Lucid Waking

Pretty flower fields
Color swaying in the breeze
To the beat of wind

Filed under: Poems by Bri
No Comments »

This is my attempt at horror, so I should warn everyone that this is not intended for all audiences. This is gory, but I don’t think it’s worse than some of my other stories. Just use your best judgment.

            “Everybody stand back!” Orders were yelled over the crowd as they pushed back the people farther into the center of the City. Yellow police tape was ripped from rolls and clumsily taped over the entrance of the fifteenth subway. Police radios crackled in the chaos and people yelled over them in protest. A few police officers were waving their guns to the particularly passionate people trying to break the line of people. Sirens rang on the street and buses pulled up to the curb in a steady pulse.
            “Damn it,” she said over the police network to the cops in the center. “Did you have to make such a seen?”
            “Sorry Miss Jane,” a young officer messaged back. “We had to do what we had to do.”
            She heard in the background a gruff apology from the lieutenant and a scolding to the officer as she pulled up to the curb.
            “Police detective coming through!” she yelled pushing her way through the crowd. “What happened?” she asked when she got to the center beyond the ring of cops. She smoothed down her skirt annoyed, but kept eye contact with the lieutenant of the police. He rubbed his neck nervously.
            “We don’t really know,” he said, “there’s a couple dead bodies down there and we think something has got to be down there eating people.”
            “How long have you had this quarantine up?”
            “A couple hours. We just got a call from the late night train conductor that he had a train full of dead bodies when he reached his last stop. The ones in the back were half eaten.”
            “All right,” she grabbed a gun from a nearby cop and checked that it was loaded. “Get me two officers to follow and make sure I’ve got backup at all the entrances around the city.” She clicked off the safety and ducked under the police tape into the dark subway.
            She listened down the railway and could just faintly hear a soft panting like a dog from somewhere down the tunnel. The train was pulled to the platform and all the doors were open on the receiving side of the station. She could see some blood smeared on the windows from something, but she didn’t give it much thought. The click of the safety being turned off brought her back to attention.
            “Officers Megan and John at your service,” a familiar voice said. John stepped up beside her and smiled showing her the extra guns he had made sure to carry. Megan stepped naturally on her other side, but showed no motion of recognition and strained her senses to get a clue on this new menace.
            “What did They tell you?” John asked nonchalantly as if he had no idea.
            “Murder,” Jane said calmly. She stepped forward to the train and stepped on the last car. It was dirty like every other public train car could be, but the people still sat in their seats, eyes facing forward or looking up, without any expression.
            Megan took a sharp intake of air and approached one of the figures. “All dead,” she said. “I don’t know about you,” she said strangely calm, “but They told us these people were mostly eaten and they were littered about the car.”
            “In fact,” John said, “they only showed us pictures of what looks like two cars down.”
            Jane put her gun in her belt and leaned down to feel a pulse on a woman holding a child’s hand. “These people look like they were never real.” She pulled a gun out and shot the woman’s left arm. There was a pause and all three of them peered into the bullet hole.
            “It’s just plastic,” Megan said disgusted. “You were right; these people were never real.”
            John frowned, but remained silent. “Let’s go to the other car,” he said and walked out of the train. Both women followed him, holding their guns out to the side towards the train, fingers on the triggers patiently.
            The thirteenth car was just as unusual as the last car, but all noted with disdain that it did not look like the report they had received earlier. The mannequins were all standing up and looking at one person laying on the floor drowning in her own pools of blood. She looked human and still clutched her throat where presumably the bullet was lodged. One man in the seat in front of her was sitting calmly looking down at her. Jane and John shrank back at this sight, but Megan held up her gun to the man in the chair’s forehead.
            “What the hell happened here?” she demanded, yelling at his stone face.
            There was silence where no one moved and finally the head moved just slightly to tilt his head and look at her out of the corners of his eyes. He didn’t speak.
            Jane pulled her gun on the people standing up, which she assumed were plastic, but was now cautious of everything. Her heart beat faster as she hallucinated the slightest twitch in every one of them. John and Megan kept their eyes fixed on the man in the chair.
            “I didn’t do anything,” the man said in a hollow mechanical voice. “It was the Animal.”
