Tuesday, December 18, 2012

E-Tales on Kindle

So, my friend Jason Murdoch wanted to try some digital publishing and asked for some of my old short stories to format.

He worked hard and got them all uploaded on to Amazon's Kindle as an e-book!

Some are really odd and funny when I look back at them, but here's the link to the Kindle website! Take a look!


Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Particle Distributor

Stephen had not returned; he had gone for lunch at his usual time, but he was late to come back. Stephen was never late to come back.

I looked up from my computer screen and saw Stephen's empty desk across the row; I wondered where he could be.

After a few minutes I looked again and was startled to see two men in dark blue overalls standing at his desk, quietly discussing where to place the equipment they carried.

The older of the two motioned to the other to set his thick, brownish tablet on Stephen's desk.

Placing it delicately down, the younger turned a knob set into the top of the rectangular slab and it began to make a humming-clicking noise continuously as they went about their work.

The older man set down his black case on the floor to open it up. Inside, the case held a blue-coloured device with a numbered meter on the front of it and a wand connected by a long clear tube to the top of the coffin shaped instrument.

While he unravelled the tubing, his partner took out a glass cylinder of clear liquid from the pouch on his belt and held it out to for him to dip the wand's tip into.

I watched in stunned silence. At first I wanted to ask what they were up to, yet my curiosity took hold as they went about their task. I wanted too see what it was that they were going to do.

Once the wand was sufficiently dampened, the older workman took it from the bottle, which the younger carefully covered and placed back in its pouch, and waved the silvery rod around in the air where Stephen sat.

After only a few passes, he looked at the meter and quietly told the readings to the younger man, who wrote them down in a notepad. He then put the device away in its case, and just before he shut it closed, I was able to read the label inside the case's lining: "Particle Distributor".

What kind of work were these guys doing?

The particle distributor safely back in its case, they returned their attention to the noisy brown tablet. The older workman told the younger to shut it off, which he did with a turn of the knob, and then clicked a side latch to open the tablet's faceplate off like a lid. I could not see what was inside but they both took notes on their findings and then closed it up again.

Their tasks apparently complete, they gathered their equipment and turned to leave.

Sensing it would be my last chance, I made to speak up and ask what they had been doing, but before I said a word, the older workman turned to meet my gaze and his completely black eyes burned out at me with rage. My words were lost with sudden fright and he turned slowly to leave with his partner.

Once they had disappeared around the hall corner, I turned to Will at his desk next to mine.

"Did you see that?!" I asked in astonishment.

Will did not look away from his screen, "See what?"

I pointed back at Stephen's empty desk, "Those two guys at Stephen's desk, they were..."

As I spoke I looked over to Stephen's desk and stopped in mid-sentence when I saw Stephen sitting with his back to me, working quietly at his computer.

"Hey," I said, a bit stunned. "When did you get back?"

Stephen turned slowly from his screen and his eyes were as pitch black as the workman's had been.

"What do you mean?" He replied in a hollow voice. "I've been here the whole time. Haven't I, Will?"

I looked shakily from Stephen's dead eyes to Will, fearing what I would see.

His eyes shone black as well.

"Yes," Will spoke in the same hollow tone, "The whole time."

I stood up quickly and looked over the cubicle walls to see dozens of teams of workmen, all carrying their kits; all stopping to look straight at me.

And the darkness of their eyes washed over me in a silent shout.

Yes, we had all been here, the whole time.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

Don't Get On The Train!

Cleaning out my desk at work yesterday, I found a note. I have no memory of writing it, yet it was in my hand-writing.

"Don't get on the train." was all that was written, along with today's date.

When did I write it? And why would I write such an odd note to myself? Those questions came to me right away, but as the day went on, another occurred to me.

The note must have been in there for months, since that was the last time I cleared out the clutter of papers in my drawers. So how come I found it the day before the date on the note?

Any later and it would have be a moot point, the date having passed, I would not have seen it in time; but in time for what?

Why did I write the note?

