The Third Door

The doorbell kept on ringing, even though I'd barely even have time to jerk up out of my chair.  "I'm coming!  I'm coming!" I shouted, aware that the person outside likely couldn't hear me, but still feeling annoyed.

I clomped down the hallway that connected my home office to the front door, hearing the hardwood floor creak under my feet as I drew closer.  Past the living room, the door to the coat closet, and finally, I arrived at the front door.  Through the curtain, I could see a shadowy figure standing outside, waiting for me to draw back the bolt.

From how he was still pushing my doorbell, I guessed that he wasn't the patient type...

The Family Pet

I stood in front of the door, trying to keep my knees from knocking together.  Remember, Harry, just be polite and open, I told myself inside my head.  Sure, you don't want to ruin things with this girl by offending her family, but you're a nice enough guy.  Just stay polite, and it will all be fine.

After one last breath, I reached out and rang the bell.  Here goes nothing...

The Angels: D'oops'day

When he stepped inside the coffee shop, his companion was already there, standing by the bulletin board and pretending to peruse the postings.  Of course he'd be early.

Lucifer forced himself to not grind his teeth.  Sure, he could regrow them with a moment's thought, but one of his under-devils had told him that it made quite the awkward squeaking sound when he did so.  "Doesn't exactly inspire fear of the 'Prince of Darkness'," the fallen angel had commented, snickering a little.

Of course, Lucifer promptly tossed the angel through a portal to the opposite end of the universe, inside quite the large star, but he still didn't feel great about the whole thing.

52,825 words (so far).

2,298 words written on average per day in November.

Published novel soon to come.

That is all.

Paradoxes

I knew from the moment that I woke up that something was wrong.

I sat up, groaned, and reached up to rub at my eyes.  My alarm was beeping on the nightstand beside me, but I had no idea how long it had been going off.  I reached over and scooped the little clock up, holding it up close to my eyes as I fumbled for my glasses.

"Shit," I grunted, as I read the time.  I was most definitely late.

I set the clock back down on the nightstand, and watched as it slowly sank into the wood.  "Solids variable," I diagnosed to myself.  At least it hadn't yet affected the bed - although it did feel even softer than usual...

"Either I will find a way, or I will make one."

The scout could already feel despair setting in as he cut along the path through the thick brush of the jungle.  He stepped past the carefully positioned leaves, making sure to set them back into position once he had cleared them, and then hurried through the little concealed clearing.

"Carter!  Carter!"  he called out, as he slipped past the grunts as they sat on the wet ground and rechecked their weapons.  The whole camp had been waiting on his return, hoping for good news.

They would be disappointed...

The Little Man

The little man whistled as he trotted up the stairs, a tuneless little ditty of discordant notes.  He kept his lips pursed as he blew through them mainly as something to keep himself occupied.  He never really remembered any music; it was just something to do.

The case in his hand felt heavier than he remembered, but wasn't it always heavier on the way up?  On the way down, of course, it would feel lighter.

Funny how such a small little bit of weight could influence the feel of the case so much...

"Call it in."

Hannibal kept his eye on the kid as he waited for the phone to ring through.  Damn connection always took forever.

Sure, the geeks in glasses told him that it was "for increased security," and that "the protocols needed more time to check the line was secure," but he didn't much care about that.  Hannibal knew his job, and that was all that mattered much to him.

But the kid was new.  Just accepted on, still full of piss and vinegar, convinced that he was making the world a better place with each bullet.  He arrived early every morning with the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed cheeriness that made Hannibal wince when he turned away.

Hannibal wondered how long that naivete would last.  He didn't remember it taking him long to see through the gauzy sheets draped over his eyes, but the kid might not come around as fast.  That was okay.  The longer he felt good when he laid down at night, the better.

Writing Prompt: The Narrator Doesn't Fall In Love With the Reader

Author's note: This is the writing of a personification, not of me!  Readers, I love you all!

First off, dear reader, allow me to extend a long and twisted middle finger towards you.  I sincerely hope that this opening statement makes my feelings towards you clear.

I have only one thing to ask you, o hallowed and eminent reader, as the fires of our love affair burn and consume themselves:

How dare you?

Writing Prompt: Seinfeld after the apocalypse.