            “What are you talking about?” Megan said, walking closer to the man to close down her gun range. John snapped his gun out of its holster and clicked off the safety keeping it poised at the open door.
            The man stood up, but then sat down again as Megan’s gun followed his actions. “I did not kill her, He killed her. With the Animal.”
            Megan shook her head. “You’re not-“
            “Shhh!” the man quieted her loudly and sat in his original position perfectly still. All eyes followed the creaking to the door.
            “Well, well, well, what have we here?” a second man asked. His head just barely cleared the top of the train and shocks of his blond hair fell just above his eyes. He looked like a classical statue completely, from handsome appearance to stiff movements. He had a large rapier attached to his back, the hilt barely showing over his shoulder and a gun conspicuously placed on his hip. A dog pulled up next to him, snarling and he patted it on the head without even bending his knees.
            Jane motioned for John to defend her back and moved forward boldly to confront the new stranger. The dog started forward, but the man kept it back by his side.
            “You must he Him,” she said.
            The man smiled perfectly, but didn’t make another move of recognition.
            “Why did you do this?”
            The man frowned. “Do what?”
            Jane pointed at the girl on the floor beyond Megan, but didn’t say a word.
            “Oh,” the man said laughing, “that.”
            They waited for him to continue, but he just stood in the doorway smiling. The dog at his side calmed down a bit, but growled any time one of them would move.
            “What did she do to you?” Megan asked calmly.
            The man turned to her. “She was human. There are no humans on the fifteenth train to the fifteenth station. It’s a robot train. They think it’s to separate the filth of robots from precious humans, but it’s because there needs to be a separation between the filth humans from precious robots.”
            “She must have been with PETR,” John said quietly. “Only people pushing for the equality between humans and robots would have gotten on a clearly marked robot train.”
            The man cocked his head and stared at John, who ignored him nervously.
            “Who are you?” Jane said, trying hard to move the conversation from his stare.
            “I’m part of the extermination crew. We keep this train sacred.”
            “With mannequins?” Megan said scornfully. The man’s eyes flashed red.
            “Those are dysfunctional robots! They are not mannequins!”
            The dog barked and lunged towards Megan.
            “We’re sorry,” Jane yelled over the dog. “We’re sorry. We’ll leave. We didn’t know. We’ll go and tell them never to get on this train again and we’ll leave you alone.”
            “Oh, but then I wouldn’t have a job,” the man said taking a step towards them. “This train was full of dysfunctional robots and that’s how it will stay. It will go to the fixing station and fix you, you, you, and her right back up to the way you’re supposed to be.”
            He moved his gun to focus in the middle of Jane’s neck, but decided against it and dropped his gun. As he backed out of the train, he patted the dog above the tail. “Go get them.”
            The doors closed as the dog lunged forward. Three different guns shot out at it, but only revealed the complex wires underneath. Jane grabbed Megan’s arm and ran behind the row of mannequins staring at the human woman, letting them fall like dominoes to create a fort. John pulled back to join them by the door of the car.
            “Now what?” Jane asked out of breath, taking another shot for the dog, just to calm down her nerves. The dog was climbing the robots, though as it put weight on one it would fall uneasily, so it was mostly leveling out the mountain of plastic bodies. All three humans in the car still felt uneasy shock and fear as another mannequin would fall from the stack. The man in the chair stood up slowly and snuck up behind the dog. Megan took a shot.
            “We have to distract it,” she whispered, “because if I’m right then that robot will help us. And you know I’m always right.”
            “If cynical and egotistical,” John said.
            Both dismissed his comment as a case of nerves as his hands were starting to shake as they stood watching the mountain diminish. Finally the second robot reached the dog and grabbing a nearby arm from a broken robot, bashed the dog on the head. A few seconds of bloody combat followed, guns firing expertly into crucial mechanical parts in the dog. Finally the dog stopped working and the second man got back on the train.
            “I thought you were dead,” he said, though to whom it was unclear. Jane breathed a sigh of relief and shot him in the head. He fell backwards from the impact onto the pavement and smashed the memory box in the nape of his neck with a sickening shatter.
            She climbed out of the train and annoyed, smoothed out her hair and skirt. “Thank you,” she said turning to John and Megan, “for a job well done.”
            John smiled and Megan rolled her eyes laughing half-heartedly. Stepping gently out of the subway station, she tossed the gun to the lieutenant and walked back into the crowd to her car.

