• Art and Soul

    Tommy tucked his shoulder-length hair behind his ears as he surveyed the art festival.  Artists had booths arranged in a long, two-sided row, and attendees bustled between the booths, pointing out works they liked.  Many of the attendees were carrying water or some other drink on account of the heat, but some had food as well — hot dogs, kettle corn, shaved ice. Tommy spotted the hot dog stand and headed in that direction.  His friends would be here in… 10 minutes, but they wouldn’t mind if he snacked.  He kept his eye out for women — this kind of heat brought out the skimpy clothes, and Tommy wasn’t one…

  • Needs Denied

    “Ser Miriam, could I have a moment of your time?” Miriam turned. Harold Chase stood behind her, impeccable as usual in a rich brown linen suit. His gaze was calm. “Of course, Ser Harold. Um.” Miriam looked around for an empty conference room. “How about there?” she said, gesturing toward a large one. “That would be fine, yes,” he said, walking ahead of her. Chase was typically very soft-spoken — although he’d gotten fairly rowdy over the Meta issue — and usually looked a little bored. Miriam had no idea how he put up with Donna, his obnoxious secretary. He had been the minority leader in the Congress for the…

  • Special Needs

    “Well, honestly, Ser Miriam.  I don’t know know what you expect me to do with this list,” said the gum-smacking, hair-twirling secretary of Ser Harold Chase.  Her fingers didn’t stop moving on the computer keyboard as she spoke. Miriam rolled her eyes and slightly shook the disk she was holding out.  “I expect you to integrate these names into the system, er, Donna,” she said, glancing at the name tag on the desk.  “Make it so that I can look up the congressional bills, laws, and executive orders by the names of people they’ll affect.” “You’re absolutely crazy, Ser!”  Miriam raised a warning eyebrow.  “No offense,” Donna said quickly, looking…

  • Spiral’s End

    “Is this what it is to be a Lothario?” we/Paul asked. Always the least compassionate of us, Paul was in awe of this man’s brusque-but-charming manner that kept him surrounded with hangers-on. “I do my best at it, yeah,” our maker Ryan Budden admitted. Ten minutes ago, Ryan had come out of the bathroom with another man, much younger, and both had had wild eyes when they parted ways. His eyes now still flickered around the room, pupils dilated. “You’re pretty rude to these people,” we/Paul said. “I don’t see how this gets you what you want.” Ryan shrugged. “Some people like that sort of thing. I can be sweet,…

  • Reshaping the Landscape

    Patricia Smith — SMT-PTR-141 — clambered up the hill, kicking up a shower of rocks and dirt behind her.  The Metas were right behind her, “transforming the landscape”.  Her damn landscape.  The sun beat down over her skin, raising beads of sweat. Their methodical, mechanical steps behind her matched her deep breaths as she ran.  She knew this time would come.  The Metas had been pressuring her for her land for years now, ever since they’d come to the Yori Province.  Evidently, they’d gotten tired of verbal pressure. “Flat landscapes for better visibility,” they claimed.  “Safer all around,” they claimed.  Bullshit. “It’s my landscape!” she shouted down behind her.  “You…