Ephemera & Tales

jjhunter issued a speculative fiction fest challenge, to write a short story describing an ordinary day in the life for an ordinary woman and her family coping with illness somewhen in the future. It's quite a specific set of prompts, but it sparked off with the song I was listening to, and turned into this, which I post as it stands, as a rough sketch.

(It's a stand alone, although it could be the same world as these snippets, not least because it's inspired by music from the same source - thank you Deathboy, for your music as both band and individual!

*****

First of March

"So, here we are - the first of March and the sun's shining." Kal tilted the camera towards the viewscreen behind her, and smiled. The automatic polarisation on Ella's bedside viewer abruptly killed the contrast, but she could still see the light burst bleaching out most of Kal's viewscreen. "We made orbit right on schedule." Kal returned the camera to dock, and the light levels settled back down again. "I love you, lady. Have a good day." Kal touched two fingers to her lips, and blew a kiss to the camera, and then the screen went dark.

"Love you, too," Ella whispered, and flopped back in the unmade bed, allowing herself the luxury of a minute or two's silence to feel herself missing her wife.( Read more... ) so - what do you think?

Over at the Torquere Social email list, Vince Diamond threw down a ficlet challenge: 100 words or less using the words:'June', 'nuclear', and 'garage'.

I'm not doing so great at writing short today, it seems, so here's exactly twice as much ficlet as required (which is why I'm posting here not there.)

*****

The metal garage door was hot to the touch, and when Mark turned the latch and lifted it up and over the June heat slammed into him, prickling his temples with sweat and making him squint against the sun's nuclear-blast brightness.

He retreated a few steps into the relative coolness of the shaded garage and screwed up his eyes, watching the sunspots dance across his closed eyelids.

Fuck, it was brutal out there. A beer out of the fridge, and his recliner positioned between two fans seemed more tempting than ever, but he'd promised Hal that he'd clear out the junk boxes today, and, well - a promise was a promise.

That went for his promised reward, too, he reminded himself, and the mirage of the fans faded away, replaced by something much more distracting.

Mark loved water and sex together, which, admittedly, wasn't Hal's favourite thing about him. Hal wasn't above bribery, though, and especially after nearly two weeks of heat-wave which made even the slightest touch sticky and irritating, the prospect of Hal stretched up against the wall in the shower stall, water running over those muscles, begging Mark to touch him…

Mark shivered.

The beer could wait.

*****

for samcdermott65, who's resolution was Lose 20 lbs. Curb the wine consumption or eliminate it all together. Eat healthier.

*****

Mark stretched out, languorous and heavy-limbed, coming so gradually awake that he wasn't sure if he was still dreaming. They'd collapsed together in the recovery coma of le petite mort, so the gas lights were still casting their gilded glow over the scene: Mark's dark wooden floors strewn with discarded garments, his own leg, thrown over the side of the mahogany framed day-bed, the muscle-shaded back of the beautiful young man who was sprawling across Mark's lap.

Oh yes, the New Year was off to a sterling start! ( Read more... )

I'm hosting over at the torquere_social LJ today, and offered to write a couple of New Year resolution inspired ficlets. machineplay's resolution was : to visit the gravesite of someone you haven't seen since before they died. Somehow that turned into a partner peice to this.

*****

It didn't say Tell on the gravemarker. He didn't have a tombstone, and if he did that wouldn't have said Tell either. Or Tallulah. Or Scarlet, or any of the other names Tell had taken on in his few years.

( Read more... )

When You Are Out There On The Road
By Ephemera.


Inspired by Such Great Heights, by The Postal Service, and written for tsuki_no_bara's 2nd Original Ficathon, June 2006. Thanks to C and M for the cheerleading, and especially to ms_manna, without whom this would have been much shorter and much less in every way. All remaining mistakes are my own.

*****

Beck's my room mate. My best friend. My guardian angel. He's, like, the single best thing about going away to college, so when he called my cell at two am, four days after he dropped me off at the airport so I could fly home for the summer, I was right there. I wasn't asleep. Actually, I was kind of putzing around on the computer one handed and jerking off, but that's fairly irrelevant.

"Hey, man, what's up!"

We keep pretty late hours on campus, so I didn't automatically think that anything was going to be wrong, but when he didn't answer right off the bat, I did.

"Sam."

His voice was real choked up, which made my blood run, honest to god, cold. Beck had seen me through some real crap that year, and I'd never heard him sound like that.

"Fuck, Beck. I'm here. What's up. What's wrong." ( Read more... )

The thin clear sunshine was forcing a false thaw, the icicles along the eves channeling a symphony of fat drops and patters of water from the crusted roof into the pitted snow beneath. Karl had cracked open the kitchen window, despite Breck's complaints about the chilly air, and the soft sounds punctuated the wintertime routine of cooking and cleaning and carving, made him think of spring, put a sparkle in his eye. Plus, he could think of a thing or two else that could be perked up by the touch of cold air.   Just for a couple of hours, while the sun was high enough to make the ice drip and shimmer, Karl reackoned it was worth airing out the bedroom, especially if he'd have to bulldoze Breck into letting him. The fresh air and the sunlight gave him energy, made their little house seem more open, and make up sex was always fun.

For Halloween, 2005, and for buhfly's Halloween Challenge
With thanks to turps33 for sparking off the idea, and morgaine_x and asradel for helping it come to pass. All remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.

*****

#1

Every sleepless night Nick waits to take Bell out for their morning run, and every morning he makes himself wait more, until the school rush and the office rush are done. For the first time this year the air is still thick with mist: even at after-nine the far side of the road is grayed-out and the air is cool and wet and heavy. Bell lifts her head and pulls at her harness as they get closer to the park, bouncing on fallen leaves and flicking her ears tracking mist-muffled sounds.

Out on the heath Nick unbuckles her and then chases after, pulling the thick watery air into his lungs and grinning. There’s a time for thinking about everything that’s wrong with his life, but this isn’t it.

( ***** )

Clifford squished the soft ripe apricot against the roof of his mouth. Bliss. He was holed up in his New York apartment for the long weekend, with the heating on max to keep out any thought of the bleak February weather, and well stocked with all the luxuries he could need. He lazily selected another perfect piece of fruit, and lounged back on the couch, scratching idly at the junction between thigh and groin with the other hand.

( ***** )

Ben stared at the ceiling and tried, unsuccessfully, to tune out the regular flickering of the neon lights outside his window and the drunken conversations conducted at top volume in the car park below. The club had small laminated notices in the lobby asking their clients to please respect the sleep of the local residents, to leave quietly. They also had signs behind the bar advising the punters that no credit would be offered and that they were only licensed to sell alcohol for consumption on the premises. No one paid any attention to those, either.

( read on )