I think September's right on time actually :) Maybe you need a few more forest fires before you'll believe summer is actually over? ;-)
Early The red sands mounded up in wind-blown dunes here and there, covering walls and parquet floors and spilling through empty doorways from parking lots into dull, now-unroofed foyers where old concession stands mouldered and dry-rotted. The air was hot and the wind seemed to do little more than move it around to more even cook whatever animal was stupid enough to stand outside for a while. The skies above were blue with no sign of clouds, nor any hope of longed-for rain, and it seemed like summer would endure forever. Famine sniffed as he walked along a red-carpetted corridor. The building here was sheltered slightly from the sand by a natural, towering rock formation and the roofs and floors had survived better. Nonetheless there was red sand everywhere, crunching underfoot and piling up in tiny drifts in the corners and against doors. He could smell something faintly sweet, perhaps fragrant, and was following it. The normal smell out here in the desert was just baked sand; a warm smell that faded into the background until you only noticed it when you left and world didn't smell like a dryer room in a 24-hour laundry. He reached a door near the end of the corridor and felt something move on the other side; not a physical sensation but a psychic one; whatever had attracted him was on the other side. He considered the door for a moment and then walked through it, feeling a faint tingle as the particles of his being resonated momentarily at a different frequency to the rest of the world and the empty spaces between atoms became the dominant paradigm. Then he resolidified and looked around. This had been a VIP room once; there were red-velour couches arranged against the walls in little groups and gauzy hangings separating them. Stands for expensive wines and champagnes had been knocked across the floor and small tables, useless even for setting drinks down on, were scattered between them as though thrown around by the wind. Pictures in gilt frames still hung on the wall, portraits of the rich and famous who appeared to be partying still, despite the near absence of life below them. And on one red couch, dressed in white and slumped over an Hello Kitty backpack, was a red-headed woman. And Death.
"You're early," said Famine. He looked at his wrist, where he wasn't wearing a watch, and then back at Death. "I mean, you're the boss, Boss," he went on, "but generally it's bad form to get these things done in the wrong order. She's not supposed to starve after she's dead; that'll only confuse the coroner." Death stood up and stretched. He looked like a junior accountant on his first day, neatly dressed in a pinstripe suit and shiny black shoes, but the stretch seemed to tower up and up until somehow he dominated the whole room, and then he folded back in on himself. "Maybe you're late," he said. "In which case, she's also late now and I'm exactly on time." "Got the screenshots, fam?" Famine didn't sound like he'd even noticed the implicit censure in Death's words. Death grinned. "I know a man who can find some," he said. "Does that count?" Famine sat down and examined the woman. "She's still breathing," he said. "So I stand by my claim that you're early. How come? It's not like you to be solicitous or overly concerned about their welfare. You stick to the job, boss." "Her death will be complicated," said Death. "I've moved her here specifically for you, actually. When she dies, and it will be soon, it will end an agreement that's been in place for a little under 1700 years. And there are some very interested parties who have been waiting for this for a good percentage of that time." "Is this going to be like the Accords again?" asked Famine. "Moros isn't going to turn up to this party is he? I still don't think Mercy's really returned to the world, you know." "There are a lot of branching paths," said Death, getting a far away look in his eyes. "You are the safest so far; there were several people intent of having War being here at her death, and that would have been... apocalyptic." "Couldn't you have just handled it yourself, boss?" Famine rested his hand on the woman's shoulders and the air around her gradually diffused the oxygen out and carbon dioxide in. She barely shuddered. "Discretely?" Death shook his head and pulled a nerf pistol from his pocket. The bright yellow plastic seemed oddly appropriate for the room. "No," he said. "I hate working within other people's parameters, but there are so damn many of them that I sometimes have no choice." He shot the woman in the head and the nerf bullet bounced gently to the floor. "Still early boss," said Famine reproachfully. "By about two seconds. Not that anyone will notice, I suppose."
Greg - well it was 27 degrees here this week - Tuesday, maybe? - so summer clearly isn't done with us quite yet.
Always happy to have a visit from any combination of the four horsemen. This one intrigues me, however, and leaves me wondering if a continuation of some length may be coming my way...
