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The Mere Tide

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  #241  
Old 09-04-2018, 08:48 PM
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I like the way your right eye looks

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  #242  
Old 09-04-2018, 08:48 PM
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A man needs his sleep. So how turns the worm chin what's up with you?

Hahaha i had my friend take the picture immediately cause i thought it would look badass. Blue is not above vanity
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  #243  
Old 09-04-2018, 09:01 PM
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None of us are above vanity. I would open that up a beauty.
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  #244  
Old 09-08-2018, 07:36 PM
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A sad silted drizzle tintypegrayed the windshield and the steady brooming of the wipers brought into clarity again a grayer morn and the forward traffic and a moon like a scoria coin. Futile lustration cannot wash away the oppidan dregs into storm drains of the same. A coordinate of void inseminated by a stellar grande mort developed to this paradigm of lithic taxonomies perambulated by orders of spalpeens and coxcombs and loons and other pilgrims under gamp or wishing to be. Cellular conurbation, mitochondria of power plant and lubric fabs so delicately analogous reproducing its own furnishings and means of spread within itself.

Deddent mean ta do it.

But you did.

Dachni braced her fists against her temples. Giver pollygie swen backed.

She wont be there.

Dachni looked up. Went way where?

Home.

Whyd they home?

They needed to go back. They couldnt have tolerated the city much longer.

Teller come back.

Youll see her again.

Dachni yanked at the pilot's arm. Teller come back now.

Anaya put the truck into autodrive and pulled Dachni close. Has she departed forever? A month, two at the most, shell visit at the basilica or youll visit her summer grounds. Do you believe that?
Is it true?
Tis. In the interim youll have phone calls. In any case a separation is in order. She wasnt angry. In fact almost conciliatory and defensive of you against condemnations but that is a mistake because she will be angry and needs to be so. Had she forgiven you ere her anger it would have festered and poisoned you both. Asides were scarcely longer for the city ourselves.

Why not?

Reasons the same. But she understands why you did it and that will go a long ways in mitigation.

Were accident.

Was rage. But I explained why.

The truck halted for a light. The traffic flowed through the intersection bracketed by pedestrians on the crosswalk. A row of shavers had set up on the sidewalk under umbrellas to shear beards or grizzle for legal tender. Shaping them into the styles of the day. Dabbing the pared sycosis with alcohol wipes. The lights flashed green. They turned. The pilot stared straight ahead.

What Im about to tell you, you shouldnt hear. Youd have found out on your own. Youre not stupid. I hate it when you think yourself stupid. You would have learned but the schedule of these lessons says their mastery proper aught be ere graduating infancy when we are not yet able to reckon the fullness of our mistakes and quick forgotten. Its supposed to be a wordless learning. But your teachers abdicated and youve lost too much. That Im sure of. You cant read people. You dont look at them. Youre clueless when it comes to others and your loyalty evaporates in merest suspicion. For you there is no intermediate between the wheen of doubt and its confirmation. And then break cup and spill remorse. The unrueing artificer who crafted you omitted sight and set you out telling nothing. So Ill do it. You need a guidance our authors would disallow. For all their labor is for the maintenance of a mystery which is also their worship. Crack that, to let slip a flicker of the shine is to violate the very essence of the sacred. But there is a word unknown to me that depaints the concord of feeling I bear towards you that impels me not to abide your tread without warning. Here is the truth few speak: It is only through each other we emancipate ourselves. And only through knowing and who knows you? Your secret name. Who but I? I know of all paths they seldom change and even less so abruptly yet here I wrench a bend in the road that maybe a turnoff will present itself or some distant landmark siren you off the road. And maybe it will be I save you from nothing. It remains up to you and though I uncover to you your own fate and so allow the election of some opposite course yet it may be the chords to that reckoning are too perdurable for your severing. But the bend is their understanding, that you had nothing else, that you have been friendless, homeless, bereft of nation and bereaved and hounded as a lame hyena halfjawed but proud that battled lions so to protect the leopard watching afar from a bough. To say you wanted to be the hero.

Two days later she was returned to the basilica but not before a final humiliation. On the morning of her departure she went on her customary walk and perchance happened upon a new face. A bum snuck onto the intercity bus and having no means of returning to his slum had taken up residence beside the bakery. When she came out with her confections he begged her alms and Dachni hawked a stained sugary loogey into the weathered altar of his palm. When she turned Laurence stood looking on in his sack jacket and he took out a pocket's banknotes and let them to the beggar.
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  #245  
Old 09-13-2018, 10:09 PM
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Hey guys and gals so good news and good news. The short story Ive been working on is nearing its end and after a month-month or so to edit should be available around I suppose the late of November. I had a lot of fun with this one, its definitely a quicker paced and way less detailed picture but with none of the realism sacrificed and with an emphasis on military life. Its also helped me work through some personal baggage as well. I dont think its unknown that I have a serious grudge with Russia but in the writing I had to set aside the personal hatred I hold to create characters instead of caricatures or projections of me own noggin. I still would rather this world reduce to a nuclear wasteland then to exist under Russian hegemony but I can at least view the average Russian as a human being now whereas in the not too long ago I denied it altogether.







May that year saw two extremes in the weather. The first was almost a drought. The last of the floodwaters steamed off and the winds out of the west wheezed off the topsoil and left the pounson to roach under an oven sun. Half a month of long bloodslaked dusks and the dust like a glebous spume that no battening could keep out and noon after noon the heat roused her where she sprawled in polluted sudor among her drenched bedsheets like a victim of homicide. Rising groggy and vertiginous and her dusty hair matted to her ghostly cheeks and opening her little colored porthole to take in the choking breeze. And scarfed and goggled broomed into being whole snaking dunes in the nave. The fifteenth day began a fortnight of rain that flooded the basilica again and the dunes washed away and then it was June.

