Laser Beam Ice Cream

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Digital image. Foreground bottom, a bowl with three scoops of ice cream. The center scoop has little lightning bolts surrounding it. Behind the bowl are three figures. Center, from waist up is a smiling young man facing forward, with his curled hands on his hips. To his left is a young woman from waist up in three-quarters profile, her head tilted up. A beam of light shoots from her eyes. She holds the first two fingers of her left hand to her temple. To the young man’s right is a black-and-white dog, seated, who is also looking up and shooting beams of light from his eyes. He wears a collar with the name “Percival” on it.

“I’ve done it, Percival. I’ve really done it.”

Arthur strode into his kitchen with the black-and-white mutt following.  In his right hand, he held the cause of the grin on his face.  The fist-sized device looked like an ordinary gate clicker or car alarm controller. 

“I wonder if the name ‘Bandage Beam’ is taken,” Arthur said, as he reached for the freezer handle. 

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The Blacksmith’s Bucket

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The Blacksmith's BucketWhen the world was new, there was much chaos.  Wars between gods.  Wars between gods and those they were charged with guarding and guiding.  The birth of terrible monsters on sea and land and sky.  The birth of creatures who could cross between the realms of the living and the dead, who could haunt the dreams of all creatures who dreamed.

In the midst of it all, there were those who, perhaps in vain, still endeavored to live and love and build in the new world.     Continue reading

Pestilence

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PestilenceShe wandered through the halls of the empty manor, the portraits of the past gazing down at her, following her.  They were beautiful and ghastly, the women in the portraits.  And she avoided looking at them.  At their paleness.  It was not the soft paleness of life.  It was the unsettling paleness of dying.  She had never noticed it before.  It was a paleness she shared.  She dragged the burden of her longing and anticipation and dread and hope as if they were heavy chains on her back and shoulders.  She was close to achieving what she wanted.  At last, after an eon and an age.   Continue reading

The Witch Rampion

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The Witch Rampion AltAt the base of the tower, I have grown vines studded with thorns as long as my arm.  Not the dainty thorns of thistle or rose.  But deadly thorns like skewers.  Thorns that grow thorns of their own.  There is no way to climb through them without getting tangled and pierced.  Many a woodland creature have become mired.  I cannot free them.  I can only end their misery and watch as the vines devour them until only bones are left.  It is useless to chop through the vines.  For when they are culled, they grow back within a few heartbeats, thicker than before.  I am protected.  I feed the plant with my own blood.  A drop a day suffices.  For I am no woodland creature.  My blood is full of nourishments beyond that known to beast or man.  My body is a channel for greater powers.  I was not told before I ran away to my tower what I am.  I brought the knowledge with me.  I gathered it as I wandered.  I gathered herbs and I gathered books.  I gathered leaves and dirt and rain.  I gathered powders and tinctures and metals and stones.  One day as a heavy rain fell outside and as my candles flickered, I read the word that my family tried to hide from me.  The word that told me what I am.

Witch. Continue reading