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Part 10: One Final Push

Published at June 26, 2008 in Part-10: One Final Push and Stories. 3 Comments

Part 10: One Final Push

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the final part of a series of stories beginning with, “Part 1: Second Choice,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Part 1: Second Choice,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Part 1: Second Choice” and continue on in order. You can find the parts labeled and all in a row over in the categories section on the side of your screen.)

Mary opened her eyes. She reached a hand up and felt her forehead and touched something sticky. When she drew it away there was a matte layer of red blood on her fingertips.

She sat up and looked around, ungrounded fears sprouting up inside of her like weeds, and even though she saw the friendly surroundings of the Himalayan Mountains the fear inside of her kept growing and dividing and worming its way through her body.

Then her fear found a home and she began to remember the last few minutes before she was knocked unconscious, the screams in the night and the sound of things feasting in the dark prairie grass.

“Well good morning,” a voice next to her said, and she turned to see a tester looking at her with worry. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Mary said, but her words came out weak. “That was stupid,” she said, cursing herself as she started remembering again. “That was so stupid…how many others followed me out to the train?”

“Five,” the tester next to her said. “And then Kyo went after you too of course.” Continue reading ‘Part 10: One Final Push’

Popularity: 1% [?]

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Part 9: Where Sarpedon’s Body Lay

Published at June 12, 2008 in Part 9: Where Sarpedon's Body Lay and Stories. 2 Comments

Part 9: Where Sarpedon’s Body Lay

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the ninth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Part 1: Second Choice,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Part 1: Second Choice,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Part 1: Second Choice” and continue on in order. You can find the parts labeled and all in a row over in the categories section on the side of your screen.)

Kyo stepped into the snow on the heels of a young tester who had volunteered to be his invitation back to the mountaintop. When he had left an hour ago volunteers had been in short supply; nobody wanted to be the one who had to pass out after Kyo returned with his news.

Kyo stared down at the rocks, his head tilted, his eyes so intense with thought they looked angry. Testers’ heads started turning, conversations stopped and most took a few hesitant steps in his direction in order to make sure they could hear whatever it was he was going to say.

Kyo showed no sign of noticing any of this; he only stared, his eyebrows drawing down on his face, his hideous thick knit suit flapping absurdly in the wind, one thumb reaching up to scratch the thick bit of stubble along his chin.

In the end the tester who had escorted him spoke up as he prepared a comfortable piece of snow to rest in. “He’s not there,” the tester said moments before a tremendous yawn cut off his words. When he had regained control of his mouth he closed his eyes. “Epp’s body wasn’t there,” he said, then fell into a deep sleep.

Kyo only stood there thinking.

“Well what does that mean?” someone shouted from the crowd. Continue reading ‘Part 9: Where Sarpedon’s Body Lay’

Popularity: 4% [?]

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Part 8: Osmosis

Published at May 29, 2008 in Part 8: Osmosis and Stories. 2 Comments

Part 8: Osmosis

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the eigth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Part 1: Second Choice,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Part 1: Second Choice,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Part 1: Second Choice” and continue on in order. You can find them labeled and all in a row over in the categories section on the side of your screen.)

Matthew pinched the cigar between his fingers, feeling the tacky give of the outer leaves. Bringing it to his face he breathed in through his nose and let the earthy bitterness of the tobacco fill his head, the smell always making him feel at ease and somehow calling up memories of childhood games of football in the backyard when the leaves covered the ground and winter barely hung in the air.

There was a sound, a hard thump and then the rattle of stones.

He turned and walked up the mountain.

There was a group of testers up on a rise, a lantern sat in the center of them warding off the dead of night. Matthew joined the circle, placing the cigar in his mouth, drawing air through it with a few laborious puffs before the tip burst into flames. He put his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to Mary.

She was standing in front of a dry-erase board. Her outfit consisted of a light sundress and a loose knit sweater. The wind affected her and she frequently and automatically readjusted the sweater as the gusts roaring over the mountaintop pulled it back, but the she didn’t seem aware of the cold. One bare arm was crooked at her side, a hand perched on her hip while the other flicked up and tugged a thick blond curl up over her ear and out of her face. Then her hand went down and her short frame became motionless again, staring at the dry-erase board.

“It’s been almost twelve hours,” the tester standing next to Matthew said. Continue reading ‘Part 8: Osmosis’

Popularity: 7% [?]

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Short Story: Uneven Shading

Published at May 15, 2008 in Stories and Uneven Shading. 2 Comments

Uneven Shading

Joseph Devon

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Marshal went into work on Friday embarrassed by the fact that he was turning invisible.

