I want a conversation-

not its shadow, communication.

Clockwork

Blair sat in the living room, attempting to read the newspaper. Above the mantelpiece hung a recently inherited clock. The clock ticked mercilessly, reminding him of the eternal wait for death. The pendulum inside waved back and forth, incessantly fighting and accepting the pull of gravity. Gears driven my inevitability, culminating in that maddening tic-toc. Blair gave up on reading his newspaper and stared at the antique. A gift to the family via his wife's father. It had been in their family for what was now six generations. Won in a bet against a traveling gypsy in New York, it had moved from a poor immigrant tenement to a respectable apartment to a penthouse on the Upper East side over fifty years. Stella's grandfather inherited it the year he decided to find his future out west. He only made it to Omaha, and it was there the clock found itself moved. From there it had bounced around various Midwest suburbs until this last week, when Stella's father had died and bequeathed it to her and Blair. And so there it sat, unaware of the last hundred years, only knowing the back and forth of motion and the twisting torque of gears. The gears stopped for a moment and Blair decided to pick up his paper. Barely opening the pages it chimed noon and started ticking once more. The paper found itself crumpled up in the fireplace as Blair stormed from the room looking for another distraction.

Ain't no stars-

in Brooklyn.

Moving Day

I close the door behind my friends, thanking them for all the help they put in today. I grab the empty beer case and stuff it in an empty box nearby. I stand and survey my new apartment, a basement level. I can already smell the mold and water damage. The rent is hard to beat though, especially this close to downtown. I plop down on my couch, a remnant of my college apartment. There's a bump under by back. Weird, it was still in fine lounging condition before the move. I roll over and look. Of course, it's Greg's phone. Must have fallen out when he rolled over the couch to grab a beer. Maybe he hasn't left yet. I open my door to head upstairs and check. I am stunned by a raven haired goddess in the stairwell. I can't help but stare; it's been almost a year since I had a girlfriend. What I would give to pray at this girl's altar.

I walk up to her. “Hi there, I'm Nick. I just moved into room A.”

She smiles, her teeth are amazingly white, they glow like marble. “Nice to meet you. I'm Nicole; I live in room B. I guess we're neighbors now. So what brings you to these parts?” She tilts her head slightly. Her eyes catch the light and sparkle.

“Oh y'know, I just got hired at Prospect and Co. About three blocks north of here, know them?”

“Yeah, I work in the coffee shop right across the street.” A barista. I bet she's tuned into the local music scene, or art scene, or … whatever local scene.

“Oh, so I suppose you might be sick of coffee. Damn, I was gonna ask if you wanted to get some this week.” She giggles. The horn players of heaven would be jealous to hear that sound, and it'll soon be all mine.

“How about we go to Quincy's instead. It's a bar right up the street, maybe you've heard of it?”

“Yeah, we passed it on the way in. Friday at seven sound good?”

We hit it off. We kiss on our second date, the faint taste of cherries linger on our lips. Soon after, we move in together. The sex is amazing. I see her lithe form in my bed, in her bed, on the couch, in the shower, out in a field. We have a summer wedding, the scent of raspberries floating on the wind. It's just us and the priest. We invite our close family and friends to the reception later in the week. We honeymoon in Paris, then wander around Europe for the rest of the year. We find jobs, settle down in Amsterdam, then we would...

The sound of metal on metal jars me from my thoughts. She's opening the door to Room C, down the hall. She looks back at me. Arched eyebrows, pursed lips. Oh god, I know that look. Shit, I must have been staring at her when I zoned out. I blush, look down at my feet, then quickly scale the stairs. Fuck, I hope Greg isn't there, I need an excuse to get out of this building.

Old Paris

Afternoon heat drives people from the streets to their homes.
I sit in the shade of a downtown cafe.
I haven't been here for almost ten years
I shared wine with a wonderful girl.
We talked of Eliot and Virgil.
Afternoon light almost like today.
I finish a bottle.
Search the bottom.
No luck.
Pity.

A Haiku

Bodies are simple
Choices made are more complex
A great weight to bear

While traveling upon a road one day

While traveling upon a road one day
Off in the distance I spied a cool river.
Yet my final landing lay not that way
Not once from my path was I to quiver.

Years later I found myself there a-gain.
On the path next to the cool sweet water
The summer sun burned with no sign of rain
My urge to swim rose, the day grew hotter.

Still I was content to simply enjoy
Its beautiful presence rather than taste
the refreshment within. I remained coy
until once more I found myself displaced.

Yet, sweet river, would our paths cross again
I would not tarry to indulge within.

In fiction, a chance encounter at the store-

is never a coincidence.

