tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30972390532709034152024-03-13T13:11:25.775-07:00Gelo R. FleisherGelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-42615291809102293682015-07-31T07:42:00.002-07:002015-07-31T07:43:36.627-07:00Adlib Adventures Released!Hey Everyone,<br />
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While I've been working on my <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-Gelo-Fleisher-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M" target="_blank">novel</a> and <a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2015/05/a-house-of-locked-secrets-is-released.html" target="_blank">Dark</a> <a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2013/10/requiem-is-released.html" target="_blank">Mod</a> levels, my brother and I have also been putting together something ... a little different:<br />
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Yep, here's Adlib Adventures! It's a computer game where you put together funny stories and learn about grammar/spelling at the same time.<br />
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You can purchase it for $3.99 from itch.io: <a href="http://kaziragames.itch.io/adlib-adventures">http://kaziragames.itch.io/adlib-adventures</a><br />
And check out some more screenshots here: <a href="http://adlibs.kaziragames.com/?page_id=234">http://adlibs.kaziragames.com/?page_id=234</a><br />
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Here are the key features:<br />
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-Comes with three play modes that encourage reading, grammar, and typing:<br />
<ol>
<li> Easy mode is for quick, fun play. Words fall across the screen and you can just pick whatever ones you think are fun, or type in your own.</li>
<li> Medium mode helps teach grammar. You need to pick words from the right category (noun vs. verb, etc) before you run out of lives.</li>
<li> Hard mode helps teach spelling. Not only do you have to pick words from the right category, but you have to spell them out too.</li>
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-Comes with four unique campaigns (Pirate, Superhero, Detective, Fantasy) to play through, where your choices in one story carry through to the next. For instance, if you play through the Superhero campaign, and you pick a superpower like shooting flowers out of your ear, then in the next story your hero will still have that superpower. You can even make choices in between stories that will determine how the campaign will play out.<br />
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-Comes with hours of content, including over a hundred stories to play through, and its own story editor so you can make and play your own stories.<br />
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-No Advertising/Bloatware and 100% DRM Free.<br />
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-38164199564408710592015-05-30T07:59:00.001-07:002015-05-30T08:34:07.993-07:00A House of Locked Secrets is Released!The sequel to <a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2013/10/requiem-is-released.html" target="_blank">Requiem</a> is finally ready for everyone to play.<br />
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In A House of Locked Secrets you step back into the shoes of Bolen, a former thief living in a sprawling medieval city. As the game starts, you've been rethinking your path in life and your new road takes you high into the mountains, to the gates of a mysterious monastery. </div>
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A House of Locked Secrets is a companion piece to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M" target="_blank">Shadowcursed</a> (but has a totally new story) and is free for anyone to download and play. All you will need to have installed is a copy of The Dark Mod (also free).</div>
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<b>Here are the automated installation instructions:</b></div>
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Step 1: Download The Dark Mod. You can find it here: <a href="http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/">http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/</a></div>
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Step 2: Once you install the Dark Mod, you can press the 'New Mission' button, then click on 'Download Missions' and select A House of Locked Secrets to download. It should then automatically install and you can play.</div>
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If you are new to Dark Mod levels (or first person games in general), I would recommend first playing the Training Mission which comes along with the game first.</div>
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<b>Here are the manual installation instructions:</b></div>
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Step 1: Download The Dark Mod. You can find it here: <a href="http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/">http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/</a>.</div>
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Step 2: Download A House of Locked Secrets. You can find it at the following site:</div>
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Mediafire: <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/4awe6e756m12p71/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4">http://www.mediafire.com/download/4awe6e756m12p71/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4</a><br />
Southquarter: <a href="http://www.southquarter.com/tdm/fms/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4">http://www.southquarter.com/tdm/fms/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4</a><br />
Taaki: <a href="http://darkmod.taaaki.za.net/fms/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4">http://darkmod.taaaki.za.net/fms/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4</a><br />
Fidcal.com: <a href="http://www.fidcal.com/darkuser/missions/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4">http://www.fidcal.com/darkuser/missions/ahouseoflockedsecrets.pk4</a></div>
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Step 3: Create a folder in your Dark Mod install with the path "darkmod/fms/house" and place the downloaded .pk4 file inside. When you load up The Dark Mod, the mission will appear on the "New Mission" page.</div>
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Step 4: Enjoy!</div>
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Feel free to shoot me any questions if something doesn't work or if you are stuck. You can also see the thread I set up for <a href="http://forums.thedarkmod.com/topic/17163-fan-mission-a-house-of-locked-secrets-by-gelo-moonbo-fleisher-20150528/" target="_blank">A House of Locked Secrets</a> in the Dark Mod forums here.</div>
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Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-16383935127989413492015-05-19T15:50:00.000-07:002015-05-19T15:52:18.022-07:00Announcing: A House of Locked SecretsHey All,<br />
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I apologize for the long radio silence, but I've been keeping busy over the last few months and can now announce that my next Dark Mod project is now just about ready to be released. Here is a teaser trailer put together by my friend Goldwell:<br />
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You'll be stepping back into the shoes of Bolen and exploring a mysterious manor, uncovering the deep secrets its walls hold. Right now we're in beta testing, and if all goes well it will be released in the next few weeks.<br />
<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-81838486366089740332014-07-21T07:47:00.002-07:002014-08-26T12:29:17.679-07:00List of reviews for ShadowcursedHey all,<br />
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Recently I've been blessed with quite a few reviews of Shadowcursed coming online at various book blog sites. Thanks to all the reviewers for taking the time to read the book and provide such good/thoughtful comments! Going forward, I'll try to make this list comprehensive update it as more reviews go live:<br />
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<b>Big Al's Books and Pals:</b> <a href="http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2013/10/shadowcursed-gelo-fleisher.html">http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2013/10/shadowcursed-gelo-fleisher.html</a><br />
<b>Cathi Shaw: </b><a href="http://cathishaw.com/book-review/shadowcursed/">http://cathishaw.com/book-review/shadowcursed/</a><br />
<b>Good, Bad, Bizzare:</b> <a href="http://goodbadbizarre.com/2014/06/10/shadowcursed-gelo-fleisher/">http://goodbadbizarre.com/2014/06/10/shadowcursed-gelo-fleisher/</a><br />
<b>Hungry Monster (Review):</b> <a href="http://hungrymonsterreview.wordpress.com/2014/06/19/review-shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher/">http://hungrymonsterreview.wordpress.com/2014/06/19/review-shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher/</a><br />
<b>Hungry Monster (Author Interview):</b> <a href="http://hungrymonsterreview.wordpress.com/2014/06/30/interview-gelo-r-fleisher/">http://hungrymonsterreview.wordpress.com/2014/06/30/interview-gelo-r-fleisher/</a><br />
<b>Indie Book Reviewer:</b> <a href="http://indiebookreviewer.blogspot.com/2014/06/review-shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher.html">http://indiebookreviewer.blogspot.com/2014/06/review-shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher.html</a><br />
<b>John H. Swenson:</b> <a href="http://johnhswenson.wordpress.com/2014/08/15/shadowcursed-gelo-r-fleisher/">http://johnhswenson.wordpress.com/2014/08/15/shadowcursed-gelo-r-fleisher/</a><br />
<b>Movies & Manuscripts:</b> <a href="http://moviesandmanuscripts.blogspot.com/2014/04/sometimes-you-just-have-to-root-for.html">http://moviesandmanuscripts.blogspot.com/2014/04/sometimes-you-just-have-to-root-for.html</a><br />
<b>Laura of Lurking:</b> <a href="http://lauraoflurkng.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher.html">http://lauraoflurkng.blogspot.co.uk/2014/07/shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher.html</a><br />
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<b>New Podler Review:</b> <a href="http://thenewpodlerreviews.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadowcursed-by-gelo-fleisher.html">http://thenewpodlerreviews.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadowcursed-by-gelo-fleisher.html</a></div>
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<b>Reading BiFrost:</b> <a href="http://readingbifrost.com/2014/06/15/62/">http://readingbifrost.com/2014/06/15/62/</a></div>
<b>S.A. Molenti:</b> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/960593473?book_show_action=true&page=1">https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/960593473?book_show_action=true&page=1</a><br />
<b>Sadie S. Forsyth:</b> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/919510550?book_show_action=false">https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/919510550?book_show_action=false</a><br />
<b>The Book Landers:</b> <a href="http://www.thebooklanders.com/2014/06/book-review-shadowcursed.html">http://www.thebooklanders.com/2014/06/book-review-shadowcursed.html</a><br />
<b>Under The Mountain:</b> <a href="http://under-mountain.blogspot.com/2014/07/review-of-shadowcursed-by-gelo-r.html">http://under-mountain.blogspot.com/2014/07/review-of-shadowcursed-by-gelo-r.html</a><br />
<b>Undiscovered Tomes (Shadowcursed):</b> <a href="http://undiscoveredtomes.blogspot.com/2014/06/shadowcursed-uncontrollable-empathy-for.html">http://undiscoveredtomes.blogspot.com/2014/06/shadowcursed-uncontrollable-empathy-for.html</a><br />
<b>Undiscovered Tomes (Requiem):</b> <a href="http://undiscoveredtomes.blogspot.com/2014/06/a-thiefs-world-in-first-person-requiem.html">http://undiscoveredtomes.blogspot.com/2014/06/a-thiefs-world-in-first-person-requiem.html</a><br />
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<b>Writocracy:</b> <a href="http://writocracy.blogspot.com/2014/07/shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher.html">http://writocracy.blogspot.com/2014/07/shadowcursed-by-gelo-r-fleisher.html</a></div>
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-32741067347491855932014-06-01T09:30:00.001-07:002014-06-01T09:30:21.211-07:00An Interview with AthalleJust a quick post to let you know that an interview that Athalle of the Thief fan-site Through The Looking Glass has just gone live. In it we talk about the process of making fan modifications:<br />
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-32499709747696671672014-05-22T17:09:00.000-07:002014-05-22T17:13:35.125-07:00Reviews, Awards, and PlansHey All,<br />
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It's been another busy couple months with lots going on in both the writing and game development fronts. With writing, I'm making good progress on the next novel and I'll try to put the first chapter up on this blog soon just so everyone can get a sense of what it will be about.<br />
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There's also been a few more reviews of Shadowcursed that have popped up on the web.<br />
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Here's one by the Movies & Manuscript blog:<br />
<a href="http://www.moviesandmanuscripts.blogspot.com/2014/04/sometimes-you-just-have-to-root-for.html">http://www.moviesandmanuscripts.blogspot.com/2014/04/sometimes-you-just-have-to-root-for.html</a><br />
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Here's another by The New Podler Review<br />
<a href="http://thenewpodlerreviews.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadowcursed-by-gelo-fleisher.html">http://thenewpodlerreviews.blogspot.com/2014/05/shadowcursed-by-gelo-fleisher.html</a><br />
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On the game development front, the big news is that I just won the grand prize in Square-Enix's recent <a href="http://community.eidosmontreal.com/blogs/Thief-Mod-Winners" target="_blank">Thief level design contest</a>. Here's the video I submitted of <a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2013/10/requiem-is-released.html" target="_blank">Requiem</a> which turned into the winning entry (huge spoiler warning):<br />
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I'm really flabbergasted to have won, and want to thank everyone who voted during the contest. It's really appreciated :-). One of the prizes I got was a trip to the E3 gaming expo as well as a trip to visit the development team behind the recent Thief game at Eidos Montreal. I'll try to put up photos of both as they happen.<br />
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I've also been hard at work making a two-part sequel to Requiem. The first part is fully done, and the second part is well underway. Here's some screenshots from player AluminumHaste:<br />
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Finally, my brother and I are putting the finishing touches on an indie edutainment game which I'll hopefully be able to reveal here shortly. So, lots going on and hopefully lots more to come.<br />