3 comments:
I think September's right on time actually :) Maybe you need a few more forest fires before you'll believe summer is actually over? ;-)
Early
The red sands mounded up in wind-blown dunes here and there, covering walls and parquet floors and spilling through empty doorways from parking lots into dull, now-unroofed foyers where old concession stands mouldered and dry-rotted. The air was hot and the wind seemed to do little more than move it around to more even cook whatever animal was stupid enough to stand outside for a while. The skies above were blue with no sign of clouds, nor any hope of longed-for rain, and it seemed like summer would endure forever.
Famine sniffed as he walked along a red-carpetted corridor. The building here was sheltered slightly from the sand by a natural, towering rock formation and the roofs and floors had survived better. Nonetheless there was red sand everywhere, crunching underfoot and piling up in tiny drifts in the corners and against doors. He could smell something faintly sweet, perhaps fragrant, and was following it. The normal smell out here in the desert was just baked sand; a warm smell that faded into the background until you only noticed it when you left and world didn't smell like a dryer room in a 24-hour laundry.
He reached a door near the end of the corridor and felt something move on the other side; not a physical sensation but a psychic one; whatever had attracted him was on the other side. He considered the door for a moment and then walked through it, feeling a faint tingle as the particles of his being resonated momentarily at a different frequency to the rest of the world and the empty spaces between atoms became the dominant paradigm. Then he resolidified and looked around.
This had been a VIP room once; there were red-velour couches arranged against the walls in little groups and gauzy hangings separating them. Stands for expensive wines and champagnes had been knocked across the floor and small tables, useless even for setting drinks down on, were scattered between them as though thrown around by the wind. Pictures in gilt frames still hung on the wall, portraits of the rich and famous who appeared to be partying still, despite the near absence of life below them. And on one red couch, dressed in white and slumped over an Hello Kitty backpack, was a red-headed woman.
And Death.
"You're early," said Famine. He looked at his wrist, where he wasn't wearing a watch, and then back at Death. "I mean, you're the boss, Boss," he went on, "but generally it's bad form to get these things done in the wrong order. She's not supposed to starve after she's dead; that'll only confuse the coroner."
Death stood up and stretched. He looked like a junior accountant on his first day, neatly dressed in a pinstripe suit and shiny black shoes, but the stretch seemed to tower up and up until somehow he dominated the whole room, and then he folded back in on himself.
"Maybe you're late," he said. "In which case, she's also late now and I'm exactly on time."
"Got the screenshots, fam?" Famine didn't sound like he'd even noticed the implicit censure in Death's words.
Death grinned. "I know a man who can find some," he said. "Does that count?"
Famine sat down and examined the woman. "She's still breathing," he said. "So I stand by my claim that you're early. How come? It's not like you to be solicitous or overly concerned about their welfare. You stick to the job, boss."
"Her death will be complicated," said Death. "I've moved her here specifically for you, actually. When she dies, and it will be soon, it will end an agreement that's been in place for a little under 1700 years. And there are some very interested parties who have been waiting for this for a good percentage of that time."
"Is this going to be like the Accords again?" asked Famine. "Moros isn't going to turn up to this party is he? I still don't think Mercy's really returned to the world, you know."
"There are a lot of branching paths," said Death, getting a far away look in his eyes. "You are the safest so far; there were several people intent of having War being here at her death, and that would have been... apocalyptic."
"Couldn't you have just handled it yourself, boss?" Famine rested his hand on the woman's shoulders and the air around her gradually diffused the oxygen out and carbon dioxide in. She barely shuddered. "Discretely?"
Death shook his head and pulled a nerf pistol from his pocket. The bright yellow plastic seemed oddly appropriate for the room. "No," he said. "I hate working within other people's parameters, but there are so damn many of them that I sometimes have no choice." He shot the woman in the head and the nerf bullet bounced gently to the floor.
"Still early boss," said Famine reproachfully. "By about two seconds. Not that anyone will notice, I suppose."
Greg - well it was 27 degrees here this week - Tuesday, maybe? - so summer clearly isn't done with us quite yet.
Always happy to have a visit from any combination of the four horsemen. This one intrigues me, however, and leaves me wondering if a continuation of some length may be coming my way...
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