Archive for May, 2012

Ten thousand rainbows

Posted in Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 29/05/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Tuesday story! Or Wednesday?  Anyways a little bit longer but hope it will still pose interest!

Enjoy.

Ten thousand rainbows

An hour just before the sunrise lights up the sky a trail of people makes its way from the center of the city up to the hills. Kyle watches them from his hideout behind a broken tin fence. He’s holding onto the sharp side but his hands are too cold to feel pain. The night is cold itself. But he remains in his position, curious just as always. He wonders where this people go so early. In the moonlight he studies their faces – even in such fragile light they look pale around the sides, bearded or just dirty, hungry and tired. Lips dry, hairs tangled and filthy. He knows some of them from the day work and the construction site. Their clothes are ragged, and grey, with holes big enough to see the skinny flesh – they’re barely even clothes, but once they could have been expensive suits, or fancy dresses in green or blue or red.  Kyle doesn’t know that. He names them colorless. The boy continues to observe.

Some feet are bare, purple from the early air of the autumn month, but firmly marching on top of shattered streets, broken lamps and charred pieces of paper, pages from books. Kyle looks at his own feet – without socks in an oversized rotting boots that hurt him. He doesn’t care. The chain of people is more important.

Kyle wants to go with them. The expression in their eyes amuses him – they are wide open, glimmering, shared excitement can be read in the hollow dark orbits. They are in anticipation.

The body movement, the slow pace tempts the boy to stand up and find a spot in the strange parade. The quietness calls for him, and Kyle holds his breath to hear the words. He shifts a little further, peeking from his sanctuary.

Then Kyle spots how each of the people are carrying a plastic tub or a rusty bucket. He takes another small step, holding his body close to the ground. He tries to see, is there something in those objects out of the ordinary. Pieces of mirrors. His curiosity becomes more aroused.

One man notices Kyle, and walks towards him in large fast steps. There is no trace of humanity in him – his mouth is twisted, teeth are visible, dark with many missing. His eyes pierce with rage and fear. He is scared, threatened by the little boy before him. The man almost grows while picking a stone and lifting his hand with it to throw it at Kyle. The boy freezes, shock displayed all over him.

“Joseph! Don’t!” a woman hisses and makes her way to catch the man’s hand. “His only a boy Joseph…“ She speaks calmly looking up at the man’s face then looking down at Kyle.

“And that forgives him for spying on us? He could be working for the squads as far as we know! Are you boy?” Joseph roars at him, a new wave of fear and anger rushing through his body.

“No!” Kyle yells back, trying not to cry. The woman with a yet unknown name moves past Joseph and kneels before Kyle.

If he had intentions to turn us in he would have done it by now. You have been watching us before haven’t you?”  She gives Kyle a half smile. She takes a closer look “You’re Roger’s son aren’t you? What was your name?”

Kyle nods and speaks his name in a whisper.

“Okay Kyle…I’m Charlotte. This is my brother Joe“.

“Have you followed us up in the hills? “ Joseph interrupts

Kyle shakes his head.  He has never dared to do so.

“Go home then. Don’t say a word to anyone; don’t ever think of coming back here. Or I swear I’ll smash your skull with a rock. Understood?”

Kyle stands on his feet and begins to withdraw, his tiny feet shaking.

“Wait. Boy. “Charlotte speaks out “Why are you up so early, hiding here, watching us?”

Kyle hesitates. He doesn’t know why. What these people do is brave, different. He wants to be brave as well so he sneaks out in night. He needs difference. But he can’t speak his desires out loud, so he keeps silent, eyes fixated in the ground.

“Let’s go…time is short on us” Joseph walks back in the group.

Charlotte stays. How old is this boy? Ten-Eleven? And all he has ever known is death, hunger and cities in ruins. She reaches out a hand to him “You’re a brave little thing you know that? Want to come with us? “

Kyle can’t believe, neither can Joseph. An outsider is about to be initiated in the sacred circle. The boy takes the offered hand. His heart triumphs.

A few pads on the back and Kyle feels indeed accepted in this strange group of people. They don’t turn him down. They know what sadness the world has shoved down his throat choking his childhood and his future, but that smile dancing on his lips makes them feel human again, warm and ashamed of having thoughts to chase him away or worst.

They resume their race with the soon to come sun, walking silently faster and faster, higher and higher up the road. They still remain within the restricted area borders. The landscape brightens, the day emerges but there is still time before Kyle has to go back home and hide his absence from his father. He worries not about that at the moment.