In the shower the roommates maintained a wary deference one to the other. The child tolerantly welcoming of the wash, her soaping up and shampooing with a strawberry formula. The long sufferance necessary to comb straight her panicky snarls.

Nature nevermore be your divan nor hairdresser. Adorning (as she does) tiewigs with last season's death
Or present's dying
Aye shes a petulant messer
Never giving whats new
And often foul breath

Anaya setup a barber's chair on the altar and fitted it with a booster seat and dusted it down with a bench brush. From the chancel steps Dachni watched and poked any fish that swam too near and studied anxiously the cart of barbicided supplies adjacent the chair for who knew what surgery was their purpose. The pilot whistled and she rose and toed the great black fiend lurking in the murk.

Seen ye afore.

Come on.

Dachni climbed into the chair and kicked to settle.

Anaya fluffed a checkered cape over her and buttoned the collar snugly behind her neck. And what can I do for you today miss?

Yer what notioned the crazy out.

The pilot grinned. Trim and a shave then?

Dachni withered dejectedly. Doan fuck up the hair. Theys harly much pretty left.

I promise.

The pilot misted her hair damp with a perfumed water and combed straight the last of her tangles to length. Her hair reached below her elbow. By my measure another year it would be as long as you are tall.

Never figgered it so lawn.

The pilot twirled shears out of a jar by an eye ring. Shoulder length say? Maybe a little longer?

Ok.

The pilot viced her hair and the curt snip of the shears severed the strands in the blade meet. She felt the soporific that was the blunt of the steel's gentle alight upon her crinion. Her eyes fluttered and she purred off into a tingling doze.

Wake thee.

Mm.

The pilot held up a mirror. What do you think?

Dachni turned her head. A side of her head accommodated now a dozen cornrows and the excess in the front flowed down in as many free braids.

Thats pretty neat.

How about that shave now?

Of what?

The pilot rubbed her cheeks and the child mimicked her to understanding.

Aint haired there.

Everyone should have a shave.

Anaya wrapped her face in a steaming towel and lapped the razor upon the strop and when the blade was honed she whipped away the towel and lathered her face with a shaving brush of minx hair.

Mm.

She pulled her face around, peeling off the foam with the razor.

Mmmm.

In her room she donned a blue, silvering with age, t-shirt with the sewer dripping logo Vecto Toad steampressed across the chest and denim shorts with frayed weft threads hanging out the shorn leggings like a curtain. The pilot in curious wed of royal and industrial garb, pumpkin colored trousers kept to waist by a fat cashmere belt with cam buckle and a formfitting undershirt under a turquoise caftan vaguely Islamic in its primitive embellishments of sterling swirls, windthrown stars and vining medallions flowing out the cypress shieldless torse supported by stag and kaig, that lethal beast of Aienagias, and up the lapels and towards the hinds like a dynastic lineage yet to be bred.

Where are your socks?

Dachni wiggled her toes. Wherer yose?

They rendezvoused at the entrance Dachni now besocked and besneakered, the swelling in her mended foot shrunk at last to its daint dimensions. Even so the skin showed a ruddy magenta at the rims and its range of motion was much diminished. e swelling in her mended foot shrunk to its daint dimensions. Even so the skin showed a ruddy magenta yellow at the rims and its range of motion was much diminished.

In postnoon whiteness the church grounds had transformed into a steaming glade out which larkspur protruded like imperial tears frozen and lilies not yet matured to the size of dishes floated like green areolas. Reeds young or cropped like spouts rowed the water betwixt the unblossomed stems of laceleaf and columbine carnation and begonia hyssop and mallow. Winds galed their prepubescent fragrance to and back but otherwise all this peccant lushness was pavidly tranquil as if out of dread of the basilica as though its lithic buttresses might disturbed articulate and slike its unholy bulk across the terrain with fanged portals, dragging behind its egg sac until after many snags on the muricate earth it tears and miscarries a hell premature.

A few natable troggins floated in from nearby markets. Cans. An empty bassinet. Fruit crates. Winter jackets. Who did not foresee winter again? Dachni sat on the pontoon boards and touched ripples in the water with her sneaker toes, repelling the fish struggling through this brephic underwater jungle becoming gulping earthworms.

Theyre gonda drown it dries.

Aye.

Can ye take back?

The pilot said what had not occurred could not be recalled but in memory and was she remembering these fish would bake in the humid garden that would be and she rolled her trousers and stepped down from the pontoon into the water.

The child reached out after her. Hey.

The pilot glanced back, sat on the edge of the pontoon and the child mounted her shoulders, clinging to her caftan while the pilot groped the waters. The fish scabrous under their mucous sheens, thin tail spines enwebbed. When the pilot had caught all she started towards the woods ladling water over the fish every few steps. Dachni covered her eyes to pause her going but the pilot navigated without impairment. They crossed the road. Dachni closed her eyes. The scratching of the talons muted against pavement. How the water changed the sound. In the woods the birches wore new bark white as paper and their leaves admitted an immaculate laminate upon the waters. She listened to her wade through bracken. Pushing away windfelled branches, floating logs, isles of bark. Assured ford of seamless waters.

Why aint water has seams.

Samurai learning shodō were forbidden ink unto time as their fingers could equal their thoughts. Art guides the fingers. We know where things should be.

Sparrow notes rained down from behind the leaves into the babeldom drone of locusts but the great acedia within had been reduced to murmuring. On the lake pier the pilot released her catches in a fishburst of riffled streams. Floating at the center of the lake was a drowned deer.

There are stories of revenge and stories of forgiveness and somewhere along the journey it becomes evident what order the story belongs. For we are buffered all about by forces so irresistible as to subvert the nature of most any, turns devils saints and drag the beata down from heaven to wallow in the toilets of the pit.