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-81456925030935384132014-03-02T12:19:00.004-08:002014-03-02T12:19:52.637-08:00Vote for Shadowcursed!Hey guys,<br />
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Well this is pretty great news. Big Al's, one of the larger indie book review sites on the web, has just nominated my novella, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-Gelo-Fleisher-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M" target="_blank">Shadowcursed</a>, for a Reader's Choice Award!<br />
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I'm actually pretty flattered just to have won the nomination, but with enough votes I might actually win too. I'd be forever grateful to anyone who went and gave their vote to Shadowcursed. By voting you also enter a giveaway where you can win some nice prizes, so it's win-win all the way around.<br />
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To vote, just go to this site and in the Fantasy category check off Shadowcursed:<br />
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<a href="http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2014/03/readers-choice2.html">http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2014/03/readers-choice2.html</a><br />
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Thanks!<br />
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After the contest is done I plan on doing a new update post. I've been keeping busy, starting on my next novel and also putting together another Dark Mod level. Here's a teaser screenshot of the level in the meantime:<br />
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-GeloGelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-47599463005363675042013-11-06T09:25:00.002-08:002013-11-06T09:25:59.146-08:00Interview about Shadowcursed and RequiemJust a small post to let you know that Sabrina Ricci over at <a href="http://www.digitalpubbing.com/" target="_blank">Digital Pubbing</a> interviewed me about my novella Shadowcursed, and its free companion game Requiem. You can find the interview here:<br />
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<a href="http://www.digitalpubbing.com/an-interview-with-gelo-fleisher-author-of-shadowcursed/">http://www.digitalpubbing.com/an-interview-with-gelo-fleisher-author-of-shadowcursed/</a><br />
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-79815299501754306082013-10-10T07:45:00.000-07:002014-05-21T13:46:15.772-07:00Some Screenshots of RequiemIt's been a few days since <a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2013/10/requiem-is-released.html" target="_blank">Requiem</a> has been released, and so far the <a href="http://forums.thedarkmod.com/topic/15101-fan-mission-requiem-by-gelo-moonbo-fleisher-2013106/" target="_blank">reviews</a> from players have been really positive. Player AluminumHaste took a few screenshots of the game, and they looked so good that I thought I would cross-post them here. Note that the shots do have minor spoilers if you haven't played the game though.<br />
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Don't forget that Requiem is free for anyone to download and play. Instructions are <a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2013/10/requiem-is-released.html" target="_blank">here</a>. And you can get 'Shadowcursed', the companion novella, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-83208097446519006912013-10-08T11:05:00.000-07:002014-05-23T17:27:50.064-07:00Requiem is Released!It took a lot longer than I had initially planned, but my fan mission, 'Requiem' is now done and ready for people to play.<br />
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In Requiem you step into the shoes of Bolen, a thief living in a sprawling medieval city. As the game starts, your most reliable fence has just sent you an urgent note telling you to come over to his house. You have no idea what he has in store, but with the sun setting it sounds like you might be in for an interesting night.<br />
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Requiem is a companion piece to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M/ref=la_B00BYMR09C_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1380988665&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Shadowcursed</a> (but has a totally new story) and is free for anyone to download and play. All you will need to have installed is a copy of The Dark Mod (also free).<br />
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<b>Here are the automated installation instructions:</b><br />
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Step 1: Download The Dark Mod. You can find it here: <a href="http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/">http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/</a><br />
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Step 2: Once you install the Dark Mod, you can press the 'New Mission' button, then click on 'Download Missions' and select Requiem to download. It should then automatically install and you can play.<br />
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If you are new to Dark Mod levels (or first person games in general), I would recommend first playing the Training Mission which comes along with the game first.<br />
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<b>Here are the manual installation instructions:</b><br />
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Step 1: Download The Dark Mod. You can find it here: <a href="http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/">http://www.thedarkmod.com/download-the-mod/</a>.<br />
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Step 2: Download Requiem. You can find it at the following sites:<br />
Mediafire: <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/download/l6o3vvj9y78hu89/requiem.pk4">http://www.mediafire.com/download/l6o3vvj9y78hu89/requiem.pk4</a><br />
Southquarter: <a href="http://www.southquarter.com/tdm/fms/TDM2testmissions/requiem.pk4">http://www.southquarter.com/tdm/fms/TDM2testmissions/requiem.pk4</a><br />
Fidcal.com: <a href="http://www.fidcal.com/darkuser/missions/TDM2testmissions/requiem.pk4">http://www.fidcal.com/darkuser/missions/TDM2testmissions/requiem.pk4</a><br />
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Step 3: Create a folder in your Dark Mod install with the path "darkmod/fms/requiem" and place the downloaded .pk4 file inside. When you load up The Dark Mod, the mission will appear on the "New Mission" page.<br />
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Step 4: Enjoy!<br />
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Feel free to shoot me any questions if something doesn't work or if you are stuck. You can also see the thread I set up for Requiem in the Dark Mod forums <a href="http://forums.thedarkmod.com/topic/15101-fan-mission-requiem-by-gelo-moonbo-fleisher-2013106/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<br />Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-77238627301467764832013-10-07T07:29:00.000-07:002013-10-08T11:15:06.387-07:00A Book Review and Status UpdateSo I was flipping through my emails this morning, and had to do a double-take. <a href="http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Big Al's Book Reviews</a>, one of the larger indie book websites, has posted a review of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M/ref=la_B00BYMR09C_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1381155611&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Shadowcursed</a>. Looks like they liked it too. Here's an excerpt:<br />
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<i>This fantasy novella was a nice surprise. Mr. Fleisher has written an enthralling story full of descriptive prose that will pull you into the story so thoroughly you can practically smell the stench...The story that unfolds is an original and captivating rollercoaster ride that will leave the reader fully satisfied. I think this is an Indie author to watch for in the future.</i><br />
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You can check out the full review <a href="http://booksandpals.blogspot.com/2013/10/shadowcursed-gelo-fleisher.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Definitely made my day.<br />
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Just a quick status update on my other projects. My computer game level "Requiem" is now done and will be released in the next day or so. So far the reviews from my beta testers have been very positive. You can read a little post I made on the Dark Mod forums about it <a href="http://forums.thedarkmod.com/topic/15094-requiem-coming-soon/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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Requiem has been taking up most of my time for the last few months, and with that wrapping up, I'm starting to turn my attention to my next book, and another computer game project. I'll be writing up the treatment for the book (it will be a sci-fi mystery) this week. I'll also be sitting down with my brother to hammer out the details of what else needs to be done to finish up an edutainment game he and I have been working on. I'll be posting more info about both projects on this blog in the coming months.<br />
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Exciting times ahead!Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-91164368499931496302013-07-03T16:42:00.001-07:002013-07-03T16:45:15.487-07:00Plugging away<div>
Well, it's been about three months since my fantasy novella <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1372893643&sr=8-1&keywords=shadowcursed" target="_blank">Shadowcursed</a> has been released and so far the majority of feedback I've received has been really positive. I've also just had my first author interview, by Jill Marie at Little Hyuts, you can read it <a href="http://littlehyuts.blogspot.com/2013/07/indie-author-week-gelo-fleisher.html" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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Most of my recent time though has been been on getting my 3D level for the Dark Mod (tentatively titled 'Requiem') completed. It's turned into a very labor-intensive project, especially since I've never done anything like it before, but it's been really rewarding. One of the nice things about level design is that, unlike writing, it's a visual medium so you can take screenshots and share them before the whole thing is done. When you write a novel or short story you usually need to wait until you've got a completed draft before anyone gets a peek at it, and usually that'll be beta readers who will tear it apart. I think I still prefer writing overall, but it's definitely nice to get immediate feedback :-).</div>
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As I've completed sections of the level, I've been uploading screenshots to the Dark Mod forums and so far everyone seems to like what I've made. Here are a few of those shots. Apologies if they're dark, I haven't been able to find a way to adjust for that in the shots. In game it's much brighter:</div>
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A mentor whose helping me on the Requiem got inspired and wrote up a really flattering post <a href="http://forums.thedarkmod.com/topic/14851-moonbos-first-mission-a-heads-up/" target="_blank">here</a>. Let's just hope the finished project lives up to the praise :-). I'm hoping to get the level done and into beta-testing within a month, or two at the latest so we should see shortly.</div>
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I've also started thinking more seriously about my next writing project. I've gotten the main plot down, and will start outlining as soon as Requiem is finished up. </div>
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So, still plugging away, stay tuned for more. </div>
Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-75599288997558318072013-03-22T18:15:00.000-07:002013-03-22T18:18:56.128-07:00Babies, novellas, and video gamesWow, has it really been a year since my last post? Crazy how time flies. The lack of posting definitely hasn't been because of a lack of working, in fact this last year has been one of my more productive ones. I'll be getting back to posting more frequently (at least bi-monthly), but here's a recap of what I've been up to:<br />
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First off...I'm now a dad :-).<br />
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It's been a couple of months, and so far fatherhood is great. It definitely makes you think differently about writing too. I've always found myself drawn to grittier topics, but having my daughter around has made me warm a bit to more mellower plots and story ideas. Go figure.<br />
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I've also finished and e-published a novella. As of this blog it's available from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shadowcursed-ebook/dp/B00BYEW02M/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363955469&sr=8-1&keywords=shadowcursed">Amazon</a> and <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/shadowcursed-gelo-fleisher/1046297601?ean=2940016187549">Barnes & Noble</a> (still working on getting it up on Smashwords). My friend Jon really came through with an amazing cover too:<br />
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I'll be writing in a bit more detail about the novella in a future post.<br />
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I also have two computer game projects that are pretty far along now. One is an edutainment game that I'm making with my brother, and the other is a game level for the Doom 3 modification "The Dark Mod". Details on these will probably be for a future post too, but here are some pictures:<br />
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So, that's a summary of what I've been up to during this long silence. More details to come in future posts.Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-71316907317051719302012-03-28T20:25:00.003-07:002012-03-28T20:28:40.416-07:00Words written on the windAnother quick writing piece to match a speed pic that Ioan sent me (incidentally, go check at out Ioan's <a href="http://cghub.com/images/view/221594/">most recent concept</a> for the just-announced F2P MMO World of Mercenaries). I really love the lighting and scale of the pic and I hope I did it justice. Just as I was getting ready to write this story, I saw that <a href="http://www.gamasutra.com/blogs/GuyHasson/20120327/167276/Story_Design_Challenge_2_Best_Entrance_Ever.php">Guy Hasson</a> had set up a "memorable entrance" contest, so consider this my submission.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Words written on the wind</u></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gelo R. Fleisher</span></div><br />
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Ahmiz let his eyes flutter shut as a ray of sunlight hit his face. He inhaled deeply and leaned back in the saddle, taut muscles relaxing as a sensation of warmth began to soak through his ruddy flesh.<br />