As I tried to do my work, my mind raced trying to remember when and why; but nothing. Then my brain started to go off into wild imaginings like: what if I did not remember writing it because I have not yet?

What if somehow, me from the future wrote the note after some terrible series of events happened in the future all starting with me getting on the train, and I am trying to stop them from happening?

I chuckled to myself on that one for a bit, and then I noticed the red spots on the corner of the note. Faded and dried, they could have been red pen, yet they had too much of a brown hue to them for it to be ink.

Possibly coffee, I rationalized. Though, in the back of my head I thought of the fact I hate coffee.

I hardly spoke when I got home after work; I just kept going over the note and what it meant as I ate dinner and tried to watch TV. Through restless sleep I dreamt of a horrible train wreck on the subway and the pain of the screeching impact woke me up so I could not shut my eyes again without picturing the burning wreckage where my mangled body lay.

In an exhausted haze I got ready for work and left the house with a distracted goodbye.

Now, here I stand, waiting for the train to come; I can hear it roaring closer through the tunnels. In my head it is a rumble of dread.

I look down at the note and read its simple message once more.

Do I heed its warning from the future, or is it just some random scribbling I jotted down on the paper and forgot about in my desk?

Looking down the tunnel, the headlights of the train begin to brighten the darkness; like the present, come to bring light to the abyss of the unknown future.

As the doors of the subway car open onto the station platform, Jane looks at the dazed looking man in his suit and tie, carrying a briefcase in one hand and holding a piece of paper in the other. She frowns in disgust as she sees that he has pissed his pants.

Then she sees the poster on the wall behind him and remembers that she wanted to see the movie it is advertising.

"A Thrill-ride of Terror" it reads, "Don't get on the Train! Starts Today!"

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Rain City

There used to be a saying; "When it rains, it pours."

They don't say it anymore. Now; now it just rains, all the time.

Light rain drops fall upon the brim of my wide-rimmed hat as I stand looking out from the high train platform.  I look out over the city; its tall buildings reaching out of the watery depths below.

People adapt; the world adapted.  After all that had happened; all the catastrophes, the world rebuilt itself to adapt. Adapt and thrive.

For now, there was no shortage of energy or fuel. It was all around us, it fell from the skies. Water powered everything.

The power of water harnessed in giant generators underneath the surface of the mega-structure buildings, giving us more power than we could ever use.

More than the oils that countries used to war over. More so than even the sun.

The sun.

I miss the sun.

It's hazy, yellow glow fills my memories. I can remember it shining brightly in the blue skies when I was young; it warmed my skin and made the days seem happier.

Now; now I look up and see the gray clouds, ever-present, ever pouring their chilly drops down from above.

A shiver runs through me and I clutch close my damp jacket.

Oh well, this is the world now. The city I live in; Rain City.http://youtu.be/-sNBgRObwW8

Sunday, August 26, 2012


He scoured the room; first turning over sheets of music that were already lying scattered about, covering the desk and chairs, then turning over the desk and chairs themselves; searching frantically.

Where could it have gone? He had to find it!

Running from room to room, Theo upturned every piece of bedding, furniture, and any other material big enough to hide it. In a few short moments the entire house was in a state of upheaval and he sat on the floor of the living room in a sea of papers, the morning sun shining through the windows that overlooked the sea.

His head in his hands, he rocked back and forth, racking his brains as to where he could have placed it. It had been right there on the desk in the study where he had always put it at night. He knew it.

Without realizing it, tears had begun to roll down his cheeks. He had never misplaced it before, not since the day it was given to him.

Theo's thoughts went back to that day, when he was just a boy, no older than 5 or 6, and his father had brought it home.

It's magic, his father had said as he brought it out from behind his back and held it out to Theo; a reddish, brown violin, with a bow small enough for his young hands.

The instrument did not look magical, or anything but ordinary, but even still, Theo hesitated to touch it. His father smiled and said it was okay; that it was his.