A few of his coworkers had noticed. If it had gone unnoticed Marshal might have assumed it was only allergies or the coming of spring, a passing hiccup of low health that would fade when the pollen count returned to normal levels. But other people had noticed, and they hadn’t said, “Gee, Marshal, your eyes are red. Allergies got the best of you?” And they didn’t say, “I can’t wait for summer either now that the weather’s finally turned warm.” They merely told him that he looked tired and not entirely there. One of them used the word, “wispy.”

His boss, Mr. Ruttiger, called him into his office later that afternoon. It was a brightly lit room with sterling spring sunlight beaming in through large floor to ceiling windows. “Marshal,” Mr. Ruttiger said, “please sit down.” Mr. Ruttiger was friendly and he came around from his desk to sit next to Marshal as a contemporary and not a boss.

“Marshal,” Mr. Ruttiger began. “I’ve called you in here because a number of your coworkers have become worried about you. And I’ve come to agree with them. You don’t appear to be entirely with us.”

“It’s just allergies,” Marshal said. Continue reading ‘Short Story: Uneven Shading’

Popularity: 8% [?]

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Short Story: The Pea Pod Gambit

Published at May 1, 2008 in Stories and The Pea Pod Gambit. 3 Comments

The Pea Pod Gambit

Joseph Devon

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“You suck,” Seth said. He was lying flat on his back on an old beat up couch that was one step up from a college dorm room. The couch was long enough so that his whole body could sprawl out on it with either his feet or his head up on one of the arm rests. Seth enjoyed either position and alternated back and forth over the course of every Sunday afternoon. He was currently favoring a head on the armrest position, and he was leaned slightly off the couch in an attempt to get the attention of Atticus.

Atticus was on the smaller couch that was at a right angle to the foot of Seth’s couch, with just enough room for someone to walk through, comfortable lounging space being at a premium over things like the ability to walk out of the living room and into the rest of the apartment.

Atticus’s couch was like a dirty marshmallow, the once bright creamy fabric now dingy and tattered. His lanky body was folded into an angle, the shorter couch requiring him to use both armrests as he lounged, his knees slung over one and his head propped on the other, a feat his body had long since learned to manage with maximum comfort while still leaving enough room to manipulate the plastic video game guitar controller in his hands.

“You suck,” Seth repeated, louder. Continue reading ‘Short Story: The Pea Pod Gambit’

Popularity: 11% [?]

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Part 7: Politica del Carciofo

Published at April 17, 2008 in Part 7: Politica del Carciofo and Stories. 3 Comments

Part 7: Politica del Carciofo

By

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the seventh part of a series of stories beginning with, “Part 1: Second Choice,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Part 1: Second Choice,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Part 1: Second Choice” and continue on in order.)

Matthew rolled over in his sleep. Something deep inside of him was telling him that it was time to wake up. With his eyes closed and his head encased in slumber he thought that maybe there was a pot of coffee on in the kitchen, that maybe his daughter was running the shower, that maybe his wife was pushing clothes around in their closet, he thought that one or all of these things were calling him out of his sleep and he turned to his side and smiled, his eyes still shut. He would wake up and go see his loved ones and kiss them before they started their days, and later they would be the last things he saw before he returned to bed. Then he opened his eyes and saw the Himalayas sprawling out in front of him and he remembered that he was alone.

With a soft grunt he pulled himself to a standing position on the rocky ledge he had occupied for the last few weeks and began to stretch the stiffness out of his body, a motion so deeply ingrained in his psyche that he performed it despite not being in possession of a body.

He finished stretching and looked around at the mountain top covered all over with the sleeping forms of other testers. Once his ears adjusted to the wind he found it to be oddly quiet and he decided to stroll a bit, the occasional dislodged stone or crush of gravel as he slipped sounding far too loud in the rocky snowscape.

He arrived at a lower spine of rock that afforded a view of Everest’s southern face. On previous visits to mountaintops he had found a sense of peace when looking out at the scattered testers sleeping off years, if not centuries, of weariness from a push. Now, in the weird silence that he was convinced was somehow following him, things looked decidedly off and he found himself wishing for the company of other non-sleeping testers. Rubbing the back of one hand over a still weary eye he fumbled with the other in his pocket and dug out his cell phone. He flipped it open and his thumbs went to work, looking up numbers, typing out text messages. Then he flipped his phone shut and waited.

The wind picked up. It sounded like the mountaintop was screaming. Continue reading ‘Part 7: Politica del Carciofo’

Popularity: 16% [?]

