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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Recent posts by Merideth
Topic: Star Trek: No Good Deed
Subject: New Toys...


Stardate: 2368.04.10
USS Discovery - Cmdr. Kennedy’s Quarters – 0730


=/\=
Communications:
Universal Translator Update received from Starfleet.
Inputing new data.
Testing – 2368.04.11 0900

Propulsions:
All systems operational.
Plasma Conduits in process of cleansing.
Estimated completion – 2368.04.12

Maintenance:
Repairs to Medical Exam Room 2B completed.
Inspection of Bridge completed – passed inspection

Systems:
Starfleet contacted concerning replicator ‘Cocoa’ problem.
No other reported cases.
Further investigation in progress.

Computers:
Voice Command malfunction of 3 Turbolift cars detected.
Cars pulled from use until repairs completed.

Weapons:
Photon Torpedo exchange running smoothly.
New procedures and guidelines being reviewed for Mark VI Torpedo.
=/\=

Cmdr. Kennedy read over the report that MeCall had sent to her a few minutes ago. Nodding to herself she looked it over again as she started working out some details.

She put down the PADD and leaned back in her chair. There was half an hour until she began her shift and McCall, punctual as always, had sent her the report to make sure she was up to date before her shift began.

Even at this hour in the morning a heavy base made the coffee sitting next to her ripple. With a sigh she picked up the coffee and took a sip while she collected her thoughts. The coffee only made her remember the ‘Cocoa Disaster’ though.

Cocoa! They are worried about the cocoa not tasting right, being too bitter. Chocolate was bitter! If it wasn’t bitter there was too much sugar in it. Cocoa!
I’ve got turbolifts sending people to the wrong destination and new photon torpedos to install and they’ve got me running around chasing after cocoa!

I just hope that those torpedos work like Federation says they will. If we get into a situation where we need them and we end up spraying a bird of prey with cocoa instead of 16 levels of whoop *** I’m going to kill someone.


Kennedy shoved up from her chair, setting down the coffee only half drunk. The red boxers with a black skull and cross bones stitched across the backside and the black tank-top were quickly exchanged for the ever impressive gold and black uniform. At her dresser the familiar clink of metal on metal rang out in the room as she carefully removed silver barbells and hoops from her face and ears. Running a comb through her hair she looked at her reflection for a moment. She had once been striking, not soft and beautiful, but striking with firm features that would cause men to look at her twice and then wonder if they should have. Now she was getting older, crow’s feet creeping up around a pair of eyes that had taken on an icy coolness to them over the years. She was still striking she supposed, but one those women that younger men would call ‘good looking for her age.’ Shaking her head she grabbed the tool belt off a hook near the door and slung it around her hips. The PADD slipped perfectly into one of the pockets on the belt and she hit the button next to the door and waited for it to slide open.

She had a job to do. First stop: Torpedo Bay 1.

On the way she pulled out the PADD again and sent a report to the Captain:

=/\= All systems operational and ready for launch. Latest Universal Translator Programming installing today. Inspection of ship proceeding as scheduled, minor repairs being done. Voice Command malfunction with Turbolift identified and being repaired. New Mark VI torpedo’s installing. Scheduling joint briefing for TAC and Engineering to go over new procedures. – Cmdr. Kennedy, CEO =/\=

Then another to Lt. MacTavish:
=/\= Mark VI torpedo’s are in. Need to schedule briefing for TAC and Engineering to go over your new ‘toys.’ – Cmdr. Kennedy=/\=

Cocoa?! she shook her head again and then told the engineers who had snapped to attention when she approached the Torpedo Bay to return to ‘as they were.’ Smiling she slipped an earpiece over her left ear and ran a hand down the smooth outer casing of one of the warheads.

“Alright boys, let’s get these beauty’s put into their homes…” she ordered while the loud guitar of ‘Killer Roses’ wailed into her ear.


