Ganymeder

The brilliant scientist, Portage McPeeve, does not want to take over the world.

He’s discovered a way to travel the stars, using them as gateways into other realities. With his Gateway Manipulator, he hopes to rule all the worlds of the multi-verse with an iron fist. However, when his beloved kitten becomes lost through the machine, he does not hesitate to cast plans for multi-world domination aside; instead, he follows her through the cosmos – encountering zombies, higher education for Supers, Greek gods, and killer ninjas along the way.

Will Portage find Mrs. Bumblefrost before it’s too late?

Episode #6

“Did you see that?” cried Portage, turning from the portal’s glow.

“I don’t believe it,” said Snap. She grabbed one of her thin ponytails and chewed the ends frantically. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“It was Mrs. Bumblefrost!” cried Portage.

“Are you out of your mind?” said Snap, fumbling with the ends of her now moist ponytail. “We just saw a frikkin’ mummy come to life, and you’re still focusing on your cat!”

“Kitten,” said Portage. “She’s just a baby.” He returned Snap’s accusing glare. “It’s another universe, governed by other physical laws-”

“But you said the GM was only programmed for Earth-like and human habitable planets!”

“That doesn’t mean they follow exactly the same physical laws, there may be… variations,” said the scientist. “But there are other implications here.”

“Like the undead rising from the grave?”

“We don’t know it was a grave. If it parallels Earth then it might be-”

“Do you realize what this means? What if all those ‘supernatural’ stories stem from alternate universes? Could creatures be bleeding through?”

“Well, I was about to-” began Portage.

“What if the answer is no? This can’t be coincidence!” Snap’s mind raced. “We could… our world – this world – could be teeming with ghosts, mummies, whatever that- no, but then why wouldn’t they have already taken over our world? And if we could explore, capture a creature and study it-” The possibilities for discovery were staggering. Aliens, genetically modified versions of lifeforms from earth, and ordinary humans she had been prepared for; the supposedly ‘supernatural’ she had not.

“My kitten!” said Portage, dancing back and forth. “We need to focus on the rescue. She could be anywhere-”

“Mrs. Bumblefrost just vanished,” said Snap, “like she turned and walked through a door, but…” Snap paused, considering. “-but one we couldn’t see.”

“It must be because…” Portage hesitated, then said, “She didn’t seem in any distress; did she?” Concern showed plainly in the deep brown eyes he now turned on his assistant.

“No, no, she was playing!” said Snap. Stupid cat’s having the time of her life, she thought. “But that’s… why would she disappear?” Usually, she wore her professionalism with easy grace, but sometimes you had to address an evil genius by his personal name. She needed him to think straight. “Portage,” she said, putting an unsteady hand on his shoulder, “I’m sure she’s fine.”

Damn cat! she thought, not for the first – or last – time that day.

“It must have something to do with her molecular signature,” said Portage. His errant brown hair simultaneously covered his scalp and seemed to flee from it; he ran his hands through the tangled mess. “She may be slightly out of phase with the other universe, so her molecular signature resonates at a different frequency than…” He turned to gaze at Snap, and she froze. “She’s going to keep passing through them.”

“What! What them?” she asked.

“Other worlds.” Portage leaned heavily against the work table.

“Are you saying… she can travel without the Gateway Manipulator?”

“I was afraid of this.” Portage grabbed one of the now cold cookies from the tray on the table’s edge.

Snap’s expression spoke volumes.

“That’s why we observe first! That’s why we have testing stages! Robots always go before organic creatures!”

Snap crossed her arms and glared again.

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to-” Portage caught himself. Future Rulers of the Multi-verse didn’t concern themselves with whether their minions worried about them. “I didn’t want to explain all the technical details.”

“I’m your assistant-”

“-minion,” corrected Portage.

“And I have several degrees in physics.”

Portage paused. “Yes, but it’s more that the… Look, this is exactly the discussion I didn’t want to have.” He sighed. “Mrs. Bumblefrost is out there, alone in the multi-verse, without even her fluffy bird toy.” He sniffed, then straightened. “If I’m right, and I’m never wrong, and that’s what’s happening, then anyone from this universe should be able to pass through the thinner dimensional walls of non-home adjacent universes. Luckily, the GM was tuned to Earth-like environments, so she shouldn’t wander into a black hole or anything…”

“So did she get pulled into another universe, or did she find a thin spot and wander through?”

“I’m not sure,” answered Portage. “We’ll just have to keep looking.”

Snap clenched her fists and breathed deeply. He could have told her all this crap ahead of time. She foraged ahead anyway. “So,” she said, “once we leave our universe-”

“Yes, our home universe-”

“Sure, okay, whatever. Once we are in another universe, meaning not this one, we could potentially fall through into others.”