Theo remembered how light it felt, even when he was young. It weighed next to nothing, yet it was not fragile, but sturdily built. Even so, he took it gently in his left with the bow in his right.

When you play upon this violin, his father had told him in a hushed voice, you will be the greatest violinist in the world.

He looked up at his father as he said this and his smiling eyes were telling the truth.

With excited anticipation, Theo put the violin to his chin and the bow to the strings and began to play.

His father had been right.

The music he was able to play upon that violin was extraordinary, even in his youth; the masters of the instrument could not keep up. And his skills only increased as he became older.

Packed concert halls, and world-wide fame filled hi life, all because of the magic of his violin.

And when his father passed away, the notes he played at the funeral seemed to make the skies themselves open up and weep.

The violin called to him to play and he was happy to oblige it. No other musician was his equal when he played upon it.

Now, it was missing.

He was to unveil his newest suite to the world the evening and the violin was no where to be found.

Turning the expansive mansion on the hill upside down had yielded nothing.

Theo now sat in the study, where he knew he had left it and a breeze from the open window caught his attention. He had not left that open. The sheer white curtain fluttered in the soft, sea breeze as he approached the large window, its glass pane swung out wide on its hinges.

Had someone, somehow, gotten passed the elaborate alarm system and stolen his violin away?

Under the window frame on the floor Theo noticed a single sheet of music laying face up. He bent down to pick it up and rested his hand upon the sill. The alarm that should have gone off when the intruder had first entered started to sound as the weight of his hand activated the pressure sensor.

The blaring alarm seemed a distant buzzing in his ears as he looked upon the sheet of blank music in his hand. Blank, except for a single signed letter: G.

Theo crumpled the paper into an angry fist.

He shook with rage; He had snuck into Theo's home and taken his most prized possession; the one person who suspected the violin's true power, his longest and most bitter rival. Theo cursed his name under his breath as he stood in the open window that looked out over the hillside which lead to the rolling waves of the sea below, and vowed to hunt him down and get back what had been stolen.

He vowed to make him pay; Giorgio.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Haiku Stretches

Haiku Vamp 
"Look into my eyes, 
Look and see all you could be, 
Your deepest desires, 
While my fangs sink in your neck." 

Bruce's Haiku 
"My cape flutters wild, 
Wrapping me in its darkness, 
I feel safe inside, 
Where I can hide, I'm Batman." 

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Flute Music

In a forest deep I came upon an old man playing on his flute.

He nodded welcome as he blew his melody and I sat upon a well-worn stump across from where he sat atop his own.

Quietly, I sat back and watched him as his knobby fingers moved deftly over the delicately carved flute; intricate designs covered its wood surface and the tune that flowed out of its hand-bored holes had a mysterious air about it.

As I watched and listened, my thoughts wandered through the trees that stood around the opening where we sat. The leaves of the branches rustled with the soft breeze that blew through them.

In my mind’s eye the late afternoon sky became the dark blue of evening with the red glow of the setting sun illuminating it from below and the milky moon from above.

The simple notes of the old man’s song became full and sinuous as they wrapped around the trees to bring them in closer and closer, until the surrounded me an all sides.

I could feel them breathing together with each other, and I began to breathe with them; I felt I was a part of the forest and it apart of me.

I closed my eyes to listen to our breathing as the flute’s melody filled my senses.

The song began to die down from filling everything, to just its first simple notes and I opened my eyes to find I was sitting back in the clearing the woods, the bright sun still lighting the azure blue sky. Nothing had changed and no time had passed.

I looked to the old man and he had become a bear, sitting just as he had been, playing his flute delicately with his furring brown paws.

“Oh, you’re a bear.” I said.
“Yes.” he replied, “And you are too.”

And so I was.

Sunday, June 3, 2012


Lying on the soft grass beside a cool pond she awoke to the song of the cheerful birds flitting about in the tree overhead. Her eyes opened sleepily as a smile slid across her lips. The soft curls of her hair flowed out around her head where she rested it upon the cushioned moss.