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Behind him, Jena's camel bleated and stamped its feet as it came to a halt. He ignored it, enjoying the feeling of the sun across his skin. The camel bleated again and there was a light tug on his robe. Cracking his eyes open in annoyance, he saw Jena at his side. A fine sheen of dust covered the young girl's features and bald head, putting into contrast her black lips and the scars running across her cheeks and throat. She signed with gloved hands. <i>The sun is up. We have to go.</i><br />
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Ahmiz let out his breath and gazed out over the distant sun. "Soon child, soon. Let me enjoy the sunrise."<br />
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Sunlight was crowning over the distant tips of the mountain range, changing the red sandstone into the color of amber, fingers of light spilling out through the valley and stretching out towards them.<br />
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She rolled her eyes and pouted. <i>There's too much sand here now, I don't like it anymore.</i><br />
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Ahmiz nodded but didn't move. "There's no hurry, we found what we were looking for." He patted the bulky saddle bag of his camel. "And Oska will still be waiting for you when we get back home."<br />
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Jena blushed and looked away, blinking her olive eyes rapidly.<br />
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The sunlight had reached the cliffs behind them now, the rocky tips turning bronze in the growing light. Jena was right; there was sand everywhere. He could hear it, falling down the sides of the cliffs, in thin waterfalls, a set of gentle, unending dribbles. The sun continued to move and soon handfuls of the grains were being lit by the sharp morning light, glittering like motes from a dying fire as they tumbled down off the cliffs before fading back to the color of ash as the shrinking shadows covered them again.<br />
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The sun continued to stretch and and Ahmiz could see sheets of sand whisking off the tips of the dunes in thin diaphanous sheets, slowly settling over the ruins of the valley. The force projector that had kept the desert at bay was safely in his saddlebag now, the warriors who had defended it lay where he had slain them in the valley below. Now the dust was coming, and there was nothing left but to leave.<br />
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Jena's hands moved. <i>Where shall we go now? To the north?</i><br />
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Ahmiz sighed and jabbed his camel with his heels. "Yes girl, now to the north."<br />
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</div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-56320706508767758532012-01-31T19:16:00.000-08:002012-01-31T19:22:42.083-08:00Speed Writing for Speed Painting<div><b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hey all, I've slowed down the rate of posting recently as most of my attention is focused on finishing up a larger writing project (hopefully I'll be able to post about it here soon). So it was a pleasant surprise when Ioan dropped by to tell me that we was going to crank out a series of speed paintings this week (all done in under 90 minutes). Here's a set of speedy writings I put together to match them. I hope you all enjoy!</span></b></div><br />
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<div><b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marshall watched with grim satisfaction as the ULIK pulse drive rose slowly up out of the jagged ruins of the space station, the squat booster wending its way through the torn belly of the storage bay on tiny bursts of pressurized air. The two guidance cables that wound from the control unit to the ULIK floated as well, snaking around him in coils as they rose up into cold space.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With a soft kick, Marshall floated up to join the ULIK, squinting as the shimmering outline of the blue planet to come into view. Hasson and the others didn't know yet that he was still alive, but that was about to change. He pushed the ULIK gently, pointing the tip of the booster down towards the shimmering planet. Marshall didn't really care where on the surface the booster crash-landed, as long as it hit the atmosphere the rocket's fuel cell would go up in a multi-kiloton explosion. He could almost imagine the looks on their faces when the fireball lit up their little preserve. He had twenty more of these things in the storage bay, and aiming could wait for later. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Marshall entered in the ignition code and unhooked the ancient guidance cables. Dropping back down into the chamber below he paused for a second to look up and see a gout of white hot flames erupt out of the ULIK's backside as it hurtled away from the station and into a collission orbit with the planet below. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He smiled. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Merry Christmas you bastards</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></b></div><br />
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<div><b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Carla eased the safety off the hunter gun as she continued to move across the obsidian black skin of the processing station. Above her, past the jutting solar barriers, she could see the inflamed glow of the star, throwing waves of fire against the blackened hulk. Even sticking as close as she was to the barriers, Carla could almost feel the solar radiation slice through the suit and into her body. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forget it sister</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, she told herself, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">after this is done you'll have more than enough money to pay for cancer treatment</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In front of her, past the tips of the grinder array, she could see the cool, glowing blue of the intersep arrays beaming threads of data into the folds of hyperspace. Jamming herself up tight against the solar barriers, Carla raised the gun up to her visor, sighting in the pale blue dots, and fired. </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">***</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3vWRFL7yzBw/Tyis976V3qI/AAAAAAAAADA/MYaO3EJDVbU/s1600/landing+copy90min.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3vWRFL7yzBw/Tyis976V3qI/AAAAAAAAADA/MYaO3EJDVbU/s640/landing+copy90min.JPG" width="504" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ahura brought the hoverbike to a stop on the waterfront next to the hovering husk of the Beetle. Taking his helmet off, Ahura took in a deep breath, enjoying the sensation as the salty air flowed into his lungs. The dark blue waters lapped around his boots, the edges of the waves lit in a foamy silver by the low-hanging binary star. To his right, the smooth curves of the Beetle hung wordlessly, lit by the same opalescent glow.</span></b><br />
<span id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Closing his eyes, Ahura slipped out of his human avatar, each of its five senses fading away one by one as his ephemeral white form phased out and over to the waiting Beetle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ahura stretched as he felt himself merge into the Beetle, the servos and memory cores come to life as his essence poured into this new shell. Ahura turned his still wakening scanner banks over to his human avatar, standing immobile next to the hoverbike. He wished he'd be able to take it with him after this wall all over.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ahura's essence continued to stretch and flex into the Beetle, reactors humming back to life as Ahura slowly pushed off from the waterfront, moving back up towards space. The humans had responded and now it was time to see what the rest of his people were going to do about it.</span></span></div><br />
***<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o8rnqpxPLKY/TyitAX6r0ZI/AAAAAAAAADI/9o67WQfeG3A/s1600/ship+refuel+90min+copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o8rnqpxPLKY/TyitAX6r0ZI/AAAAAAAAADI/9o67WQfeG3A/s640/ship+refuel+90min+copy.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<div><b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Meacham drummed his fingers idly on the flightboard as the small gauge on the fuel readout inched slowly upwards. Looking out past segmented planes of cockpit glass, he took in what looked like an absolutely beautiful summers day, with a pale blue sky peaking out from behind strands of rolling clouds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The view was deceptive of course; the clouds were laced with a hydrochloric acid that was even now slowly eating away at the hull of his shuttle. Nobody stopped off on Krianos if they could avoid it, and nobody stayed longer than they had to. All the equipment hooked up to his ship was covered in a thick layer of rubberized plastic, even the refueling bot stomping about outside was wrapped in the stuff.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nasty place, Meacham thought as he flicked his gaze back to the fuel gauge.</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">***</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tvFR1PClfUU/Tyis5YOnF7I/AAAAAAAAAC4/tystRECTG-M/s1600/city80min+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tvFR1PClfUU/Tyis5YOnF7I/AAAAAAAAAC4/tystRECTG-M/s640/city80min+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b><br />
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<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Frank rocked back on the balls of his feet, the tips of his bare toes sticking out over the black abyss of the elevator shaft. A noose of braided plastic lay wrapped around his neck, his hands tightly bound behind his back. </span></b></div><div><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From behind him, Frank heard the clacking of high heels, and tasted the lavendar scent of Jasmine’s perfume wafting into his nostrils. “I’m sorry Frank, I really am.” Frank almost felt that the tinge of regret in her voice might be real, but he bit his tongue, saying nothing. He continued doing what he had done through the whole process of being trussed up for execution. Rolling his shoulders, listening to their quiet popping as he flexed against his bonds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With a sigh Jasmine stepped back and a large hand grabbed his shoulder, shoving hard and toppling him into the shaft. The wind whipped past him as he hurtled downwards, the cord around his neck hissing as it unwound.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not even bothering to think, Frank jerked his arms downwards, almost wrenching them out of their sockets as he pulled them up under his legs and up in front of his chest. He clawed at the unspooling cord, wrapping it around his forearms as it reached the end of its length. The rope snapped tight, cutting into his arms before unwinding and jerking him back upwards in a macabre bounce. He gurgled, feeling the noose tighten around his throat as he grabbed onto the rope with all his strength. He bounced once more before coming to a stop, swinging slowly in the inky blackness of elevator shaft.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gulping in a ragged breath, he rolled his head up to see Jasmine’s silhouette peering down into the dark pit, it stayed for a second and turned away. Did she know he was still alive? Frank hung there, the rope wrapped around his hands and elbows, swaying slowly in the dead air of the shaft. The subtle creaks and groans of the rope were his only companion as he waited for his attempted killers to leave him for dead. </span></span></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">***</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0X7JjfAhDX0/Tyis0y7ztmI/AAAAAAAAACw/4kKzB84EwKk/s1600/chinese+architecture+120min.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0X7JjfAhDX0/Tyis0y7ztmI/AAAAAAAAACw/4kKzB84EwKk/s640/chinese+architecture+120min.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></b><br />
<b id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tenzig settled into a cross-legged position and looked out over the monastery courtyard. The warmth of the summer day lay heavy in the air, but pale shadows cast by the pagoda held the heat at bay, gracing his skin with a soft gentleness. The small, round leaves of the carefully trimmed trees shimmered as the sunlight played against them, dancing furtively in the breeze. </span></b><br />
<div><span id="internal-source-marker_0.7222307056654245"> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He closed his eyes. For a moment the world was replaced with an afterimage of sensations. The whispering of the wind, the scraping of leaves dancing across the courtyard, the babbling of the river flowing, the chirping of a solitary bird. One by one these faded away, replaced by nothingness, the peace of Nirvana.</span></span></div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-38001050892797942372012-01-09T12:51:00.000-08:002012-01-10T03:06:03.105-08:00Anomis and NoaiHey all,<br />
<br />
I hope everyone had a good holiday season and new year! This flash fiction is another in my Ioan Dumitrescu series. Special treat is that I'm pretty sure that Ioan hasn't posted this one on his portfolio yet, so anyone reading this gets a sneak preview. After my last story, Ioan insisted that I not make my next one a "guy walking somewhere while thinking" piece, which admittedly does seems to crop up a lot in my writing. But then he goes and paints this...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dOqiQPwOao0/TwwbbcHMVTI/AAAAAAAAACk/BGlBpCSdOfY/s1600/Small_Inner_Search.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dOqiQPwOao0/TwwbbcHMVTI/AAAAAAAAACk/BGlBpCSdOfY/s1600/Small_Inner_Search.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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I mean <i>come on</i>! Maybe next time Ioan :-).<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Anomis and Noai</u></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Gelo R. Fleisher</span></div><br />
Noai could hear the chill wind whistling a lonely song high above him, but as he crunched along the cold ground, the air was stilled against his bundled face. Snow-encrusted purple cliffs rose up on either side of him, their walls the color of battered amethyst splattered with sky-blue paint. He was silently grateful for their protection; the only hint of the gales tearing through the clefts and ridges around him were a series of low eddies clinging to the ground and lazily waving thin strands of snow into the air. The temperature was still bitingly cold, turning the small patches of skin that stuck out between his goggles and unkempt beard into a cherry red.<br />
<br />
<i>Anomis.</i><br />
<br />
She had told him he was crazy to come here, that she wasn’t going to wait for him if he left. He hadn’t cared.<br />
<br />
