The exercise:
Write about something that is: spicy.
Wishing my wife Kat the happiest of birthdays. New provincial health orders - announced Monday and which came into effect today - prevented us from dining out, but we were able to get take out from a Thai restaurant just around the corner from us.
Was very good, if a little on the spicy side for the boys.
2 comments:
Happy birthday to Kat! The thai takeaway sounds like a rather nice meal for a birthday, but I'm easily pleased perhaps :) And the kids have to grow up with spice, or they'll never like it ;-)
Spicy
MacArthur was using my arm to point in the direction of a large industrial building across the street from the ValueMarket, but as I started walking there, drawing my arm back into my side so as not to draw attention to myself, it adjusted slightly. As I crossed the road, it adjusted again, and I belatedly realised that we needed to be behind the building he was pointing at. Or maybe, through. I turned left to walk down the street and get around the end of it, and looked around me properly to see where I was.
The ValueMarket was now on my left; brightly lit with building-mounted floodlights and the car-park was half-full. The doors were wide open, though the heavy metal shutters that protected them when they were closed were in full view above the doors; it looked like they didn't open them all the way any more. I wasn't sure I blamed them; gang violence was on the increase for the third month in succession and North City was no longer in the top ten City Break destinations; though in truth it had only been there for as long as it had managed by bribing the list compiler. A large billboard in one corner of the car-park proclaimed "Now ghoul-free! And spicy!" which was some kind of in-joke advertising a video game.
I thought.
In the back of my mind, where there seemed to be an odd warmth -- a spiciness behind my right ear, underneath the skull, where I was sure I couldn't scratch it -- MacArthur murmured something about shooting ghouls and I decided not to listen.
On my right the industrial looking building had a warehouse attached but not signs outside to tell me who owned it or what it was. That's not unusual in North City, there are a lot of private enterprises that want to stay private and stay out of the news when gang warfare spills onto their territory. There are plenty of stories on the newsfeed -- go see for yourself -- that just note that a gang wandered onto private property and security there dealt with them. Sometimes the gang wins of course, and then things go very quiet. Usually while new, better security is hired; sometimes they just hire the gang themselves. It's a way to make a living I suppose.
We reached the end of the road and the rain started getting heavier. MacArthur pointed again, using my whole arm like he was slow on the uptake, and I pulled it back in and allowed the fingers to point my way. He was indicating a tall building, once a block of apartments but now nearly derelict. That probably meant there were people living there still, but much less in the way of sanitation, running water, or police response.
"You sure?" I said, looking around to check there was no-one in earshot. There was no-one in eyeshot even.
"Yeah," said MacArthur. "Funny thing is, you're seeing something different to me."
"What?"
"Yeah," he said again. I felt a crawling sensation behind my eye and it was all I could do not to start trying to claw the eyeball out. Worms in your head -- man, it's not pleasant even to imagine. "Huh, you call these cyber-implants? Did a four-year old do this work for you?"
"My cutter's a fine upstanding gentleman," I said. The work was done by a prison-surgeon and as with all things, you get what you pay for.
"Your cutter's a butcher," said MacArthur. "When we're done here we'll pay a visit to a man I'm not supposed to know. He'll be delighted to see an old friend with a new face, trust me. But for now...."
The crawling sensation stopped and my cyberoptics fuzzed. When they cleared up again I could see an image of a derelict building overlaying a rather upscale-looking apartment block.
"I see," I said, not understanding anything at all.
Greg - Miles is okay with some spice but Max has no taste for it whatsoever. I'm... probably somewhere in between, maybe closer to Miles.
Oh yes, this certainly won't lead to any sort of trouble whatsoever. I am enjoying the atmosphere and the details you are pouring into this one, by the way.
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