Will they be ok?

Until next we fish.

Anaya?

Yes?

Her arms tightened. Will ye have a sorry?

Of course.

Giva kiss.

The pilot lifted her from her shoulders and turned her and bestowed the kiss requested and the child threw her arms around her and pecked at her neck.

Kiss kiss kiss, the child intoned.

And in soft antiphone. Kiss kiss kiss.

On the pontoon the pilot wrung her trousers and the water vanished through the spaces between the boards. They walked to the carport and slid into the truck cab. The pilot turned the engine.

Get us on the road.

The AI backed them out.

Wheres ta go?

Out of here a while.

But where?

How about a park?

In Harter?

Why not?

Its far ways. Whys wrong with Materpull?

You know whats wrong with Matraple.

Said ye cared of it.

People might still be a little raw.

Let em be.

The pilot smiled. Alright.
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  #246  
Old 09-18-2018, 10:35 PM
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New peoples have arrived what is their deal? Who is this mysterious masticator of our hero's braided mane?




The turnoff was hardly a mile distant. The pilot wheeled port and soon they were past the town marker with its brief hagiography. The houses moments later come into view squatted in blanched rainwashed resplendency. The streets not quite flooded. A porter in outsized rubber galoshes was unloading crates from his boxtrailer into the front of a convenience store sandbagged at the door. Other businesses above sea level were open. A few pedestrians avoiding the little traffic and the granular waves they shored. Some to notice others to not. The Deputy of Affordable Housing was oaring a rubber raft through an alley. A newspaper boy bicycling, his front basket full of wonders, leaving silical scrolls half out the mailboxes like rolled tongues. The pilot slowed to a stop.

How much?

Three dollars, he said wiping his brow. Three dollars.

The pilot deposited a silver eagle into his breastpocket and boy sorted through his basket for an unsubscribed scroll and synced it to the server of the Archipelago Register and handed it through the window. The pilot drove on, arm chickened out, somewhat cognizant of storefronts open or closed and full of wares. Past Holiday's clinic where he looked up from his sweeping to inform a patient that his hours were from ten to four.

...its 2:58...

Past the library and around the school to Matraple Tot Lot. They parked and the child scooted after the pilot as she got out.

In the playground were more children than she could remember congregated. Long haired, daint, straight of bangs or pony tailed, dirty, swarthy, pachephalic or ventripotent, freckled, mobile incubators of flu or pox, hued noon hues, emitting a grand melee of pealing, crying, laughing, a chorus, a sustained heterotone, the yackety-yack tessitura of a thousand peripheral worlds and somewhat unreal, concord of jubilee half-notes mispronounced by fear or estasy, the sudden outbursts of reproval, stymied embarrassments, thin braveries behind tears or regressed into lallation over the unceasing shoe clap raising red dust shimmering through the laurence in a cloister of pure ubiety where all are reprieved of past and future rung round the ambitus of adolescence marveling so rotten with remorse and jealousy. He clutched an anxious blond and curly his mathom talisman and snuffled and turned to run. Accruing hurts that will torment them in age if age they reach. Awing at the outsized parlousness of their feats. Rejoice but know thy judgment comes in guise of pebble or twig or crumb. They sadden quickly. They mope, they triumph. The ding of a bat can arouse spirits. Some shirtless in unknowing lewdity. Incipient romances bloom, their incondite conflict of interests forming but not yet manifest, revealing their selves before they learn to hide those selves in their selves, the unhidden selves too unformed to be properly hidden. The crazed sequence of causality guides their run and whirring geometries of arbitrary games that require the dizzying zigzag by rules are dictated. None here adheres to panmnesia though all mildly suspect or suspect without reservation a malevolent panpsychism without the bounds of this haven where their caretakers hold vigil.

Dachni looked at the pilot.

Yer saided of a sometin.

No.

Hess ye does.

The pilot leaned against the hood. Theres war in all of them. You can see it. How many will end in the lupanar? How many in the service? How many will be guilty of the crime of lugulary? They will instill the red dust with fear. They will put fear in red dust.

Mebbe bestis not ta go.

Try. For many this will be the only occasion for innocence theyll ever have.

Prolly not.

Probably not. Thats the crime I suppose. Go on.

Wheres your be?

Yonder bench.

Dachni looked to a bench where two mothers sat with their lactivorous spawn fastened to their breasts.

Ok.

Dachni stepped through the short chainlink gate to the realm sprawl of playground equipment and it was no small feat for her to understand her seeing. She looked back. The pilot was at the bench and the breasts were covered now. Dachni hobbled to the longest line that was to a slide. Several wide eyed waiters with grape smears over their mouths regarded her wordlessly.

Hidy.

Some helloed back. Others averted their gaze. Dachni wasnt sure what was expected of her so she kept silently beside and watched the line dwindle ahead as each child ascended the ladder. When it was her turn she had to go slowly favoring her good foot and arms to boost herself up each rung. Sitting under the hood feeling dumb, the metal hot through her shorts.

Hurry up.

She pushed off. A cool breeze rushed over her but when she opened her eyes it was not stone racing up to meet her. She slid down twice more because a trio of friends did and then she followed them to the monkey bars. They swung rung to rung as though theyd never left the trees but when the child tried she could scarcely keep her grip and it was only the terror of the fall that got her across. She hugged the sidepole and slid down. One of the boys pointed at her in disbelief.

What happened to you?

Dachni looked down at the withered cicatrix. Slightly raised or depressed. Strange white darkening of sprite white flesh. She didnt answer. Someone else inquired as to the erroneous blank of her eyes and she went away. She squatted by the carousel but nobody invited her to ride. The cheery faces flashing past. Bright teeth clean. She ran her tongue over her plaqued dentition. She sat on an empty seesaw chair and waited for someone to come but no one did. She pushed off a few times and after a while she sought out the three again. And found them at the tree swing. They were as tall or taller then her but she reckoned them much younger. They dismounted and waltzed dizzy and giggling.