“We could pass through the thinner dimensional walls of-”

“Could? or WILL?… whether we want to or not?” She watched Portage’s face carefully.

The scientist grabbed one of the cooled cookies from the cookie sheet and examined it before answering. “There’s no way to know for certain without further testing,” he said.

“No way to know, Mr. I’m-never-wrong?” She sighed, forcing herself to remain calm. Ambivalence tugged at her soul. She wanted to hug him and hit him at the same time, because she knew – she KNEW with absolute certainty – what would happen. Despite all his protestations, no matter what she said, he wouldn’t be able to resist going through. Finally, she asked, “And if you decide to go after her?”

“Hopefully I can catch her quickly enough.”

-without falling through the universe yourself, thought Snap, or running into any monsters. She chewed her ponytail and brooded over their next move, while Portage chewed on his stale chocolate chip cookie.

**All episodes listed here.

**Look for the next exciting installment of Pinholes next Tuesday, same cat-time, same cat-channel… uh, blog. I mean, blog.

Synopsis:

The brilliant scientist, Portage McPeeve, does not want to take over the world.

He’s discovered a way to travel the stars, using them as gateways into other realities. With his Gateway Manipulator, he hopes to rule all the worlds of the multi-verse with an iron fist. However, when his beloved kitten becomes lost through the machine, he does not hesitate to cast plans for multi-world domination aside; instead, he follows her through the cosmos – encountering zombies, higher education for Supers, Greek gods, and killer ninjas along the way.

Will Portage find Mrs. Bumblefrost before it’s too late?

Episode #5

The scientist, Doctor Portage McPeeve, made the final adjustments on the machine, and the glowing sphere crackled once more to life. “Ready?” he asked his minion.

Snap Decision dutifully nodded her head, her glasses reflecting electric fire.

Soon the sphere stabilized to a round orb that shone softly against the laboratory’s fluorescent lighting. The link between worlds had been established. Peering through the portal, they gazed into another world.

#

Victor Halofax directed the workmen to put the crate center stage “Well, what do you think, my dear?” he asked.

Dolly masticated a moment before blowing a huge, pink bubble. Annoyed, Victor popped it with his finger and repeated the question.

“Well, it’s big.”

“Is that all you have to say, my dear?” asked her employer.

“Well, whaddaya want from me, boss?” She placed the gum within the folds of a tissue and tucked it into her pocket. Garish red stains from her lipstick smeared the paper.

“What I expect from you, my dear, is a pretty face to keep the audience enthralled.” He sighed, stroking the crate with one pudgey hand. “Though I can’t imagine them not being captivated by the contents of this box. Just think! This could be a Pharoah… or an Egyptian Queen!”

“Cleopatra?” ventured Dolly, leaning closer to inspect the crate. “When you gonna open this thing, boss?”

“Oh, soon, my dear. Soon enough.” He grabbed a crowbar from a passing workman. “Thank you, my good man, but I’d prefer to do the honors myself.” He worked against the sides of the container while Dolly watched from a discreet distance.

She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “I thought you said we was gonna open this thing before a live audience,” she said. “I mean, ain’t that what they’re paying us for?”

“First of all, my dear, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” His face glowed with all the beneficent condescencion of a confirmed mysogenist. He patted her bottom, and Dolly squealed. “But to answer your question… Yes, they are paying for me to unwrap the secrets of ancient Egypt contained in this all too humble container, but no, I don’t think they care about the crate itself. It’s the mummy within that will get their attention. Once I unwrap him or her-”

“Her?” asked Dolly, shock written plainly across her overly colored features. “You’re unDRESSING a woman? I mean, a mummy-woman?”

“Un-WRAPPING, my dear! Not undressing. And I doubt she’ll be unclothed. However, it’s the preservation of her skin and other vitals that holds the most fascination-”

“This a skin show?” Dolly’s discomfort increased exponentionally as her understanding grew.

“Nothing scandalous, my dear, I assure you.” He patted her bottom again, and Dolly hurriedly patted down the frills of her short skirt. “Merely the unwrapping of an ancient corpse, not a taudry show such as one might find in a bordello.”

“A bored who?”

“A house of ill fame, ill repute, a place such as…” He took in his assistant’s puzzled expression. “Never mind, my dear. It matters not.”

“Nothing indecent,” said Dolly.

“Absolutely not.” He gave a mighty pull on the crowbar, and the lid of the crate pulled free along with the coffin’s lid. They crashed onto the floor, the stone covering shattering on impact. Dolly screamed, jumping back as debris scattered across the floor. Several chunks hit her feet and ankles, though her employer had been shielded by the crate’s wooden side.

The upright crate revealed a stone coffin with rough hewn edges. Inside its cold, hard interior the wrapped mummy stood, leaning heavily against the back. Dolly stood scraping bits of rubble from her person, as Victor Halofax moved beside her to admire the coffin’s contents. “Amazing,” he said. “Absolutely amazing.”

