Posts Tagged ‘Tiny Stories’
Tiny Story #4
Monday, July 20th, 2009
DAKOTA:
RETRIBUTION BLOOD
Jago’s eyes opened. He lay with his head on the satin pillow for a moment, wondering what had woken him. A breath, the barest hint of something whispering across the tile floor. He bolted upright. A sawed-off double barrel appeared in his hand and he tried to point at every corner of the room. Belle started up and clutched the sheets tightly to her naked body. They were not alone in the dark. Sweat beaded on Jago’s brow and nose as his tongue nervously flicked across his lips. He rasped in quick half-breaths. He dared not blink. Shadows. That’s all he could see. The moonlight drifted in on a warm summer breeze. It was always summer on Atlantis. It never seemed to cool off. The summer breeze! That’s what had caused him to wake. All the windows had been shut before he lay down.
“What… what is it?” ventured Belle in a hoarse whisper.
“Shut up,” grated Jago in response. His pulse seemed to quicken. How long had the window been open? The moonlight on the white stone floor made the shadows nothing but black silhouettes. He dared himself now. Jago shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He laid the gun down gently beside him and propped his back against the massive headboard of the canopied bed. He folded his hands behind his head. A desperate grasp at appearing nonchalant, though he knew it was too late. He took another deep breath.
“I’ve been looking forward to this, Dakota,” he spoke softly into the night, slowly scanning the shadows and the dark shapes of the furniture, searching for a glint off some piece of metal, a weapon or jewelry. Nothing. He began to grow angry. He had never been cornered. In all his years of thieving, pillaging, raiding, taking what he wanted from whomever he wanted, he had never been trapped, never been caught, and he had never backed down to any man. And the thought that a woman, no, a girl had him jumping at shadows heated his blood to a boiling point. But he knew that to call her a girl out of spite was to liken a tiger to an alley cat. A dangerous mistake. The tiniest silver jingle was the only preemptor to the graceful shadow detaching itself from the wardrobe. Belle squeaked and clutched the sheets tighter. Countless nights Jago had been kept from sleep by the memories of those little bells and the earlobes they dangled from… Little silver bells chiming in time with her undulating rhythm…
“No you haven’t,” she whispered into the breeze as she stepped into the moonlight. “You’ve been tossing in your sleep, Jago.” The heavy silver earrings glinted with high polish. The rest of her was swathed in matte black suede that seemed to absorb any light that touched it. Dakota’s green eyes were ablaze in the moonlight. Her cool, fair skin made everything else seem hot and rough.
Jago just set a level gaze on her. One that had sent many men into sniveling pleas, but he knew, on Dakota, it would never have such an effect. His breath still came shallower than he would have liked. He wanted to take up his shotgun. He cursed himself silently for putting it down, but he dared not make a move. He said nothing, and the subtle hint of a mocking smile told him he didn’t need to. She knew him too well.
“Gun’s never really close enough, is it babe?”
“Who… who are you?” demanded Belle in a weak voice.
“Show some respect, doll, this is Rawhide Tayler you’re talking to,” said Jago with a sardonic smile. Belle’s breath caught.
“You? I’ve heard so many stories I never thought I would-”
“Shut up,” said Jago as his casual backhanded swing caught Belle in the mouth and knocked her head back against the headboard. She crumpled to the sheets unconscious. Dakota’s jaw clenched slightly. “I’ve missed you Dakota. I’ve often-”
“Bullshit. No, I think you’ve had women aplenty. Well, girls anyway.”
Jago took a deep breath and sighed, quelling a grimace. “More than enough of both, really. But none were ever like you. You’re a spectacular-”
“They weren’t like me because I, at least, was willing.”
“Those days are long behind-”
“Tell that to the little girl at your side.”
“Damn it will you let me-”
“Vexed, Jago?” Her tiny smile made his face burn. “I was willing and you repaid my love by slaughtering my people…” Dakota took a deep breath and her eyes grew icy cold. Jago suddenly felt the summer breeze wasn’t warm enough and his throat grew dry. “Still miss me?” Her soft whisper was like a razor covered in silk.
“How could I have known they were your people? I found you in a dirty pueblo on Apollo, hiding out from who-knew-what! I gave you a fuckin’ life and you-”
“All this power doesn’t suit you.” Jago’s teeth ground audibly. Dakota looked him up and down and a slight sneer marred her perfect face. “You’re fat. And uglier now.”