Is ye cared to play?

They look at her where she stood just beyond valance and shrugged and ran off towards the sandpit. Dachni tried keeping pace but to run was agony and she stopped after a few steps. The three called out to her but she sulked away to the swingsets where she moped about until a vacancy presented itself and she narrowly beat another boy to the seat. He stood by impatient and glum. She observed how other kids made themselves go and she tucked her legs in and kicked out and soon she was rising. She shut her eyes tight and kicked and tucked, cherishing the momentary weightlessness at the extents of her amplitude. She was at this for almost a half hour, blind, mitigating the hot sun on her skin with the wind, saved from yielding her seat for the intermittent abandonment of seats by others until a boy tattled to his sow that she was hogging the swingset.

Aint ye a fuckin cocksuck, she hissed as she slid by.

She wandered back to the seesaws, apparently the most unpopular of equipment, and while she sat there she felt something tugging at her head. She looked down at a shy blonde of about five chewing on the end of her braids. Dachni thought this abnormal but then what did she know of the habits and customs of towns.

Hello.

The little girl waved. Lost and bug eyed.

Does ye wanna take the other seat?

The girl shook her head. She was searching the playground for someone and the someone was jogging hither.

Allie quit eating her hair.

Its alright, said Dachni.

He was a boy and he pulled the girl.

Sorry about that, he said. She chews everybody.

Said it werentint no mind. Hey ye doan care on the other side uhs ye?

Im playing baseball.

Fuck is that?

His name was Andrew Mansell. A broadshouldered lugger with big hands, a flat nose that had already been broken. They walked out to a weedy field nearly flooded and mostly of mud. Along the way he explained the rudiments of the game omitting the sordid history that had led to its decline.

You can be on our team. Were the Jackal Cats and theyre the Blue Bears.

Ta hell is a jackal cat. And when did ye ever seen a fuckin bear kiss blue?
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  #247  
Old 09-20-2018, 11:46 PM
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And so it typed to the final period, me short story. Ill take a break from it for the next two three weeks and then spend a month or so editing. Once done it aught be available barring any outbreaks of gonorrhea
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  #248  
Old 09-24-2018, 10:50 PM
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And here comes the switch The Mere Tide isnt really about metaphysical truths or war or the nature of evil but the everlasting past time of baseball. Ah a gorier Sandlot and with necrophiliacs to boot.


It was the second game of the day. The Cats were 0-1 and the quarter toss dictated the Bears would bat first. They made Dachni first baseman. Andy was the short stop and a lanky boy who pitched for both teams stood like a sage in a sink of mud that swallowed him to the knees. He waited till the hitter stepped to the plate and then he threw a ball that crashed him.

Thats for being a asshole!

And the pitcher was promptly ejected from the game and a new boy elected to the diamond.

Dachni yelled to Andy for a clarification on the rules. They aint gonna beat ye with the bat is they?

No, he called back. Theyre just mad at each other.

The struck boy was consoled to first and Dachni stood nervously by while he glowered at his enemies.

A replacement pitcher was sought while another, a lobber of curves filled in and he struck out the next two players unwinding like a ballerina top from so far back he whirled. He tried a curve ball on the fourth batter and the crack of the bat and the hot woodsmoke saw the ball whip out to left. The runner took off towards second but not before Dachni clouted him in the ear. And quit hitting me. It seemed the right thing to do. The pitcher exhumed the ball out of the mud where it had lodged like an asteroid and beamed it to her. She caught it and it stung her hands. A holler rose for her to step on base but the runner was barreling down the line and his was not a path to be barred. She stepped clear and punched him in the shoulder with the ball and he was out.

The Cats came in from the field to a trench of a dugout flooded with a brackish water. Behind them girly spectators cheered friends and beaus from the bleachers and bewared any soiling of their dresses. Can you bat?

Ye mean swing the bat?

Yeah.

Gived a hurt to a dog with a broom.

Thats not exactly what I mean.

He helped her with the grip and the girls oooooooohed and he blushed and rolled his eyes.

The first up to bat popped a caught flyball and sulked back to the dugout. Dachni came up to the plate next. The first pitch flew past and rebounded off the crib mattress the catcher hid behind.

Strike.

Dachni grimaced. The next pitch spouted straight off the barrel of the bat but the catcher tripped before he could catch it. Dachni took off but the opposing team yelled her back.

Hit the ball, she whined.

Its out of bounds, called Andy.

Well shit, she said. Nobody said was bounds.

The third pitch she didnt even see.

Out, said the catcher.

Give another try.

You only get three strikes.

Jess another try.

Andy jogged up and relieved her of the bat. Its alright, he said. Youll bat next inning.

Two innings later. When the replacement pitcher was no longer in the diamond but an ace of renown whom through curses she had come to know as Haybox and who had in those innings suffered none as far as third base. There were two on now. He kept a cunning look about himself and he never watched the batter for any sign. At the windup he would hike his knee almost to his shoulder and hold it there like a statue and then he would lunge forward and do a hop skip with his arm lashing out to the side and the ball would hone in at an angle so that it just cut into the strike zone and in all of this he would never quite look at the batter.

Get her Hayes!

And he wound up. Dachni had dredged a trough behind herself and before he head even released she stepped back. When she swung the ball skidded over the barrel and a thunder was stifled in the dugout.

Come on Hay!