Soon they reach the hills and in their hug lay’s the old village and its monastery. Kyle has only heard about them. He meets a naked field, black grass and a well in the middle with the stones scattered around, almost dug into the ground. No houses, no people.
Parts of the monastery still stand, mocking the shackled belief of people. True, in the half-light there is nothing holy about it – just bricks and crumbling walls. No cross. No bells. No power. Kyle wonders why it hasn’t been completely destroyed by the army. Just left to decay.

To the boy’s surprise the group heads towards it.

Kyle trips over a few larger blocks even though his vision is used to the darkness. He is blown away by the remains of this massive once construction. Even destroyed there are spots where Kyle sees eyes and golden halos painted on the walls. His father has told him tales of saints and angels. Now Kyle is at their home. Maybe this people come here to perform that ancient ritual of praising God?

He is kept uninformed. The group passes underneath a barely holding on its foundations arch.

They come around the east side of the monastery. The tiles are missing there as well; two of the four walls are completely gone, except for one solid, untouched, the stone preserved and its opposite wall mostly gone, but still there like a ghost. Kyle is unaware of the fact that this place has once been an inner yard garden.  He turns around to ask have they reached the designated area, but finds the people gathered up closely. They wait.

Joseph and one other man approach something Kyle can’t see. He runs back and pushes his way through a sea of elbows to have a better view.

Surprisingly in the middle, vertically positioned a marble fountain still exists. It’s become green from the ages, pieces of the corners chopped off in ugly shapes. But the planks on top of it seem out of place. They look relatively new.

Joseph and his comrade start removing them, and Kyle exclaims when the last one is put aside. Clean, clear water calmly rests there, the stars reflecting on its black surface. The people gather up in line, take the mirrors out in hand and one by one fill their plastic tubs with the crystal cold water. Just by looking at it Kyle becomes thirsty. But no one drinks.

Instead they sit in front of the solid wall facing east, put down their tubs and dip half of the mirrors in the water.

The boy is confused.

Charlotte calls Kyle to come and sit with her.

“What are we waiting for? “ He whispers.

“You’ll see“The woman replies.

Above the sharp features of the broken wall something begins to glimmer. A line of fire dances, climbing from behind the wall. Kyle shivers from excitement. The sun approaches slowly, but he has never seen it like this. In fact he has seen the sun so rarely so bright. He knows the clouds, the rain and thunderstorms. The rays feel good on his face. Tender. Like a mothers kiss on the cheek. He blinks from the shining light and before he could close and open his eyes again the sun is higher in the sky, watching the peculiar group of people from above.

Charlotte grabs her tub and mirror and begins to adjust them. The others do the same. Kyle watches their kneeling figures and what they do looks weird to him. They seem to follow some invisible trail, their hollow eyes tracing the wall, searching for something. Then someone cries out, a happy note in his voice and in a split second others cheer as well.  Kyle spots something jumping on the wall, but then Charlotte takes him by the shoulder and addresses his attention to the lower left corner of the wall.

Kyle’s voice dies when he tries to speak.

He doesn’t really know or understand beauty but the only word his brain can think of to describe what his eyes see is indeed “beautiful“. He is afraid that if he breaths the miracle will go away. It’s a blend beyond amazing, symmetry like non in nature. Colors gathered in a most unbelievable combination. He names them all – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. He is infatuated by the presence of this phenomenon on the wall of a crumbling monastery. It has no flavor, no smell, and no sound. But Kyle can hear it laugh and sing. He can smell the green grass, the air in the blue summer sky, the red apples, the yellow tulips, the oranges in a garden, the ink from a paper and the violet candy of which his mother always spoke. He was six when she died.

Died.

Kyle snaps from his memories. Fear overtakes him. What if the squads find out how amazingly this little beam of joy trembles on this oh so holy wall? What if they come and take it in their hands, stealing it away from Kyle? He cries, the tears fall large and salty on his lips. He cries both from love for this and for pure terror of it being taken away.

“What is this?”He finally speaks. He has to know its name, to remember it forever, until he dies.

Charlotte speaks softly “This is the rainbow Kyle. This is magic. Look.”

With watery eyes Kyle looks to where Charlotte points.

On the wall more rainbows dance. They seem ten thousand to him, each so perfect, floating and dancing a mystic dance, meeting each other in a collision of colors. Breathtaking. He now knows. This is salvation. This is the real sanctuary.