Far above of the crest of the rocky ravine hung the spires of the Chirlin pagoda, same as they had every day that Noai spent trudging through the rocks and glaciers of this frigid world. Even farther above, the pale sky was starting to darken imperceptibly; the crisp clean sunlight that had guided him up past the base camp losing its edge. Noai willed himself forward, his leaden feet crunching loudly on the icy dirt.<br />
<br />
He still remembered the first time he had seen her; the combination of her raven hair and white teeth had entranced him. She had told him later it was his eyes that had convinced her to give him a chance.<br />
<br />
For a moment the smell of her hair filled Noai’s nostrils, the scent of her shampoo blocking out the icy chill of the mountains. She’d been his second lover, he had been her fifth. She hated breaking up and, under the stars of a warmer sun, she had sworn to him that they were going to stay together forever.<br />
<br />
He looked up through the impassive walls of the ravine, trying to catch a glimpse of the sun. It was up there somewhere, past the tips of the cliffs, but it was lost behind whisps of pale snow, hissing off the mountains above in perpetual streams. The glare coming off the snow was still bright enough to make his eyes ache. He closed them and looked away.<br />
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The other five lovers had made Anomis paranoid, and the fights had begun almost immediately. She’d yell at him if he was late; was he running around behind her back? He’d yell at her whenever she would lie to keep him happy.<br />
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A flash of furious anger shot through him, banishing her scent from his mind, and he jammed the walking stick into the frozen ground. The lying still infuriated him, even here as he trudged alone through the ice. Every single one of those lies had been over trifles; he couldn’t remember a single one, but that didn’t matter. A lie was a lie, and he could not suffer a liar. Of all the things he needed in a relationship, trust was the most important, and he couldn’t stand that she kept it from him.<br />
<br />
And so he’d yell at her to stop and she’d lash out when he’d hurt her enough. She didn’t care what she said when he got her in that state, as long as it stung. Frustrated tears welled in his eyes, pooling at the bottom of his goggles. Eventually it had stung too much, the needles to his pride.<br />
<br />
The walls were narrowing, their purple heights coming together to wreathe the ravine in shadows and blocking out even the spires of the monastery. The sound of the wind echoed hoarsely through the narrow, gray space, crawling down through the walls and around him in gently hissing gusts.<br />
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He wanted to see her again, to hold her close one more time, to feel her body against his. But it was her who made the mistakes and he couldn’t forgive that. Some part of him knew it was like throwing away a diamond because it was flecked with dirt. In some manner, he knew it. But he couldn’t face her; it was still too raw.<br />
<br />
For a moment he saw her standing there in front of him at the end of the ravine, her raven hair flowing in the icy breeze. He knew it was an illusion, but the thought quickened his heart, and his steps. The illusion lasted only for a second. The object at the end of the road came into clear view. It was just a pile of rocks, with wish papers and flags stuck into the crevices by earlier pilgrims lurching in the growing breeze. Above it lay the beginning of the thousand stone steps that led up to the monastery, their worn faces covered in uneven clumps of snow. The monks had said the truly repentant were to climb these on their knees.<br />
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He laid his walking stick gently across the pile of rocks. Noai’s body creaked as it knelt. He hoped that Anomis could understand why he had come here, and if not her then at least maybe God. He felt the cold, unyielding surface of the stone step through his pants and prayed that his hands and knees could give the penance that his lips still could not.Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-8017430688222383052011-12-02T07:10:00.000-08:002011-12-02T07:10:56.931-08:00Fade Away<div style="background-color: transparent;"><div style="background-color: transparent;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.4711123174056411" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sorry for the lack of stories these last two weeks; been playing too much <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skyrim">Skyrim</a> for my own good. Recently I saw a documentary about drug users in Russia, and it reminded me of a short piece I wrote back in college. I think everyone goes through some form of addiction one time or another in their life, not necessarily drugs, but destructive behavior you know is hurting you but you can't stop doing. This story is about being in that place.</span></div><div style="background-color: transparent;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.4711123174056411" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="background-color: transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;">___________________________</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fade Away</span></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Your debt becomes payable in two weeks. If you aren’t able to pay me then, your interest rate is going up by twenty percent.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oleg stared at the loan officer with a blank look on his pallid face. ‘Loan officer’ was actually too nice a description, “loan shark” was more accurate. The fat, greasy-haired man worked out of his living room not some bank building. A lender of last resort that only people who really needed money would come to. People like Oleg. “Twenty percent? I, I can’t find that kind of money.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The loan shark leaned over his scratchy oak desk, his massive belly pushing up against its faux-varnished surface so that he looked like an angry bullfrog when he spoke. “Well then, I suggest you start finding ways to get it. You’re not going to find my business associates as pleasant company as myself. They’re the kind of guys who like breaking thumbs. For sport. And this is going to be business.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oleg was quick to back down, “Of course, of course, I’ll get you the money. Two weeks you said? No problem.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Settling back into his chair, his girth causing it to groan uncertainly, the loan shark grunted. “Good, now get going. I’ll send one of my associates around to your house tomorrow to see how you and your lovely wife are doing.” Oleg started to object, but was quickly cut off with a wave of a fleshy palm, “And no need to tell me that it’s not necessary, I insist. I think you know your way out.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oleg nodded, rubbing his sweaty palms on his ratty tweed pants as he got up. As he exited the crumbling building and stepped into the sweltering heat of the summer day, he wondered just how he’d gotten to this place to begin with. The rutted sidewalk in front of the loan shark’s house was littered with shards of glass. Broken wine bottles, shattered windows, cracked syringes, sometimes Oleg wondered if this entire place wasn’t built on a foundation of broken glass.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Walking down the crumbling sidewalks of the loan officer’s neighborhood, Oleg stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking with hunched shoulders and burying his face into the dirty collar of his unwashed striped shirt. He hoped no one would notice him. Not that it really mattered, it wasn’t like he lived in a neighborhood that was any better off than this. It was more of a neurotic fear that someone he had known in high school would see him. He had been better off back then living in a neighborhood where birds, not guns, sang out to mark the dawn. With parents who were mentally together enough to raise him up with at least a semblance of care. It was so weird, Oleg thought as walked briskly down the sidewalk, how teenagers thought they were so responsible; their folks did everything for them. Bought their food, drove them around, gave them shelter, paid their bills, hell they did everything but wipe their butts for them.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And things were so damned unfair that way, Oleg thought. Why couldn’t it just stay like that. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If there was one thing that his thirty-three years on Earth had taught Oleg it was that some things were like physics: you drop a ball and it’s going to hit the ground. You leave your parents house, crash at friends until they can’t stand you, do drugs because you’re thinking of your own happiness more than that of anyone else’s, and you’re going to live a crappy life. But why, Oleg thought with of a mental sigh of frustration, why did it have to be that way.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He walked past a Hispanic guy, sitting out on the concrete porch of a decaying flophouse, his bare-chest marked up with scars and a large tattoo of a red dragon that was inked into his abdomen. The guy had a dime bag brazenly held in his hand. Oleg felt that twinge in his arms, the twinge that was his body’s way of telling his mind that it wanted some more drugs. Oleg kept walking, not to get away from the dealer but because he already had a stash hidden at hom</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">e. Why, Ego thought as he walked, why wasn’t it that you could have it both ways. Why couldn’t you just feel good, and have a family that wasn’t hurt? It was just drugs, why did your kid have to hate your guts. Why couldn’t everything just be alright?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A red stoplight halted Oleg’s walk, the aging cars that were speeding by belched out an acrid smoke that made his eyes water. Keeping his eyes on the ground, Oleg looked into a puddle that had formed over a clogged sewage drain. In the muddy water he could barely see his face; hair that hadn’t been combed in weeks, puffy bags underneath his dark eyes, a pocked face with signs of wear that should have marred the skin of an older man. He knew that some things in life were like physics…he knew it but couldn’t help himself anyways. Just moan and groan and blame his weakness on other things, and then go back and do the same shit all over again. Just complain about how hard it was to change his life. Just complain and keep doing the same old shit.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oleg made sure to step in the puddle as the light turned green, blotting out his image in a swirl of muddy water, but he still picked up his pace as he marched towards the stash waiting for him at home.</span></div></div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-76725269075901566652011-11-10T03:04:00.000-08:002011-11-10T03:06:50.405-08:00Mercenaries!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, this week's story comes courtesy of my friend <a href="http://jonone.cghub.com/">Ioan</a> who wanted me to put together a small sketch about an A Team-esque band of space mercenaries. This one was tough to write; 'buddy comedy' can really be brain wracking, but </span>when everything clicked I had a blast finishing it up: <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_yQB0qlU5W4/TruvaLseySI/AAAAAAAAABs/3Fb8ir4N0eA/s1600/jonone-street-fighter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="352" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_yQB0qlU5W4/TruvaLseySI/AAAAAAAAABs/3Fb8ir4N0eA/s640/jonone-street-fighter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://cghub.com/images/view/160583/">pic link</a> </span><br />
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</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><u><b>Mercenaries!</b></u></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Gelo R. Fleisher</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.2in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=3097239053270903415&postID=7672526907590156665" name="internal-source-marker_0.318967018043622"></a> <span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> The insides of the drop ship shuddered and clanked as it hurtled through the outer atmosphere of Tau Ceti Six. Two men holding flechette rifles and clad in plaz-tek armor sat jostling about in their harnesses, one on either side of a hulking robot.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The shorter of the two was rocking back and forth, muttering. The taller one leaned around the robot and poked him with the barrel of his rifle. “Hey, Mauer. Stop gibbering to yourself for a second, I gotta ask you a question.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer snorted. “Trip, don’t pester me, you’re breaking my concentration.” </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip rolled his eyes. “Whatever, the only things you ever think about are conspiracy theories and guns. Now, do you have any clue what we’re doing here?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer jerked his head up. “Hey man, you’re just blind to the truth. See, another piece of the puzzle just fell into place for me. Cows.” </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Cows?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Yes, cows. Or to be more precise, the dairy industry. See, get this. It’s a well known fact that people of Jewish and African descent are three times more likely to be lactose intolerant than Europeans. That means the dairy industry is promoting defacto racist policies by pushing people to drink a product that will cause imbalanced cramping and flatulence across various sectors of society.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip blinked. “What the hell are you talking about this time you crazy nut? All I want to know is why are we here now, like why did the Captain tell us to get into the drop ship?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Oh, I dunno. Ask the TX-500.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The robot’s eyes switched on, glowing orange the mention of his name. </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">I’m not going to ask the robot. Ever since the Captain tried messing with its data loop the thing’s been a broken record. See, watch this.” </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip tapped TX-500 on it’s slick, metal head. “Hey chrome dome. What’s the weather like outside?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">TX-500’s eyes turned red. “Kill. Crush. Exterminate.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">See, one track mind.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Kill. Crush. Exterm...”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Yeah, heard you the first time buddy. And Mauer what the hell is that on your wrist?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer grinned. “You like? It’s my new good luck bracelet.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">No, it looks like you glued a dead hamster to a piece of string.