The catcher threw the ball back to Haybox. The pitcher caught it and wiped it on a trouserleg. Now he looked at her. And what he saw transcended all considerations of the game. For the brittle scarecrow of scars he measured seemed medieval in its cerebration, some horror apathetic to the peculiar and his orchil sagathy. That should have been relegated to the vile harlequinade of the ringmaster's freakshow or the aberrations as asylums curate or that priests exorcise or that witch's are rightfully wary in summoning but that had been loosed among children and given a bat.

He wound up. His arms bracketing his ribs and his knee to his cheek, his right foot turned almost backward. When he uncoiled it was like a top festooned with ribbons, his limbs unfurling elongate and when he released his forehead was almost touching his shins and his right leg cocked up like a mizzen. The ball slipped from his fingers with a liquid inviscid curled towards. Dachni had stepped back. She had watched his hands to tell how would the ball mend its path. She swung. Wedded in the act was the woodburn groom, the stinging bride. A veering right fielder that seemed to vacate the field of all sound save the echo of the crack. Her hands stung.

All at once a choral roar erupted. The runners on first and second took off. Andy took her by the shoulders and pointed to first. Run you gotta run.

She sloughed through the mud. The right fieldman had gone in search of the ball. She stopped at first and her team cried and made huge waving gestures for her to continue to second. She was exhausted by the time she got there but the calls for her to hustle the hell up did not cease and she slogged on to third. By then the fielder had found the ball and was sprinting back. Dachni rounded third. She saw with a feeling of dread and she came to running on the balls of her feet like a crazed swan. The fielder threw. The ball flew over the sink and the catcher threw down his mitt and leapt and the ball slapped hard against his downcurling fingers and he slapped his hand against the backside of the facedown runner already a halfsecond at his cleats.
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  #249  
Old 09-28-2018, 06:07 PM
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Well this is the only crap left for me to read... You do not understand how much that photo makes me want to punch your face more... ok

And here comes the switch The Mere Tide isnt really about metaphysical truths or war or the nature of evil but the everlasting past time of baseball. (interesting) Ah a gorier Sandlot and with necrophiliacs to boot. (guess I should know this but don't)


It was the second game of the day. The Cats were 0-1 and the quarter toss dictated the Bears would bat first. They made Dachni first baseman. Andy was the short stop and a lanky boy who pitched for both teams stood like a sage in a sink of mud that swallowed him to the knees (too much info). He waited till the hitter stepped to the plate and then he threw a ball that crashed him.

Thats for being a asshole!

And the pitcher was promptly ejected from the game and a new boy elected to the diamond. (lost yah, but ok)

Dachni yelled to Andy for a clarification on the rules. They aint gonna beat ye with the bat is they?

No, he called back. Theyre just mad at each other.

The struck boy was consoled to first and Dachni stood nervously by while he glowered at his enemies.

Very nicely written, I notice you are doing a McCarthy with speech and it works, to a point. Will struggle with more main characters. Anyway, good luck.
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  #250  
Old 10-01-2018, 06:30 PM
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Glad ya like my crap

And my god you dont know Sandlot? I shake my cane at thee young whippersnapper. Also diamond is the pitcher's mound, known as the diamond which is the pitcher's mound, commonly referred to as the diamond formally designated as the pitcher's mound.
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  #251  
Old 10-02-2018, 09:41 PM
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So it has come to pass. A little while past someone asked if I ever get emotional over characters and I think I have to overturn my answer. I spent the last three days barely writing because I couldnt work my way around it. And Im not even writing the scene just the foreshadowing which if I can say is I think the vilest bit of humor Ive ever written. There were a few nasty bits hidden in TFA but I think this one takes the cake.


In the end it was a tie. She rode back in a suit of mud feeling spent and good. Her palms stinging and blushed. And was back again the next day. The day after. Twice she hit what would have been homeruns but was still outed because she couldnt round the bases fast enough. But her teammates considered her something of a maimed prodigy and save for the first day she never struck out.

Once after an afternoon of victories the team captains conspired to the creek behind town, a secluded hatchery of shenanigans inherited through the generations. The boys went to beg their mothers' leave, Dachni the pilot's. She limped up entreatingly. Her arms crossed over her chest.

Arent you making friends.

Uhhuh.

Did you win?

Teams goin down to the creek. And aye won three.

You have the knack.

Well does ye say?

How long will you be out?

Dont know. Saided ay ta make fires. So affer night prolly.

How will you get back?

Welllllll, intoned the child as she swiveled about. Could ye come back? Or linger lee?

I could. What time are the others planning to go in?

Dachni swam her shrugging shoulders back. Dont know.

Lets say eleven.

How about middy. Hey how bout ye come?

The pilot smiled. Unfettered and afternight access to a platoon of preadolescences? No, the evil remains and I wouldnt trust my inclination's check. Rather you be the instrument of my corruption's spread. But no blood. This war needs its fodder.

A headcount was conducted in the field and those allowed marched off through a carpet of flowers. Only two other girls had finagled permission to attend and these the wiliest of the bunch. A tomboy who kept her bob capped and spoke with a vulnerable gruffness. The other a flamboyant tyke whom kept a cluster of boys around her at any given time. Earthy smell to her reminiscent of the hyacinth reek.

Shes gonna be a whore, observed Dachni.

Andy sputtered out the juice they were sharing. They were walking somewhat behind the main group.

What?

Ye know. Shes gonna sell her pussy.

Andy turned rose red. I dont know anything about that kind of stuff.

Well theys yer first look.

Andy wiped his mouth and regarded the girl for signs of dawning whoredom. She was leaning into Haybox and drawing circles in his ribs with a delicate finger and with her other hand she was feeling the wrist of a second boychik also her senior.

Hes thirteen, said Andy. Fourteen almost. Lelly's hardly eleven. Im twelve. How old are you?

Dont know.

How can you not know?

Nobody ever said. Its no manner anyhows.