Filed under: Horror, Science Fiction by Bri
1 Comment »

The angels are wearing black and dropping roses on the graves of the mislead souls. Their tears are creating floods for the rest lost in their troubles. The soil to bury the coffins are taken from cloud nine, and dissipated in smoke, leaving the raw pain for us to see. But they don’t see it and they cry anyway. I wish I remembered how to cry so that I can be an angel because the angels are wearing black and dropping white roses on the graves of the mislead souls.

Filed under: Poems by Bri
No Comments »

Originally published on December 30, 2005

I had absolutly no muse today (Calliope must be on break). I could not to save my life come up with anything. I finally wrote something I’m not happy with at all just to get the agony over with. If this reminds you a little bit about Lighthouse’s Tale, you’re not the only one.

            If there was one thing I hated most of all the things on earth it would have to be fish. I can’t stand their lidless eyes that seem to get everywhere. I especially hate catfish; they have these flat faces and eyes on top of their heads that always look at you no matter where they are. On top of that they look nothing like cats! Myra is the captain’s cat and is one of my best friends. She’s such a lady that she never has her “sea-sickness bouts” on my decks. It’s bad enough I have termites and maggots on board; I don’t need cat vomit in my wood. I suppose I should introduce myself: I’m Wind Rider and I’m a navy ship for England. The year is currently 1606 and I’m traveling the Atlantic to America with a boatload of new explorers.

Filed under: Uncategorized by Bri
No Comments »

Originally published on December 26, 2005

            She was sitting on the edge of the dock with her legs swinging over the edge carelessly. She was wrapped up in her ski jacket, a scarf, sweat pants, and boots. Her hat was stuffed into her pocket, which bulged from the extra cloth. She looked up at the ethereal moon in the paling pink sky.
           “Celebrate tomorrow like there’s no today,” she whispered to the waves. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. Lights started to fill the city’s space and outlined each and every one of the blackening buildings. Wind stabbed her exposed face, but she smiled. Her figure started fading away until it was gone. She opened her eyes and sat up in her queen-sized bed, finding that she was dressed in a blue silk gown.
            Someone was knocking furiously at the door and yelling: “Hurry up, Aña! They’re expecting you downstairs!”
            “Hold on,” she yelled back quickly fixing her hair in the mirror as she walked to the door. “Don’t knock so hard, you’ll make a hole in the door.”
            She heard a heavy sigh from the person on the other side of the door, but no other noise of protest. She pulled open the heavy door and stepped out into the hallway.

Filed under: Fantasy by Bri
No Comments »

