the last of the music CDs for Veron. She'd like this, he thought. He had mixed in some of The Killers and light alternative stuff, and there were folders with jazz. She could be weaned off pop, he told himself.<br /><br />As he walked down the road towards her house, he felt that the air had become colder and rank, like someone had peed all over the street. He looked around him. There was no one. Maybe it was a coming storm?<br /><br />Suddenly he felt himself being raised up into the air. He tried to scream, and almost dropped the CDs. He looked up; his jacket was being held by a bizarre creature that was stonelike in composition, with great gray wings. It turned its eyes to him.<br /><br />"Now how high shall we drop you?" it said to Tim.<br /><br />"What are you?" Tim shouted back.<br /><br />"Me? Why a gargoyle."<br /><br />"But.. why..?"<br /><br />"Because you are."<br /><br />"Wait... could I at least get this to Veron first? They're a gift. I promised her. I mean, even if I die she can't live a life listening to Britney Spears."<br /><br />The gargoyle was intrigued. "Veron? The girl you love? Oh boy... you are such a fool. Very well!" The creature laughed.<br /><br />"You have been following me, haven't you?" Tim said. "Sometimes when I'm on the way back I hear the sound of your wings flapping. Right now, I can see what they are."<br /><br />"Yes. I mark my targets well. I don't kill very often. I'm quite selective. And killing random people is boring. It's too... easy," the creature said.<br /><br />They were approaching the house. "Feast your eyes, young boy," the gargoyle said. <br /><br />Time looked through the window and saw Veron, but she was almost naked in bed. It made him blush. And he realised there was someone else there with her. A man with a tattoo of a Ford Mustang on his back. There was music playing; he could hear it.<br /><br />The gargoyle laughed; a sound like marbles going down a staircase. <br /><br />"So are you satisfied?" it said.<br /><br />Tim was despondent. "Sam. I should have known." He let the CDs drop. They shattered on the streets below.<br /><br />"Well you might as well drop me," Tim said. "There's nothing to live for."<br /><br />"Very well," the gargoyle said, flying ever higher.<br /><br />"What is it with women?" Tim said. They were very high up now. The houses were getting smaller, and soon they would pierce through the clouds.<br /><br />"They are a mystery; always have been," it said.<br /><br />"Wow from this distance I should make a fine little mess," Tim said. <br /><br />The gargoyle smiled and nodded. "Aye, you would."<br /><br />And then it let go. Tim grabbed the creature's claws. "Wait!" Tim shouted.<br /><br />"Let go!" The gargoyle said, shaking its claw, jerking around in spasms.<br /><br />"Drop me in front of her house!" Tim said.<br /><br />"You should have thought about that earlier," the gargoyle said. <br /><br />It flung itself around, trying to get Tim to pry off, but Tim hung on hard as he could, his fingers prying into the gargoyle's stone skin. Tim lifted up his body and kicked out with his right foot at the creature's head; slamming into its face. The gargoyle was surprised. No one had ever fought back before. The next kick pounded into its face, and the gargoyle was now tumbling down the sky.<br /><br />Tim screamed, and so did the creature. It tried to flap, but Tim continued to kick. Suddenly there was a great splash as they slammed into a pool of water. The gargoyle's body had hit first and broken through the liquid, and Tim followed. The gargoyle tried to flap but it could not. It just sank. Maybe the water seeped into the stone and now it could not flap its wings, or that stone was just a natural enemy of water.<br /><br />Tim swam up and coughed out huge breaths of water. There was a gash on his forehead. The shore was not far. He wasn't sure where he was, but he knew he had a long way to go back. He was already thinking of what CD to put together when he did reach home.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-55034433729553109052008-10-04T07:51:00.000-07:002008-10-04T07:56:03.900-07:00The GarachIt waited in the desert, lazy to hunt. There was little need. It turned it's great head, and his neck strained. Flies buzzed around it's five horns, and it smelled the human and his gift even before it could see him. They always sought it, bringing with them a human head, for the Garach had a gift. After eating the head of a human, it could bring back the memories within, but it only allowed each human to ask three questions of it. Most of the time, the bringer of heads would want to know how the person had died, whether it was by fair or foul play, and whether it had died filled with hate or love. Sadly, it was more often the former. The Garach waited, flicking it's great tongue, eager for the feeding to begins soon.