Whens your birthday?

Dont got one.

That sucks.

They entered the woods and clambered down to the trail and crossed the swollen banks of the creek on a log and went a little farther to where a rusted husk of a chopped lorry kept watch over a bowergrounds. Carbonized sticks lay on the ground like black asterisks surrounded by concrete blocks burnt on their firesides and colored petals of bottleglass were littered about and more than one unshoed footarch that day would cut be cut on their edges. They children arrayed themselves around the pit and Miley who held seniority arranged a pyramid of branches and squirted lighter fluid over them and struck a match and let it fall. The flames whipped up like a tonsure and the woodsap crackled and smoked. He was also the son of the town butcher and his backpack was stuffed with bratwursts and burger that soon were skewered and dangled over the flames. Buns were distributed and the sizzling meat loaded into their clefts and they chewed and babbled.

After a while Miley brought out beers snuck out of his dad's shop amid little gasps of disbelief at daring from the youngerkin. He pulled a can out of the plastic ring and flung it at Haybox.

Hey, he said. He ripped the tab off in a gaseous hiss and downed the well of foam. There was a clamor for sips. He let Lelly take a draught and then he took it back to drink again. Miley was distributing his beers and the kids awaited with barely constrained anxiety this validation of friendship. He tossed a beer to Andy with a wink.

Be sure to share it.

Andy smiled. Bashful lad. He opened the beer and watched the foam rise. He sipped and nodded. He offered the beer to Dachni.

Do you want to try?

Dachni lifted a leg and reached into her backpocket for the pintbottle Anaya had given her earlier.

What is that?

A stinking ruddy mescal distilled in the gutted sewn up torso of Seabrook. Him hung by meat hook through the cranium and the crushed heart of the agave poured in with the sugar and the blood. Little clumps of coagulate floated as motes in what appeared to be a milky tadpole at the end of a yellow cord which none but Dachni recognized as a shriveled eye. She unscrewed the bottle and took a nip. Smoky sourness rimed with an iron rot.

Ess guhh, she wheezed. She offered Andy a drink but this devil's concoct dissuaded him from alcohol altogether and he forfeited his beer.

Ill draw on that, said Haybox reaching over his doll.

Dachni passed the pintbottle to Andy who passed it through a relay of hands that none dared lift the bottle to the mouth so that it reached Haybox completely unsampled. The whiff he took watered his eyes. He very near recoiled but there was backing out now. He tilted the bottle and the bloody froth raced up. His face contorted. He gagged.

Jesus Christ, he cried spewing the stuff into the flames. They danced and some said they heard the fire laugh but when the sound left it was Dachni cackling.

Ettel wake ye brains.

What is the shit called?

Anaya called it sangre basura.

Haybox was rubbing his throat. God, he said. I think I saw my grandma.
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  #252  
Old 10-05-2018, 03:00 PM
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Mate, I have always agreed that quantity is more important than quality, so keep going.
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  #253  
Old 10-08-2018, 08:42 PM
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The afternoon faded into a vesperal azure braceleted by cirrus and the grounds became altogether haunted by the out melt of shadows from the soil between the glassy tinsel like demons leaning from the fathoms to whisper. No apotropaic here and it is the fire itself that casts them with rampant indifference. Beyond the light the creek brimmed at its banks and branches birled in the rips. Out of the west thunder rolled but the wind carried only the heady odor of honeysuckle and no water and it leeched a sticky sweat out of the fay bodies forgathered to the firelight like the vague tose of a succubus disembodied and adrift. Haybox pitched his empty beer into the flames and like a man condemned led Lelly to the watery shoad, his latex aglet snug upon him. The little gallied youngsters huddled together sharing candy bars with trembling hands. A puppy panting rose out of the bracken.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Dachni had been gazing up at the spumy sprent of stars upon which the planets pinwheeled upon annealed heavens. What rebus do they say? Propounding unample synedoche for the everything. She looked at Andy.

No.

Not in magic or anything?

No.

I heard witches used to live in these woods.

This news elicited gasps from the younger listeners and with an eye to them Andy went on.

They said they used to steal babies to make their stews. Or they could put people where theyd never been.

Whos they?

People around town.

There arent any witches, said Miley imbibing his beer. Not anymore anyways.

A moth strayed over the flames and the combustion of its wings caused it stall and plummet into the pit.

Whats their say?

Miley got out a pocketknife and began to whittle a stick of basswood. Yeahh, my pops told me about it. They say about fifteen years ago this runaway named Noelle started squatting in a cabin on the outskirts of town. She was bigger than most men is what he told me. No one knew where she came from. Some say she was from...well nevermind where.

The kids were all leaned in. Where? Where?

Miley stripped the bark and set his blade to the wood and began to shave along the grain. Well I cant vouch that its true but the rumor is she escaped a psychiatric hospital up in the mountains. At first it was alright. Sheriff Emmett explained how business was going to be. She couldnt go into town without an escort. Only come in on these days. There were strange things happened. Some cats disappeared. People started to find these little sackcloth dolls lying about. Trash cans were knocked over and rummaged through but most people thought those were tanuki because Bethel brought them over about that time. But what really tipped it was a winter when Ally Yates started having complications with her baby. She was bleeding all the time. Sweating blood. None of the doctors could explain it. Everyone expected her to die but one night a couple of lodgers at the inn saw this thing in rags and wearing a deer skull sneak into her house. Like a giant antlered possum that could walk on two legs. No one knew what happened or what was said but the next morning Ally was cured. Some of the guys asked her what the thing was but she said she hadnt talked or seen anything. And she did seem fine. Or at least until after the baby was born. Ally and the midwife never said anything to anyone and no one would have known except that one of the gravediggers peeked into the coffin and he said it was like a boated polyp with eyes staring out of a hairy mouth. Ally went crazy that week. She started raving about the midwife from hell and her potion. No one ever figured out what she was talking about because the time she went crazy was the same time she threw herself off the roof. Emmett called the midwife in for questioning but she swore she never gave her anything.