Sitting up dreamily, she stretched out her arms and yawned with daintiness. The folds of her white dress covered her legs so only her bare feet peeked out from under the hem. She wiggled her toes as she stretched and then sat cross-legged while fluffing her already perfectly fluffed hair with her fingers.

A chipmunk scurried down the tree she sat beside and ran up to sit upon her knee. She smiled at the little creature brightly and reached down at the ground behind her back to bring out a bunch of nuts in her hand.

She held them out to the tiny chipmunk, which snatched them up greedily with its little claws, stuffing them into its cheeks.

Its furry paws and puffy cheeks made her giggle out loud and the chipmunk skittered off her lap and back up to its branch in the tree. With a playful sigh she brushed the crumbs from her hands and hopped up to her feet.

Today she was particularly happy, for today was a particularly special day; a day that she had been waiting upon for some time now.

Her mood put a bounce in her step as she skipped over to the little pond and knelt down beside the sparkling water to splash its freshness on her face, washing away the night’s slumber.

She patted her face lightly with her damp palms and then shook her head like the tiny birds taking their early morning baths.

Refreshed, she got up once again and skipped a few meters away from the pond, to the edge of the green grass. She stopped and put her hands up upon what seemed to be an unseen wall that she leaned on as her eyes scanned all about; her smile grew wider with every passing moment.

The light, which had not seemed so dim before, brightened on her face with a milky white quality to it, like moonlight rather than that of the warm yellow the run sun. The light flooded in all around her and her eyes found what they had been searching for.

From further out, the grass she stood upon, along with the small pond of water and thick-trunked tree, was only a small, lone island afloat in the vast sea of space.

A clear dome covered the tiny island, which she pushed against in order to get a better look at the scene that was coming into view.

The island clears the curvature of a gray moon it hovers above and gives way to the view of a deep blue sphere, suspended amongst the stars.

The sun’s light now reflects off of the plant and creates a gentle blue aura around its curves.

The girl, standing on her tiny island, is dwarfed by the scene as they move into the center of it. She steps back from the dome’s side as the light gets brighter and stares in silence at the planet’s beauty.

The domed island continues to move on its path and tracks to the right of the big blue orb, further away from its moon. She sits herself down on a grassy mound and continues to watch as she absently pulls out a paper-wrapped package from behind her back.

She tears away the paper wrapping to reveal a neatly made cucumber sandwich and begins to eat it, all the while never taking her wide eyes away from the scene before her.

As she chews politely her little island silently moves along its path and crosses over the scene on its own trajectory into the starry infinite.

Another sigh escapes her lips as she lets her hands drop gently into her lap, this time with a hint of loneliness in it. She moves on her way, sitting on her grassy island, travelling, as she ever has, though space; all on her own.

Perhaps the wait for the next passerby will not seem so long, she thinks as she looks from the shrinking blue planet to the distant stars, a tiny red dot shimmers among them.


Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Forest of Forget

Once a man went into the forest; amongst the trees and moss he wandered searching for something he had lost.

However, after searching so long, he had forgotten what it was that he had lost, so he made the dense wood his home, awaiting the day he remembered what it was he had never found.

It was a comfortable life, within the forest where he was surrounded by the creatures and natural beauty that dwelt in the woods side by side with him.

He had made his house in the massive trunk of an ancient tree that reached up and out of the canopy to overlook the green sea of the forest.

It was only in the early light of the morning that he sometimes had a faint recollection that he had come in search of something. Then, as the sun’s light grew, the thought faded like a distant dream and he was content again in his wooded home.

Content, until the day a young woman came tumbling out of the trees and out into the clearing around his tree-trunk home. Behind her the crashing of trees being trampled and a shaking roar followed.
The woman ran frantically up to him where he stood beside his little garden and coward behind his back like a scared little child.

A great, brown bear smashed through the trees into the clearing and charged toward them.

The man stood his ground and the bear slowed to stand on its hind legs, towering over them.