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-63277477742334132892008-09-08T07:32:00.000-07:002008-09-08T07:45:56.745-07:00The creature in the pailOne evening you stay out too late and it's ten minutes to midnight. You reach the train stop and realise your wallet's gone; probably that man who bumped into you earlier took it. The tracks beneath you shiver as other trains pass by. You dig your pockets but there's not enough money to get a ticket. There's no one else around. You go up the staircase to the street to see if there's anyone around, and beneath a flickering street lamp you see him. A man wearing a coat and a scarf with black glasses. He has a red pail in front of him. Something about him beckons you to approach. You step close, checking the watch. There's five minutes to go. The ground shudders again. The air is cold, and you can see why he's shivering.<br /><br />You ask the man if he has a dollar, and if he can loan it to you for the ticket for the train. He looks at you, and says no, but he thinks there is a dollar coin in the pail in front of him. He says you can put your hand into the water and dig it out.<br /><br />You stare down into the water of the pail, and in the black water you realise there's something inside. Something sleek and dark and coiling. You can't see exactly what it is, but you can see as it moves about, a coin at the very bottom of the pail, flickering and enticing.<br /><br />"Does it bite?" You ask the man.<br />"When it's hungry," the man replies.<br />"Is it hungry now?"<br />"It hasn't eaten for two days."<br />"What does it eat?"<br />"Oh... anything and everything," he says, smiling, his hands still buried in his pockets. You can't see his eyes.<br /><br />"The coin is yours if you put your hand in," the man says.<br />There are about three minutes left. Your hand is poised just above the pail. The black thing inside appears to be squirming more. You ready, and stick your hand in, and suddenly there is an electric sting in your fingers, like they have been pricked.<br /><br />"What did it do?" you ask.<br />"I don't think it did anything," the man replies. There are patches and holes in his jackets, and his glasses seem to be cracked, but you can only see the fine web of lines if you lean close. <br />"You better hurry boy," he reminds you.<br />You get ready, aim for the coin, and stick your hand down. There is a loud splash, and you dig at the coin. You think you have it, and you feel string-like tentacles gripping at your hand. You pull your arm out quickly, and open your palm victoriously, but there is nothing.<br /><br />"I guess you missed. Water does that," the man says.<br /><br />The black thing inside is twisting and turning, making increasingly rapid circles. You can see the coin move towards the center of the pail.<br /><br />"Quickly. Quickly," he says. You can feel the last train approaching. The ground is shuddering and ripples radiate in the pail.<br /><br />You close your eyes and stick your hand in. The creature has closed its coils around your arm. Your fingers dig at the coin. You are sure you have it now. You pull your hand out and feel it being tugged. For a moment, you look into the eyes of the creature that has your arm, whose tentacles embrace it as though black string had been poured all over. It opens it's mouth, gasping.<br /><br />You have the coin and the creature disappears back into the water. The man laughs and you run to the staircase, insert the coin into the machine which gives you a ticket. You run pass the gates and just manage to get through the train door before it closes shut. Only then do you dare look at your arm, and notice that it is bruised and black, and covered with fine bites and cuts, as though it had been dragged through glass, but that is nothing compared to the sight of the creature that had your arm in your grasp a minute ago, with it's sharp, pointed teeth, ready to cling and eat and devour.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-21168887372572857462008-08-10T01:28:00.000-07:002008-08-10T01:33:19.518-07:00The trollNizgark spun the motor on the computer. It was annoying that ten minutes of turning would only give a half-hour of time, but it would be sufficient for him to check on the new posts on the half-broken monitor. It was getting lonely under this bridge, and there were few walkers, only those metal carriages, that sped past. So he occupied his time trying to lure folks here by persuading them that the fishing nearby was great, and there were scenic menhirs around. No one was ever persuaded though. He typed in the URL and ventured into the Faerie forums, where he kept in touch with all the various trolls, pixies, brownies and sprites from all over the world. Pickings were slow, magic was fading, and forests were being destroyed. It was depressing to read through the news and posts. Nizgark wandered into the thread where he and the pixie Solthan had been arguing for the past two months about the worthiness of moon mushrooms. He studied the screen as he prepared for his next post.