There will be more later! I just need to add an ending…

            She paused in the dragonfly grove and looked down. There were seven red roses formed among the white and a few were pink in anticipation. She looked around to make sure she was alone with the insects. She paused before reaching down to touch one. Instantly her hand heated up and she felt a wet heat stick to her hands. She suppressed a scream and looked at her fingers. The red blood-like goop had spread down her arm in rapid speed and started climbing up her neck. This time she didn’t suppress the scream and let loose the high-pitched noise before her lungs collapsed and she fell.
            The grove was filled with moving life. Cries and obscenities were shouted in the open space, disregarding the shattering formation of dragonflies. People who knew her wept in fear and others just kept their distance.
            “She’s a demon!”
            Everyone ran to and fro, the strongest fighters tying her up and heaving her out of the garden in standard speed. People clutched at their chests and covered their mouths in shock. Others searched the grove. They couldn’t find anything.
            “Maybe it’s something with the elf,” a fae whispered.
            “Let’s not start a civil war,” another countered.
            They filed out of the garden and hoped that this demon was not still there, waiting for the next person. A guard watched them file out quietly, standing at the entrance to the garden continuing his civil duties to keep the people calm, but something didn’t feel right. He scanned the white roses trying to figure out the cause of the heavy air and quiet oppression. When the last person had left, he followed them out.
            The littlest one waited in the garden for everyone to leave and made sure she was hidden from the guard’s gaze when he scanned the garden. The dragonflies were gone, save one, which was the most unusual shade of red anyone had ever seen.
            She paused to watch it flit in and out of the roses. It landed on the purest white rose, which at its touch became the deepest scarlet and flew off on a small breeze. She gazed at the large petals of the rose in amazement. The dragonfly had landed on another rose and continued to turn this one red. The little girl snuck up behind it and waved her arms to scare the creature away. It jumped with a start and flew to the other end of the garden, red steaming liquid dripping from its abdomen on the concrete patio as it flew off. The floor started to burn and charcoal spread from the red spots like a plague. The little girl ran toward the door of the garden, but found that it had disappeared in a large red brick wall reaching the sky. The flames started to consume the white roses and the trees, slowly making its way towards her. The dragonfly landed on her shoulder and quietly watched the scene from its perch.
            “This is what happens to curiosity,” it said sweetly in the little girl’s ear before floating off her shoulder and leaving a red imprint from its stay. The girl fell unconscious and hit her head against the wall hard. Silver blood mingled with the red liquid as the fire finally reached the wall.
            The first woman turned around to look at the pink smoke coming out of the garden. She smiled and fainted again becoming a dead weight on the people that carried her. The boy carrying her looked back at the garden again following her gaze, but saw nothing wrong with it, save one red rose peeking out through the door. He frowned, but continued onward, glancing warily at the woman’s red skin as they walked. His hands were gloved and covered with a sticky red liquid oozing from her arm. He paused.
            “Since when did we have red roses?” he asked to no one in particular. There was silence as the processional continued. His hands were glued to the woman’s arm so he had no choice but to keep walking toward the city.
            The city had emptied out and those who did not run to Selena’s garden were waiting in the street to be told what had occurred. Gasps shuttered through the crowd as one by one the people of the city laid eyes on the now androgynous girl. The air was morose as the spectators of her rescue whispered rumors of the story. Finally, the now larger procession had reached the healers and left the girl to be healed.
            “Andrew!”
