Tag: society

Cathedral

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Every colony has a Cathedral.
That’s what we call the terraforming engine after it’s idled and scavenged for useful parts.
The newer the model, the less of a carcass left. Every cubic inch of that behemoth can be melted down and forged into something useful.
Colonists won’t use it all, though. They insist on leaving something to remind them, a vast hollow shell as a monument to the colony’s founding.
Inside, they gather to give thanks, an annual ritual carried out thousands of years ago by our ancestors, many miles away.
Drovo made the rootbird this year.
Pass the gravy.

The Blackberry Bard

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He writes his tales as he walks the streets, tapping the keys on a telephone.
Before the telephone, he would stop at corner coffeehouses with his notebook to write his stories. Now, he is on the move, the Blackberry Bard enjoys the cool evening.
He is slimmer, healthier. The exercise has served him well.
Not looking as he crosses the street hasn’t.
His latest tale will never be finished.
A cop stands over the Bard’s corpse and picks up the phone.
He looks like over, admires the buttons and the slightly-scratched screen.
“Nice phone,” he says, and pockets the battery.

My Medicine

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My medicine is running out.
Just three more pills left in the bottle.
The insurance company says they no longer cover it – they say it’s an experimental treatment.
The pills are too expensive. I cannot afford them on my own.
I beg, but they ignore me.
Fools.
So, I will run out, and when the full moon returns, I will be howling at it while on the hunt.
Thank you for the address of the claims agent who rejected my appeal. I plan on going through The Change outside his home.
There will be no appeal from my claws, either.

Diegoland

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Think about the name Champion Valiant.
You have to be pretty ballsy to pick a name like that, right?
Close your eyes and think for a moment what that guy would look like.
Flowing dark hair.
Suit of armor and wide shoulders.
Big, really big sword.
No, all it takes is a big heart.
Big enough to share all the music, the art, the storytelling, the architecture, the culture and the spirit of the city of San Diego.
When that city burned, the city that didn’t support Diegoland, he raised funds for the victims.
That is a true champion valiant.

We Are Home

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One by one, the White Man’s banks collapsed.
We picked them up, dusted them off, and put them in our pockets.
For centuries, they owned most of the land. But now, once again, it was ours.
The rest came easily. Years of gambling and cigarette sales revenue, invested wisely.
Some held out, but we’ve waited centuries for this opportunity.
We belong to this land. They do not.
To Canada.
To Mexico.
To Europe.
To wherever their fathers were born, we will send them back.
Yes, it will take years to heal.
We’ve waited centuries. We are patient.
We are home.

Act Of God

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The governor gave the mandatory evacuation orders, but some stupid folks stayed.
Sure enough, in the middle of the storm, we got their calls, screaming to be rescued.
We wrote down the address and hung up on them. Then, we yelled at the guys who were supposed to cut the phone lines.
After the storm passed, we hopped in the jeeps and headed to the address.
They were all dead, except one guy with a broken leg.
“Thank God you’re here!” he cried.
I hit him on the head with a brick.
No questions that way. An Act Of God.

Carnival Man

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Shiva, God of Destruction, plays pinball all day long.
Thor, lightning-bringer, pushed a cart down Seventh Avenue.
Qetzocoatl, serpent in the corn, holds a ladder for a sales associate, peeking up her skirt.
All the old gods are like this, wasting away their days in trivial pursuits or mundane labor.
As religions die, the gods live on, shining your shoes. Filling your wine glass, begging for spare change.
Dagon is a home hospice worker, caring for his last believer.
One too many pills, and he is finally free.
There’s a carnival he’s always wanted to join.
He packs a bag, turns out the lights, and walks out the door, whistling.

The Purple Light District

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Hey, tourist.
I know you’ve been to the red light district, but have you seen the purple light district?
Strictly for the locals, but it doesn’t require more than a false beard and twenty zlotys to get past security and have yourself a good time.
One word of caution – one pair of underwear isn’t enough. You should wear two or three.
Me, I’m wearing five. These folks play rough when the lights go purple.
Real rough.
What? Purple light district isn’t your thing?
Then we’ll go to the ball pit at McDonalds… go play with the kids… YOU CHICKENSHIT PANSY!

The Code

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They talked in code, a quiet series of taps and gentle coughs that went undetected by the teacher.
Questions… answers… who’s kissing… who’s not seeing each other anymore…
Every year, they change the code so that teachers can’t decode their messages.
Out on the playground, Seniors teaching the pre-schoolers the basics… cough… tap… a click of the tongue…fingernail tap… fingertip tap…
Every so often, a new signal is added, like tapping a wristwatch. Or an archaic one is removed, like the sliderule swish.
At reunions, conversation is polite.
But the code?
She’s twice divorced… he’s so fat…
Oh, so brutal!

Pushbutton Moon

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You can’t see the stars in the city because of the lights.
So, Rico takes all his dates to the planetarium.
He knows the security guard there. Rico brings him weed for when the night gets boring.
One switch dims the lights and another turns on the machine, making tiny pinpricks of light spread across the dome.
“I can name them all,” he says, laying with his cousin Rosarita.
His finger traces the ancient outlines of constellations, telling stories about legends and monsters.
His other hand traces a line on her cheek.
It’s 3 in the afternoon, and they kiss.