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-5827090896443363862008-07-25T19:09:00.001-07:002008-07-25T19:20:33.452-07:00The Monster's BallJeremy 7-leg had been practising all year for the ball, but never with a live partner. He had been too shy, so he made a figure about his height and danced with her to the tango and the rhumba. The last two months, after he had caught enough giant flies to feed on, he had been spending most of the time in an underground barrow, listening to an old tape recorder play Astor Piazzola and watching the dance instruction tapes over and over again. Soon he knew he could be good at it. Previous years he had just watched, but this year he was determined not to be a spectator. He would ask Rosalind 2-heads to dance, and he hoped at least one of them would consent. <br /><br />The night of the dance came under a full moon. The Bug Orchestra came together and tuned their strings, while the Borg Flea had harnessed fresh spider silk for the strings. When they started to play, Jeremy couldn't stop tapping his feet (all seven of them), but he did not move from his perch. Young bugs in love started flooding the dance hall, and as he listened to the joy in their cries, he wished he was down there as well, showing off his moves. He knew he could do it. But where was Rosalind 2-head? Maybe she was still doing her hair; the blond curled tresses of her left head and the deep red hair of the right. Jeremy tapped his feet.<br /><br />The moon hid behind clouds and the berry liquor was passed around. Jeremy still had not hit the floor and Rosalind had not emerged. He became to worry.<br /><br />Then he felt a breeze behind him. He turned and saw it was Sahila broad-wing, the butterfly with glass-like wings. He had known her before she had gone into a chrysalis. The moonlight passing through her wings threw out strange bizarre images, like staring into a kaleidoscope.<br /><br />"Care to dance Jeremy?" She asked.<br /><br />Jeremy nodded, and Sahlia grabbed him up. And they danced; and Jeremy showed off his moves and they burnt up the dance floor. <br /><br />His legs moved vigorously and swiftly. She let herself be led. Soon people were noticing them. They stopped and let them have the floor, clapping along. <br /><br />And Jeremy smiled as he danced. This was his time; what he had been waiting for. At the end of the night, he was exhausted. He sat in a corner and let Sahlia drape her colours around him, content. She would eat him up by the morning, but he didn't mind. Bugs never lived long anyway, not even the giant dancing ones.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-61296220752957191292008-06-15T00:30:00.000-07:002008-06-15T00:32:32.183-07:00JigsawHer parents didn't believe her, but there was a monster under her bed. Every night she would scatter the jigsaw puzzles on the floor and the creature would spend the entire dark putting it together, picking up the pieces with its gigantic gnarled hands that were the size of tree trunks, with fingers each as long as a new pencil. It never managed to finish it before morning though, so she was safe. But she kept on buying jigsaws with more and more pieces, just in case.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-40833097514186670292008-06-06T16:59:00.000-07:002008-06-06T17:13:32.026-07:00The knitting monsterIt hung around Mrs Doughty's flat, and it was glad when she turned on the television, which meant there was something to watch. The monster was now a bit old, and could barely even outrun children. It still liked to eat cabbages and carrots, which Mrs Doughty had lots of, so it just stayed close to her. Mrs Doughty was old, so she never quite noticed it in the house. She would just sit in front of the television and knit, watching an endless stream of gameshows and soap operas, many which made her weep, but never cry. Crying was reserved for those phone calls, but sometimes she would laugh too. Mrs Doughty would always be knitting when she watched the television; slow strokes of the needles, the ball of yarn just moving. She looked like she was making a sweater, one of those things that kept humans warm in winter, just that it was about half her size. She was almost done one day, watching television and having tea, when suddenly she began to shake, like having her own earthquake. The monster wondered what was happening. She suddenly stopped, and saliva dripped out of her mouth. The sweater was in front of her, 3/4 done. The monster approached her, wondering if she was sleeping, but she didn't make her usual sleeping noises. It shook her for a bit, and she did not move.<br /><br />The monster knew what it had to do. It took up the needles, and from the vast amount of times it had watched her, understood what it had to do. The needles clacked and clacked slowly, as it watched television, even when it looked like there was a blizzard on the screen, finishing the sweater.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-35033821655595450182008-05-22T00:22:00.000-07:002008-05-22T00:30:26.847-07:00SmokeHe saw the patterns within the incense, and let it flow up. He would make wishes before the smoke, and even though they were mostly small tasks, they would be done. Like finding a lost pen; the smoke would weave its way to it and he would follow.