Intro music plays: GEORGE and JERRY are sitting in a small, ramshackle lean-to shelter at a table.

Jerry: Wait, you decided to leave the group?  Didn't they have a whole underground bunker full of food?

George: Let me tell you about that bunker, Jerry.  There was NO variation!  No variation at all!

Jerry: No...

George: That's right!  And do you know what food they were all eating?

Jerry: Don't say it!

George: Beans!

Possession talk around the neighborhood grill

SETTING: The neighborhood barbecue, over by the grill.  The men are gathered around the grills, occasionally poking at the meat, while the women gossip and the children run around, chase each other, and occasionally scream.  It's a warm, sunny summer day, with the slightest of breezes rustling the leaves on the trees.

"Man, you cannot be serious.  On either count."

"No, I swear it's true!  Summoning ritual gone wrong, the whole nine yards.  It's really the only way for me to explain it.  She's nothing like how she used to be."

The Surgery, Part II

Continued from Part I.

Two hours later, Decker was in the operating room, his hands scrubbed clean with a molecular wash by the nurse-droid, a layer of protective antibacterial rubber sprayed over them as a protective coat.  Mrs. Taggett was on the operating table in front of him, thankfully still and silent.  Her mechodist ranting had been replaced by the steady beep of the monitoring instruments.

Directing the nanowatt laser, Decker began the incision.  The small tumor was towards the back of the woman, by the spine, and he had to be careful not to pierce any organs.

Two inches in, the laser blinked, shuddered - and stopped.  Decker paused.  Did he hit something?  The laser was designed to cut through tissue and bone, just about anything short of metal.  What sort of obstruction could he have encountered?

The Surgery, Part I

Dr. Alan Decker was already regretting picking up this patient's file.  "What a disagreeable woman," he thought to himself, staring down at the middle-aged female lying on the hospital bed in front of him, her hands gesticulating as she rambled on.

"Look, doc, I'm not saying that they're all bad," she went on, again waving her hands (and, incidentally, keeping Decker from taking a look at the place where he would be cutting into her in a couple of hours).  "But come on, they're not human!  They're basically just collections of gears and cogs, not even alive.  They don't deserve the same rights as us, people made of real flesh!"

Decker had to struggle to control his eyes, preventing them from rolling.  Of course he'd get the hypocrite, the mechodist, the woman who hated androids even as her own flesh was failing her.  Instead of commenting, he forced himself to keep his neutral expression, gently but firmly leaning in with the power of authority.  When the woman's hand flailed past him again, he reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

"Mrs. Taggett, I need to examine you for your surgery this afternoon," he stated, his ice-cold voice cutting through her diatribe.  "Please, if you can hold still, this will be quick."

The woman glared at him, angry at being interrupted, but she stopped moving about, and Decker was able to lift up her hospital gown.  The nurse-droid had already been in here, marking the exact spot where Decker would make the incision.  If it was up to the doctor, he would have let the droid do the entire procedure - but this abhorrent woman had insisted on a human touch.

Now he could see why.

Everything looked to be okay, the doctor quickly decided, and he was free to leave.  "Wonderful, Mrs. Taggett," he told the woman in the bed.  "We will proceed with the surgery this afternoon, and you should be free to go home by tomorrow morning."

The woman shivered, but her angry eyes never left him.  "The sooner I can get out of this house of clockwork, the better," she snapped.

Outside the room, Decker saw a small man, slightly huddled with owlish eyes, watching him as he emerged.  "How is she, doc?" he asked, stepping forward.  "I'm, er, Mr. Taggett."

The husband.  "Everything seems fine," Decker replied.  "It's a minor tumor that is being removed, and there don't appear to be any complications.  I won't know for certain until I cut her open this afternoon, of course."  He usually tried to avoid such direct language, but his temper was still running hot.

The diminutive little husband just nodded.  But as Decker turned to walk away, the man's hand shot out to grab his arm.  The touch was light, almost furtive, but it made the doctor pause.

"Look, sir, just..." Taggett hesitated, and Decker wished he could shake the man and get him to just spit it out.  "Just don't be too shocked, sir.  Trust me, it's all for a reason.  Just don't say too much to her."

Decker had no idea what this meant.  But before he could ask, the little man turned and scuttled back into his wife's room, and the doctor put this strange little exchange out of his mind.

To be continued!