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer sniffed. “Make fun of it if you want, but when the plasma starts flying, you’ll be wishing you had one.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Yeah, I Doubt that. So how do you know it works?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Pff, of course it works; am I being shot at right now?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">No...”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Well there you go.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip was about to respond when the door to the cockpit slid open and Captain Maxwell Greene stepped in, the orange light of a burning cigar lighting up his craggy face. “Rise and shine boys and girls, we’re now en route to our latest target.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The captain paused to drop his cigar on the floor, grinding it out with the heel of his boot. “Now I’ve told you many a time that the greatest joy in life to meet a foe in singular combat and crush them. To defeat your enemy, smear yourself with his blood and roll around in his entrails. Today, sadly, you will not have such a opportunity. Our target,” Captain Greene jabbed a finger onto a holomap that had sprung up on the drop ship wall, “is the Trireme Metal Works. Automated tank production factory, not a living soul in the damned place.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trireme’s thugs stole something from our current employer and we’ve been very well paid to go down there and elicit some retribution. This is going to be a sadly simple smash and bash job; parachute in, blow our way through the front door, and wreck some shit up.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Uh captain.” Trip raised his hand. “If there’s no people down there, why all the guns and armor?” </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Precautions son. Factory’s got a full set of automated defenses; flak towers, plasma launchers, and high velocity turret guns.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Uh, then do we really want to go in through the front door? I mean that stuff sounds pretty dangerous.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip, did I ask you for your opinion.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">No sir.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">No sir indeed. If I wanted to hear the sound of an bleating donkey I would have gone to a petting zoo. What do you think of my plan TX-500?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The droid’s eyes flashed red. “Kill. Crush. Exterminate.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Exactly! Good robot. Now that’s precisely the attitude I expect from the rest of you chicken livers. Everyone put on their war face; drop is in two minutes and then the fun starts.” </span></span> </span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 2in; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> ***</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Smoke lay thickly across the large concrete lot in front of the factory. On a backdrop of burning, smoking tank hulks, Trip, Mauer, TX-500, and Captain Greene huddled behind a shattered wall, bullets and explosions going off all around them. Captain Greene, peeked his head over the wall, swearing and ducking as a hail of gunfire erupted around him. “Shit!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Alright men! It looks like we’re in a pretty bad spot. The automated defense system saw us coming and it’s gonna turn us into pink confetti if we stay put.” A plasma rocket slammed into the ground a few feet away, throwing a plume of dirt onto the squad. </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip clutched his rifle tightly. “I told you this was going to happen!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Thanks for reminder Tinkerbell! Now why don’t you shut your pie-hole unless you’ve got something constructive to tell me! And what the hell is that thing you holding onto Mauer?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Lucky charm sir!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Well quit praying to Buddha and think of a way out of this mess!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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Mauer </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">ducked as a blast of gunfire raked across the top of the wall, chunks of cement flying everywhere. “Uh, well Cap’n this is a tank factory, maybe we can steal one for an hour or two.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Another plasma rocket screamed overhead. “Why Mauer, that’s the first bit of commonsense out of your mouth all day! Alright, you two go find me a tank and bring it back here for me to commandeer.” Captain Greene jabbed a finger at the robot hefting a large mini gun. “TX-500, you move forward and provide suppressive fire. Now, let’s all go show ‘em what Delta Squad is made of!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">TX-500’s eyes turned blood red. The mini-gun in his hands began to spin as he stood up and walked towards the turrets. “Kill. Crush. Exterminate.” The mini gun flared to life, spitting a hail of hot fire out at the enemy. “Kill. Crush. Extermi...” TX-500 got three feet out from the wall when a plasma rocket hit him head-on, turning him into an erupting pillar of burning metal chunks. Everyone ducked as smoking robot parts rained down on them.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip brushed a burning metal fragment from his shoulder. “Apparently Delta Squad is made up of busted scrap.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ah hell.” Captain Greene hefted his rifle and stood up. “You want something done right you gotta do it yourself. Alright you two powder puffs, get out there and grab me a tank!” Greene vaulted over the wall, shouting and firing blindly. “Valahallaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
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</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip watched as Captain slid into safety behind a pile of smoking rubble, firing blindly while letting out a stream of profanity that had Trip blushing.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer poked Trip. “Hey, let’s get moving, if we don’t Cap’s gonna get smoked.“</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Don’t tempt me.” Trip scanned the battlefield of burning hulks, his eyes lighting on a tank that seemed relatively intact. Alright, let’s try for that one. One, two, three...go!” Trip and Mauer scrambled out into the open, blitzing towards the tank. A plasma round screamed towards them, landing close behind as they closed in, flinging them both into the air. Trip landed in a heap at the feet of the tank. Mauer landed on Trip. Kissing his good luck bracelet, Mauer hopped off and clambered into the hatch, Trip following, dropping in head-first.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer rubbed his hands, looking at the huge array at dials and levers in front of him. Trip scrambled over to him. “How’s it look? You driven one of these things before?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Mauer grinned. “Pshh, of course not. But don’t worry, I’ve got my lucky charm. Let’s roll!” Mauer shoved a large green handle forward.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The tank lurched backwards suddenly, wheeling away from the factory. Trip went toppling to the tank floor. “You idiot! You’re going the wrong way!”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Sorry! Sorry! It was in reverse. Okay, I got it now.” Mauer grabbed another handle and jerked it backwards. The tank screeched to a halt and then lurched forward, gunfire crackling against its hard hull as it rumbled towards the factory. “Heey! I see the Captain! Alright you bastards! Take this!” Mauer pressed a big red button with a rocket stenciled on it.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">A pleasant female voice filled the turret. </span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i><b>Auto targeting system activated. Enemy target sighted.</b></i></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The turret swung slowly in an arc, moving away from the enemy turret emplacements until the barrel was staring down Captain Greene. “Crap! Halt! No shooting!” Mauer started slapping random buttons.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i><b>Firing.</b></i></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The turret shook as a loud boom filled the air. </span></span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"> “Captain! Is he alright?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Trip stumbled back into the turret, squinting to see through the smoke thrown up by the blast. He could make out a smoking, soot covered figure, shaking his fist and yelling at the tank. “Yeah, looks like he’s shouting at us.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“Oh halleluiah, w</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">hat’s he saying?”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Ehh, you don’t wanna know.”</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i><b>Friendly fire disabled. Alternative target sighted.</b></i></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The tank turret finally rumbled around, bringing the enemy emplacements into sight.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i><b>Firing.</b></i></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
</span><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> One of the plasma turrets erupted in a shower of sparking electronics.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> ***</span><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The insides of the drop ship shuddered and clanked as it flew up past the outer atmosphere of Tau Ceti Six. Two dusty, sweaty men holding flechette rifles and clad in plaz-tek armor sat jostling about in their harnesses, one on either side of a hulking pile of robot parts.</span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><br />
</span><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> A slightly singed Captain Greene stood staring at the two, arms crossed. “Overall men, I have to say that the mission was a success. Opening phase was a bit hairy, it's gonna cost a bit to put ol' TX-500 back together again, and you two fruitcakes almost turned me into strawberry pudding. But Trireme's shit got wrecked, and in the end isn't that what matters?”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> “Yes sir!” Trip and Mauer said simultaneously.</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> “Yes sir, indeed.” </span> </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> Mauer fiddled with his lucky charm while Trip cleared his throat. “You know Cap', we weren't really trying to blow you up.”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> “I understand son, and I am a forgiving man.”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> “Thank you sir.”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"> “But not that forgiving. Toilet duty for a month. Now, get some shuteye, I just got our next job lined up and it's gonna be even more fun than this one was. See you pansies in a few.”</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Fin</i></span></div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-5357979121581448102011-11-03T07:11:00.000-07:002011-11-03T07:14:04.748-07:00Character Sketch<div style="text-align: left;">These days my current writing projects include two novellas, both of which are attempts at stretching my writing chops by doing something different from what I usually tend to write about. One is my first real fantasy story and it's an attempt to do a very moody, atmospheric piece (might post part of it later). The other is science fiction but is much more character-focused than most of my stuff. This week I tried jotting down something of a character sketch for what I hope the main character of that second novella might turn into. Most of my characters tend to be contemplative or overly serious, so here's my attempt at a more eccentric person. Background is that the character, Janet, is a new arrival on an asteroid mining crew:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1AacwjXi_I/TrKhjFqAb0I/AAAAAAAAAA8/PMClFBQrUuw/s1600/Tau_31_by_sanmonku.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="512" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l1AacwjXi_I/TrKhjFqAb0I/AAAAAAAAAA8/PMClFBQrUuw/s640/Tau_31_by_sanmonku.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs26/f/2008/147/9/1/Tau_31_by_sanmonku.jpg">pic link</a>.<br />
______________________________<br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Character Sketch</u></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Gelo R. Fleisher</span></div><br />
There were ten of us, all gathered in a semi-circle around the comm board. Charlie, apparently the crew supervisor, was going on about team spirit or something but I wasn’t really paying attention. I’d started on Roger’s latest jigsaw puzzle last night and hadn’t finished it until two in the morning, so I wasn’t feeling particularly chipper at the moment. The fact that I was standing in front of a ventilation fan that was dumping stale, hot air onto my head wasn’t helping my mood either.<br />
<br />
“...and let’s all welcome Janet, our newest spinneret technician. She’ll be helping us with today’s job.”<br />
<br />
I nodded politely as everyone’s gaze flitted over to me.<br />
<br />
Charlie placed his hands on his hips, stuck out his chest and in general put on a pretty good alpha male impression. “Alright crew, so today we’ve got to perform tether maintenance on the asteroid coupling...”<br />
<br />
The hot air was really starting to get on my nerves; my skin had started prickling and I could my face starting to flush. I raised my arm up straight.<br />
<br />
“Um. Do you have a question?” It was Charlie.<br />
<br />
“What? Nah. Just getting a little hot. Raising my arm like this helps keep my body cool, makes the blood travel longer through the system.”<br />
<br />
Everyone was still staring at me. “Really, don’t mind me, go on.”<br />
<br />
“All right...like I was saying....” I soon stopped paying attention again. Charlie seemed like a nice guy; a little full of himself, then again who wasn’t, but the man sure liked to talk. Words, words, words. Maybe I should go to my bunk after this and email him my collection of Sam Spade radio plays. Audio; now that’s the writer’s medium. One hundred percent dialogue, pure brevity of style. In those old 20th century radio plays everything had to be conveyed to the listener via dialogue and the bangings of an overworked sound effects guy: “Gosh, it sure is cold and dark in here Sam.”, “Don’t worry baby, just hold my hand and stick close to me. Yeah, just like that.”, “Aieee! Look out Sam, there, in the shadows! It’s the killer, and he has a gun!” “Not for long! Take that! And that!” “Oh Sam, you’ve subdued him.” “Yep, he’s out cold, and now to figure out whose behind this mystery.” “My goodness, it’s Senator Clyburn!” The essence of clarity and direction. Charlie could learn a thing or two from them.<br />