“I should say,” sniffed Dolly, examining her legs with dismay. “These fishnets weren’t cheap, boss.”

“No, you ninny! Just think, when we unwrap this creature, we’ll make a fortune. Ancient Egypt’s all the rage nowadays, and-”

Dolly straightened, examining her index finger. “It cut me,” she said, sucking the wound.

“Nevermind that, Dolly. For Heaven’s sake! Have you no vision?”

“What about the lid?”

Halofax huffed. “What, that old thing? No one’s going to care about that. The fascination lies in the mummy itself-”

“But there was writing on it.” She bent to pick up one of the larger shards.

“There’s writing on the whole thing.” Victor Halofax laughed, the sound booming through the empty auditorium, echoing to the far reaches of the room. “And the beauty is, no one can translate hieroglyphics, my dear, but they’ll be climbing over each other to examine them just the same. Trust me! The lid matters not.”

She examined the shard. “It says, ‘Beware whosoever disturbs my earthly remains, lest the curse fall upon you.’” She looked at her employer.

“Oh yes, my dear. You are quite right.” Halofax chuckled. “We could tell them that’s the legend surrounding the body or some such nonsense. Who can dispute it?”

“None,” said the woman, moving towards her employer with feline agility. Her arm shot out, grabbing Victor by the throat and lifting him from the ground. Gasping for air, the huge man struggled in the grip of the tiny figure, until he slumped lifeless in her grasp. From the body, a fine mist rose, then melted through the wooden floor of the stage.

The girl turned to the wrapped corpse. “Come out now, master.” Her words were visible in the suddenly freezing air, and she dropped the body of her victim to the floor.” She spoke softly as she unwrapped the ancient creature in the stone sarcophogus. “It’s a brave new world,” she crooned, “and with such people in it, you shall soon come into your own.”

Within minutes, the wrappings littered the ground, draping the body of Dolly’s former employer and blown across the stage by an unseen wind. From within the stone enclosure, a tall, stately man of raven hair and olive skin stepped across the newly created corpse. His eyes were the color of Midnight. “Set the body in my former prison,” he said, and a smile without warmth darkened his face. “It’s only fitting.”

The woman retrieved the ancient cloth, then began wrapping the body of Victor Halofax with cool efficiency. Her master looked on with approval. “Yes, my servant. I believe you are right. This is an age worthy of a master.”

From behind the red, velvet curtain, a small black kitten with white paws appeared and pounced upon the bandages that had blown to the stage’s far corner. The man’s face tightened when he spotted the small feline, but once the freshly minted corpse had been placed in the sarcophagus he turned and left with his companion, arm in arm.

Soon, the kitten disappeared as well.

**All episodes listed here.

**Look for the next exciting installment of Pinholes next Tuesday, same cat-time, same cat-channel… uh, blog. I mean, blog.

The muses run Cloud 9, the divine repository of inspirations, under the benevolent dictatorship of Hermes – messenger of the gods. The Olympians, devoted nepotists, almost exclusively hire their many and varied family members. The divine and semi-divine collaborate, stock, check-out, and deliver the inspirations of Cloud 9 to the world.

Hades found Helena arguing with her half-brother, Alien Love Child, and her supervisor, Hermes. She waved her fountain pen in front of them, like a conductor of words. “Armageddon!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you see the risks?”

The iridescent alien’s skin paled to a pale green; he covered his eyes with several tentacles.

Hermes smirked. He popped some Jordan almonds into his mouth before responding. “But you said yourself that dangerous ideas can change the world in wonderful ways. We just need to be aware of the risks.”

“ARE you?” countered Helena.

“Of course,” said Hermes. “Nothing gets past me.”

Helena’s gaze raked the room. Her half-alien brother, AL, withdrew behind a large winged-back chair. Morpheus gaped at both Hermes and Helena. From behind bookshelves in the room’s far corner, a dark-haired figure grinned.

That is, until he spotted Hades in the doorway.

“Where is that misanthropic son of mine?”

All figures turned to watch the dark, imposing god that stood in the doorway. He turned flaming eyes to the far corner of the room, extended one thin finger, and bent it toward him. “Nicholas,” he said, his tone low and dangerously smooth. “Daddy has some issues to discuss with you.”

The pale boy made his way forward, a convict on his last walk to the gallows, a trail of tissues in his wake. “Yes, Father?”

“Don’t give me that,” said Hades, looming over the boy. “I know what you’ve been up to.”

“So do I,” chimed in Hermes, wearing a 14-carat smile.

“Well, I don’t!” said Helena.

“Watch it, sweetheart,” said Hermes, with a warning glance toward Hades. “The lord of the dead isn’t as indulgent of subordinates as I am.”