At the same time this was happening Jeneba, who ran the Duckett before Gavin, started leaving out real late at night and wouldnt come back until just before dawn. It wasnt often and the only reason people even noticed was because she left the road and every time it was a full moon. After her first trip she has all these new drinks to serve. Real popular stuff. Pretty soon people were coming out of the desert and Certificate Springs to give it a try. There was even a delivery out to that bomber hostel. Everyone thought she had some secret still way in a cave somewhere but she didnt know the first thing about whiskey making and as it would turn out she didnt even have a name for the brews. She just had them in these color coded kegs. One night this traveler stops in and after a couple drinks he looks down and finds a tooth in his glass. Pretty crazy. At first he thought it was a joke and then he thought it was someone else's teeth and then he felt his teeth and they were falling out and his tongue was dissolving. They mopped up what was left of him that night and buried him in a crock pot.

A few days before that Mr. Ebert was replacing the treads on his porch stairs and he found all this crazy scrawling on the undersides. The wood was old but the writing was new. Nobody knew the language they were written in but others had found scribbling like it. AJ found some writing on the inside of his wedding ring. Leslie Powst found them instead of instructions on her prescription typed out doctor neat. Ebert called up this language center in Uralsk and asked if he could get a translation done on the boards and they said bring them up. He went but he never got there. They called it bad luck. Marauders or something like that. Maybe the plemena. They found his car stalled in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere. The door was open, the key was in the ignition, but there wasnt any Ebert.

Did they find him?

Only a pair of glasses in the trunk. A missing person report was filed two days after he was supposed to arrive and thats when Sheriff Emmett took a posse up north and found the car. They towed it back and gave it a lookover but those glasses were all anyone found. At this point there was a dead patron, a suicide, a missing man presumed dead and a bushel of cats gone missing. There wasnt anyone in town not talking about it and only one person who hadnt offered their opinion on the subject and that was Noelle. He got all his guys together. The problem was a couple other guys got to the idea first. When they drove to the cabin their truck was parked out front and smoke was pouring out the windows.

The truck windows or the cabin windows?

The cabin windows. There was a fire in the cellar. Emmett had his guys go fetch water from the creek-the same creek were camping by-and went inside alone. The police reports got lost when the station got mortared but my dad said he read them. He said all inside was just blood. There were six guys who stormed the place and they were scattered about evenly between the rooms. They had guns for all the good it did them. He said there was a leg wrapped around a ceiling fan. A head in the microwave oven. He tried getting down in the cellar but the fire was pretty bad, at least according to the report. I bet he didnt have the stones to go down there. They let the place burn down and dredged the ashes the next morning. They got the six poor sods out first and tried to match them up more or less right but they didnt find Noelle. They borrowed a clawbucket from Certificate and dug out the cellar and what they found was like a laboratory where experiments get done. Most of the stuff was burnt up but they found two things. A series of metal vats filled with a syrupy muck. The second thing was a seventh body. The lower half had been protected from the flames but the problem was it belonged to a man. Some of the documents survived too and they got sent up to be translated. Turns out they were in Norwegian and they described experiments with mind control agents but that was about it. No one ever figured out if the body down there was really Noelle and Jeneba who might have known fled. They found her car in an abandoned lot the same as Mr. Ebert's missing just like him to this day. Personally I doubt any of those three are dead. I bet theyre all in cahoots and set up in another town far away. But there was a lot of people in town who drank that stuff and maybe they come back to check on their work. Maybe its not done yet.
Miley grinned at his huddling audience of quakebutts. All was in silence. He looked down at the hag he had carved in his crop.

Suddenly a little boy remembered to go home and now.

Its a story Will, it isnt true.

But Miley attested at length on his honor the veracity of the tale to the final syllable.

Will began to cry. Im not scared. I just want to go to sleep.

Ok, said Miley. See you tomorrow.

Will rose and searched for the escort that would see him home. A friend relented and they set off towards the distant specks of townlight in the south. The rest fell into more genial conversation that any noise of the wood would stitch a caesura in.

Dachni rose. She drained the pintbottle and pitched it into the fire. A turquoise shock of flames belched out of its bowels.

Reckin ets time ta keck en.

And then there were six, said Miley.

Dachni swayed. She was very drunk. Whmm?

Youre not scared, said Andy.

Dachni shook her head. Dunk. Eckhup. Drunk. She lurched over her friend into the darkness. She crossed her arms across her chest to point a finger left and right. Hich hays a lake?

Miley hiked his thumb over his shoulder. Its about an hour that away.

Erm.

Where do you live?

Dachni pointed vaguely along the trail. Ta church.

The cathedral?

Ayge.

I thought that place was abandoned.

Dachni made a fanning motion with her palm as though to erase his words. Ivves there. Caine eden wheskey an tawk on faid.

Are you alright?

Is ight.
Do you want me to walk you home?

Neghh.

Do you want a light?

Fording the thick infest of fern she found the muddy trail sealed over by the creek flood and she turned north in a throw of arms and plodded on. The hasp that kept shut the locker of the cosmos fell behind the arch of a cirrus brow and the horizon crept flat towards her. The perplexion passed and the moonlight kissed all again and the wind howled through a break in the collage of goitered willows where bats also meant their paths. Feverfew speckled the bank half drowned in the braiding creek. The water deepened the farther she went and when she reached the lake she had to wade almost to the road. She went up the steps and the gate sliced the water as she pulled it wide.