<br /><br />One day, after a hard day's work where he was scolded by his clients, he just wanted to rest at home. But his neighbours upstairs were arguing again. He was so angry he lit a joss stick and wished that they were dead. The smoke traveled up the ceiling, and soon after, everything went quiet. Hours later, an ambulance came, and he found out that his neighbours were dead. They had been asphyxiated. Their faces were bright red when they died, and the others in the apartment said they had died arguing, as they had lived. <br /><br />The man was aghast, and surprised. That was the power of the smoke. Soon he wished it upon his stingy boss, or a difficult client. One day, he wanted to turn it upon his wife, but before he could reach the altar, he found the smoke weaving towards him. He saw his wife bent before it, praying, and with a sad smile. The man rushed over but it was too late, as the smoke made its way into him.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-53469352592529669582008-05-14T20:32:00.000-07:002008-05-14T20:41:12.674-07:00The dog by the gardenIn every culture, there's a story of a girl who wants to cross into a beautiful garden. But between her and the garden is a vicious dog tied to a rusting chain that's just about to break. The girl takes a step closer on the broken, overgrown weed path towards the garden, but the dog sees her and jumps hard towards her. The chain is straining like a wire pulled taut, though you can't hear it over the barking of the dog. The girl takes a step back. In some cultures, the girl returns with meat for the dog; in others the girl forgets the path altogether. In one, the girl returns with a gun and shoots the dog three times. In those stories where the girl makes it to the garden, she smells the flowers and lies upon the warm, fertile soil. The blood of the dog nourishes the garden, and the flowers will once again attract little girls into braving the horrors of the barking, angry, red-eyed dogs.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-23835871413291604132008-05-14T18:07:00.000-07:002008-05-14T18:34:05.428-07:00HarpyIt knew they were coming. She flitted above the trees and saw the smoke from their torches. There were few places left to hide. Talinn, the woodsman she had enraptured, was sleeping. He was utterly devoted to her, and each evening she would sing a song to once again charm him. She would let him tell him stories, and he spoke lovingly of his son and family. He despised his wife and promised her he would return to the village and get rid of her, kicking her back to her relatives. She smiled inwardly. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to shed the feathers and wings and take up the clothes these humans wore. What would she do then? Till the land, make bread, and wile away the days held by love?<br /><br />But she looked upon her wrinkled and withering body and dispelled such thoughts away. Her breasts were sagging and her feathers dull. She was gasping after an hour's flight. A hunt would drain her utterly, and even her voice was getting croaky. It was Talinn's forestry skills that were keeping them fed.<br /><br />She flew down from the trees. She saw Talinn's worshipful eyes and felt remorse. She could ask him to close his eyes and she would tear into his chest and devour his liver, but she felt an affection for the human. She could hear the others getting closer. They would soon approach the hideout.<br /><br />"Go back to them," she told Talinn.<br />"No. I will protect you."<br />"That is not what I want."<br /><br />An arrow shot out from the trees. She had failed to notice one amongst their number who had gone ahead of the others. <br /><br />"Talinn! What are you doing with her?" The intruder shouted.<br />"Gahan. Go back!" Talinn raised his bow.<br />"You are enraptured. Do you not see what she is?"<br />The harpy spread her wings. Gahan threw his spear. It pierced into her side. <br /><br />The enchantment was broken. Talinn now saw her for what she was. She had only wanted to fly away. Her blood smelled like decayed meat. The pain she felt in her body made her curl up.<br /><br />"Go... kill me now..." she whispered. The effort of speaking was like having a dagger turned in the body. Her eyes watched Talinn's face. Gahan took out his dagger and handed it to the woodsman.<br />"Your family has missed you Talinn. Slay her. Be released from her charms."<br />The woodsman raised the dagger and the harpy could only watch the blade glitter in the evening sky. Her blood continued to drain into the soil.<br /><br />Later, as Talinn walked back, he could not turn to look at the corpse, only smell its burning. From his eyes flowed tears that seemed to come from deep places within him. When his rescuers were not watching him, he disappeared into the forest again, never to be found.