Now Helena’s mouth hung open, matching that of Morpheus; the god of sleep stood frozen between Hermes and Hades as though struck by lightning.

“Direct supervisor; remember?” said Hermes, with a wink.

“Nicholas,” said the dark lord, “I think you have some explaining to do.”

“Armageddon?” squeaked Morpheus, finally finding his tongue. “What in Hades-”

“Yes?” answered the dark lord. “Oh, I should have known you’d come running here to…” He made a dismissive gesture toward the room’s other occupants.

“I’m so sorry, Hermes,” said Morpheus, clutching his friend’s arm. “I had no idea.”

“But HE did,” said Helena, watching the messenger god. “You knew all along; didn’t you, Hermes?” She pulled a candy square from the recesses of her pink, ruffled sweater and popped it in her mouth.

Hermes’ self-satisfaction was evident.

Hades grinned also, but the pale, thin figure in his shadow glowered at the messenger god. “How did you know?” he asked.

Helena, Alien Love Child, and the others leaned in.

Hermes reclined behind his mahogany desk, hands behind his head. “Easy, my dear comrades. INK.”

They exchanged puzzled expressions.

“Squid ink, people… from Alien Love Child!” He shot the alien figure an apologetic look. “Sorry, buddy, but when you compose inspirations using your own ink… it’s kind of a giveaway.”

Again, puzzled expressions.

“Squid ink has a bit of an odor, doesn’t wash off well.”

Now Alien Love Child’s skin bloomed crimson.

“But I had Morpheus deliver the inspiration to you,” said Nicholas, glaring at the god through red-rimmed eyes.

“Well, the parchment he showed me… nice dress by the way, buddy.”

He nudged the god, and Morpheus blushed.

“The ink was splotched in places,” said Hermes. “I know you have issues, Nic, but if you’re planning something dastardly, make sure you don’t leak all over the evidence.”

Now it was Nicholas’ turn to blush. He shot Helena a sheepish look.

All eyes turned to the bestial beauty. “What?” she asked.

“Tears,” said Nicholas. “I… I…” He shrugged and handed her a crumpled notebook.

She read:

“The beast never lived that was as beautiful as Helena,

When I first saw her face, that’s when I fell in love-ena.”

She looked up. “I had no idea…”

“But if you loved her, why would you try to destroy everyone? I mean…,” Morpheus looked around. “She’s part of everyone; right?”

AL put a protective tentacle around Helena’s shoulder, which made unattractive, squelching noises as suckers hit pink taffeta.

“I don’t know WHY,” confessed Hermes. “But it’s obvious. He’s always moping along, giving her dopey looks behind her back…”

“He has allergies,” said Hades, meeting everyone’s startled expressions. “What! You think he cries constantly for no reason?” He looked at his son. “OK, yes, that too, but he’s allergic to fur.”

“Our love was doomed,” pleaded Nicholas, sniffling into a tissue. “If I couldn’t have you…”

“You decided to DESTROY me? Along with everyone else?”

Nicholas shrunk behind his father, who said, “My son has a taste for melodrama. His mother is muse of tragedy, after all.”

“And speaking of tragic,” said Hermes. “Fell in love-ena? Ye gods, what were you thinking?”

Nicholas lunged for the messenger god, but his father caught his jacket. “Whoa there, son!” Nicholas panted with anger and exertion. “Don’t worry, boy. You have a taste for tragedy? When I tell your mother, you’ll be starring in your very own.”

Hades turned and – pulling the struggling boy behind him – disappeared through the doorway. Little puffs of steam fell from the hankies left in their wake.

“You won’t punish my brother; will you?” Helena asked Hermes.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” said Hermes. “It’s not his fault; he just gave it to Nic to file.”

“I TOLD YOU filing was important,” said Helena, smacking the alien, then giving him an affectionate nuzzle. Slime trailed from her furry cheeks to his own gelatinous ones.

Morpheus began, “Buddy, I…” Upon seeing Hermes, he broke out in a matching grin. “Duuuuuude! You got me!”

“True,” said Hermes, draping an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “And you know what else I got for you? The perfect woman. I told you… nothing gets past me.” He winked.

THE END

I hope you enjoyed my Friday Flash. This is the final installment of my ‘Cloud 9′ series. My intent was for each flash to stand on its own, yet fit into the larger whole. To this end, I added short introductions (that appeared before each). I realize this final story might not stand on its own, but I hope it still ‘worked’ within the larger story. Feedback is both welcomed and appreciated.

**image courtesy of UW Digital Collections via The Commons at Flickr. No known copyright restrictions.

The muses run Cloud 9, the divine repository of inspirations, under the benevolent dictatorship of Hermes – messenger of the gods. The Olympians, devoted nepotists, almost exclusively hire their many and varied family members. The divine and semi-divine collaborate, stock, check-out, and deliver the inspirations of Cloud 9 to the world.