“I could still snap you like a damn twig, girl.” Jago chuckled. “I may be eating healthier, but I can still beat the shit out of anyone on this crappy moon.” Dakota just studied him. Her eyes were cold, distant, and merciless, but there was something else. Something suppressed deep inside. Jago was a master at reading faces. He’d had to be when he was a thief, and even more so now that he was the baron on his own little moon. She was not all stone as she would have him believe. She never could bring her self to do the truly dirty work that his cronies had relished in. But he had liked that about her. It made her seem more pure, and he had loved the thought of taking her purity every night. Now he wondered if she would have the nerve to finish the job she had set out for. It was a distant thought, one he almost dared not entertain, but however small, it was a chance. He took a deep breath. “After you disappeared, I wished I could take back what I’d done. Those damn peasants didn’t even have anything worth taking, and nothing that was worth losing you.” He searched her eyes for the slightest flicker, some hint of softness. “I would never have hurt you Dakota.”
“You called me a whore and told your men to bring back my head.”
“I may have lost my temper-”
“Because I killed you’re shit-eating asshole of a brother for murdering Uncle Ira.”
Jago gritted his teeth. Half of him still wanted her head for killing Paulo. The other half wanted her in his bed, under his massive bulk. “Three years I’ve wanted you in this room. Now here you are. Not in the capacity I’d hoped, but… beggars and choosers. You know.” Dakota took a breath and her shoulders slackened slightly, as much as a viper might slacken in the company of its prey. Jago smiled mischievously. “There you are, girl. You could come here and we could indulge in some more pleasurable kinds of pain. Old times and all that.”
Dakota smiled slightly, a hint of memory creeping into her gaze. “It was never pleasurable Jago. Only painful. You were my nightly punishment for every day of reaving. My nightly act of atonement. Now I have only one act left.” Jago snarled and snatched up the shotgun as he lunged out of bed, rolling to a crouch, sights leveled at Dakota. The deafening sound of the hollow click drained all the blood from his face and left his tongue parched. Dakota stood calmly in the moonlight, her long knife drawn. The slim, graceful blade gleamed like ice. She moved slowly, steadily, as though Jago was chained and unable to move. She glided across the floor like a ballroom dancer and stopped ten feet from him. Jago knew she could close that distance before he could even get to his feet. His shoulders sagged and his gun fell to the floor.
“I thought… it felt a little light,” he chuckled to himself. He took a breath and looked at her. “I really did love you Dakota. You’re an amazing girl. Who else has ever bested me?”
Dakota’s eyes moistened slightly. “You’ve gotten lazy Jago. It should never have been so easy…” She breathed deep and raised her chin, looking down her nose at the man as he knelt before her. “I have-” Jago gave a thunderous roar as he leaped towards her with a speed and agility that seemed inhuman in someone so large. Dakota never broke character. She sidestepped and slim blade seemed to trail languidly behind her as it flashed in the moonlight, sliding across Jago’s belly, sharp as a razor, and opened him up before he hit the ground. His eyes flew wide as Dakota plunged her knife into his heart, slamming his back against the hard stone floor and kissed him nearly in the same motion. Jago felt her tears fall on his face. He smiled weakly as she pulled away.
“Still the pure woman…” He whispered. Dakota shook her head slightly.
“No. Just happy no one killed you before I could,” she whispered back. “I loved you Jago. And you broke my heart…” she wrenched the knife free and Jago’s heart blood spurted into the air, a red mist carried on the summer breeze. “Burn in hell…”
Cheers,
~D
Tiny Story #3
Friday, July 17th, 2009
HE DIED PENNILESS
The man’s lips parted and Dakota listened as his breath rattled. “Why-” he rasped.
“If you’re gonna sling guns, best make sure you never gotta ask that,” she responded in a flat tone.
“Why is-” Dakota just frowned at the man as he was splayed out on the lavatory tiles, his blood gathering in the grouted grooves. “Why… is momma… always right?” He whispered.
Dakota sighed heavily and hung her head. She barely remembered her mother or father. They were just a worn old photograph now. “Because no one loves you like she does. And she knows that bleeding out in the lavatory is a shitty way to die.”