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-55618426662968021282008-05-12T19:21:00.000-07:002008-06-25T19:41:34.072-07:00The magician's rabbitsWhen the magician retired, he gave his two rabbits to Claire. The two of them looked exactly alike. Claire tried to bug him about how he did his trick, but the Magician didn't want to tell her.<br /><br />"Telling you would destroy the mystery," he said. He left town and she didn't hear from him again, supposedly retiring in Belize.<br /><br />Claire kept the rabbits in her room. She let them out during the day where they hopped around eagerly. She fed them well and bought them a larger cage.<br /><br />The first night after she kept them, she found both of them outside the cage. She checked the cage and saw that it was still locked. She wondered how they got out. She put them in again and left for school, making sure there was enough food and water.<br /><br />When she came back home they were outside again. She asked her mom if she had let them out, but she said she hadn't had time to clean the room and Claire shouldn't be keeping rabbits. Who knows what diseases they would have?<br /><br />Claire let the rabbits run around for a bit before putting them back into the cage. She wondered about the tricks the magician had done. How they had been in a box and then disappeared. Was it just a trick? Did they know more? She stared into their black button eyes and asked them. But they just wrinkled their noses in reply.<br /><br />She pretended to sleep that night but was keeping an eye out on the cage. But at three am her eyes closed just for a moment and the rabbits were outside again. She jumped out of bed. There was something strange happening here. Could they actually be teleporting and going through strange universes like the Magician claimed?<br /><br />She imagined them leaping in free space, creating portals that they hopped through. Maybe if they wanted to, they could hop to Alexandria's library, or lost cities, or even worlds beyond Earth. <br /><br />Eventually Claire let them be, and the rabbits would just sneak out of the cage. She never even bothered locking the door. Surprisingly, this seemed to dissuade them from escaping, and they did not escape the next night, or the next. They were essentially normal rabbits now, though they would occasionally find their way to the top of her table whenever she had leftover lettuce or raisins.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-83742305845429157452008-04-02T06:21:00.000-07:002008-09-10T20:15:10.926-07:00The revolving doorIt had sat there for ages, spinning people around. Sometimes it was mischievous, and just rotated people around so they couldn't get out until the next revolution. The hotel that it housed at was dilapidated and collapsing, and the doorman was so old the door expected him to collapse any day. The door had seen all types of people pass through; lovers, liars, and just men with no stories to tell. One day it decided it had enough of just spinning and turning, and watching the misery of the people. It decided to do something about it. It would snatch those people it could when no one was looking, and send them to worlds where they would be happier. A woman trying to buy off her loan to her pimp was sent to a village where she had all she wanted, a man fed up with his marriage was planted on an island where women worshiped him, and an orphan child sent to a world where her parents still existed. It never understood that the people it sent never found happiness either, but in the moment that they traveled within it's glassy confines, the door thought it knew what they needed.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-18998341351184279752008-03-10T05:58:00.000-07:002008-05-13T22:39:26.262-07:00The girl with the roving eye<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJs3iAy-YHK7LMZcYPV6mTc8VU4djtAfA_C0SzcQylfshmQGNFil-z0ocnxDzfyZoossE8spxMscpUOuA3WQlo6LNWtC2fixeiBBOMS1SRrd72EW4UxYnoFvBKdsBStfVJ5YyytnKleQ/s1600-h/eye-sm.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJs3iAy-YHK7LMZcYPV6mTc8VU4djtAfA_C0SzcQylfshmQGNFil-z0ocnxDzfyZoossE8spxMscpUOuA3WQlo6LNWtC2fixeiBBOMS1SRrd72EW4UxYnoFvBKdsBStfVJ5YyytnKleQ/s400/eye-sm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200103866556103730" border="0" /></a><br />The girl discovered the eye in the restroom one evening. Then she found she could see with it if she thought about it. One day she took it out of her body and it could move on it's own, and she could still see through it. She used it to observe her neighbours in her apartment building. Her mother was sick and they didn't have enough money for the doctor. She wanted to blackmail, but didn't know to start. She saw their secrets then wrote them letters, telling them to leave money at the red flowerpot downstairs. They did as she told them.