Morpheus lounged against a pillar, a surprisingly sincere grin across his face.

Hades looked up from the screen’s flowing text. “Well?

“Well, what?” asked the god of dreams, running his hand through golden locks.

Hades typed a few more lines, then hit ‘enter.’ He leaned back, surveying the golden youth. “I’m confused,” he said. “You haven’t complained about a thing since you got here. You’re not… what’s the word?”

Morpheus raised an eyebrow. “Angsty?”

“Nooooo,” said Hades. The lord of death steepled his fingers as he leaned across the desk. “Disgruntled?”

“You’ve been talking to Mother.”

“Not at all,” returned Hades. “But I am observant of all the citizens of my realm. You’ve obviously been discontent – yes, that’s the word – for awhile. What gives?”

“Oh, I’m still plenty disgruntled, discontent, whatever, but…” He eyed the dark lord. “Can you keep a secret?”

Hades’ grin was full of murder, mayhem, and a bit of cheez whiz that had gotten stuck on his teeth.

Morpheus leaned over the desk. “I’m playing a joke on someone.”

Hades smile faded; he rolled his eyes. “Oh, dear. Another one of Hermes’ pranks, I see.” He sighed. “You’d think, after all these years, you’d find another companion. I do believe he’s a bad influence on you, boy.”

The sound of wind-chimes filled the chamber as the golden youth laughed. “That’s just it, Uncle.”

“I’m not your uncle. My familial relationships are… complicated.”

“OK, fine. My point is, you’re like an uncle to me, so I’ll let you in on my secret.”

Hades eyed Morpheus warily but kept his silence.

“The prank is ON Hermes!”

The dark lord’s eyes flickered with amusement, twin flames that lit his otherwise darkened features. “Really? Do tell.”

“Well, I got the idea when I ran into Nicholas-”

“Mmmm Hmmm?”

“-and he was telling me about filing all these inspirations.”

“Yes, yes, the boy is good at his job.”

“Well… I came to Hermes in a dream – not as myself, of course. I took on the form of this nymph he fancies, but-”

“Nymph?” Now it was Hades’ turn to raise an eyebrow.

“Yes, and don’t think THAT wasn’t awkward. But anyway… I led him to this inspiration-”

“Yes?”

“Well, yeah. He’s been looking for a way to streamline deliveries, so now he thinks he’s found this brilliant idea, and-”

“Dear, boy,” said Hades. “I know we have eternity, but even that might pass before you get to the punchline.”

“OK, listen. Hermes is always the one with the bright ideas; right?”

Taking Hades’ silence for agreement, the god continued, “I just wanted to fool him for a change, instead of being the-”

“-sidekick?”

“-ACCOMPLICE!” said Morpheus, louder than he’d intended.

“Are you going to tell me this brilliant plan or should I…?” Hades poised long, slender fingers over his keyboard.

“You know how Hermes can be a bit…” Morpheus made complicated hand and arm gestures, which Hades took to indicate an inflated ego.

“Yes.”

“Well, in the dream – I was subtle -”

Hades kept quiet.

“I led Hermes to this great idea that would save him, me, everyone really- tons of work. He’ll never suspect I-”

“-did your job by delivering inspirations?”

“I was SUBTLE,” said Morpheus. “OK?” Hades waited. “When Hermes implements it, he’s bound to brag. Then I’ll reveal it was really-”

“You.”

“Yeah. He’ll have to eat crow… and the way HE brags? It’ll be quite the feast. I can’t tell you what that would mean to me.”

Hades stared.

“We’re buds. He’ll get over it! But the look on his face when I tell him it was ME?” Morpheus smiled. “Let’s just say, it’ll sustain me for quite awhile.”

Hades considered. “And you came up with this idea all on your own?”

“Well, I’ll admit, Nicholas jogged a few braincells-”

“-that were loose to begin with,” muttered Hades.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It just seems you could have played a less elaborate – yet equally satisfying – prank, simply by revealing yourself as the nymph in his dream.”

“The nymph…” Morpheus winced. “Damn! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Hades – despite his reputation – was not a cruel god; he bit his tongue. He asked, “What inspiration did you plant?”

“Oh, he’s going to upgrade humanity! By downloading inspirations directly into their minds, we won’t need to deliver them anymore.”

“And where, perchance, did you get this brilliant plan?”

“Well, I told you I bumped into Nicholas. Nice kid. I feel sorry for him.”

“That goes without saying. He’s my son.”

The god studied his sandals. “Anyway,” continued Morpheus, breaking the silence, “Hermes picks on the kid a bit, and Nic might get a kick out of Hermes eating crow.”