<br />
“...Janet and her crew will then take the spinneret up and...” That piqued my interest and I decided to go back to following the conversation.<br />
<br />
“...we’ll use the drive train to bring everyone up to the spinneret and then Janet, you’ll decouple the pod for transport to the asteroid.”<br />
<br />
What? No, no, no. What was he talking about? “Charlie, you should stick with scheduling and leave the spinneret mechanics to me, that’s my job.”<br />
<br />
Charlie had stopped talking, his mouth still agape and staring at me with an expression which looked like a mix of disbelief and shock. Was that too harsh? Hmm...I had to explain myself. “Don’t take it personally, it’s not like I’m saying you’ve got a small penis or anything. “<br />
<br />
The whole crew was gawking now. Um, time for more explanation apparently. “I mean you’re doing fine on the pep talk, but you’ve got the technical stuff all wrong.” I put my arm down, blood sufficiently cooled. “I mean look, if you stick us all on the load train and then blast it towards the spinneret chances are that we won’t be able to slow down enough to make the coupling and instead all go flying into the asteroid. Then kersplat, we’re all mashed across the side of that rock like you hit it with a sock full of wet oatmeal. And you don’t want to do that because then you’ll go to hell for killing us all. Maybe jail too.”<br />
<br />
Charlie looked back down over the schematic on the comm station, biting his lower lip, his forehead furrowed in concentration. He knew I was right.<br />
<br />
The rest of them were still staring at me.<br />
<br />
I put my arm back up.Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-6483419568590314922011-10-23T19:43:00.000-07:002011-10-23T19:46:12.929-07:00Phonecall<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This is a short story that I wrote one day back when I was still working in New York City. I was taking the train to work when I got a strong urge to write a short, enclosed tale. Got most of it done before I arrived at work.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="background-color: transparent;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-llB_itEe1Fw/TqTQXW3wqHI/AAAAAAAAAAw/qnPCVN2Zz2Y/s1600/JULY+FIELD%252C+RANDOLPH+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="504" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-llB_itEe1Fw/TqTQXW3wqHI/AAAAAAAAAAw/qnPCVN2Zz2Y/s640/JULY+FIELD%252C+RANDOLPH+.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://kbfiskeart.blogspot.com/2010/10/randolph-field.html">pic link</a></span></span></div><div style="background-color: transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">__________________________________</span></span></div><div style="background-color: transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Phone Call</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 10pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Gelo R. Fleisher</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary Garbah rolled her car to a stop as the light turned red. Taking the opportunity to free up her hands, Mary took her phone out of its holder, scrambling to plug in the headset before the light turned green. She moved with unnecessary haste; she was taking a scenic route and a quick glance into her rearview mirror showed that there wasn’t anybody behind her. But Mary was a stickler for efficiency, and she would be loathe to keep things held up, even at an empty traffic stop.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The earphones were set snugly on her head just as the light turned green. Proud of herself, Mary eased on the gas, and pressed the speed dial to her mother’s number. The phone rang several times without anybody picking up; it always did. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary looked out the car window as the phone continued to ring. Autumn had just started to settle in, and it was chilly enough to have the heater on, but the grass outside was still green and the trees that glistened under the bright sun were only just starting to show subtle hints of red and yellow.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She liked driving this way to her mother’s. It was mostly undeveloped property, flat and rugged with a just few office buildings interspersed here and there. Watching it all pass by provided a peaceful and quiet interlude in her otherwise hectic weekends.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hello?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary was a little startled by the pleasant, matronly voice that answered the phone. “Hey mom, it’s me.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The voice on the other end immediately brightened up, “Mary, oh, it’s so good to hear from you. Do you want to talk with your father?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s okay, you don’t have to bother him.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“It’s never a bother to talk with one’s children, let me get him.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Mom, it’s okay. I can talk with him afterwards.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The voice sounded concerned. “Is everything alright?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just feeling a little depressed, you know, with the birthday tomorrow.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The voice sighed. “Deary, forty-seven is not old. When you are eighty-eight then you can complain about getting old. Besides, the older I get the less it all seems to mean to me. I mean just yesterday, well I think it was yesterday, I was working on the flowerbed and I will tell you, the whole day must have passed with me there in my overalls, working away with the trowel and shears in my hands. The next thing I know Joseph is calling me in saying that the neighbors are coming over, you know the Hansons? Such nice people.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I didn’t know you had a flower bed.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I just had one put in. Mr. Hanson, he was a doctor back when he was younger, says that it’s good to keep up the hobbies of our youth. It helps keep the mind and body active. We used to have a small garden when we lived in Dayton you know, but you were probably too young to remember. I just sort of let it lapse after we moved to Cincinnati. Now is as good a time as any to get back into cultivation I suppose.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary still a little surprised. “What do you grow?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There was a beeping noise that came from the phone. Mary looked away from the road for a second to glance down at it. The small icon that symbolized the power level was blinking. “Damn, the battery’s dying on the phone. I forgot to bring the recharger and I’m...”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary heard her mom suck in her breath on the other end of the line. “Mary-Anne Garbah, watch your mouth. There’s no reason for me to hear that sort of language from you. I do hope you don’t speak like that around Jennifer and Andrew.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary rolled her eyes. “Mom, it’s not the fifties anymore; ‘damn’ is not a swear word. People use it all the time.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well call me old fashioned, but I thought I raised my little girl better than to blaspheme. Your phone, what make is it?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Astra, I told you that last week.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I’ve heard that Conducive’s is a better model, maybe you should buy that one.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary let out a sigh. She’d had this conversation before and didn’t feel like repeating it. “Hang on mom, I’m just getting off the freeway, I’ll be there in five minutes.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her mom must have noticed the irritation in response, and her tone softened. “I’m sorry for being such a bother, it’s just that we both miss you and worry about you. You don’t realize how much we cherish these calls. I tell you, the things that they can do with technology these days. Why I remember when I thought radio was a wonder to behold.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary looked back out at the scenery; the sparseness of the freeway was giving way to the small suburb that was between her and her mother’s place. As she stopped at another traffic light, she saw a young mother pushing a pink stroller down the sidewalk. The mother was young, must have been in her late twenties, bundled up against the wind in a green jacket. They reached the edge of the sidewalk just as the light turned green. The mother looked over and said something to the child, the words mute behind Mary’s car doors. As the car began to move again, a pang of wistfulness touched Mary’s chest. “Mom, what’s it like to grow old?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The line was silent for a second. “To be honest Mary, I didn’t really think about it as it was happening. But I don’t think it’s so bad. As long as you don’t have too many regrets and have people to talk to, it’s not bad at all. You know, I was thinking the other day about how helpless you were as a child, why I couldn’t leave your side for ten minutes without you crying. You couldn’t walk or even feed yourself. You totally relied on the people that loved you. Maybe it is justice that you end your life having to rely on those who love you as well. Just make sure to hang tight to the ones you love.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary was silent, not knowing what to say as her mother’s place came into view.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And how are David and the children?”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary turned into the parking lot, taking the key out of the ignition, grabbing the phone and opening the door. A chilly wind gushed past, making Mary stuff her hands in her pockets. She raised her voice slightly to fight the sound of the wind. “Good. David’s still working on the novel, and Jennifer is going to graduate from college in three weeks.” Shivering against the cold, she quickly opened the back door of the car and picked up the half-dozen tulips she’d bought for her mother. Mom had always had a soft spot for tulips.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, I will mark it on my calendar. Joseph and I will definitely be there.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The day was still bright, with only a few clouds dotting the pristine blue sky. She almost had to squint as she made her way out of the parking lot and into the grassy field. She walked along the orderly rows of crosses and monuments, trying to find her mom.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I’ll tell Jennifer that, I know she’ll appreciate it. She really misses you. You know I still miss you too sometimes, even on the phone it’s not really the same.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well, don’t be too eager to see me just yet, I don’t think David would appreciate that. I’ll still be here at the end of the day, and you always have my number.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary smiled, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Ok mom, I’m almost there. I love you, talk to you soon.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I love y...” The phone beeped, and the line went silent. The small screen that showed the time and signal strength was dark. The phone had run out of power and shut down.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a few minutes of walking, Mary found the right place. She took her time, enjoying the scenery and the peacefulness of the cemetery. She idly thought that being laid to rest wouldn’t be such a bad thing if she could be laid here. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just hang tight to the ones you love</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Mary stopped at her parent’s tombstone, a large grey and white edifice with black lettering cut into the stone:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 72pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> Janice Garbah<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Joseph Garbah</span></span></div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 108pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> 1937 – 2023<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> 1932 – 2019</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span><br />
<div style="background-color: transparent;"><br />
</div><div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Between her parent’s names and her father’s favorite bible verse, was a carved picture. Her parent’s faces were etched in perfect detail into the smoky marble. It was an engraving of a photograph taken on their fortieth wedding anniversary. Dad and mom’s faces, touching at the cheek, dad with thick glasses, thinning hair and a teeth flashing smile. Mom, looking as proper as ever, her hair made up in an elaborate bun. Even through the stone she could see the contentment in her mother’s eyes. Mary took off one of her gloves, kneeling down and tracing the outline of her mother’s face on the cold marble.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She’d always meant to ask mom what it all looked like from where she was, what she saw as Mary spoke to her on the phone. Could she hear what she said without it? Probably mom would just shrug.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The wind picked up, shaking the boughs of the trees that lined the cemetery, and sending crisp leaves bouncing along stone monuments on the grassy hill. Shivering slightly, Mary stood up, placing the tulips on the side of the headstone. Putting her glove back on, she said a quick prayer.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Opening her eyes, her gaze lingered on the picture on the headstone. She could almost feel her mother close by. “I love you too mom.” Then turning around, she went back to the warmth of the car.</span></span></div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-37242002364487599232011-10-18T20:34:00.000-07:002011-10-18T20:34:46.605-07:00Bloody Red Tape - Part II<a href="http://gfleisher.blogspot.com/2011/10/bloody-red-tape.html">Last week</a> I posted the opening scene of a short story about bureaucrats in a space empire and their attempt to get the upper hand in a succession fight. The story was going to be called "Red Tape" and this week I'm posting another scene from it.<br />
<br />
I ended up never finishing Red Tape, and as I was putting this post together I realized again why: the whole setup was just too complicated for a short story. My goal was to have it be between 5,000 and 7,000 words (about 25 pages long), but with the various plot machinations going on and all the infodumping that needed to be done, there just wasn't enough space to get it all in there. I could have made the story longer, pushing into novella territory, but the material was just too grim for me to really enjoy writing about it at length.<br />
<br />