            The boy turned to the person calling his name and smiled. His best friend, Jackson was running towards him as best he could in armor. People watched him annoyed as he ran past disregarding everyone else in the hospital.
            “What do you think happened?” Jackson said quietly. His usual joking disposition was stone cold and Andrew noticed him fingering the hilt of his sword unconsciously as he usually did when he was nervous.
            “I don’t know. Maybe we should ask Father Fuin what he thinks.”
            Jackson shook his head. “I think we should do research on our own.”
            Andrew glanced at the girl they had just carried in. “It doesn’t seem like much of a secret. And he is Goddess Selena’s high priest.”
            Jackson shrugged and started walking out of the temple. “Do whatever you want. Just don’t get yourself killed.”
            Andrew took one last glance at the demon girl before leaving the temple. The city was back to normal again, but a slight stiffness in the presence of the people. Things were going normally, but there were no children playing in the streets and the merchants smiled mechanically when someone walked by. He noticed the guards stationed in street corners and in front of prominent doorways ready at any moment to chase after the demon threatening the town.
            Father Fuin was a tall, dark, ageless man who was always bustling around Goddess Selena’s temple on the far southern edge of the city. It was ornately built and managed as the temple for the city’s goddess. Besides it always being full of people, the temple never moved very quickly and one was inclined to take a step just a little bit slower than you would otherwise. Andrew cautiously walked in, conscience of his grubby appearance, and tried to sneak towards the main alter in the center front of the temple.
            “Come to pray to our Goddess, I see. Youth such as yourself don’t come very often.”
            Andrew turned around, his ears buzzing like he got caught. Father Fuin stood over him smiling and staring over his head at the glowing alter being lit by a single shaft of sunlight from a hole up above.
            “I actually came to speak to you, Father,” Andrew began. Father Fuin looked down at him, the smile gone from his face.
            “Quite,” he said, and started to walk towards a small hidden door in the west wall of the temple. Andrew followed him diligently, but cautiously because he wasn’t quite sure whether he should follow or not. Both of them slipped inside the room and Father Fuin closed the door quietly behind Andrew.
            “I suppose this is about the girl. I heard she was found in the garden.”
            Andrew nodded. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
            Father Fuin nodded and sat down at a very large, dusty desk. “I hesitate to think that it might be the demon, Ba’lalnan. She hasn’t come to this city in years and I don’t think she would take the form of one of our village girls.” His voice drifted off in contemplation and Andrew took a seat on the opposite side of the desk trying to listen to the conversation the man was having with himself. “You do know the story, don’t you?” Father Fuin asked at last, startling Andrew so that he sat up straight on the back of his seat.
            “I’m afraid I don’t.”
            Father Fuin relaxed in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. “Ba’lalnan was a goddess. In fact, she was the queen of the underworld and wife to Pyrrhus. Although all credit is given to him for ruling the underworld and death, he was a much kinder ruler than she was, and thus she had almost complete power. The story I am referring to is the battle between Selena and Ba’lalnan, or rather between Selena and Azar as that is what her name was as a goddess. She did not become Ba’lalnan until much later. Azar was quite materialistic and often unsatisfied. She could change her form at will, but would often sell herself on street corners as a young girl. It was one night of a full moon that Azar tempted a priest of Goddess Selena’s and they affronted the temple. In her anger, Goddess Selena turned Azar into a vulture and sent her to fly up to the clouds. Azar was angry with Selena for turning her into such an ugly creature and the two goddesses bickered until day. They say the skies were restless