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Short Story: The Donkey of Vincento

Published at April 3, 2008 in Stories and The Donkey of Vincento. 1 Comment

The Donkey of Vincento

Joseph Devon

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In the village of Vincento, just north of the hill country, there is a common saying amongst the people when someone is being too boastful or thick headed. You’ll often hear it uttered that someone is being, “Gravid Acciastona,” or, “The True Fool,” or very common too, “The Ass of Vincento.” It is a wonderful play on words when spoken in the native language, but more and more one hears it nowadays in translation, a move which seems to shake the saying of all its touching connotations for I feel that most people who speak it now have no grasp of its story of origin.

You see, awhile ago in Vincento there lived a young boy named Theodore. Most everyone called Theodore by the nickname Pullazo, which, in the language of the people, means “donkey.” This nickname was the result of a joke Theodore’s uncle played on him when he was a little boy involving the family donkey. There is no need to go into that here except to mention that the nickname Pullazo was a harmless one and, when used by his friends and family, was not uttered with insult in mind. Continue reading ‘Short Story: The Donkey of Vincento’

Popularity: 16% [?]

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Short Story: Knots

Published at March 20, 2008 in Knots and Stories. 3 Comments

Knots

Joseph Devon

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Alexis sat back against the wall of the tub and felt a slosh of tepid water rise up her back. Marianna was getting out; she was always the first one out. Alexis watched their mother lifting her baby sister up and noticed how Marianna appeared to frown as the baby fat hanging off of her cheeks pulled her mouth downward. Then the cheeks jiggled as she was set down and then a smile forced its way onto Marianna’s face as she noticed the feeling of her wet feet on the tiled bathroom floor. This was fun for her. Everything was fun for her. Everything was new and everything was a joy. Slapping her round stomach, completely lacking in muscle, was a game. Doors were toys. The few new words she was able to say were things to be played with. Her teeth made her laugh. She stood on the floor and proudly pushed her belly out and slapped her hands against it before their mother placed a towel over her head which produced a stomping dance because now the towel over her head was a game. Continue reading ‘Short Story: Knots’

Popularity: 26% [?]

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Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord

Published at March 6, 2008 in Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord and Stories. 2 Comments

Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the sixth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Part 1: Second Choice,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Part 1: Second Choice,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4 and 5. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Part 1: Second Choice” and continue on in order.)

Kyokutei walked through the upscale hotel restaurant. There were lustrous burgundy leather booths and thick crystal glasses everywhere. A waiter clicked a long lighter a few times and an order of Banana’s Foster was set into motion. The atmosphere was thick and conversation seemed barely able to make it across the tables before falling with soft thuds into the thick carpet.

Kyo disapproved and found himself disliking the entire place. His nose curled in a snarl, although he was unaware that his emotions were leaking onto his face.

He was dressed in a frayed rayon suit and his neck was worn red from the cheap collar stays in his shirt. None of the diners or waiters noticed him as he walked, literally, through some of their tables. He made his way to the rear of the room and then ducked into the kitchen. Walking through a chef or two and past a rack of rolls he turned into a back corridor, past a walk-in refrigerator and freezer, then through a doorway covered with thick plastic strips and onto a loading dock. A few mores turns through boxes and past a row of metal lockers painted gunmetal green and he was in a the loading dock office.

Hector was seated at a beat up lunch table reading a tattered paperback novel with a cowboy on the cover. He folded it closed and tapped it against his thigh leaning his large frame back in his seat as he stared up at Kyo through his mirrored sunglasses.

“Gregor here yet?” Kyo asked. Continue reading ‘Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord’

Popularity: 27% [?]

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Short Story: Continental Drift

Published at February 21, 2008 in Continental Drift and Stories. 3 Comments

Continental Drift

Joseph Devon

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Randy stood on the sand just where the small ripple like waves could reach up and wash over his feet. His sneakers were in his hand, one sock balled up in each of them. It was dark, the moon was only a sliver at his back. The stars in front of him and the lights of Cannes behind him canceled each other out leaving a dull yellow aura in the nighttime sky.

The Mediterranean was calm, more like a vast lake than the nautical crossroads of three continents. The town behind him was quiet. It was late. He was lost.

He tested the sand with his hand to see how wet it was, then sat down, setting his shoes beside him. He had heard many stories about Cannes, had read about it in all the travel books he and his wife had read to study up before their trip, but none of that made any sense to him. Also she wasn’t his wife anymore. Continue reading ‘Short Story: Continental Drift’

Popularity: 37% [?]

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