The back story for this particular scene is as follows: the narrator is a low level bureaucrat (he runs the state ballet) who has managed to get some compromising images of a high-level power broker fooling around with one of his ballerinas. He's planning on using these as blackmail as part of a power play, however the secret police (the 'ISG') don't want him to succeed...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2Lxm8ty9qpw/Tp5EpPDSRhI/AAAAAAAAAAg/xeIoOSWh6LE/s1600/future_hallway_concept_by_Fernstrom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="330" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2Lxm8ty9qpw/Tp5EpPDSRhI/AAAAAAAAAAg/xeIoOSWh6LE/s640/future_hallway_concept_by_Fernstrom.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><a href="http://fernstrom.deviantart.com/art/future-hallway-concept-117113897">pic link</a><br />
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______________________________________<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Red Tape</u></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Gelo R. Fleisher</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>It had been a good fifteen minutes since I had arrived in the opulent office and I was still all alone. I slouched deeper into my plush red chair, and booted up a game of solitaire on my communicator. I was a few games in when I finally heard the sound of one of the ornate wooden doors being cracked open. <br />
<br />
I sat up in my chair, craning my neck to see who had just walked in. A pale, sickly-looking man clutching a briefcase was holding the door open for an old man. The old man was dressed inconspicuously enough, with a tailored black suit poking out from under a drab brown overcoat, but I immediately recognized the face. <br />
<br />
The old man was Kaspar Chernopov, head of the ISG.<br />
<br />
My heart started beating faster as I jumped up out of my chair to greet him. Did he know about the ballerina and the blackmail? How could he know? I hadn’t told anybody. The Federacy’s chief spymaster walked towards me, flanked at a respectful distance by two aides wearing black wrap-around visors. The sickly man with the briefcase closed the door, and remained standing next to it. <br />
<br />
My lips started flapping before my head had thought of something to say. “I...uh...now...”<br />
<br />
Chernopov ignored my yammering and settled into one of the large, plush chairs, gesturing for me to take a seat. Everyone had heard stories about the old man, of people who had crossed him and were dragged down to the interrogation pits, of his spies infesting every nook and cranny of Federacy’s bureaucracy, and of the old-fashioned file cabinet in Chernopov’s office that was supposed to house the deepest secrets of people from all walks of life. <br />
<br />
As I dropped back into the chair, my eyes flitted to the two aides who had marched in with Chernopov. They were still standing, one a few feet from the old man, and the other a few feet from me. <br />
<br />
<i>Oh...</i><br />
<br />
So these weren't aides at all, but bodyguards, probably pumped with so many nano-chems and reactives that they could snap my neck before I’d even known what I’d done wrong, and without breaking a sweat as they went about it. They stood impassively, their twitching eyes hidden behind black visors, their fists resting loosely at their sides. I slid my gaze over to the sick-looking man with the briefcase standing at the door. I had no clue who, or what, the hell he was. I could feel the collar of my uniform squeezing against my neck and a damp sweat forming on my skin.<br />
<br />
Chernopov cleared his throat. I jerked my eyes towards him. The spymaster looked his seventy-eight years, with a slightly gaunt face that was carved deep with wrinkles. A crown of white hair hung to the back of his skull, ringing a bald pallet that made his forehead seem larger and more broad than it was, like some bizarrely intellectual Neanderthal. He looked at me through two thick-rimmed glasses perched on his blunt, hooked nose. I wondered what information was being projected on the back of the glasses into those piercing blue eyes, made no less clear by the age that seemed to be tugging at the rest of his slender frame.<br />
<br />
I flinched back into my chair as he lifted up one of his bony arms. <br />
<br />
It took me a second to realize that he’d stuck his hand out towards me, like he wanted me to shake it. Not knowing what else to do I gripped the extended palm with sweaty hands, pumping it up and down profusely. “Sir, this is a great and unexpected honor!” His grip was stronger than I was expecting, and I felt my knuckles crack as he squeezed. I let go. Chernopov smiled thinly and folded those taut fingers against his chest. <br />
<br />
He began speaking in crisp, clear tones, a cyrillic accent adding a lilting quality to his words. “It is good to meet you Colleague Barents. Would you like some tea? Perhaps a cookie?”<div><br />
I stared at him stupidly.<br />
<br />
“Coffee then?”<br />
<br />
<i>Um, no?</i><br />
<br />
“Yes please.”<br />
<br />
Chernopov waved at one of the bodyguards. “Did you say you wanted a cookie?”<br />
<br />
<i>Hell no.</i><br />
<br />
“Oh why yes, how kind of you.”<br />
<br />
One of the bodyguards soon materialized besides us with our drinks and cookies, and for the next fifteen minutes we had one of the most boring conversations of my life. Chernopov asked about next month’s performance season and commiserated at how tough it must be to keep all those artsy prima donnas in line. After seeing my share of ISG jackboots stamping around, arresting ideological offenders and turning their brains into tomato soup, I would have thought Chernopov would have been a bit more on the crude side. But no, the guy knew his classical ballet; Vaganova, Cecchetti, the whole nine yards. He even laughed at my bad jokes and clinked my coffee cup in a toast to my managing this important facet of the Federacy’s cultural heritage. <br />
<br />
I have to admit, by the time I excused myself (I did have the blackmail material to drop off after all), I was downright flattered. And just a little bit confused too. If this wasn’t about Hanzer and the ballerina, then what? I mean, did the head of the secret police normally have high tea with nobody pencil-pushers like me? <br />
<br />
As I walked towards the ornate wooden exit of the room, the sick-looking man with the briefcase tugged the door open for me. Nodding to the man, I turned around to wave goodbye to Chernopov when a sudden dizzy spell that washed over me. I felt my knees buckle as I toppled forward, I could feel bile rising in my throat like and wanted to vomit. The sick man helped right me as I lurched out the door.<br />
<br />
I stood there doubled over in the hallway outside, taking deep breaths as my senses slowly returned to me. From behind, I heard the door click shut.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh shit...</i><br />
<br />
The synapses in my brain stared firing, throwing out all sorts of crazy scenarios, all of which were most likely true. What an idiot! I should have ran out of that room as soon as Chernopov walked in. Of course they knew about the ballerina. I had been so flattered that a bigshot like Chernopov was paying attention to a nobody like me that I hadn’t bothered thinking what exactly I was doing. I’d just met with the head of the secret police and his goons had probably been filming the whole thing. Right now they had to be sending cute little snapshots of the meeting to Secretary Puzo. I was sure there would be a real nice shot of us clinking teacups. <br />
<br />
Puzo, that paranoid crank, would think I was going behind his back, trying to get cozy with his enemies. He’d abandon me and without his protection, the ISG could bring me down to their dungeons without anyone complaining. Hell, Puzo might even be the one who gave the order. I could feel the sensation of the ISG men shaving my head, getting ready to screw in the brain scorchers. No! I had to, call Puzo and explain what happened, and fast. <br />
<br />
I reached into my pocket, grabbing for my communicator. My hand came back nothing; my pockets were empty, the communicator gone. The sick man with the briefcase, he must have taken it off me when I bumped into him.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. </i><br />
<br />
I wheeled back to the ornate door, yanking at the handle, but the damn thing was locked. I banged on door with both my hands, shouting for someone to open it, but remained shut. Still faint with delirium, I staggered down the hallway, looking for someone, anyone I could grab a communicator from. I banged on doors as I ran down the corridor, my hands raw, the knuckles soon bleeding. <br />
<br />
I stumbled about, banging helplessly against the interminable hallway of locked doors, my fate at the hands of Chernopov’s goons growing larger and larger in my mind. I’d confess immediately when they brought me down for interrogation, sign anything, give them every name, anything to stop them from putting me under torture. But it wouldn’t matter, they’d make an example of me for all the other upstarts who tried playing with the bigs. They’d have to get some bruises on me first, for everyone to see. Punch me around a bit, maybe run my fingers through a vice one by one, and then they’d start getting creative, cerebral. They’d inject liquid fire into my veins, the nano-chems hooked up to a control panel so they could cause my my nerve endings to start firing pain signals into my head as they played them like a piano. Then they screw in the brain scorchers and rewire my neural pathways by force, making me see all sorts of hellish images as my grasp on reality fell apart at the molecular level. And after they’d had their fun and I was a walking vegetable, it would be my turn to be trussed up for public execution and have my brains liquefied in front of my colleagues.<br />
<br />
The images swirled about me, colliding in a feverish terror. The world was spinning, I was panting, my lungs burning as my chest heaved. I dropped in a heap on the ground. I lay there, sprawled out on the floor, my body frozen with fatigue and panic. Tears welled up in my eyes. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.<br />
But as I sat there, a miserable, shivering pile, I saw the outline of an orange jumpsuit out of the corner of my eye. It was a janitor, walking out of of of the offices. He stopped when he saw me. “You alright?”<br />
<br />
I pushed myself back onto my feet, wiping my face in a pathetic attempt to hide my miserable state. “I, I need your communicator.” I hated how desperate my voice sounded. <div><br />
The janitor looked at me warily. With my suit disheveled, my hair a mess, with tears and snot smeared across my face, I would have avoided me too. <br />
<br />
“Please give me your communicator.”<br />
<br />
He looked at me, blinking in confusion. I dropped back down on on my knees, grabbing his jumpsuit with trembling hands. “Please. See, I’m begging you. Please. Give me your communicator. Please.” <br />
<br />
“Sir, it’s against regulations, I could lose my job if...”<br />
<br />
My head was pounding, I didn’t have time for these excuses. “Who do you work for?”<br />
<br />
“Vice Director of Maintenance Halloway.”<br />
<br />
My voice had a hysterical edge to it as I started shouting at him. “You want his job? You can have it! Don’t want to work anymore? I’ll retire you and your family on an early pension. Whatever you want! Just give me your communicator!”<div><br />
Still looking at me warily, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black pad.<br />
<br />
I grabbed it greedily with shaking fingers, dialing Secretary Puzo’s number. After an interminable pause, I heard his voice on the other end of the line. “Who is this and how did you get this number?”<br />
<br />
At the sound of Puzo’s nasal voice, a sensation of palpable exaltation flooded out of every pore in my shaking body.I found myself unable to speak as the words choked in my throat. Tears threatened to pour down my face for a second time, I’d never been more happy to hear another person’s voice in my life. I leaned shakily against the wall. My voice trembling, I spoke “Hi, I...” my voice choked up. Coughing, I tried to continue. "I...I landed a meeting with Kaspar Chernopov, you know the head of the ISG”. <br />
<br />
“I know who he is.” I could hear the deep tinge of suspicion in his voice; he was probably looking at the photographs already. “Yes, and I think we need to meet right away, in person, this line isn’t secure. He told me something about you and his plan to replace the General Secretary.”<br />
<br />
Puzo was quiet. “You’d better not be shitting me Barents.”<br />
<br />
“No sir, never sir.”<br />
<br />
“Fine. You’ve got half an hour to get your fat butt up here.”<br />
<br />
“Oh thank you sir. Thank you, thank you, thank you. You have know idea what this means.”<br />
<br />
“You had just better not be wasting my time.”<br />
<br />
“No sir, never sir. I’ll be right over sir.”<br />
<br />
As he hung up, I heaved a sigh of relief. I was saved! The sensation was eurphoric, but fleeting. As the bliss of my salvation faded, a burning anger began to course through me. I could feel my face and hands growing red. I wanted revenge. I accessed my home database and immediately cancelled the monthly ballet tickets of every ISG employee under the vice-ministerial level. Yes it was petty, but I was pissed and this was the stick fate had given me. That done, I lurched back down the hallway, furiously thinking about what the hell I was going to do next.<br />
<br />
</div></div></div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-65075387370361571772011-10-09T20:15:00.000-07:002011-10-10T12:45:36.927-07:00Bloody Red Tape<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I've always been a big history buff, and one of the time periods I've been most interested in is the post-Stalin Soviet Union. After watching <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/woodbineRed#g/c/7100F227552351E7">this series</a>, and reading <a href="http://books.google.com/books?id=ipYD0dxjlf8C&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false">this book</a> on the political machinations that brought Mikhail Gorbachev into power, I got to thinking that it might make for an interesting sci-fi story.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was going to call it "Red Tape" and it was going to be about a group of bloody bureaucrats in this space empire who were scheming to get their faction into power after the death of the empire's most recent dictator. I took it as a bit of a challenge to try to make pencil-pushing a tense spectator sport, and I think it would have been a pretty engaging story too.</span><br />
<br />