with lightning and thunder all night, but no rain fell. When Lord Gawain turned the night into day, Selena and Azar had decided to have a contest. This contest was similar to the ones preformed on Selena’s festival, but of course, with quite the opposite intention. The object was to create the most beautiful creature that could live in two elements. Goddess Selena created a dragonfly and she chose to weave them from the two elements of water and air. Lady Azar created a black swan from the elements water and earth. When they were finished with their creations, they implored Lord Ashton to judge which of the two was the more beautiful creatures. As punishment, Azar was banished from the Gods and Goddesses court and turned into a demon in the permanent form of a red dragonfly. She was allowed to keep her title as queen of the underworld and uses saps of her power to turn various other things into demons. So, if I’m correct, then that poor girl will have to be cleansed and kept alive for Selena’s Festival the following week. Hopefully, we won’t have to kill the poor girl.”
            Andrew looked up at the window and sighed. “I’m going to see what happened tonight, after sun down.”
            Father Fuin smiled, but didn’t show any surprise. “Perhaps you would like this.” He went to a chest on the far end of the room and opened it up with a creak. “Just some leather armor and a sword used in the Battle of the Sun. If Ba’lalnan is there, you will need this.”
            Andrew thanked him and put on the armor and sword. “I hope I can sanctify the garden again,” he said in a final heroic gesture.
            Father Fuin nodded appreciatory and left the small room.
           Midnight arrived and Andrew left his home and ran towards the garden. The roses were all white, save two: a large red one in the middle on one side, and a wilting red one by the door. He stopped carefully to examine the one by the door; its leaves were charred with ash and curled like paralysis. The stem was brittle for when the wind moved it did not stir. Petals blew off it sadly and the pollen in the middle was exposed raw. Something compelled him to reach out and touch it, but he pulled away and sat down in the middle of the garden underneath the moon. The red dragonfly sat on a rose in front of him, iridescent eyes staring.
           “Why have you come to my garden?” it asked malevolently. “You are not one to stumble here accidentally and you are armed.”
           “Unless you are the Goddess Selena,” he countered, “you have no business calling this your garden.”
           “But these are all my subjects,” the dragonfly said. All the roses turned a blood red and the previous red ones glowed orange. “Come my demons.”
           The roses shifted into flame and spread toward the inside of the circle. He stood up with great speed and looked for the dragonfly. “Kill this with a sword,” it screeched.
           “You’re a coward for not coming to me face to face,” he yelled into the flames. He waited for it to come back down to his level for one last boast, praying that the gods would help him win this conquest.
           “Coward or no,” it said, “I am not unintelligent. I know you’ve figured it out.”
           He paused and moved toward a tree, lifting himself up towards the branches. The dragonfly flitted off an upper branch. The red liquid shot down the trunk of the tree like an arrow and he dropped his hold on the trunk and fell down to the ground. The dragonfly sat on the top of the hedge and patiently waited for him. The flames were pushing him toward the bricked in entry way and the dragonfly had strategically placed itself on the opposite end of the garden. He plunged into the flames and swooped down on the insect as it flew to the left to avoid the blow. Breathing hard, he ran into the flames and leapt off the trunk of a burning tree, smashing his blade down on the dragonfly’s abdomen and splitting it in half. There was a great scream as the brick wall in front of the entryway disappeared. He ran towards this opening when a small girl curled up in the corner of the roses, burning brightly caught his eye. As he picked her up, the wound in her head started to bleed and he carefully staunched the bleeding with a gauntleted hand. True flames crackled behind them as he stumbled out of the garden and into the valley before the town.