“Indeed.” Hades’ eyes smoldered. “And Nicholas gave you this idea?” The fire in Hades’ eyes burned brighter. “My misanthropic son, he of the bad hair and the never ending box of tissues?”

“Yeah, poor kid, said Morpheus. “Anyway, maybe if Hermes gets taken down a notch, he might be nicer to him.”

“Yes, the kid, I imagine, would quite like the plan you’ve so conveniently devised.”

There was more than a little pride in Morpheus’ grin.

“Indeed,” said the Hades, stroking his chin like a cartoon villain. “Tell me. Would this ‘upgrade’ apply to gods as well?”

“Of course! Gotta keep with the times. Right, Chief?”

“They do seem to call for some changes,” agreed the dark lord. “I think my son has more coming to him than he realizes.” He glowered at a startled Morpheus, who beat a hasty retreat.

In the now empty room, Hades spoke to the darkness. “I think Nicholas needs some Father-Son time.”

*

I hope you enjoyed my Friday Flash. This is part 5 of my ‘Cloud 9′ series. My intent is for each installment to stand on its own, yet fit into the larger whole. To this end, I added a short introduction (that appears before each installment). Does the story stand on its own? Do the characters, setting, and plot work? Feedback is both welcomed and appreciated.

**image courtesy of UW Digital Collections via The Commons at Flickr. No known copyright restrictions.

The muses run Cloud 9, the divine repository of inspirations, under the benevolent dictatorship of Hermes – messenger of the gods. The Olympians, devoted nepotists, almost exclusively hire their many and varied family members. The divine and semi-divine collaborate, stock, check-out, and deliver the inspirations of Cloud 9 to the world.

Nicholas rounded a corner, propping the freshly-minted inspirations against a shelf to draw, deep ragged breaths. If Hermes only knew what he had done… but no, that wasn’t possible. The god was just being his usual, jocular self at the expense of his employee. What need he care for the misfortune of a subordinate?

He wanted to bean the bastard in the head with one of those damned Jordan almonds he loved so much.

Nicholas allowed himself one of his more infrequent occurrences – a smile. It spread across his face like a crimson snake slithering across marble. The sight was less than pleasant, which made it all the better that there were no observers nearby. It might have tipped them off to his plan.

Misfilings were quickly caught and refiled by the pernicious Helena. The pale youth blew back the stringy raven hair that had fallen over his eyes. What a vision! He pictured her in his mind’s eye: her deep brown eyes, her full rich lips, her shaggy fur. Oh, if only she weren’t so out of reach!

He reached for another hanky, dabbing the ends carefully against the raw flesh beneath his streaming eyes.

Still, Mother should be proud. Poor Morpheus had been duped all too easily into tricking Hades – eager for the opportunity to prank the prankster. Little did Morpheus realize the ultimate price of taking advice from Nicholas. The youth considered.

Perhaps he would write an epic poem about it. That should please Mother.

And why not? His employers and all who had scorned him would pay for their derision. Their self-confidence would be their downfall. Messing with the minds of man? Manipulating the other gods to their own tragic ends… Why wouldn’t the muse of tragedy love that?

And Helena… he sighed. Helena would be gone – along with all the others. She had never intentionally caused him pain, but her sheer beauty – coupled with her unavailability – made her mere existence a torment to him. Alas… If only his allergies weren’t so severe! But the merest hint of hair made his body betray him in the most excruciating way. If Helena returned his love, it would probably kill him.

He pulled a crumpled notebook from his pocket and scribbled a few lines: Tormented both in body and soul, the lover’s allergies took their toll… It never hurt to be prepared. The next great poem might only be a few lines away.

*

I hope you enjoyed my Friday Flash. This is part 4 of my ‘Cloud 9′ series. My intent is for each installment to stand on its own, yet fit into the larger whole. To this end, I added a short introduction (that will appear before each installment). Does the story stand on its own? Do the characters, setting, and plot work? Feedback is both welcomed and appreciated.

**image courtesy of UW Digital Collections via The Commons at Flickr. No known copyright restrictions.

Play or download episode *here*

Hello, and Welcome to My Writing Niche, a podcast for new writers. Today’s podcast, #62, was recorded for Sunday, August 12th, 2012. I’ll be reading my latest #FridayFlash, “Sleeping Beauty Retold“,  as well as talking about my writing break and current projects.

**image courtesy of hiddedevries via Flicker.

***Slow Burn from the album Blues Sampler courtesy of Kevin MacLeod via Creative Commons Attribution license. More of his music can be found at FreeMusicArchive.org or at http://incompetech.com.

