Fiction

Taylorville is situated in a low valley along the southeast border of Missouri, almost in the state of Arkansas. All-n-all, Taylorville is a nice place to live—quiet, sleepy and friendly. Odd thing though, three days ago a light fog settled into the valley. What’s odd about it is that it won’t go away—even the morning sun can’t burn it away. It permeates everywhere—outside and inside; in the cabs of farmers’ pickup trucks; in the general store; in the school; in the church; everywhere. The whole town is talking about it. It’s weird. But life goes on.

I’m a ronin. I have no rank except that given to me by my employer. By definition, I will serve any employer. And by definition, my name has been effaced. I am known and addressed as Ronin. For honorable service, a name may be given back to me.

When the moon died Ruth predicted trouble. She told me that there would be trouble. At the time there were other things on everyone's mind, and I think I can be forgiven for not taking her too seriously. I remember the sound. The percussion of the gun, the shockwave rolling the floor, the earth, the walls of the building. Windows shattered and screams erupted, every human voice joining in the cacophony. The dogs howled. Dust rained down. I fell on my knees and felt the sky quake, and when I fled into the street it had already filled with people, standing under the stark and naked sky. Some of them screamed into the eyeless dark, at the cold and distant light that wasn't there. Brave, in that moment, and drunk with victory.

Only one standing ovation? The horror director waved to the crowd and took a seat on the sticky stage. The freezing Santa Monica theatre was at full capacity. He crossed his right leg over his left and settled in for another night with fans remembering his 1975 slasher classic, the only film on his resume that was still being shown anywhere in the new century. It would be his third Q&A of the month, following his appearances in Hollywood and Century City. It was a busy time for Theo Hauser. It was October, after all.

JANUS
HUNTING SEASON
Or
A DIFFERENT VIEW

They’re hidden, blind, behind with anticipation, waiting out the morning mist, eyes skyward. While decoys floating, the best that money can buy, cold as the water they float on, say nothing. And from the sky, the site, the painted lie, lifeless and indiscernible, to a false beacon, they will glide, soon too late to recognize.

Artie is sitting at the bar area of his favorite restaurant Ciro's. He wasn’t sure if he wanted a table or was comfortable just to sit here. Comfort is what he was seeking and his prenatal environment involved some form of pasta and wine.

Jefferson Ball, brown furred and eyed, black nosed, clad in her customary black bikini and high boots despite the exclusive dress code of the establishment, the heroine of Earth and other planets and the strongest female dog in a universe almost exclusively consisting of canines, was convulsed with rage when she heard her date utter the statement that he had just dared to utter in her presence. And the poor boy knew immediately that he could do nothing to recover her good temper and the evening after that.

Melissa snapped the puzzle piece into place with the sound of breaking bone. “Melissa,” her mother cried, “take it easy, you’re going to bend the pieces that way. Be more careful.”

The vehicle control lights throughout Fair City suddenly turn amber, then red.  All traffic,  vehicular and bipedal, comes to a halt. City-wide, the public address screens declare an important message from the Fair City Managers Office and the Commissar of Public Safety. The Fair City manager appears, his face dominating the screens.