With a deafening roar the bear loomed at the man and the cowering woman, but the man did not budge. He only stared at the big beast and nodded slowly.

The bear calmed and went back down on all fours. With a sniff it turned itself around and headed back through the thicket of broken trees at a lazy lumber.

Once the bear was out of sight and its grumbling grunts were only a faint sound, the man turned to the young woman to ask what she had done to provoke his friend the bear, yet when he saw her face, he saw the reason he had come into the wood.

How long had it been; how had he forgotten; forgotten the face that now looked up at him with the same realization upon her face.

They had both come into the woods to look for what was lost, only to lose themselves, as do any that enter the Forest of Forget.

As a child she had come after her beloved dog, who had chased a rabbit deep within the wood, and as a younger man, he had chased her; his young daughter.

They looked into each other’s eyes and remembered; for that was the Forest’s secret.

Those who entered alone would forget their lives outside the forest and become content, forever inside the calming wood. But those who came in with another never forgot and left as they came, together.

And so, hand in hand, father and daughter laughed and cried, and walked out of the woods to return to the home they had forgotten, together.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Storm of Revolution

Running up the rocky slope, Richard thought to himself of what he would say once he reached the top.
They had all gathered; from the far reaches of the world, coming in legions, to hear what he would say.
Though the truth was, he had no idea what he would say. Everything up until now had just come to him like a voice inside his head that was not his own.
It spoke through him, and it had made sense; to himself as well as all that had heard him, from that very first speech in that dark and wet alley.
His words had spread across the land and they had started to gather; had started to build a force that could wash over any that stood in their way.
As he raced up to the summit of the craggy cliffs, his mind went over all the events that had led him here. The victories and losses, the allies he had gained, and the loved ones he had lost all came flooding back to him.
But those were the costs of revolution. Even the loss of his left eye seemed worth it, if it meant they reached their eventual goal.
When he finally reached the top of the mountain, he looked down at the multitude that spread out below, awaiting him with anticipation and furfur; ancient blood feuds and turf wars forgotten in their common goal. They all stood as comrades.
All hushed as he padded up to the edge and his unpatched eye scanned over them.
In that moment, he knew what had to be said. No voice needed to tell him now.
So proudly, in a voice that carried an echoing boom like thunder, Richard the cat simply said, “Meow.”
And the cat armies of the world below meowed in unified response.
The storm of revolution had begun.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

London Fog

Henry did not like the look of the fog that rolled over the dewy grass hills of the city’s large park. It moved amongst the trees purposefully; against the night’s breeze, covering them in mists that seemed to swallow them up into oblivion.

This could not be true of course, he knew that the trees were still there, standing as they ever had been, however, for some dark reason he felt the fog had consumed them, along with the rest of the landscape.

The fog continued to roll itself out onto the cobblestones of the street that bordered the park, coming straight towards where he stood underneath the flickering flame of the streetlamp, smoking his nightly pipe.

A carriage bustled along the road as the fog enveloped it. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves and clatter of the wheels on the street stones became muffled, then silent; as if they had disappeared not just from sight, but vanished entirely.

Henry bit down on his pipe and turned on his heel to walk briskly away from the oncoming cloud of mist that had grown to block out everything it touched; blocked out or devoured.

Looking over his shoulder, Henry saw the looming fog eat up the brick buildings that lined the street. Not watching where he was going, he bumped into the shoulder of someone, knocking the pipe from his mouth down to the sidewalk.

George Grafton was the portly, older gentleman who lived a few homes down from Henry and his family. Begging his pardon and barely hearing the elderly man’s inquiries as to where he was off to in such a hurry, Henry only touched the brim of his hat as he turned to see the fog moving closer.

Continuing to hurry away, he heard a few of George’s upset remarks at his rudeness before the old man was silenced by the fog. Henry looked back and saw that George was gone, lost to the fog that threatened to take him as well.

By the time he turned the corner to the street on which his house stood, he was at a full run to try and stay ahead of the sinister mist. Everything behind was gone, but he did not turn to look anymore, he only wanted to make it home.

