scribblings

may 16

the writing

His death was foretold at his birth: drowning, sometime before he came of age. His mother did what she could: he learned to swim almost before he could walk. Was taught not to fear the water, so even if he met his end there, he wouldn’t be afraid.
At sixteen, he met a girl at the beach. With siren song & scales on her arms, she dared him to swim out, farther & farther…

~

The voice in Jace’s head was very clear: follow the girl with snakes on her arms. He’d taken it literally, until—duh, she had tattoos. His limited deduction & surveillance skills were further tested when he lost her in the crowd—at least, until she’d backed him into an alley, a knife at his throat.

~

After several nights pouring over translated texts, he found a source for the cure: a holy spring, at the top of the mist-shrouded mountains to the west. 
“No one can survive those heights,” his master said, as Shin prepared for the journey. “No one’s ever come back, I’ll tell you that. You’ll break your fool neck, or something will pick you off. Maybe bring your bones back, if you’re lucky.” 
“I’ll be fine, you’ll be praying for me.”
“Gods’ spit, Shin, you don’t have to do this—”
“Ma Bin passed this morning. Her children are already in the first phase of the illness. I have to do something.” He sighed, then grinned. “So you gonna bless my feet with swiftness, or not?” 
The old man grumbled, grabbing his prayer beads. “I’ll bless that smart mouth of yours, and thank the gods for the peace and quiet I’ll get while you’re gone…”

~

“But why…” he sobbed, watching as the younger twin was enclosed in a scorched wooden box, wrapped in iron chains, & buried beneath the family manor. It was necessary, he was told, because of the curse…
Ten years later, he can still hear his brother screaming at night.

~

When Sara got home from the graveyard, her grandmother was waiting at the window, staring out into the dark. 
“Sorry I’m late, Gran, I’ll start dinner in a minute—” 
The old woman turned, staring at Sara with mirror-glass eyes. “Such a good girl,” it croaked, backwards.

the reading

Poem: “Poem [Lana Del Rey has collapsed!]” by Julia C. Alter

“Skinny swamp queen, 
are you finally good, gliding 
through the humid marshes?
The alligators—closed-mouthed—clear 
a path for you today, but could snap 
you like a wishbone tomorrow.


Lana, you can’t write on an empty stomach.
How many songs will be lost to your starving?”

Short Story: “Tender Loving Plastics” by Amman Sabet (from The New Voices of Science Fiction)

“Issa’s therapist says that her behavior makes sense. Issa wants to know if these kids are like her. As an adult, she is looking for patterns to know if her ways of relating with others developed differently as a child.
Her therapist says that they have, and that they come through in her bedside manner during her shifts. Like others who have grown up in the Dewey system, Issa’s speech patterns and mannerisms are more robotic—more ‘blinky.’ Issa has a hard time trusting the faces that people make.”