Any Old Day in New York

The escalator down was broken. Again. Alexandyr sighed as he joined the cluster of people trying to crowd down the staircase. It reminded him of his commute, before hme moved to New York. Agonizing seconds crawled by as he made his way down the stairs and onto the platform. He checked his watch and swore. He was still going to be late, he hadn't even bothered to shave this morning. A part of him couldn't help but blame the jam at the stairs, even while another part knew it was his own damn fault. He checked his watch again, then then made his way over to the subway map on the wall. He followed the Red Line north, out of the heart of the city. People jostled past him, eager to reach the platforms for their own lines. Everyone moved with a purpose. Even those standing still had something to do or somewhere to be. Alexandyr checked his watch again. The train pulled in a minute later. As he gathered his possessions and muttered to no one in particular about a lack of dull moments. Even the subway was filled with activity. Kids running around their parents, business men talking about money and sports. Even the obligatory bum was up, pan handling amongst the new arrivals. Alexandyr put his head back and sighed.

>echo in the terminal

I am surrounded by
machines, my only companions
the soft hum and an
>echo in the terminal
in the termianl

Expected Beliefs

Plot twists are hard to pull off properly. For example, look at any romance story. Over the years certain expectations have developed about such matters. Everyone knows that by the end that the guy or girl will end up with whomever they have had their eye set on for the entirety
of the story, that's how everyone wants things to end up. There might be little twists in plot, more ups than downs in one plot than the other, but everyone knows that by the end the protagonist will have found and gotten whoever it is he is really looking for. In action stories, you know that the hero will always make it, because it just feels wrong any other way.

Short stories, in addition to having to deal with such matters typical of plot, must also deal with elements inherent to the short story form, mainly that there is a single pull. Essentially what amounts to one or two major scenes out of a novel become the entirety of a short story. As such things move faster and again, certain expectations are developed. For example, in most Science-Fiction short stories, the story's setting usually functions as a very flavorful backdrop that dictates names and descriptions of characters and actions, but nothing really relating to the pure plot. There is also the notion of the pull, the one thing that creates the story, the little "what if..." that serves as the grain upon which everything is built. Still though, what this does is allow for a certain suspension of disbelief that causes a reader to simply take certain details for granted.

In Philip K. Dick's short story "War Veteran" most of the plot revolves around two forces gearing up for a war while the intrigue of a veteran from this upcoming war arrives from the future. The expectation of this is that time travel, specifically the veteran's travel, is to be the grain of the story, and for perhaps the first two-thirds of the story, functions as such. However, near the end of the book, more pieces start to fall in place and a plot twist arrives, fairly unexpected. Thus, by exploiting his reader's expectations of both science fiction and short story structure, Philip K. Dick successfully hides the story's secret in plain sight, within an element that those familiar with either matter would simply take for granted and not give a second glance towards.

The Roof

The prophet slept on the roof, the top of our perilous mountain. Up four flights of stairs, through the foreign scents and past the hostile sounds. There at the peak lived our prophet. Most people just called him Sam.

I once asked him if he believed in a God. He simply shrugged his shoulders and said “Dude, we're here right now, right? Well, that's all that matters, if God exists, I'm sure he's pretty much cool with whatever's goin' on. That dude abides by all.”

Today was Friday, which meant I had the day off. So did Sam, seeing as how he never worked. So I grabbed a few beers from my fridge and went to the rooftop. Although neither of us were explicitly willing to admit it, Sam and I had been friends since high school. If anyone asked though, I just said I felt sorry, that's why I would head up to the roof, and Sam would simply feign ignorance. We both knew what would happen to our images if we were discovered to be cohorts in this world. People don't appreciate bums, I think they're jealous.

So it was that I kept my job and apartment, and Sam went fairly undisturbed on the roof.
On some nights, sitting up there, talking about the truths of our world or the lies of others, one could look up and almost pretend to see a few stars through the clouds and smog of the city. It was something we both missed, despite the positive balance our lives had reached. As breathtaking as the iron giants and massive sprawl of the city was, it was nothing compared to the sprawl and scale of the Milky Way hanging in the sky.

“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“The sky, dumbass.”
“It's right there. Just look up.”
“No, no, the night sky, with stars and clusters and shooting stars and planets. Just the sublime, uncaring universe hanging over your heads. Do you miss it?”
“...some nights I miss a lot of things.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but, I wouldn't be where I was if I didn't sacrifice a few things.”
“I suppose. Kinda like a tree burdened with fruit. You can't pick it all, and eventually you're going to have to let some drop and rot away.”
“Yeah something like that.”

(Silence. Not uncomfortable, but there none the less.)

“So... listening to anything good right now?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was our prophet of our mountain. Most people mocked him in that respect, but I found the title fitting. There was a reason other than friendship I scaled the peak every Friday. I found solace and advice in his words, even if he never thought so. Inevitably he'd say something that would touch me, or make me think, and I'd call him smart or deep, but he'd always deny it. Saying that he couldn't ever organize his thoughts properly, and that I was really the prophet, the poet.

“No, dude, I'm telling you, you're absolutely right. I should move on, see some new sights.”
“What, I never said that.”
“Well, no, but you were hinting at it. You said it yourself, you haven't even been to the nearest city in the last few years, let alone out of state.”
“Yeah... but I have things... and I'm not sure if I could and...”
“That's bullshit and you know it, if you packed up and left, the only one here that would miss you would be me.”
“Hell, let's both leave.”
“Nah... I can't, I still have some business here to wrap up.”