“You… you got me first,” he said, a slight question on the tip of his statement. She stood and studied him for a moment. He was not a bad guy. He was barely older than her, but he had wanted to collect the reward and she had no desire to go to the Feds.
“I was quicker,” she said simply. “My want was more.”
His face contorted in pain and frustration. He shook his head a little as though he might be able to rewind his decision through denial. Dakota turned and walked out.
The man just closed his eyes and listened to her boot heals click against the tile, barely audible through the roaring wind in his head. He thought to himself. He wished that he had pulled the trigger as soon as he’d opened the door… ‘stead of staring at that moon-pale skin. A breath rattled out. The roaring in his head was silent.
Cheers,
~D
Tiny Story #2
Wednesday, July 15th, 2009
Nox Custos
Jaya stood motionless. She had learned from the ancient quercetum. She could keep still for hours. Perched high in the canopy of Divinus Silva, last of the ancient forests, she watched the interlopers quietly pad along trails older than Men. Ashani sat patiently, watching as Jaya watched, moving as Jaya moved. The black rings and spots on her blue-gray coat helped her blend perfectly into the dappled night. Her golden eyes gathered what little light ebbed through the canopy and burned quietly. Her long, thick tail lashed back and forth and her padded paws flexed against the moss-covered limb.
Jaya reached out and touched the giant panther’s neck reassuringly. It was nearly level with her own as Ashani sat on her haunches. Before the written word the panthers of Divinus Silva had been faithful allies of the Nox Custos and they roamed the woods as one. They were the keepers, the guardians, and the warriors of Divinus Quercus, the last Dryad. Many believed the Nox Custos were no longer even human. They moved through the canopy like simian creatures, as deft and quiet as the ancient cats at their sides and, perhaps, as lethal. The last band that wandered into her woods had tried to cut down the eldest oak in her quercetum. They wanted to harvest the Mana from the ancient wood to run their machines and fuel their cities. They had failed, and they never heard a sound. Silently, throats had been opened and bodies were gently laid in the underbrush, shaking off the last death throws. But Jaya’s world was dying. She had seen the grotesque devices that lifted cities into the clouds and contraptions that sped men through the air faster than the falcons. Once the cities were ripped out of the earth and lifted into the sky, they left nothing but hideous craters. Roots were exposed and withered in the sun. Migrations were disrupted, leaving flocks lost and exposed to the elements. Herds were forced to find new trails to watering holes. But the men and women in their cities did not care. Not once their heads were immersed in the clouds.
Jaya’s world was dying, but it was not dead. The woods were her world. Divinus Silva was her world, and those on the trail below did not belong. They had dragged a woman and a small girl behind them like livestock. Jaya had no compassion for trespassers, but what she saw those men do to the woman last night had turned her stomach. The men below did not know what lurked in the ancient places of the world, nor that they would never again feel the sun on their faces. These were the paths of Divinus Quercus, and Jaya was their keeper.
Below her the men had made camp and lit a small cook fire. The largest one, his hands and face grimy from unwashed days on the ancient roads, pulled the woman into the firelight and shredded what was left of her tattered dress. The little girl began to wail.
“Ashani,” whispered Jaya. Without a sound the massive cat worked her way down through the limbs toward the vulgar vignette. Jaya watched the panther for a moment, noting every step on every limb before unsheathing her blade. As silently as her feline ally her bare feet touched the moist ground amongst the ferns. The filthy rabble never had a chance.
~D
Tiny Story #1
Monday, July 13th, 2009
Salo stepped off the train shortly after dawn. Black-bellied clouds pushed the sun’s wan light toward a boggy green. He was alone in the station except for the three men he believed had been left two days down the tracks. Salo took up all of his six and a half feet as he weighed the disheveled mongrels huddling under their dusters. Apparently “fair and square” meant nothing to them.
“Give us our money, mister,” said the sloucher on the right.
“Think three forty-fives to your one says it ain’t, son,” snarled the middle man as he hunkered farther into his coat.
“Dangerous thoughts, boys.”
The trio spread out slightly. Their fingers teased the air around pearl pommels. The breeze tugging at dusters was the only other movement. Then the steam whistle screamed. Blue-finish barrels cleared their leather and four shots boomed for dominance. The echoes faded off and the breeze died down before Salo limped away to the general store for some 80 proof and gauze.
Cheers,
~D
(I would love to have some “voiced” thoughts. Any seasoned authors out there?)