But, the further along I got in writing it, the more I just got disgusted with these...bastards I was describing. I ended up just not having the stomach to finish it, and put it aside. Maybe one of these days I'll finish it up, but for now I thought I'd stick up the introductory scene of the story (warning: it has some graphic depictions of violence). The goal was to convey the flavor of the world as well as set up what was at stake if the main character's faction lost out. So, without further ado...Red Tape.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nFGEHFPcMSs/TpJhTa-XAhI/AAAAAAAAAAU/rF6YdNuC8qI/s1600/Dawn_of_the_Space_Age.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nFGEHFPcMSs/TpJhTa-XAhI/AAAAAAAAAAU/rF6YdNuC8qI/s640/Dawn_of_the_Space_Age.jpg" width="444" /></span></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">______________________________________</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><u><br />
</u></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><u>Red Tape</u></b></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Gelo R. Fleisher</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The scented breeze emitting from the ventilation fan drifted rather pleasantly across my face as the soldiers trussed up my colleagues for their public execution. They all looked in pretty bad shape. Their eyes were glazed over and their shaved heads were interspersed with purple welts where the ISG thugs had hooked up the brain scorchers to rip their confessions out of them. They should have just confessed at the start and saved themselves the trouble. If I am to be honest, I have to admit that I would tell the Intelligence Services Group absolutely anything they wanted if I was ever unfortunate enough to find myself brought down here for interrogation.<br />
<br />
There were forty or so of us observers in the audience, decked out in our gray suits and datapads, and sitting in rather uncomfortable stools bolted to the floor. We were in one of the public auditoriums that abutted the main ISG prison complex, and smell of gloom and misery seemed almost palpable in the air. The whole damn place was clunky and cold, a far cry from my normal surroundings higher up on the Pinnacle Station. The walls were made up of thick slabs of interlocking black metal, scrubbed to a scratchy shine and reeking of thickly applied antiseptic. Harsh white lighting blared out from large flood lights hooked up at random intervals and illuminating the slick pit of the execution chamber.<br />
<br />
The motley group of twenty or so condemned were close to me, if I had stood up and stretched out my hand I could have touched the nearest one. They were all dressed in the same drab gray suit that I had on, the outfit standard to the legions of bureaucratic functionaries of the Trans-Union Federacy. The only splash of color on them (besides the muddy purple of bruised skin) was a pair of epaulets on their slouching shoulders. Their epaulets were red, indicating that they were part of the Ministry of Defense. Mine were green - Ministry of Culture. In front of us, teenage soldiers were tying each of our erstwhile compatriots to metal poles, their arms stretched and clamped into place above their heads. They’d already been pumped with the nano-reagent that would cause the cell walls of their neurons to burst on command. <br />
<br />
Flick of a switch and their brains would disintegrate into pink jelly.<br />
<br />
As the Vice-Functionary to the Progressive Artists Trade Association, I was afforded a front row seat in the spartan auditorium, with a gaggle of my underlings arrayed behind me. I hoped that none of the debris of execution would splatter on my suit; I had an important meeting to go to after this.<br />
<br />
As the soldiers finished their work and moved to the side of the arena, a lieutenant with a face like a fist stamped out onto the field and glared at the victims. “You, the convicted, had the responsibility to arrange for the protection of our glorious Premiere and failed. You stand guilty of gross negligence in the execution of your duties, of failing your nation, your Party, truth and reason, and the peoples of the Federacy. You will now face the only punishment fitting for such wretches and traitors. Redeem some shred of dignity for your posterity and die like patriots.”<br />
<br />
The lieutenant pulled a small baton from his waist, put his thumb against a black button on its crown and raised it skywards. The coup de grace was about to be delivered and I put on my best scornful stare, staring at the space above the victim’s heads. There were rumors that the ISG kept tabs on anybody who looked away and I’d rather not be on their radar anymore than I had to be.<br />
<br />
The lieutenant pressed the button. The fallen functionaries writhed in unison, struggling against their bonds, shouting incoherent gibberish and horrid screams as their minds were liquefied in front of us. I did my best to remain contemptuous in the face of their death throes, but it was hard not to display some reaction to the morbid scene. I felt my stomach churn as one of the prisoners vomited, blood streaming from his eyes. <br />
<br />
It was over in a few mortifyingly long seconds, and the condemned all lay dangling against the poles, lines of blood dripping out of their noses and ears. One of the executioners, a gangly kid whose uniform was too large for him, ran up to the prisoners and started jabbing each body with a sensor-tipped bayonet, making sure nobody still had heart function.<br />
<br />
The lieutenant turned to face us, stamped his foot down and raised a closed fist. “The Federacy is Strong! The most cultured! The most rational! The vanguard of the future!” I clapped as politely as I could and began to shuffle out. This was the dirty aspect to the preservation of power, but the better parts were beckoning for me up ahead. As I turned and filed away from the field a shot rang out; the kid must have found a survivor.</div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-70968034041173962652011-10-03T14:57:00.000-07:002011-10-08T17:45:29.225-07:00Journey to the End of the World<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I've been working on larger projects for a long while now and was feeling the itch to start writing smaller, more experimental pieces. I mentioned it to my friend Ioan who suggested that I start writing flash fiction to match his newest art pieces. Only limit is that each story has to be less than 1,000 words. Here's the first one</span>.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's for Ioan's piece 'Journey to the End of the World' (I'll post a link when it goes live). My first pass after seeing the pic was to just do a whole lot of description, like a panning camera angle across the scene. Then I got to thinking that that's what Ioan was for, and so I erased all that and decided to make small story set in the world Ioan had painted. When I looked at the pic, I remember thinking how they would keep the airship in working order, then my mind drifted to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Powder_monkey">powder monkeys</a> that used to man British warships, and the rest flowed from there. The downside is that you're going to need to see Ioan's picture first if you want to get the whole scenario, but then it's a great image.</span><br />
<br />
Edit: here's the picture (link to Ioan's portfolio <a href="http://cghub.com/images/view/170271/">here</a>, make sure to leave a comment):<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AklpjVbpGy8/TotUA6_ILII/AAAAAAAAAAM/hjZZV2W3AR4/s1600/airship520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AklpjVbpGy8/TotUA6_ILII/AAAAAAAAAAM/hjZZV2W3AR4/s640/airship520.jpg" width="451" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>The story is in first-person present tense, never tried it before, so hopefully it does Ioan's work justice.<br />
<br />
________________________________________<br />
<br />
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;"><br />
</div><div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><u><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Journey to the End of the World</span></b></u></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gelo R. Fleisher</span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s nothing below me for a thousand spans except sheer, rocky cliff faces and the occasional whisp of cloud. Above me, through a hazy morning mist, the mountainside has turned itself inside out, looping in a giant arch next to which the captain has moored the ship. Worn corbels and arches of some long abandoned ruins lay pocked about the twisting incline as the crewmen scurry about them like ants picking over the bones some a long dead giant.</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">The view is breathtaking, but I don’t feel particularly moved. I’m cold, miserable, and the man next to me stinks. First Mate Darrow blows his nose into his palm, flinging the phlegm off the side of the ship into the abyss below and wiping the rest of it on his shirt. He flashes a sneer at me, a mouthful of rotted yellow teeth on display. “You ready ta’ move?” </span> </span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I nodded, pulling my overcoat tight against my ribs. We were standing on the uppermost catwalk of the airship, the bulbous curvature of the air balloon looming in front of us. I checked the tightness of the length of hemp tied around my waist and reached forward, grabbing onto a fistful of the loose, flowing canvas.</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The higher up its surface we move, the sharper and colder the air gets. The winds sheering off the cliffs are getting pressed together and come blasting down the inverted gullies in chilly gusts. By the time we are crawling like worms along the very top of the balloon, the winds are strong enough to knock grown men flat on their asses and slipping right off the side. The rigger boys splayed out before me are even more at the winds' mercy.</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The boys (the oldest one hadn’t seen more than fourteen summers) had been press-ganged in Marjoun, fated for the slave markets at NeuCharsi. I can see them squint their almond eyes against the blowing wind, their swarthy skin touched by a light blue from the cold and their gangly limbs shaking as they hold tight to the rippling canvas. They're lined up in one long row across the top of the balloon each with a loop of rope tied to their waists, linked together one after the other in a long chain, ten in all.</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Squinting my eyes against the wind, I look to my left, at the white ruins resting along side. Ratlines have been slung between the upraised columns, the ship rocking gently against its restraints. I see the gangmen heave a fat, leather hose up the ratline and onto the top of the balloon. A noxious yellow gas is leaking out of its front, the smell of it carried to my nostrils by the hissing gales. It stinks of sweet onions and old eggs. It was this gas that allowed the ship to float as it did, and only in these high mountains could you find it bubbling out from cracks in the earth.</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The gangmen finish heaving the heavy hose up the side of the balloon, right up to the feet of the first of the rigger boys. Darrow turns to me, shouting as his unkempt hair whips across his face. “Alright fancy britches, the men done their piece, now it’s thems turn.” He points to the rigger boys, gesturing to them with his hands. “Grab the hose! Pull!”</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The boys press themselves flat against the canvas, grabbing onto the rough fabric with trembling hands as the winds flow over them, oblivious to what Darrow is yelling. The ones closest to the hose are trying to move away, coughing as the errant fumes belch out. I cup my hands and shout. “</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>Kinari! Utsalla beni hatous!</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">”</span></span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">The rigger boys closest to he hose start crying, their tearful wails nearly drowned out as the force of the winds pick up. </span> </span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Darrow is besides me, slapping his hands on his knees and swearing at the boys. “Dammit! You tell ‘em they’re goin’ over the side unless they start movin’!”</span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I look at this bastard besides me, hatred seething in my chest. “</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>Kinari! Ustalla, kinari ath beni hasith!”</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I get up on my knees, gesture at the boys with one of my arms, making pulling motions towards my chest. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>Pull! Pull up the hose and you will be saved!</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> M</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">y hands are growing rigid in the ceaseless breeze.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally one of the boys grabs at the hose with one hand, lurching the fat pipe slightly across the surface. The others, see him, and feebly pull at the hose, moving it slowly between their ranks, towards me and Darrow.</span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>Ma’halla, kinari, ma’halla!</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">” </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I continue my gestures, praying that they listen. They were moving now, the hose crawling like an obese slug lurching across the balloon. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Good! You keep tellin’ ‘em to push harder!” Darrow leaves my side, crawling in front of me, towards the boys and the encroaching hose. </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;">“</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><i>Kinari! Fisté! Fisté!”</i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> I see Darrow grab the front of the hose from the boys, jamming it into an opening in the balloon. The skin tube jerks about as a valve is opened below and the noxious gas began to surge through it, belching its contents into the guts of the balloon.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> * * *</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s been half an hour since the boys were pulled off the top of the balloon. I sit next to them on the lower catwalk, one of younger ones pressed up against me, shivering under a ratty blanket. His skinny knees are knocking together, his teeth chattering. Not knowing what else to do I pat him on the head. The sun is piercing through the yellow fog now, lighting up the mountains and spires laid out ahead as far as the eyes can see. I point and tell the kids.</span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>You have done well and are brave. The hard work is done. Now you must enjoy the view.</i></span></span></div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration: none; widows: 2;"><br />
</div>Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3097239053270903415.post-38600416722012452372011-10-03T14:39:00.000-07:002011-10-03T14:39:26.128-07:00Hello WorldHello World.<br />
<br />
My friend <a href="http://jonone.cghub.com/">Ioan Dumitrescu</a> finally convinced me to start putting up some of my fiction on the web. Feels a bit like taking of all of your clothes in public actually, but guess you've got to start sometime.Gelohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05557723408503953628noreply@blogger.com1