Bounty

by B. York | Jan 13, 2006 | Story | 0 comments

Skitz was running as fast as an alley rat could run in the back streets of Terris 4. Even with six legs, he was having a hard time keeping ahead of the bounty hunter. His three nostrils flared and he stopped for a moment to catch some carbon dioxide before taking a glance around.

When he heard footsteps behind him he darted up the wall, using suction-cupped fingers to tug his way onto the top of the building. Below him, in the alleyway, he heard, “Son of a bitch…”

The native of Terris was taking a moment to relax, slumping his multi-appendage body against a radiator core. He plucked a radio from his satchel and spoke into it with labored words between breaths. “Durag! Felakchy oootuhag defgty! Keep the girl safe… he’s coming for her.”

A noise came from the other end of the radio just in time for it to be smacked out of his hands as the butt of a plasma-bolted to be smashed into one of his faces. The Terrisal groaned and turned to see the bi-pedal shadow standing over him. A gruff voice intoned a threat with a vouch of seriousness in it: “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t climb walls, and I hate using the rocket-pack.”

He kneeled down next to Skitz, not bothering to aim his gun, but the human plucked him in the forehead to make sure he got his attention. “I’m looking for a human. Any human will do. Now, I know there’s at least one… So talk.”

The alien shuddered before his pair of eyes opened and glanced around for escape. The bounty hunter hit him in the head again. “Wrong answer. Look at me, freak.”

Skitz was definitely scared by now, and he was starting to wish he’d never even seen a human. “Der… vulag. Human… I see human long time ago.” The small lie caught a sigh from the hunter, and when the man stood he kicked the little guy in the side. Skitz cried out in agony, grabbing his body and whimpering.

“See, we humans have lived through ten millennia of bullshit. I’d appreciate it if we could not have us live through another.” This time, the gun was pointed at Skitz’s head. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“…It is a small girl,” the Terrian gasped

“Good. Progress. Where is she right now?”

“… She hide… below industry. Sector 9.”

The bounty hunter grumbled to himself. “Wechals? I fucking hate Wechals. I hated bugs on Earth and I really fucking hate Wechals.” He turned, and began to walk away. His direction was, of course, Sector 9.

Skitz cried out after him, “You no kill girl! You Felag!”

The hunter stopped and looked over his shoulder, glaring at the little shit. “Kill? Are you fucking stupid? We’re an endangered species. I’m just rounding us up.”

Legend of the Candy Cane

by B. York | Dec 25, 2005 | Story | 0 comments

No one is sure where it came from. The old books with paper pages will tell you that it came from Cologne Cathedral, but I’m not so sure anymore. I imagine it comes out of the woodwork when trouble starts and times are dark. It’s time for the holidays again, but all we hear are the bombs of the war crashing down on our walls, shaking our souls and the ground beneath us.

The Archons of the city have gathered us children in the basements and the shelters as everyone awaits an end. They tell us stories and in each of these stories I listen for a crooked stick of candy.

Think back to the battle to defend Earth. In the chaos of the Narxar attacks, the holidays happened and the fighting stopped. The invaders didn’t have to put down their guns, but when they saw smiles and heard singing, they almost had a reverence about it. Somewhere in that story, a child was handed one of these curved confections and life was made better for it. Rumors have it that when peace was made with the Narxar, one of the canes was given as tribute.

Who could forget the civil war of the Mars colonies? A whole thirteen years filled with blood and sacrifice. The usually dry desert of the red planet was soaked with the blood of those who had given their lives for the right to make laws. It was then that the sky softened and revealed to them that man controlled nothing but himself. Snow broke the battle. It coated the red, if only for a day, and it cleared the minds of those who were riddled with anger. I like to imagine that someone handed someone else this length of peppermint and all was made right with the stars and the heavens.

In darker times, when we invaded Delfia II for its plentiful resources, for its air and plants and endless reserves of fuel, we expected to skip the holidays until we were victorious. Still, the Delfian climate was so warm and peaceful that when the time for celebration and goodwill came about, the soldiers lost their wills to fight. The war had become unimportant. Sometimes, I dream about a soldier holding up one of those perfect shiny red and whites and handing it to a Delfian child no older than myself. That child would know that everything would be all right.

Yet, here we are now. The ground trembles and my friends are huddled together as if our proximity could protect us from the bombs. Our Archons have left to defend us from the soldiers who would enter and kill us. I pray that no one wins. I pray that the sky opens up and that snowflakes fall down. I pray that somewhere, anywhere, someone will remember why we breathe, why we live, and why we created the word “peace.”

Then, the walls stop shaking. A deafening silence fills the air around me. My friend Sarah reaches over to me and takes my hand, pressing something into my palm. I look down and see a transmitter antennae, bent and shaped like a cane. Like a candy cane. Smiling, I take her hand and close my eyes. Somehow, everything is going to be alright.

Pile Of Dead Things

by B. York | Dec 19, 2005 | Story | 0 comments

The surprise was ready. Melanie had worked hard to ensure that this November would be the most wondrous time that her daughter, Fawn, had ever experienced. She’d made all the right calls and had the work done in a forest around their estate. As the workers departed, she left them with thanks and heart-felt appreciation for their services. They even received a fresh coating of sunscreen on their way out.

The laborers exited with large mallets in their hands only minutes before young Fawn was due home from school. In the coastal town of Nashville it was hard to find trees in abundance, so Melanie had chosen an estate an overview of a small forest near the backyard. Still, the great melting pushed the ocean closer and closer to their home, and Melanie worried that one day, all of the trees would be lost.

When the bus pulled up and the doors swooshed open, Fawn smiled to all of her friends and exited the yellow vehicle. She swung her UV umbrella held over her right shoulder as she skipped up the driveway to her mother. “Mommy, it’s my birthday!” she announced with a grin.

“I know, sweetie! I know! I got a big surprise for you waiting out back, too!”

“Really!?” The little girl’s squeal could not be contained as she took off, almost dropping her umbrella in the excitement. She tore around the house with her mother walking slowly in her wake, and when Melanie finally passed the gate, the most glorious scream of joy echoed across the yard.

There, amidst the naked sun-scorched field of grass, a huge pile of brown, crispy leaves flew from her daughter’s hands. The girl had already ditched her umbrella to dash up onto the deck and climb so that she could jump upon the pile. “Mommy, are they real? Where did you get all these leaves!?”

Melanie smiled with her arms crossed and gave her daughter a knowing smile. It was easy to believe these were fake dead leaves. In the perpetual summer, leaves never even turned yellow. “I had some workers come by and kill a few trees a few months back.” she said. “They collected them today and brought them out here just for you!”

Fawn smiled broadly, and when her mother watched her dive into the pile of flaky brown shapes, she knew it had been worth the cost and effort. The crunching sounds of the leaves brushing one another filled the yard as the girl swam her way out then dove back in as soon as she had reached the edge. The neighbors were watching at this point, amazed at the pile of dead things strewn about the yard across from them.

The day continued until the searing sun began to set, and Melanie picked up her little one to carry her inside. “That’s enough for now, sweetie,” she said.

“But Mommy, what if they turn green tomorrow? They’ll all go away!”

Inside, Melanie laid the child in her bed and pulled the covers over her shoulders. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said with a warm smile. “They won’t be green tomorrow. They’ll be just as dead as they were today.”