“Thank you… “” he mumbles.

This is the most amazing thing Kyle has ever seen in his life.

 * * *

Some hour later Kyle walks beside his father for another exhausting, bleeding day of slavery and torment at the construction site but a barely visible smile tickles his lips as the colors of a giant rainbows light up his soul and heart.

5.9 after midnight

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , on 25/05/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Friday flash inspired by true events and spiced with flavors of fiction!

5.9 after midnight

The earth roared again; a thunder escaped its core making the night tremble once more.

Kara shut her eyes and breathed in, trying to chase away the fear.

This was the fourth strong earthquake since midnight.

Just as before she immediately looked at her watch, checking the precise time when the quake hit, repeating it several times until it was memorized. 04:33 AM. Then she counted the minutes that had passed since the previous one. Knowing that the black grip in which the dark hours had caught the town will soon be over helped her stay sane.

Kara dragged her feet to the near chair dressed in red leather and sat down. Her knees were still shaky. Her foggy, tired gaze skipped along the bar in which she had taken refuge.

There were a dozen other people also desperate to find some shelter in the solid construction of the low building. Kara thought it such an irony for the place to be named “Paradise” when outside was such a hell.

In a moment of fallen silence from beyond the walls and shared quietness in the bar Kara was taken back to the first moment when the seemingly endless horror show struck. What she found most terrifying was the sound. It threw her back, deafened her thoughts, paralyzed her limbs. It pounded inside her body, confusing the rhythm of her heart. The experience was bound to stay for years, dug into the brain like a roman name is carved into an ancient stone, slowly crumbling but never actually fading.  Remaining there until she breathes.

But what freaked her out as well as amusing her was how the earthquake knocked three times before exploding and taking over the dreams of the citizens. As if the postman from down below had a message to deliver.

Some said the Devil and his demons were coming to claim the souls of people.

Some said God had sent this as a warning for the people to reconsider their lives.

Some said Mother Nature was paying back what the humans had done to her.

The golden truth laid somewhere in between.

Kara shivered. She didn’t want game in the plans of any Gods or Devils. Such punishment was far too extreme in her opinion.

Another car dashed down the street followed by others. She snapped from her dark thoughts and listened to their honks. Kara wondered, where were they hoping to go? Did some salvation wait for them far from the epicenter?

Someone hit the brakes, squeaky tires screamed, metal touched metal and a chain of crashing cars was created. A yelled “help” escaped into the mass panic and clashed with many other shouts.

No…Kara shook her head. There is no salvation from what man has no power over. Neither from his own mind filled with the fear and insanity this event had brought.

But still there was the question – where those running the fools, or the ones staying?

Had they figure out something yet unknown to the barricaded people?

Communication was cut off, lines were long ago down; the electricity only left a flickering bulb or two, here and there. Water gazers were washing the streets, concrete blocks still flying in the air. And the monster was soon to roar again. No one was going to come. To help. What point in staying?

Kara knew that. She understood. She also knew a stronger shake was coming. But mad or not she didn’t want to leave. Not only because this was her home, her memories, her everything. She knew the golden truth was soon to be revealed. Curiosity made her stay. Belief made her wait. Denial made her want to see. So she sat in her chair, staring into the ground, hugged in solitude, caressed by fear and whispered by Death.  She begged another pray for the day to come crawling faster and prove her knowledge wrong.

All was set for when the tenth knock comes from below. Then is the hour under which melody of thunders and concrete crying they come. Awake. To devour the sinful world.

Prediction

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , on 20/05/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Another 101 story originally written for Lily Childs Friday Prediction.

Rather metaphorical this one. Bit different then my usual.  Hope you enjoy. ;)

Prediction

Beware. Worms will craw and eat the flesh.

Decay!

This and nothing more to follow when the shovel, one most ancient tool mors mortis, is put in rest under a chanting pray.

Wait! No such parade entrapped in the blackness of a dozen veils the Artist wants! Down below the dirt he’s dead, and yet for foolish reasons impersonates an elegant buffoon! Insane.

Pity is what this joker in the crumbling theatre of life deserved. He got a rope instead.

Now he stands before me, glaring at my tarot cards. Confusion.

I wonder must I tell him what I saw…or…

AC vs DC

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 18/05/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Friday flash with a risk alert beaming its red light!

Kidding… or not.

Watch them dance in a science macabre.