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-16933637662888181992008-02-01T00:46:00.000-08:002008-02-01T00:56:58.156-08:00The cold man"He would come by the lounge at night and order a drinks, vodka and limes. He had very little hair, and what was left of it fell from the back of his head to his shoulders. He had sea-blue eyes and a creepy smile. If I had my back to him I could feel him staring right at me, but I didn't tell anyone about him because he always left a big tip. The strange thing was; when I went back to pick up his glass, it was always ice-cold. Not cold just from the ice in the drink, but really freezing.<br />"He told me not to share his tips with the other waitresses, and I obeyed. One night he got up and walked to the pool, and threw something in the water. Then he told Eric the busboy that it was his keys, and demanded that Eric go fetch it. It was almost midnight and the lights to the pool were off. Poor confused Eric took off his jacket and shirt and jumped in, and he was in there a long time. I just watched and I knew I should do something, but I didn't know what to do. He had tipped me a fifty the previous night. That's like ten times what other people tip. Eric didn't come up for a long time. He dived down twice more and on the third time he came out with the keys. The guy laughed, and took out a hundred dollar bill and threw it on the water. Eric was grateful for it. I didn't make him share it of course.<br />Later that night Eric died in a car crash. His Toyota plunged down the road and they found him impaled on a tree. When I heard the news, I knew the cold man had something to do with it.<br />I confronted him the next night; I told him the news, and he just looked at me. 'Do you blame me?' he said.<br />'You were responsible,' I said.<br />'How? How was I responsible?' he said, picking up his glass. And he was cold. He was radiating cold. The liquid in the glass was freezing solid.<br />I turned away and went back. I could hear his teeth crunching his ice. He got up and walked out. I wanted to stop him. I wanted to call everyone in the lounge then; the waiters, the bartenders, the valets to stop him. We would all grab him, and hug him, and our warmth would help unfreeze him, but I realised that wasn't going to happen. I imagined all of us freezing gradually as we piled up on him, our bodies turning into ice. His cold was something he carried, and us, with our doubts, our loneliness, our fears; he would dig it out or us and we would be frozen too. So I let him go and walk away, and never come back. There was two hundred dollar bills under the coaster. I took them, but I never spent the money."Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-6467061971134470252007-12-18T23:26:00.000-08:002007-12-18T23:30:52.566-08:00VampireYou don't understand the thirst. It is like your throat singed by fire, as you walk amongst pools of water. Some are dirtier than others, but others are so pure they sing to you. Even though one tries not to succumb, the throat burns, and even jumping off a drug cannot be worse, especially when it is so readily available. Animal blood is like filthy, stained water, and impure. Sooner or later you will drink some that is tainted, and it can no longer fulfill your need. Such is the thirst we live with every day.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-40338511653568673922007-12-12T18:32:00.000-08:002007-12-12T18:46:44.149-08:00Godetia<i>From a friend who played that word in scrabble</i><br /><br />They gathered in the royal garden to watch it bloom. The well-to-do came in their suits and dresses especially for the occasion. Vendors sold candied fruits and pinwheels. You could smell a thousand perfumes, and women determined to outshine the flower. Pictures had been painted and stories had been told of its marvelous beauty. The city sold tickets and prices went up every year. Now only the richest could afford it. The flower itself was large, sitting in its own green area surrounded by the audience. The petals started to stir, and women in the audience began to coo. They ran to take their seats, ready to enjoy their wallet-given right. The flower started to open, releasing a rich mix of aromas in the air. The women started to go into rapturous ecstasy; the men smiled to themselves and stroked their moustaches. The flower was now fully open, large as a man's head, the petals almost luminous as the newly installed lights shone upon it. Suddenly one could smell a different tinge in the air. The smell was starting to become foul. "Did someone fart?" the duchess scolded. No one owned up. The vile smell was starting to grow. Some covered their noses. A doctor waved his hands. "It's coming from the flower!"<br /><br />"How dare you?" shouted a policeman. He took out his gun and shot the doctor. Women started to scream. The air was suddenly filled with screams, and then a buzzing sound joined the cacophony. The audience turned to see a huge swarm of bees flitting towards the arena. The insects descended upon the flower, and the audience started to run in panic towards the doors. The scene was descending into chaos. The flower, as though satisfied, started to close its eye. It looked down upon its garden and saw the bodies around its stem, and was pleased.