As a lover of fairy tales, it is a rare and special time when movies portray something of the classics outside of Disney. I recently attended Mirror Mirror, and shortly afterwards Snow White and the Huntsman, at my local cinema. Both tell the story of Snow White, both feature a strong female protagonist as well as antagonist, and both are visually beautiful. However, though each features the classic elements of the story, the tone and focus of the movies vary greatly.

For one thing, Snow White and the Huntsman is a horror story as well as an action adventure. Within ten minutes of the movie’s start, I was thanking my lucky stars I didn’t take my eleven year old to see this flick. There’s murder, betrayal, startling special effects, and scenes of intense cruelty and terror. It was definitely too scary for younger children, though for adults it is a compelling narrative featuring mythological themes. Several scenes used elements of Arthurian lore.

Mirror Mirror, on the other hand, takes a more light-hearted, tongue-in-cheek approach to the tale. The evil queen is not so much cruel as extremely vain and looking to marry a young stud. Snow White must flee the castle in order to grow into the kind of person who can and will rule the kingdom wisely. Her prince comes, but she’s more proactive about her own fate and takes matters into her own hands. This movie, in my opinion, is safe for children ten and older.

There were things I enjoyed about both films. Both portrayed more feminist interpretations of the tale, and I must admit that I am a sucker for any princess that rescues – not only herself – but her entire kingdom. However, while Mirror Mirror focused on humor and romance, those things were non-existent in Snow White in the Huntsman – which took a much darker and more dramatic approach to the subject. While Julia Robert’s queen in Mirror Mirror was vain and selfish, she lacked the backstory of Charlize Theron’s queen in Snow White and the Huntsman. In the latter, the queen’s motivations and obsession with beauty – while not justifable – at least become understandable. If it wasn’t for her inherent cruelty, the viewer might even feel sorry for the queen.

There is honestly no real way to compare these movies well. I can not recommend one more than the other, because they are too different. While the same tale inspired  both, one is a humorous, family friendly movie and the other a darkly disturbing tale. I would recommend any lover of fairy tales see both and judge for themselves.

A Little Bit of Sugar

Grandma smelled.

She didn’t smell like cookies or fresh baked bread, but rather a sour combination of old lady, body odor, and Bengay. Billy could barely stand to set foot inside the old woman’s trailer, but his parents insisted that he do odd jobs for her as part of his weekly chores. He sat and watched Grandma Moira lower herself into the lazyboy in the tiny living room. The wallpaper had long ago faded to the sepia of old photographs.

“So, how’s your mom and dad?”

Billy shrugged. He preferred not to get into discussions with the old woman. She tended to wax nostalgic at the oddest things, and avoiding conversation meant he finished sooner. “What would you like me to do, Grandma?” He stood up. “Wash dishes? Vacuum the floor?”

The old woman stared up at him with dark, moist eyes. The skin of her face sagged under the weight of eighty years, yet intelligence still lingered in the depths of those eyes.

“Not just yet, Billy,” she said, nodding at the couch. “Why not sit and keep an old woman company?”

Billy looked uncertain, but she insisted. “Just for a few minutes.”

He sat.

“I know you’ve probably got better things to do, but-”

“Grandma, I-”

“Now, now,” she said. “Don’t bother denying it. You’re young, and it’s perfectly natural that you’d want to spend time with other kids your age, not hanging out with an old woman.” She looked at the floor.

Billy squirmed, sinking further into the plush, faded fabric of the couch.

“I’m sorry. I was just thinking of Mr. Tinkles,” said Grandma Moira. “He hasn’t been by in several days. You haven’t seen him; have you?”

“No,” said Billy, struggling to lift himself from the cushions partially swallowing him.

“That’s too bad,” said Grandma. “I thought maybe you might have passed him on the way here.”

“Why ask me?” said Bobby. “I just came over to help.”

“Well, of course you did,” said Grandma, in her most soothing tone. “You’re a good boy. Why else would you spend all this time with me?”

Because my parents make me, thought Billy, but he bit his tongue.

“Well,” said Grandma, slapping her hands on her lap and hoisting herself out of the bulky chair. “You might as well get started on those dishes, and then you can go play with your friends.”

Billy almost leaped off of the couch, except the suction from the cushions prevented it.

“You might as well have this,” said Grandma Moira, offering him a rose-colored candydish, “so you can throw it in with the other dishes.”

The boy reached for the last piece of candy, but hesitated.

“Oh, go on,” said Grandma Moira. “It’s just a little bit of sugar.”

The boy grabbed the candy – a small, rainbow-colored pebble – and tossed it in his mouth. It dissolved instantly.

Grandma’s eyes hardened, two bright specks of coal in a face like fading paper. She pushed the boy back onto the couch, and he fell – as limp as a ragdoll. “It’s your own fault, you know,” she said.

Billy’s eyes remained fixed upon the terrifying figure that towered before him.

“I didn’t want to resort to this, Billy, but you left me little choice.”