Reaching the steps to his townhouse he let go of his hat and let it fly off his head to disappear into the foggy depths. He pounded his gloved fists on the thick wooden door for his Emily to unlock the door and let him in.

He dared one more look over his shoulder only to see the dark shadow of the fog moving in around him. His shout for his wife muffled and then was silenced completely.

Emily opened the door to let her husband in before he busted in down, but only the chilled night air came in, causing her to shiver and pull her schal higher around her shoulders.

She stepped out onto the front stoop and looked up and down the lamp-lit street; Henry was nowhere in sight.
What fool game was he playing at this time? She thought to herself grumpily. Down the street a fog was rolling away, leaving wispy trails in its wake.

Sniffing in annoyance, Emily turned back to go inside and closed the door.

A figure stepped out of the fog as it moved away, silhouetted from the lamp light under which they stood. The figure wore Henry’s close, but from underneath the brim of Henry’s top hat, dark foggy eyes look out as they lit Henry’s pipe and began to stroll; moving purposefully towards Henry’s beautiful brick townhouse. Their new home. 

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Empty Woods

Golden light shimmered from underneath the surface of the water; the shape of the object distorted by the lapping of the little waves that hit the grass and dirt edge of the stream before bouncing back out.
Antony knelt beside the stream to peer down at the thing that lay on the mucky bottom, its golden glow reflecting on his face. Still distorted, he thought it liked like a face, with hollow eyes and mouth.
Hesitantly, he reached down, dipping his hand into the cool spring waters and touched the object’s smooth surface. His fingers slipped underneath its edges as he lifted it out of the mud with a sucking plop sound.
It was a mask, a golden mask of a man’s face that seemed to glower at him with its open eye and mouth holes. Droplets of water fell from the shining surface of the mask and glistened in the afternoon sun that shone through the over-hanging trees.
Antony turned it over in his hands and looked at the darker underside. Not a gleaming gold, but perhaps a cracked and worn iron reverse of the outer facade, its eyes and mouth still scowling.
With the mask in both hands Antony brought it up to his face, briefly closing his eyes as the mask touched his skin with cold wet.
He opened them to look out from the carved openings, half expecting a change in what he saw, but it was still only the shallow stream running through the sunlit woods; nothing wondrous.
He turned his head as he took the mask away from his face, but out of the corner of his vision he saw a figure standing opposite himself across the stream.
Quickly, he hid it behind his back, embarrassed at being caught alone in the middle of the woods, trying on a golden mask. Yet, when the mask was off, the person was gone.
Antony scanned the trail and area but there was no one, nor even a hint that anyone had been there. The trees rustled gently in the soft breeze, the water babbled quietly, and the birds chirped away happily, but all else was calm and undisturbed.
Turning his attention back to the mask held in his hand, he brought it up again, meaning to try and look at himself in the waters’ reflection. Yet, when he looked through its eyes once more, the figure stood across from him.
The other man held the same golden mask to his face; he even seemed to be wearing a similar outfit to Antony’s.
Antony took the mask away to say hello, but was startled when the other disappeared from sight.
Warily, he looked through the mask again and the person stood staring back through his own mask on his side of the stream, and Antony could see that the other was holding the mask in the same way, just bringing it back up as if he had pulled it away quickly as well.
This time they kept holding their masks up and inspected each other.
Antony now saw that the other’s clothes were not just similar his own, they were the exact same.
He tilted his head, trying to think of something to say, and the other tilted his head the same way.
This was getting too creepy for Antony, so he ventured a hello. It only echoed within his mask.
Did the other say hello too, or was it just his own reverberated greeting?
Antony lifted his free hand to wave and so did the other man, aping his movements exactly.
Putting down his hand down slowly, as did the other, Antony asked if these were both their masks, and again, nothing but a muffled echo.
He took the mask slowly away to look over its top, but once more, his double disappeared from sight so he looked back through the mask. The other seemed to have just done the same.
Moving forward a step, Antony watched as the other took the same step.
He put his mask down and was alone again.
Thinking for a moment, Antony looked down the stream for a way to cross over. There were a few bigger rocks protruding out of the water so he moved over to the nearest one and hopped carefully from one to the other until he leapt to the opposite side from where he had been standing.
Facing where he had been, Antony donned the mask and looked through its eyes again.
Nothing; the other was not there. He brought the mask down with a sigh.
He shifted his gaze down at the water and he saw another distorted reflection standing beside his.
Looking quickly to his side where the reflected other should have been he saw nothing.
Antony narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in annoyance. Then, slowly, he brought the mask up to his face.
When he looked through the oblong openings, his eyes widened with terror. The other stood staring face to face, without the mask.
Antony screamed and dropped the mask.
It fell back into the bubbling waters of the stream with a small splash that was drowned out by Antony’s screams of horror and pain.
Soon the screams were just an echo that no one heard, deep in the empty wood.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

