Oddbean

#Writever 4 — Crime I stood under the cover of the glass bus kiosk roof, watching on a cloudy, drizzly day. Traffic splashed through puddles in the street. My breath condensed and warmed my cheek. Yes! I saw a man in a black macintosh without a hat rushing toward the new stand. I walked out behind him, my footsteps slapping wetly. He caught the attention of the grizzle guy running the place. "The short one's sell the best. You can drop it in a pocket..." Keeping my back to the pair, I passed by the long stand on my left, lifted a copy of /The Inquisitor/ off the top of the stack, and stuffed it under my right arm. I raised my left hand in a lackadaisical wave that wouldn't be seen by the proprietor, but would make me seem a regular with a tab to anybody watching. I hummed a tune, wondering if someone might leave a to-go cup of coffee or tea unattended. Three cafés in this block alone... A large form stepped in front of me from the doorway of a tailor. I dodged left to go around him, but the living wall sidled in front. Blinking, trying to look like any businessman rushing to the office, I looked up into the constable's face. He wore a blue cap. I could not miss the brass buttons or the copper badge. Only the dampness of the day hid that I suddenly sweat. My hands, especially. My heart raced. I asked, "Um. Yes, officer?" Innocently. At least my voice didn't betray me. He held out a beefy hand. His eyes were dark, maybe brown? They were shadowed. His breath looked like smoke as it curled from his open mouth. I handed over the paper. "Thank you," he said, grinning. His 6 o'clock shadow blackened his jaw even though it wasn't 9 AM, yet. He stepped around me and I turned to follow his path. I saw him immediately pull out the sports section. He tossed the remainder into the wire-mesh rubbish bin he passed. He asked the newsstand proprietor, "Business good today?" The man behind the 'zines nodded grimly. #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #microfiction

#Writever 1 — Justice I. Could not. /Believe./ What I was seeing! As I pulled the wheels of my chair furiously to get to my van, risking the cracked and warped pavement of the sidewalk, I started shouting. "What are you doing!? What are you doing!?" The woman in a white uniform and a cap pressed a button. A white sheet like the tape on a adding machine ticked and jerked as it rolled out of her handheld ticket machine. Her eyebrow went up as she looked at me. She ripped it off and looked for a windshield wiper to tuck it into. I'd lost mine last winter. As I rolled up, she pealed off the backing and pasted it onto my windshield. In the middle. Where it would interfere with me driving. At least she didn't start to write me up for an equipment violation. "My handicapped sticker is up! What the f—" She shook her head, unintimidated, knowing I couldn't reach her stuck in my chair. She retreated to her shiny enclosed tricycle that stood there idling, white like her uniform, plastic like her smile. "You can't park in a red zone." "My van's broken down! It's not like I wanted—" "Ignorance of the law is no excuse," she said. The motorcycle engine sounded derisive as she rumbled off. #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #microfiction #shorts #ShortStory #shortstories #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#Writever 5 — Némésis My backyard was a mess, with pots of tomato plants here and potato plants there, with a blackberry bush taking over the unwary near the house, not to mention a few hanging orchids, coleus, and perennial geranium. The lawn had long ago turned to hard dirt. The borders around the edges were overrun with nasturtium,. Toward the back, below tall fragrant cedar, was a wildflower garden that had been recently cleared because everything was spent, except for tall wild marigolds that waved in the breeze, and tiny phlox blooming a cloud of white. In my mess, I'd planted a few fun things. My sunflowers. Giants as tall as Hagrid, with just as sunny an expression when they bloomed. Sunflower smell special and sweet, and I'd recommend planting just for that. This year, I'd planted enough that the seeds actually had kernels inside the husks. Today, I wanted to harvest. The first drooping head looked strange. Downtrodden, like someone had pressed it to carry a sack of bean and it had bent over under the load. It was bent over. And half of the head: Missing. Darkness faced me, as if I viewed a skull chopped, no halved, by a raiders sword. I rushed forward, but it was too late for the sunflower clan. My entire village had been ravaged. On closer inspection, I saw they'd been eaten, still bearing their progeny, eaten alive. Three, no five, no all of them! Chomped by an indiscriminate monster. And. Oh horror. I rushed to by small planting of watermelon radishes. The dirt around them had been excavated by tiny paws. Each was gnawed at the plant ankle, the rest of the plant lying over. The red interior made each look like the leg of an animal, dead, having bled out. I hissed. "Squirrel!" I swore and stomped around. I was glad the yard was fenced it in that moment. A chittering came from my right, up on the telephone line. I looked. My bushy nemesis twitched its tail, blinking and regarding my behavior. Curious. I stooped, grabbing a stone. I missed. The fluffy monster, who was in no ways cute, stood on two legs, chittering loudly, swearing and cursing at me, no doubt. I threw another stone. Another. I'd never been an athlete. What made me think this would work? I threw again. Missed. Then heard the neighbor's window shatter. #EntertainOrDie #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #microfiction #shorts #ShortStory #shortstories #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory #RSstory