AC vs DC

The day slowed down for a second. White- blue lightning stroke the sky and before the eye could catch the shape of its dancing body, it fell down and crashed on the ground in a fountain of many little electrical sparkles.

A yellow one followed it and landed smoothly in the fields of South Dakota.

-   This is ridiculous! – A man in a grey suite, combed black hair and a pair of mustaches on a pale face stood up and cleaned from the dust. He was younger than his rival.

The other one an elderly gentleman remained silent; his eyes flickering with hatred and fury, a yellow lightning surrounding his body, making his fists burn.

-   Does it have to be like this? Can we not just simply shake hands and sit down for a glass of scotch?

The older one shook his head no.

-     We have both seen the future. It is unfair, mad and highly offensive! After all the years of work I have done this is how the world repays me- by praising you like some God! I beg the differ… Tesla!

-     But I never wanted it Edison – pleaded Tesla, his voice trying to keep calm when he was obviously irritated – I never would have thought of myself like that, nor want anyone else to think of me that way. You know that.

-     Oh but please! Lies, all nothing but lies. I saw your face! You liked it didn’t you? Movies about Tesla, books about Tesla, games about Tesla. The Master of lightning is everyone’s favorite. Tesla, Tesla, bloody Tesla everywhere! What about Edison? I was first! You are nothing compared to me! You wouldn’t be who you are without me boy – Edison was now shouting, shaking with more anger, his lightning sizzling, and throwing sparks that threatened to start a fire in the autumn field.

Tesla watched with amusement the growing power of the other man. There was no other way was it there? Tesla had lost all hopes for making peace.

-   You are a fool sir. I am sorry for what is about to happen. But I am not be offended by you. Fight we shall! For superiority.

Tesla didn’t expect Edison to charge at him this fast. In a flash the older man’s fist was in his face, twisting his head to one side, the power wave throwing him on his back. His body dug in the ground, his head bounced up then down knocking him unconscious. The electricity flickered a few times exhausted before disappearing into thin air. Edison stood above his apprentice, a blazing monster, a blur of yellow, white and grey, breathing heavy, shaking with excitement. He was finally going to prevail and alter the future. His future.

Edison lifted his leg determined to release it on Tesla’s skull.

-  It’s over you… – before he could finish the ground beneath him trembled.

With a burst of new energy Tesla emerged from his almost to be grave and clenched to Edison’s vest pushing them both up in the air. His artificial lightning became apparent again blinding Edison. It pierced through the older man’s body and made him scream. Edison shrugged and freed himself. He placed a hand on his chest trying to ease his heart.

Both men floated in the azure sky, the sun bathing the skin on their faces. They eyed each other.

-   Play time is over – Edison’s voice had dropped to a low grow.

-    One last time I ask of you to put a stop to this. We can use the machine I created to find all those answers we seek Edison. Look at us! Flying, time traveling…which man alive or dead achieved what we did? Awake you fool! We are standing on the doorstep of a science revolution and all you care is of some childish nonsense…

-   Enough! – Edison roared. – Enough… I, I deserve the answers! They are mine by right! Die!

Edison charged again, fist stretched ahead, mouth opened yelling, dripping saliva. Madman. Like a train – wreck in slow motion, but with people, Tesla flew against him, his fist covered in his so loved blue lightning. Inches before the collision, Tesla clicked his fingers and purplish lightning covered him from head to toe; little electrical snake tongues wrapping around his wrists and feet. Edison’s jaw dropped. Tesla had managed to fuse his electricity with something else. Unknown.

But it was beautiful. “The future” Edison thought…

Their fists touched. White light swallowed the day, the world, the universe…

Delirium

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 11/05/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

I won’t be having the opportunity to write longer pieces for a while, and I won’t be able to finish Mac Ensyl : Private Eye, but I wanted to share this one before I hit the hiatus. Originally written for Lily Childs Friday Prediction.

Enjoy!

Delirium

The mighty body of battlestar “Purgatory” exited the mist surrounding Zakaton’s belt and merged with the blackness of the universe. The ship speeded soundlessly, hurrying to deliver the special cargo kept within the walls of its dark and cold belly.

After months of performing this dance macabre under the suspicious watch of million stars, only a few knew the content of the hidden. One captain had cursed it, calling it entertainment for rich psychos.

Then the question fell.

What forbidden pleasure did humans pay for? A memory removed and stored, a nightmare extracted from a dream, preserved to haunt again…?

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