The nave in darkness and quiet. Anaya? Anaya? Anaya? Her voice pulling in diminishing reports down the arches. Two toads copulated in silence squatted in the narthex. Shoo. Yall caint be in here. She went to her room but the pilot wasnt there. She checked other liable haunts of the alien but they were vacant of anyone and she went back to her room for the nagant and went out. She looked upcountry at an ocean. Rippling cradle for an eighth moon. She started out until she could feel the asphalt with her toes and turned back towards town.

At the turnoff she found the pilot's truck. The motor churning electric and the headlights whiting the water. She clambered in. No pilot here. She smacked the dashboard until the AI answered.

Where is she?

I do not currently know the driver's whereabouts.

Shoo.

She climbed onto the hood and slung her rifle. A turtle stirred the reflection of the moon and she looked to see were it swirling into some galactic suck where all would drain but it remained apathetic to the cataracted meropia befelled its terraceous twin. Deep suborning dark. To venture or no. She awned her mouth. Anaya! The holt returned no answer. Anaya!

Dachni!

Hey! Where are ye?

Woods! Give me a second.

Anaya trudged out of the trees. Dachni ran up and
headbutted her in the thigh.

Ye wasnt home.

I was supposed to pick you up remember?

Oh. It was a forgot.

Its alright.

The pilot picked her up and bumped their heads together. And was a good time had by all?

Were niced.

Good. The pilot kissed her. Come on. Lets go home.
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  #254  
Old 10-15-2018, 09:01 PM
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Shiftless summer. Stirring in the long right dawns of the season. The bead lifted on its seat of mercury deep into the red. Steambathing with the pilot in the last of the floodwater. Oaring by backstroke to the lake in water so shallow her shoulders scraped the asphalt. And in the noon or after to keb with friends. Playing baseball or drinking in the woods. Watching Lelly take the gang in turns into the woods. One afternoon by some latent instinct she kissed Andy on the mouth as he was being led away. Lelly shooed her but it was too late. The virus swam in his saliva and by the end of the week the gang would be infected and in forty years that place would be devoid of man. How the savages exploited the stables of sluts.

Or kicking along the road watching a car an hour peel out of the fevery dementia of the horizon and dissemble by planes into the same. Pumping their arms to elicit a horn honk as they sped past leaving to flee out plumes of dust.

Once a photographer. Braked hard to snap pictures of them where they played durak on a plywood cable spool purloined from an abandoned construction site. He arranged them about in attitudes suggestive of poverty. He asked were they locals. The latest happenings. He tendered a twenty and asked them to look sad.

Whats the pictures for photo foe?

The photographer touched the fold of his sweat drenched beret. Im doing a documentary on living conditions in the territories. How many of you all have indoor plumbing?

Lonesome hands rose.

Dachni leaned to Andy.

Whats plummin?

Its like when you got a toilet and shower in your house.

Ah hellis ye can take a dump in a hole, she said adding her hand to those raised.

How many of you have a television or access to the G-net?

All arms but Sherman's lowered.

How many of your parents drive?

My dad drives a Bazin.

Anaya hassa plane.

Sherman glared at Dachni in hostile surprise.

Im sorry what?

A plane. Or a big flyey winged.

Dachni spread her arms to shape the transport.

The photographer bestowed with glib inclination of the head a cocked smirk.

She does. Ets yeesally at the grad but it can fly over anytime.

You live in town?

Down the road at the cathedal.

The photographer looked towards the smeltry verge where the road cabbled in the heat. Squatting in a church. Id want a picture of that.

It was a testament to the region that they piled into the backseat of his car without security. He drove the few miles to the basilica and they unpiled and Dachni ran up to the gates and pulled them wide.

Holy shit, said the photographer. He removed his hat and wiped his brow of sweat and put it back on.

They wandered the hallways checking rooms. Salivated at the stock of the larder. Oohed then awed at the kitchen. The great cave of an oven whats halfton stone you must roll away. A collective heart attack nearly befell the group in the library but Dachni told the photographer permission needed granting before he could take pictures. He dropped the camera from eye to chest and left his finger hard down on the shutter release. Yeah yeah. They found what she hadnt before. A game room with billiards. An arcade, shuffleboard, darts. A projector mounted to the ceiling. The kids flew off.

We gotta find Anaya.

To hell with her.

To hell with me.

Anaya in their presence now bent so low to clear the lintel it seemed she were genuflecting. She backed Miley flat against the wall insomuch that he needs extend the distance between them by standing on his toes. The pilot splayed the talons of a hand and slid them in a movement knife fast flush along his jawline and lifted him. His extenuations were locked in his mouth.

And who art thou learned judge pronouncing beyond his greenery would so casually consign me to brumstane sovereignty? From whence is his judgeship's authority derived? Should I behold thee avatar of the judge? Hold thee accountable? Present to thee my claims?

During this speech Dachni hunched over had circled with highsteps, hugging herself as though trying to contain some impulse. Her arms suddenly flew out. He deddent mean nothin!

The pilot burrowed her talons into the back of his jaw and in the upward tilt of his head his teeth unclenched. Sarry! Sarry!

She dropped him. Out the punctures in his jaw two strings of blood coursed to the floor.

Click.

Dachni looked up at the photographer and she leapt and slapped the camera on the lens.

The pilot turned to the cowering children. Sighing deeply to sustain her blouse. Alright.
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Old Yesterday, 12:08 PM
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ff..soft balls.

I should stop being here as busy as I am. But I found a moment to not read anything but your commenters pocket pooling your nihilistic steamboat. Can't find a new profession I get it. It's too easy when it pays so well; okay guys; it's like the song that never ends. My metaphor for you all are lil' zombie puppets on typewriters.

you get your list, and you write your content. great work . keep going. just listen to the mermaid. Try not to dream of large fish.
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