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-88040378262079947532007-12-11T22:56:00.000-08:002007-12-11T23:03:14.446-08:00WerewolfIt sought refuge from the snow, the hunger within it gnawing away. It had managed to squeeze itself in through a loose board at the side, and it looked at the photographs and other mementos within. The smell was different; almost wonderfully so. It sat on one of the sofas, and gazed at the photograph on the side-table. It showed a family in front of a lake. The parents and two smiling children. The wolf gazed long at it. It looked down at itself. It realised that the fur was receding from its body. It turned its paw, and saw that it was now a hand. It remembered its daughter prying it open and trying to hide the fortune within. "You'll have a long life daddy. A long one." He heard her in her head. It looked around again, and found that the room was becoming recognisable. It looked at the photograph, and started to realise how cold the room was. There was a sound outside; someone was at the door, and soon it would be unlocked and open. It sat and waited.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-67311532392922503792007-12-10T18:36:00.000-08:002007-12-10T19:00:03.689-08:00The dragonThe boy wanted to be away. The farm was no place for him. He wanted to see the world, and knew becoming a farmhand and repairer of rooftops was not the life he wanted to lead. But how could he get away? One night, as he was catching fireflies, he came across a large beast resting on the farm. By its appearance the boy knew it was a dragon. It had eaten one of the old horses, and looked sated. It spread its wings which cast a huge shadow. The boy, seeing his chance, dropped his jar and jumped onto the dragon's back. The dragon took off just as the boy clasped the back of the dragon. Fast and far away the dragon flew, to lands further than he could ever dream. The dragon did not react to the boy; to it he weighed like a leaf. The dragon flew higher, and the boy felt cold, but he clung on. The dragon crossed the world, and the boy saw mountains and rivers and seas. Once, the dragon caught a whale that had leapt out of the clear blue water. Another time, it joined a group of swans in flight, scattering them with one last swipe of its wing before soaring up in the sky, where the boy could see stars. Eventually, the dragon came to rest next to a lake, and the boy got off. The dragon turned around and noticed the boy. The boy was afraid, but the dragon did not mean any harm. The dragon shook its head, and flew off, leaving the boy there. Some villagers discovered him, and he was adopted. He grew up to be a farmer, and led a common life, and never spoke of how he came to arrive at the lake.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-64711280526680182242007-12-03T18:29:00.000-08:002007-12-03T19:02:43.758-08:00The shed monsterSally discovered the monster in the shed. She was looking for the cat and she discovered its bones, white as fresh snow. She heard a chewing and burping sound, and when she peeked in, she saw it. It was hairy, and just looked like a round ball of fur. She ran home to tell Joe about it, and the rest of the gang. The next night they came down again. Joe bought a piece of meat he stole from the refrigerator, and threw it into the shed. They heard the creature chomping at the meat eagerly.<br /><br />They hatched a plan. The gang were the rejected ones in school. Greg, who stuttered every third word. Lisa, whose dad had run off with another woman when she was three. The popular kids made fun of them. Sally lured Clarissa, the most popular girl, down to the shed.<br /><br />"Go in," said Sally. "There's something interesting in there."<br /><br />"Why?" said Clarissa.<br /><br />"It's... a beautiful statue."<br /><br />"You dragged me all the way down here to look at a statue? Why am I hanging with a creep like you?" said Clarissa. And she walked off.<br /><br />But Joe was near. He rushed up to Clarissa and hit her in the head. Sally screamed. Joe then dragged Clarissa to the shed, shoved her in, and closed the door. She came to inside, and yelled to be let out. Then she started to scream, and Sally ran away.<br /><br />There were lots of questions about Clarissa's disappearance the next day. Joe told Hank, the star athlete he had seen her in a field. Hank followed Joe that night, and Joe told him he was in the shed. Joe closed the door behind Hank, and smoked a cigarette as he listened to the screams.<br /><br />The others in the gang started to use the shed to get rid of more and more of those folks they weren't happy with, but Sally stayed away. The police were getting increasingly frustrated with the strange disappearances, and Sally wanted to report the gang to the police. But Joe watched her house, and followed her wherever she went. The monster was the best thing to ever happen to him, and he wasn't going to let it stop.