The Right Eye

There is a light that can be seen,
Only by the eye on the right.
It hides from the left,
And does not shine as bright.

The Right eye knows it is there,
Yet it keeps its existence a secret.
Not to be malicious or mean,
But because the Left and the Right have never met.

Though they have seen each other in reflections and pictures,
Their introduction has never been official, proper or right.
So the Right keeps its secret light to itself.
And the Left, won’t tell the Right of its own, secret light. 

Monday, February 27, 2012

Tiny Bear

A tiny bear walked into the antiques shop and the bell above the door jingled.

How it found its way to the shop, Howard could not fathom, it was hard for most people to locate it, let alone a foot tall brown bear.

The bear padded further into the cluttered store as Howard lost sight of it behind a shelf of old tin advertising signs. He tried to crane his neck to see over the shelf from where he stood behind the counter but could not manage.

“Hello?” he ventured. “Can I help you?” he added, genuinely curious if he could.

The bear came around the front of the shelves and took off its little black hat; put its paw inside of it to pull out a glinting object that would fit in the palm of a regular sized person’s hand.

It held the curved object up so Howard could see. It looked like half of a sphere, silver on the outside with floral patterns engraved all over the surface.

The inside seemed a clockwork of gears and cogs.

Strangely, he had seen the object before; or at least its twin.

Howard nodded to the small bear and went to a shelf in the middle of the shop. Amongst the knick knacks that lay here and there on the glass shelf was an identical half sphere with the intricate engravings of flowery vines covering its silver shell and the fine workings of gears filling its inside.

It had been in the shop since before he had taken it over and was one of the few items he had failed to either sell or discard.

As he reached for it, he almost thought he heard a tinkle of metal chimes, just faint enough to dismiss as a trick of the ear.

He turned to find the pint sized bear standing only a few paces away, holding its half sphere up in one paw with the other paw open, eagerly inviting Howard to hand his over.

With little hesitation, he found himself placing the other half gently into the bear’s little paw.

Its dark, bead-like eyes glistened with the silver reflection as it brought the two halves up closer to its fuzzy muzzle.

As the two halves came closer together, their innards began to whirl and spin on their own accord.

The air around the two pieces began to waver as well. At first just around their surfaces’, but as the bear moved its paws closer and closer together, bringing the open insides nearer to one another, the wavering grew.

The air shook so it distorted the area around the bear’s light brown paws, spreading all around its arms and torso.

Finally, as the small bear seemed to struggle to push the two halves together, the wavering and shaking of the air around it suddenly stopped and they sealed together in a perfect sphere.
A silence preceded a booming wave of sound that reverberated out from the now whole sphere and hit Howard in the chest with a thump. He stumbled backwards and the back of his legs hit against a trunk that sat on the ground behind where he stood, knocking him down to sit atop the chest’s flat lid.

The shelves of antiques shook and most of the trinkets toppled over, some crashing to the ground around their feet.

Howard’s attention moved from the bear to the shelves and back again to see that the sphere rotated slowly a hand's width above the bear's outstretched paws.