(As one thread drops, audible in the silence, eventually another is picked up.)

“So... have you tried that new sushi place down the street.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I think that was the part about our relationship that bugged me the most. We would always reach the brink of something important, but neither of us had the balls to pull the trigger, to push the topic over the edge and into that area where a choice had to be made, a decision reached. So it goes.

In all weather his deck umbrella was up, his flannel blanket was down, and his spot on the roof was his. Here it was he spent most of his time, writing or doodling or some days just staring off into the sky, looking for something he lost years ago. Or was it yesterday? Things had a way of getting turned around up there.

The last conversation I had with him wasn't actually on a Friday. Maybe that was the sign, that a change had happened and a new chapter in our story was about to be written. I'd had a matter of business to attend to that Friday, one that I couldn't afford to put off, and by the time I got back to the apartment, grabbed a drink (all I had left was some wine, I hadn't had a chance to get groceries that day) and scaled to the top, it was Saturday. As I cleared the last step and emerged on top, I saw his back, his head tilted up to the night sky. I sat down and looked up with him.

“I think I can see one?”
“Where?”
“There, see, up and right of the tower there.”
“Nope, still don't see it.”
“C'mon, it's right there. How can you not see it unless you're closing your eyes.”
“There's nothing there dude.”
“Man, you were always so short sighted.”
“Hey, that's a little unfair, my sight is perfect man.”
“Is it? I don't think you would have lost her if it was...”
“Hey man, don't bring that up!”
“How long have we known each other for? I wouldn't bring it up if I didn't think it was good for you. Today, it's been a year now. Yet, here you are, stuck in a loop. Going through the motions everyday because you can't leave her behind, can't let things alone.”

(Traffic, how perfect it fits the lull of conversation)

“You're right.”
“No, I haven't seen that movie yet, I... wait, what?”
“You're right. I've been stuck in this loop for too long, I need to break out. Move on, find some more fruit, taste more of life.”

We parted ways that night, and by Friday of next week, we were gone from each other's lives. In person anyway. And life moved on, things changed, and that chapter ended, recorded here in these words. I know I'll never forget him, in fact I'll probably see him again, and I'm sure the same he feels the same. Still though, how much did we actually do for each, during that year. I can't say, I don't know if it was harm or good, wrought on those Fridays. I suppose sacrifices have to made for a good story.

One Perfect Sunrise

"Dear, what are we doing here." Kate is beginning to get anxious.
"I told you honey, it's a surprise, you'll see in..." Nick checks the clock,"in about fifteen minutes."

Kate sighs and slumps in her chair, staring at the view-screen in front of her. She checks the navigation terminal. Their ship is still in orbit around some barren asteroid out in the Verge Vector. May as well be the Middle of Nowhere. They have been floating along in space for the last half hour or so. Nick has insisted on taking this detour on the way back from their honeymoon on Altaris. When he suggested it, she figured the trip might yield something exciting, like an old derelict or minefield from the Crymeon War, or at least an odd shaped asteroid, but when he anchored the ship in orbit and turned off the view-screen filters, all she saw was the void of space.

Nick and Kate have known each other since secondary school, even briefly dated near the end but had gone their separate ways come graduation. She was off to college and he became involved in politics. They kept in touch in the interim years, but mostly lived their own lives. Then around six or so years later, their paths had crossed again. This was at the end of the Crymeon war. Victory was in sight, thanks in large part to the engines developed by the company Kate was working at. Nick was there to work the floor and get some good press for the government. As he was making his rounds, a friend of his reintroduced the two and once more they hit it off. Long after the party was over, the couple was still talking. Soon the war ended, they became engaged, and around a year later, they were married and shuttled off to Altaris for their honeymoon.

Memories of the last year fly through Kate's mind as she sits there, staring into the void. She checks the clock, ten minutes have passed. Nick is getting fidgety, she rarely sees him this nervous. She thinks back to that night, over a year ago now, as they sat together at dinner, looks of fear and love flashing through his eyes, and again this look, the night before they were married.

He turns to her and smiles. He reaches into the compartment behind them and pulls out some hot drinks. As he prepares them, Kate once more looks into that void, something has begun to bug her about it. Shouldn't there be more stars there? Nick hands her a drink. He looks at the clock. "Showtime," he says, and clinks his glass to her's.

Suddenly, a bright crescent of light forms in the window, concave relative to their position. Slowly the curve of a star can be seen rising above this dark hole in space. Then off to the planet's side, another star rises, then a third. Nick smiles as he hears Kate gasp. Nick has spent his free time over the last three months researching and planning this trip. Which star system to best observe, when the planet would eclipse all three suns, and where to orbit in order to have the perfect angle.

The cabin is silent as the suns finish their rise, Kate takes in a soft breath, prepares to speak. "It's... perfect..." Her hand finds his. The cabin is silent again.