<br /><br />One day Sally slipped away. She found Greg there with his grandmother. "Stop it!" yelled Sally. "Don't go into the shed!"<br /><br />Greg was angry and threw stones at her. Sally continued to shout. "You all are terrible!"<br /><br />Joe was behind and he grabbed her. "Open the door Greg!" he shouted. Greg's grandmother had already gone off. <br /><br />Sally couldn't resist. She was being pushed to the shed, and she was not going to overpower Joe. She screamed, and remembered how Clarissa had done the same. Greg opened the door, and Joe shoved her in. The door was closed behind her. The ground inside the shed was sticky with blood. It smelt like cat pee and worse. She closed her eyes and waited for the monster. It was coming closer. She could smell its thick fur. <br /><br />She put her hands over her ears. And she stopped screaming. The creature looked at her curiously. She was not afraid. She did not want to give Joe or Greg the satisfaction of hearing her die. <br /><br />"Eat me," she said to the beast, and realised what sad eyes it had. The creature, however, did not. It looked at her strangely. It shook its head and went back to its corner. Sally wondered why. She kept silent. <br /><br />"Is she dead?" she heard Greg say.<br /><br />"Probably," said Joe. "We need to get your grandmother. She'll tell what we did," he said.<br /><br />Sally waited. The creature did not move much. A lone toad came into the shed, and started to croak. The creature leapt on it and gulped it down. Sally realised what it was; the monster hated noise. It had eaten those people it did because of their screams. Sally swore she would never scream.<br /><br />A few hours later, she heard footsteps outside. Joe and Greg were coming back. The door opened, and Sally leapt right out even before they could push Greg's grandmother in. Sally picked up a stone and threw it at Joe, making him scream. In the confusion, Greg just clung on to his grandma. He screamed "Get her! Get her!" He didn't see the large creature stumbling out of the shed. Joe screamed when he saw the great mouth closing over George. Sally grabbed Greg's grandma and motioned her to shush. The creature turned to Joe, who was running, and screaming, shouting at Sally to help him. It loped towards Joe with a chimpanzee-like gait. Joe screamed as he fell down, and as he turned, the great mouth of the beast devoured him. Sally clasped her hand over her mouth so that she would not scream.<br /><br />When she lifted herself and Greg's grandma from the grass, there was no sign of the creature; only the devoured remains of the two boys. Carrying Greg's grandmother carefully, they walked back slowly, quietly towards the town.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-89916631596824827172007-11-11T04:19:00.000-08:002007-11-11T04:28:44.748-08:00UnicornWhen it heard the tractors approaching, it knew it had run out of places to hide. The forest had been dwindling, as the city spilled and grew. The lights from buildings now made the stars hard to see, and the friends he had in the night sky could no longer converse with him. It drank from the stream and considered its actions. The water was already tasting of poisons and rust, and dead fish floated atop. The unicorn shook its head. There was already a tractor approaching. It turned around and saw the large yellow scoop. It stepped back, then charged forward. The machine continued forward, gaining speed.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172001368200525475.post-23489616639971963582007-11-04T01:47:00.000-07:002007-11-04T02:04:54.199-08:00121st DayOver the shortwave radio we were told, we would have to wait. They are creatures, we were told. They need to eat. Without nothing to sustain them, they will fall. We did our best to observe, and it was true. They wasted away. By the 63rd day, they were attacking each other. I went outside and shot all those that I knew. The boys that laughed at me from the schoolground, the girls who made fun of me behind my back, the teachers that flunked me. The school principal I trapped down a well and burnt with fuel oil. He smelled like burning pork. As their movements became lethargic they became easier to pick off, and soon we were finding some that died. There were only four of us in our 'outpost', as they were called, and at times I wanted to kill the others, but I kept away. Winter came, and they were dying. It was estimated the virus had claimed about 99.9%, which meant it still left about 10 million of us. My mother thought actually that would be all right, as long as it spared her friends and the actor she liked on a TV soap. <br /><br />When we reemerged, we wondered if we had been spared. We burnt whatever corpses we came across, and started our journey to rejoin the others. But I knew we would always be looking over our shoulder, waiting for the screaming mouth, the chattering teeth, the ones that just wanted to tear us, and eat us.Davesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05902059390874045707noreply@blogger.com0