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FTSD
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: FTSD
Date: Tue, 1 Dec 1998 00:01:05 +1100
- Bowling
- this is for Jeff Vogel
- Camera close-up of the elaborately detailed gate. It has all kinds of interesting moving parts inside, sliding back and forth, the outer ones eventually moving aside and opening up. A convoluted mechanical grid descends from within, heavy pneumatic cylinders in back ensuring a smooth descent for a most delicate cargo.
- The grid flexes, moves aside, jerks away and up from around them: ten tall, thin creatures, arranged in a circle. They look like the most intricately carved and jewelled crystal decanters imaginable, long straight necks. Each a little taller than a 1.25 litre bottle of Coke. They move hesitantly, slowly; possibly uncomfortable in our gravity. Heads like tapered light-bulbs, feather-thin sensory equipment whirling around inside, each one a miniature carousel of visual receptors. Pencil-thin limbs stir, tiny feet push and squeak against the floor of the reception area. They begin to move. What we had mistaken for hesitancy is in fact their natural mode of movement, much slower than our scale, minutes for each limb to find its place and push. Still, it's fascinating to watch; intelligent glass clockwork motion within their bodies, their internal workings visible as moving rods and cogs and levers. Almost impossible to imagine such things coming into existence by chance; their appearance inspires protective behavior.
- After half an hour of ritualised movement, they have arranged themselves in a familiar formation. Their leader is ranked foremost; consorts of the two secondary genders behind him, followed by the three scientist/language experts. They are backed up by four soldiers, present only in a symbolic role. They aren't here to fight.
- Or at least they weren't. As soon as they'd assumed this formation, some clown fetched a bowling ball and scored a seven-ten split on them. Almost as beautiful as their mechanical tinker-toy precision movement was the sight of the gross black sphere ploughing through their fragile bodies, reducing them to collections of pale splinters.
- And that's how THAT particular war got started.
- Tribal
- cold night with no stars overheard but clouds like snowfield under the sky.
good night for a hunt. petrol and stick one and stick two case the field
ears alert for the sign which comes soon enough. as one all three turn
towards the sound. stick one's free hand flickers with sign. he has
identified the prey. its call keens out in the night, sounds bouncing off
concrete walls and down tunnels to mix with the wind. they spread out around
a line between them and the prey.
- petrol takes up rear of the formation. stick one and stick two lead the
attack. jeep of some kind. stick one and stick two beat its front until they
break its face open and then petrol adds the mystery ingredient and it burns
and the alarm stops. they take no souvenir. broken glass crunches underfoot.
- Were
- she appeared at my doorstep with the reddened eyes of someone who'd stayed
up all night crying. i knew the drill; turned off the Ren and Stimpy video,
prepared a hot mug of Milo, swapped the L7 cd for Avrigus and dropped its
volume to almost-audible. the soft old flannel pillowcase was ready in case
she wanted to start crying again.
- "i hope you aren't going to start by saying it was your fault," i put in before she started telling me what was wrong. 'because it wasn't. so. is it over this time?'
- she squeezed her eyes shut and sipped hot chocolate. 'yeah,' she murmured with a catch in her voice. 'he's dead. <pthptthpth>, how much Milo did you put in this?'
- dead, huh. i wasn't surprised. i'd been expecting this ever since i'd heard about the two of them getting together. 'six teaspoons. now, what ever possessed you to fall in love with a... a were-... uh.. what was he? a were-polymorph?'
- she laughed bitterly. 'i never found out. he told me that he'd been something different every full moon for the past two years. a lot of the time he couldn't tell what he'd been. by the time i came along he'd worked out a system, locked himself in a basement room every few weeks. there was a pool of water in case he became a fish.'
- there was an awkward pause. i waited for her to tell me how it had ended, and she waited until she was ready to tell me. i was content to wait, but this was obviously something she needed to get out.
- 'the night before last, he locked himself in down there. he would never let me stay with him, in case he turned into something dangerous. well... this time he turned into a were-wood-borer and had dug two feet into the leg of the coffee table before the sun came up and he turned back into a man. he changed back while he was still inside the wood.'
- i put as much sympathy into my voice as possible, but all i could say was 'ahh.' she looked up at me ruefully and nodded. 'look, did you ever think of looking for a boyfriend who wasn't an OTO dropout? why don't you find yourself a nice guitarist named steve?'
- she had to smile at this. 'do you know any?'
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