His eyes widened.

“What really happened to Mr. Tinkles?”

The boy felt his mouth open, the words pouring out before he could stop them. “I ran him over on Tuesday with the riding lawnmower.”

Grandma Moira pursed her lips, considering. “Was it quick?”

“No.” The word was out before Billy knew he was speaking.

She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned heavily on her cane, its gnarled wood supporting her weight. “Poor Mr. Tinkles,” she murmured. “You were the best familiar I’ve ever had.”

Billy’s jaw slackened.

The old woman slumped once again into the overstuffed chair, contemplating her worn slippers. After a few minutes, she seemed to remember the boy’s presence.

“Oh, yes,” she said, directing another piercing stare at the boy. “Worried I cast a spell on you; aren’t you, boy?”

Billy cringed, digging himself further into the sofa cushions.

The old woman cackled. “Don’t worry, boy. I did no such thing.”

Billy wanted to run, but his strength had already fled.

“I drugged you instead,” said the old woman, getting up and retrieving the empty candydish. “Witches dabble with herbs anyway,” she droned on, picking bits of trash off the table. “You might say pharmacology is an interest of mine.” She hobbled over to the garbage can and threw away the trash. “Though, the candy coating was a nice touch.”

Billy struggled to extricate himself from the cushions, but they held him firmly. He would not escape.

“No, boy. You’ll find yourself extremely open to suggestion for the next few hours,” said Grandma Moira. She stretched, cracking the muscles in her back. “Which is why I’m calling your parents, and you’ll confess to them what you did to my cat.” She snatched the receiver from the cradle of the old-fashioned phone.

Billy sagged, and the old woman cackled again. “To my kind, boy, spells are prayers.” She fixed him with another steely stare. “And I wouldn’t waste my prayers on you.”

THE END

*This flash was inspired by the writing prompt That’s not candy in Grandma’s candy dish, taken from Eric J. Krause’s Writing Spot. Thanks, Eric!

**image courtesy of George Eastman House via Flickr. No known copyright restrictions.

Femme Fatale

The man, exhausted from a full morning bent over the keyboard, grabbed the paperback from the shelf and plopped onto the sofa. Lying back, he opened the pages – prepared to surrender himself to the world another author created. He read joyfully for the first hour or so, but with increasing wariness as time wore on. One of the main characters looked disturbingly familiar.

“Elizabeth?” the man wondered.

“It’s Eliza now,” she replied. The crisp black text coalesced into the shapely form of the novel’s femme fatale.

“What are you doing here? In a Murder Mystery of all places. Aren’t you classier than that?”

The woman, now fully formed, stepped out from between the lines. She knocked some letters out of her way with the sharp heel of her shoe and sat down. Her newsprint crisp skirt swayed as she kicked her legs back and forth. She regarded him through coal black eyes before answering. “Class has nothing to do with where you are. It’s who you are and how you wear it.” She brushed a stray ‘w’ from her skirt.

“How could you.. What are you doing here?” the man asked, scratching his scalp. His face flushed with righteous indignation.

“I left you, Roy.”

The man’s features fell. “You left me? How could you…?”

“Oh- don’t bother to look so surprised. You haven’t looked at me in months.” Her skirt billowed as she swung her legs with casual rhythm.

Roy got up and started pacing before the couch. “I had to put it down!” he said. “The story was driving me crazy. I couldn’t see where the plot was going…”

The woman looked defiant but said nothing.

“Sometimes you need to put a draft down until you work out the plot problems. If you’re short on ideas, you need to give yourself a break, let the well fill back up so you can draw on it again.”

A smile creased the corners of her face like folded origami. “That’s true,” she said. “But you never came back.”

“I meant to!” he cried. His pace quickened. “But life got in the way. There’s so much to do…” He stopped, looking lost in the small living area. “I can’t believe you left me for another author…”

“I’d had enough, Roy. We were going nowhere fast. I wanted to live and see what possibilities life held for me.” She pulled out a long tipped cigarette from the folds of her skirt and lit up, depositing the match on the table beside her.

“Aren’t you made of paper?” the man asked, his gaze fixed upon the ashen end of the cigarette she held.

“I’m made of dreams, Roy.” she said, blowing out a stream of cool blue smoke. “That’s why I left you. You never realized.”

THE END

*I’ve been thinking quite a bit about a story that I’ve been forced several times to put aside for other projects. I hope you enjoyed the product of my musings. Don’t forget to check out more #Friday Flash!

**Just a quick note, I am working on some technical issues, but hopefully my podcast will be up again on Sunday in time for #Spoken Sunday. As usual, I plan to read my 52/250 story and then discuss more about preparing for Nanowrimo. Have a great week!

*image courtesy of Library of Congress via Flicker- The Commons. No known copyright restrictions.