I am not hash-tagging this Writever post because it was previously posted here: https://eldritch.cafe/@sfwrtr/111180241113244481. I an reposting below in its entirety so the thread will be complete (hashtag)Writever 10.1 — Nuit (Night) À la Tombée de la Nuit ou Lest Night Fall I asked, "Do I look like the woman you accuse me of being?" I actually wanted to know. I wasn't the Sunny that Raven Caw had named me, and even this encounter didn't spark memories. The two day angels floated midair, gravity disturbance crackling and sparking around their wings. They wore plate armor that weighed as much as they did. They looked unimpressed, and pushed their spears closer. "Aye, you're a monster, but your face—" Raven wasn't taking chances. My night angel pushed his sunglasses up on his nose dismissively, then waved a similarly sparking quarter arc of folded gravity between us and them, teeth clenched. I smelled ozone mixed in the corruption on the breeze. I added, "Were she on the battlefield, she'd be dead." I waved my arms expansively, at how bright daylight had settled into the four cardinal directions and left the zenith deep dusk blue. "The old order is broken, just like the sky. Would they leave our world like this, otherwise? Would they not let night fall after all these days of constant light?" The day angels looked at different horizons. Surprised, it took me a few moments to notice the four shadows of the fire-blasted trees beside me begin to circle about, lengthening, deepening. As my heart stuttered in my chest, it seemed every nearby tree pointed at my face. Scattered cirrus became strands of sparkling orange crystal, turning purple before they dimmed as daylight vanished below the horizon. The sky went from hazy blue to midnight blue, before a bluer, dimmer, colder light rose in the cardinal directions. I shivered. Night had fallen. What an unfortunate coincidence, considering the trash I'd just talked about the old order to a pair of its last soldiers. Rebels apparently. Not good. [Author retains copyright.] #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #microfiction #shorts #ShortStory #shortstories #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory #RSstory

I stood there, having stopped him and his friends in the hall. I stuttered half a minute until he rolled his eyes. I blushed. Barely appropriate for getting what I needed in middle school; embarrassing at university. I'd turned to stone in his cockatrice gaze as he spoke. "You're tall, plain, gawky, lacking any curves, almost flat. Your magic lacks power. Smart, I'll grant you that much, but timidity is /never/ attractive, nor is it sexy." I stuttered, arms crossed, hands clasped at waist level, protecting my— I was a graduate student Phd candidate in Calculative Thaumaturgy. I taught classes, one that he attended. He was a year from his baccalaureate. Yet, /physically,/ he was my /everything./ A whiff of his lavender cologne would turn me in a hall, looking into classrooms. Very intelligent, too, despite his arrogance. I could /learn/ things from him, in addition to what my betraying body wanted to learn. His friends laughed with him as they turned, walking away, leaving me— Mortified. I still wanted him. Hormones and pheromones? Doubtless. I'd made a scene. I heard hushed voices, found impetus, and rushed away. I sat at my desk in the graduate dorm, wiping hot tears that had come unexpectedly. I wasn't sure I liked myself, but my late mother's words echoed in my head and I pulled out the contents of the bottom drawer. A white noh mask. Black sumi-e brush strokes were incised through the surface, implying a face and a kanji at the same time, but spelled nothing. Splashes of red and yellow paint hinted it represented a lion. "If you need courage or solace, wear it," Mother had said on her death bed, wounded in battle. She'd lived a full life, nonetheless. An anonymous war orphan as a toddler, she'd gone on to rule a prefecture. On the inner surface was inscribed 貪欲. /Avarice./The kanji glowed faintly electric blue, only when you read them. Two hours later, I put it on. It fit perfectly, as if carved for my face. Assembled of worked bone, the interior nonetheless felt soft and silky against my forehead, temple, and chin. I smelled chrysanthemums. I breathed in freely and felt immediately better. I felt... Powerful... Hidden... Anonymous... The mask thumped on the blue carpeted floor. I found myself in a different dorm. Undergraduate. Institutional white walls. Two desks, two beds. A chair propped under the door nob enforced privacy. The window was flung open, orange and pink-tinted sunset light streaming in. Drapes fluttered in a breeze that cooled my skin. Everywhere. I frowned. I wore... My heart beat rapidly. Well, a man's cravat was clothing, wasn't it? I smelled lavender and heard outraged mumbling at the same time. My eyes dropped to the man tied hand-and-foot to the small bed. A piece of my clothing was stuffed in his mouth. He thrashed his head side to side, but stopped and stared up at me having caught my attention. He'd put me in my place this afternoon, so I'd done this? Certain parts of a man's anatomy implied that he wasn't all that frightened. Average, I thought. "Perfect" my mind added. I squatted rapidly when I realized what he could view, did view. I'd done this. Maybe I'd said it aloud. He nodded, mumbled. I pulled the silk out of his mouth so he could demand, "Untie me! Now!" I almost jumped at his command. Then, "Why?" bubbled up. Behind the mask, I'd been hidden. Remembered courage made me rub the back of my palm on his cheek. Bristly. I shivered. "Really?" I asked. "No." Of course, /no./ Active in student government. President of an athletic club. Ranked high in his class, he tutored others. He was responsible. Driven. Attractive in that, also, but always taking the reins. Had to be tiresome. Being led sometimes wasn't bad, was it? "You... suggested this?" I asked, leaning over his face, feeling his warm breath. Expression suddenly perplexed, he admitted, "Yeah." His head reached up as I kissed him and it was all the consent I needed. Later, he held me. I'd untied him for practical reasons. Spooned, I felt warm, syrupy, still smelling our perspiration. In the light of the dusk, autumn crisp air cooling my skin, I looked at Avarice laying there, colored blue and highlighted in orange by the sky. The kanji glowed blue. I thanked my mother mentally. I'd wear the mask again. Yes. Definitely. I could think of plenty of things that required courage and would provide me solace, as likely Mother had, too. Maybe greedy was alright? [2 1/2 hrs writing time. Author retains copyright.] #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #romance ? #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #Writever #RSstory #microfiction #shorts #ShortStory #shortstories #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory

#Writever 10.31 — Bat Man, 10.9 — Bat Mobile [Slice of life, part of same story as 10.2 Nuit.] What I liked when my night angel wore clothing, he had to keep his wings free, which meant I could reach (as I did) to his upper chest and brush my hand all the way down past his waist without running into cloth. It wrapped around his shoulders and groin. His wing membranes stretched all the way to his ankles, so typical human clothing didn't work. Little observations like this confirmed in my mind that his kind were a chimera of human and bat. That and cuspids that were unmistakably fangs. And a vaguely cleft lip, again like on a bat. That he was a beautiful black man, thus his name Raven, made the bat connection even more obvious to my (apparently well-educated) eye. I enjoyed the feel of his skin and fine body hair under my palm, which considering how poorly I felt, was a good thing. I ached. I felt stretched past tissue giving way, and really tired. My hand dropped further. "Hey! Hey there, my little chimera mom." He gently trapped and put my hand to my side where I lay. "It's a little early for you thinking about next time. We're going to be busy for awhile with other things." He was so sexy! My daughter, /our daughter/, was looking a lot less like an oversized red wrinkled raisin. She'd plumped a little. I'd so distracted myself, I'd not realized she'd stopped feeding and dozed off. I heard her faint breathing whistle; Raven who'd bent down to look closer, turned to me and smiled. Her birth had been rapid, uncomplicated. The baby catcher had said I'd been fortunate. Though I still didn't remember much from my previous life, before Raven found me barely alive on the battlefield, this amnesiac remembered enough to know second and subsequent births went significantly easier than the first. Speed was indicative. As was knowing to push, and how to hold a baby and feed it without thinking. I looked mid-twenties, but I was certain I'd had previous children. Something deep inside said many, which begged the question that when the world went crazy and war ravaged the cities, how many children had I lost? "Sunny?" I was stroking my daughter absently. So warm. So alive as her little chest filled and emptied. My heart opened and I warmed inside, dispelling the darkness a little, my constant companion. We'd made this. But... It was hot in our tree home, as it was everywhere outside. And muggy. Homes were built for ventilation, but, with the temperature hovering at blood temperature, I thought about my piss-poor thaumaturgic skills. So skimpy for a possible former captain of armies. I could light homes at night, and I made coin doing so, but I /knew/—infuriating bits of a former life I couldn't remember learning, like being able to speak more eloquently than the locals—that daemons worked /cooling miracles./ For a price, of course. Children weren't named until three. Heat killed so many before that age, thus the tradition of little children only being called "Child." I felt so... lacking, so inadequate. /Useless./ Maybe none of my infants had lived to their naming day. I blinked tears as Raven moved my hand. I was too exhausted to fight. I would sleep with my little one as instinct demanded, but even a mother's heat could kill. He put her in a special hammock in the home's updraft breeze after rubbing her back and getting a groggy grehps. She flexed against the silken netting, flexing tiny hands, before feeling swaddled and dozing off again. The cradle was hung strategically to prevent her fouling her attendants or furniture. I looked up. A new mobile hung there. It might be days before her tiny eyes opened enough to notice the little bats that twirled and rotated on strings. I squinted; no, they were little night angels. I was right when I told the village elder she'd be daemon or angel, not the weird chimera of human kinds I was. We'd never explain it was really "chimera of human kinds I'd /become./" People in war time were suspicious of impossible miracles. Child had no wings, not even white-feathered avian ones like mine. A single stubby horn; a monoceros. Living in trees and cliff homes, she'd have to learn to climb quickly. Unless she could work miracles early. Climbing. Another reason she might not live to three. The bat mobile twirled lazily. Maybe more than the breeze should have made it. Babies were miracles, but baby miracles even more miraculous. Her mother could hope. [Writing time, 2 hours with edits. Author retains copyright.] #BoostingIsSharing #CommentingIsCool #fiction #fantasy #sf #sff #sciencefiction #writing #writer #writers #author #writingcommunity #writersOfMastodon #RSstory #microfiction #shorts #ShortStory #shortstories #flashfiction #tootfic #smallstory