Your Home Sweet Home is My Home

Diedra was charmed by Kyle’s cocktail of acerbic wit and sincere romanticism, he could weave a tapestry of insults admonishing a public figure while they curled up in bed, limbs intertwining after serving her a home-cooked meal by candlelight. Their relationship didn’t “blossom” like a flower, unfurling and slowly revealing new insights only to quickly wither; their love brewed, growing stronger as the years lapsed into decades. The humans had their turn to rule and it took little time to make the world all but unlivable – for them – at which point the Immortals emerged from the shadows and seized control; they claimed thrones and palaces around the world, enslaved the few surviving humans, and revelled in finally using the power they hid for eons. Diedra and Kyle preferred not to, unlike the others they were not born in the pits of fire and brimstone they were born in the fields of passion and beauty and would only ever need each other to be content.

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Obnoxious, Offensive, Egomaniac, Etc

Don was rude. Don was also a brilliant mathematician who would eventually work with a team to develop the equation to maximize the energy output of batteries that would revolutionize technology and take the first major step toward travel to exoplanets. Before that he would have to go on a more personal journey to learn that his math wouldn’t always satisfy his colleagues, that a more amenable attitude would take him farther. He slowly came to rely on a warm hand more often than a cold shoulder and appreciated the value of the bonds forged through his new temperament, but the final crack in his shell came from the afternoons spent with his new assistant, Abigail.

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The Lady and the Tiger and the Lawyer

Lindsay relished the sweet and milky taste in every spoonful of her ice cream, a celebration of yet another victory for her and her team. Her colleagues gossiped about the peculiarity of a grown woman choosing a banana split over, say, a bourbon or cigar, but Lindsay brought in enough clients and won enough cases that she could have gotten away with obscenely strange customs. The truth was that Lindsay’s ritual wasn’t just to literally savor her victories, but a superstitious habit for continued luck, and had been effective since her baseball team in college won the state championship.

 

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Who Owes Who What?

The City was flooded with life: people, animals, trees & vegetation; and likewise, the City was alive with a pulse and a voice. It formed a symbiotic relationship with the life it contained, even if most of that life was unaware of the connection; for decades it was a mutually beneficial give and take, for better or worse: the people planted and maintained gardens, the animals fertilized them, and the City provided creative inspiration, it hummed with a rhythm that gave the people comfort. Over the past several years, however, there has been too much take and not enough give, the people pushed the City to demand attention and due respect by any means necessary.

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Washington vs the Bunny

Washington stalked the animal through the snowy meadow, staying low and keeping a safe distance to avoid the prey’s instinctive radar. He didn’t need this meal, he kept well-fed, but it maintained his training and kept his hunting instincts sharp; Washington had lived with several families, but they always found something wrong with him and sent him back without regard, and so no matter where he lived, he remained wild at heart. He had stopped following the rabbit after finding its burrow and merely sat and waited patiently for it to return, however he was soon beckoned back home for dinner; as he trotted back home following the scent of the Anderson’s home-cooked meal, he marked a tree near the burrow planning to return for wild rabbit another time, settling for at least one more night of dry dog food.

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Death of the Party

Vik and Witchita rode at a steady clip through the pale blue light of the moon, on the run after a single mistake they could never correct – a sin that could never be forgiven – they could only attempt to make amends through their deeds, helping those who needed it most. They rushed toward a small town where they hoped to find a doctor or someone who could help the girl carried on the back of Vik’s horse whom they found in the woods, gashed and bloody. Some of the cuts seemed to have healed when they checked on her at a stop for food and water, but they didn’t know how hungry the girl was growing inside.

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You Ought to Be in Pictures

The painting stole Chay’s attention the moment she walked into the gallery, the muted colors and thick brush strokes luring her closer; as she studied the canvas the scene grew deeper and she saw more details until it filled her entire field of vision. Her dry eyes stung and when her lids swept up from rehydrating them, she found herself in the olive grove which had captivated her; not a real grove, a thick field of paint populated by oily, faceless women plucking olives and gathering them in baskets. This wasn’t Chay’s first foray into a painting and it wouldn’t be her last, though she would never understand the nature of her power or learn to control it, she just relaxed and enjoyed the journeys, while people often glared and wondered about the strange woman staring at a single painting for over an hour.

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The Impractical Joke

Dozens of suits and sundresses passed Jordan on the subway platform of the 4•5•6 at the end of the month, but some would stop to hear him play his beaten up, too-small violin; a handful of patrons would even toss him loose change or maybe a bill or two, and for each of them he would cease the music to stand up and shake their hand with a “Thank you” while his other hand snatched their wallet. At the end of the day he collected his takings, packed up the violin his mother gave him as a child, and made his way to his studio apartment in the city; to each of the people whose wallets he borrowed he wrote a letter telling them who he was, how appreciative he was of their generosity and how much it can change a person’s life. The musician who had played to crowds around the world signed his name, tucked a grand in their wallet, and mailed it back to them.

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The Lady and the Babysitter

Rita ran the fabric through the sewing machine with the quickness of a lifelong seamstress even though she had only taken it up the year before, purchasing the machine on a whim at an estate sale. She didn’t know where to start, but her neighbor Mrs. Exley was generous enough to give free lessons only asking for conversation in return; Rita never met her own grandmother and couldn’t help but bond with Mina Exley during their weekly sessions as they joked about their strikingly similar childhoods and flights of fancy. She completed the last bits of embroidered details and the next morning Mina opened the package left at her doorstep with an ear-to-ear smile, giddily putting it on and for the rest of the day wearing the cape with a flashy red “X” on the back.

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Don’t Trip Over That Mountain

Becky rolled her eyes as her date droned on about the overlooked plight of children forced into labor on Ecuadorian banana plantations; it wasn’t that Becky didn’t care, she was just bored by people who always talked about problems plaguing the world without ever doing anything more than token gestures to effect change. She allowed Jamie to finish the memorized screed before asking the simple question, “What have you done about it?”; brimming with pride the young idealist bragged of helping draft a petition to request a labor law initiative added to the ballot of the next election. With a condescending smile Becky mentioned that she had established an organization that had already rescued several dozen children from abusive foster homes in the United States and nonchalantly motioned for the waiter to bring her the check; while she knew there wasn’t a future for them, she did feel a pang of guilt at so quickly sabotaging any chance of a second date with the handsome-but-naive suitor. 

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