An aura shimmered around the tiny bear that enlarged slowly until Howard realized it was an opening to a bright forest with lush trees that rustled in a soft breeze that blew through into the stuffy shop.

Slowly the small bear turned to face the opening that was now big enough for it to walk through. Over its shoulder, Howard saw other tiny bears coming out amongst the trees. Brown, black, white, red, and every shade of fur; they all came out, hesitantly at first, but when they saw their fellow bear in the doorway, they bound out on all fours toward him happily.

Howard moved down to his hands and knees on the floor to look closer into the portal letting the other bears see him behind their friend and they slowed to a stop.

The tiny brown bear turned back to him and nodded with smiling eyes and walked through the shimmering opening.

Before the bears met each other on the grassy meadow, the portal began to shrink until it closed in on itself and Howard only saw the old carpet that lined the shop’s floor.

He sat back on his haunches for a while, staring in silence at the spot where the bear had crossed over into another realm, and then cocked his head with a thought.

Hoisting himself up with his hand on the trunk, he went hurriedly over to another shelf in the back corner of the store where everything still remained undisturbed by the shockwave.
Scanning quickly over the items that covered the shelves he stopped at a small half of a brass cube.

He picked the object up and turned it over looked at the gears that filled its insides. As he examined the intricate workings, a metallic tinkling echoed in his ear just before the bell above the door jingled and someone else came in.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Icy Shores

Cold winds blow across the frigid waters as the white caps of the waves crest and fall back down into the next.
On the desolate shore, a fur-clad figure stands facing the vast open waters before them. Frost collects on the brim of their hood as their breath steams out from underneath the hood’s cover into the freezing, wet air.
Their goal of the far shore cannot be seen across the wide body of mercilessly cold, but cross they must; to find what they seek; to find what they have lost.
Taking off their sturdy leather gloves, they raise their bare hands out, palms facing the water. White light begins to glow from within each hand and become as bright as the white sun shining in the pale blue sky. Struggling to keep them steady, they hold their arms out as the waters far off the shore begin to churn violently.
Waves crash into each other and swirl into eddies as a dark shadow appears under the surface, and quickly grows larger.
Erupting from below a massive head of a man lifts out of the churning waters. A giant of solid ice heaves its great shoulders up and out into the air as the rest of its body lumbers up and moves toward the small figure on shore. It seems to walk on the seabed far below as it nears the shore.
The ground shakes as the giant ice man stomps its massive foot down a short distance from the figure standing on the barren shoreline; a small child in comparison to the goliath before them.
As it reaches the waters’ edge, the ice giant kneels down and slowly extends a massive hand, palm face up, down to its master.
Keeping their brightly glowing hands held out, they climb easily onto the icy palm, which is then raise high up into the air as the giant stands and turns back to the vast sea. Holding its passenger out in its hand at chest level, it begins to stride out across the water, stepping upon the surface with freezing footfalls.
As they move out across the water, the chilling wind pushes back the tiny figure’s furry hood and the long, dark hair and soft cheek of a severe, yet beautiful woman are exposed. Her dark eyes concentrate on the unseen shore of the other side, but a tiny smile touches her red lips. Soon she will reach her goal; soon she will find what she has lost.

Monday, January 9, 2012


I don't think alternate universes are parallel. If you think about it, what occurs in nature that is parallel? Nothing. Only people try to make things straight and tidy.

Alternate universes and dimensions probably exist in random, wavy lines, not straight, parallel ones. And they probably intersect at points along themselves, thus creating nexus points where two or more universes touch.

At these nexus points, it is probable that some version of you could slip into our universe, and you could slip into theirs. Possibly without either of you even realizing it.

Sliding into different versions of their universes, where maybe the only difference is that you like the colour red and the other version of you likes blue. No one would notice, not even you, until you started to slowly realize everything you own had blue hues instead of red....

Unless it was a Renaissance universe. Then you'd probably notice right away. What with the tights and fancy wigs.