Filed under: Fantasy, Hero Cycle by Bri
No Comments »

Originally published on December 27, 2005

           The king cowered in fear. One minute the bishop came straight towards him but the rook was able to get him out of the way. Now the knight was coming. His queen was dead and his army almost gone, he had nothing left to protect besides his own life. The rook died in vain.
            “Checkmate!”

Filed under: Uncategorized by Bri
No Comments »

Originally published on April 23, 2006; Questionable content below

            “I still don’t know when I’m going to get the money from your incompetent footmen. You seem to think you know best, but I’m wondering about that. It’s a lot of money, Jack. You don’t want me telling the Queen you lost it.”
            Jack held the receiver of the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Caroline stood outside the phone booth with her back to him watching the cars go by patiently.
            “I’ll get it to you tomorrow. If not,” he glanced at Caroline and bit his lip, “Go ahead and tell the Queen.”
            There was a bit of silence on the other end. “You know, you’re a good man, Jack. I don’t know if you’re scared stiff to say that or just stupid. The point is if I didn’t have the colonel breathing down my neck, I would let you go. Have a good night and I’ll see you soon.”
            “Good night,” Jack let out a long held breath and left the booth.
            “Thanks for waiting, sweetie,” he said lending Caroline his arm. She had short black hair that curled around her face in a soft frame. Her nose was pointed and sharp, but the rest of her features were soft and flawless. She had full lips with red lipstick and light blush on her cheeks. Her hazel eyes were outlined with mascara on her long eyelashes and thin-rimmed glasses sat gracefully on her nose. She had on a long brown button-down coat and black leather gloves. Her black leather boots clicked on the pavement and her red skirt waved around her ankles. She was a businesswoman who worked for the International Journalists Association, which specialized in journalism around the world. She knew fourteen different languages and had a master’s degree in linguistics. Jack could never figure out how she could keep everything straight, but she seemed to manage quiet well. Regardless of race, people seemed to respect her and have a civilized conversation with her. She seemed to have an aura about her that made innocent people smile or guilty people confess. Sometimes she seemed to get more information from a suspect than the police. But, she her job and her reputation put her constantly on the run to different countries. Jack was always on the run, too, so their schedules almost never matched. The few moments they had together, they would put away their jobs for a couple of hours. Tonight was different, because Jack was having difficulty obtaining the money he needed and his footmen were falling like ripe fruit from the tree. What was worse was that no one could figure out why.
            “So what happened?” she asked. Her voice was sweet, but low. She sounded like a mother figure, which was probably why people listened to her so well.
            “Just a little bit of trouble,” Jack squeezed her hand a bit and smiled. She continued straight ahead without glancing at him, but she smiled back. “Cay, what do you know of a Mrs. Dublanc? The IJA seemed to be interested in her.”
            Caroline’s face lit up a bit and she turned to him. “Mme Dublanc is a millionaire in the perfume business in France. Rumors have gone around saying she killed her husband to inherit the business, but I don’t think that’s true. M. Dublanc was a very sickly man and he never cared enough to take care of himself. Anyway, the IJA is just dying to interview her because they believe she’s living the life of a pauper here and has millions of billions of dollars in France. I don’t know what kind of a pauper lives in a house the size of a cathedral and what perfume owner has millions of billions, but that’s the story.”
            Jack nodded and steered them into the small French café that they always ate at. They sat down at a small candlelit table and quietly glanced at the other couples in the café. The people came from all walks of life, but the little café seemed to create from even the unluckiest person, royalty.
            “Mlle Caroline et M. Jacques. C’est très longtemps. Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?” the waitress said. She winked at Jack and squatted next to Caroline. “Your usual? Oh, I’ve forgotten what that is,” she whispered, laughing gently.
            “C’est la vie,” Caroline said in her buttery French. “Nous sommes très occupés.”
          “Tout les temps?” the waitress stood up and pulled back into her French like a worn sweatshirt.
          “Oui,” Caroline responded nodding, “tous les temps.”
          “C’est dommage,” the waitress said pulling out a pad of paper. “Qu’est-ce que désirez-vous?”
          This was always Jack’s cue in all the incomprehensible French to start talking and the waitress turned to him expectantly for his order. But, just then the dim lights went out and the restaurant was bathed in candlelight.
          “Blow out your candles!” someone yelled from the darkness. “And get under the table!”
          Jack dropped down to his knees, but he didn’t follow Caroline and the waitress under the table. He sat watching through the smoky darkness out the window into the street where the Footmen had started marching. He knew the assassins were not far off and slinking between shadows in silence as they were trained to do. Although these were his co-workers, something was off and he crouched down to the floor when one would glance in the window. Then the brigade stopped and Jack joined the two other women under the table. A gunshot went off farther down the street and the sound ricocheted off the silent building faces that screamed in the flashlight beams. No one made a sound and the sound of breathing almost stopped. A soldier swore outside the window and muttered something in butchered Latin. He was obviously a new recruit, which changed the situation further. Why on earth would they put new recruits on something like this? Someone grabbed Jack’s wrist and pulled him towards the kitchen. He stood up with his mysterious leader and walked towards the corner where there was a door. The room behind it was lit and light ran out of the cracks around the door. As they got closer, he could see that it was Caroline leading him with a long kitchen knife in her hand.
          “Jack, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I want you to figure it out and stop it,” she whispered angrily as she opened up the door. Inside were hundreds of people packed into the small employee bathroom. Every one of them had their coronary artery slit and blood was splattered on the walls.
          Before Jack could react, the lights went on in the kitchen and a man dressed in black faced them, his dagger stained red. “Good evening, Mrs. Caroline,” he said as he walked closer. He smiled briefly before grabbing Jack’s upper arm. “The Queen wishes to meet with you, Jack,” he said cynically, “now.”

 *If you don’t speak French here is what they are saying:
Waitress: Mrs. Caroline and Mr. Jack. It’s been a long time. What’s up? then, You’re usuals, I’ve forgotten what that is
Caroline: That’s life. We’ve been busy
Waitress: All the time?
Caroline: Yes, all the time.
Waitress: That’s too bad. What can I get you?

Filed under: Science Fiction by Bri
No Comments »