Posted on 2009-10-23 at 13:42:17.
Edited on 2009-10-23 at 19:51:18 by Merideth

Topic: Star Trek: No Good Deed Q&A
Subject: Well Bloody Hell!


Turns out Meri can't read.

It's 2270 when the voice command happens...

not 2370...

Pulling post... revising...

M. Out.


Posted on 2009-10-23 at 13:00:40.

Topic: Star Trek: No Good Deed Q&A
Subject: Sick Bay?


Well I was reading the wiki page and it said that the turbolifts became voice commanded in the 2370's... so hey I figured they would have a few ships out there testing it first, and wouldn't it be fun to do so to the Discovery?

Thought that and the cocoa could add some fun sideline 'comedy' moments.

Hope this was up to par.

M.


Posted on 2009-10-23 at 02:40:57.

Topic: A Collection of Short Stories
Subject: The Children of 408


Part One:

October 19, 2009

The day the world died began like any other.


6:40 am
Whitewash, Missouri


Click
“-going to be there from eight till eleven, and hey maybe longer if the party is happening.”
“And you know it will be.”
“That’s true, what am I thinking?”
“I don’t know man… A bunch of Spin listeners grinding out in ghoulish costumes to DJ Cash’dem –

Thud
The clock ticked by another seven minutes.

Click,
“Because you wanted more… more than I could give… more than I could bear…” Tonic droned melodramatically.

“Okay… I’m getting up” Rachel groaned and started to sit up, then slammed her hand on the alarm clock again and slunk back into the bed again, pulling the comforter up over her head; another seven minutes ticked past.

Click
“-at least it isn’t more rain. But if there was more rain in the forecast I could at least rest assured that my tires will make driving safer because I know I can depend on the technicians at Brice’s Tire Company to outfit my vehicle with the best tire for me… taking into consideration my driving needs, my vehicle and my pocketbook. Now to John Philben with traffic. How do things -”

“Uhgghhh… shit.” Rachel groaned again and sat up finally. The comforter flew to the end of the bed and her hand slammed down one final time on the alarm clock. Not only had she missed the weather report, but that corny DJ reminded her that she needed to get new tires on the little Neon that sat in the driveway. Blearily she looked at the time: 6:57

“Shhiiiit…” She repeated with more annoyance than vinegar.

Kicking at the covers she pushed herself out of bed finally. A prayer was sent toward her closet as she hoped there was something clean and ironed hanging it in that she could wear to school. The closet Gods acquiesced, but like all Gods, they had a sense of humor. Rachel ended up in a pair of khakis that were too short and a brown top that was too big, the ensemble was drab and the only matching pair of shoes she could find was black.

Welcome to Monday Morning… she thought to herself.

The trip to the bathroom was much more fruitful at least. Her hair was easy to make look great, a long mane of straight brown satin. A hair clip, a spritz of hairspray, dab of lipstick and eye shadow and she prayed everyone paid attention to her face and hair instead of her clothes.

Downstairs she gathered up her belongings as quickly as she could and headed out the door. The Neon’s lights lit up and it made a small chirp as she hit the ‘unlock’ button on the key ring. She liked how it did that, it was like the car winked at her and said hello when she approached. The first smile of the day hit the corners of her lips when it greeted her.

“Morning Bella…” and patted her blue hood in thanks as she went to open the door. “God I wish you could just drive yourself. You must know the way by now.” Rachel yawned as she started it up.

The car backed out of the driveway, and Rachel paused as she put the car into drive only long enough to turn up the radio, letting the Red Hot Chili Peppers fill the air. Her fingers tapped against the steering wheel with the beat as she drove across Whitewash.

Whitewash, Missouri. Located somewhere between the capital in Jefferson City and a cow Whitewash had been Rachel’s home for the past two years. The culture shock of living in a small rural town was finally starting to wear off. She had grown up in a suburb of Kansas City. Jeff had grown up here though. The two had moved to Kansas City right after they got married but when Jeff’s mother fell ill they moved to Whitewash to help. And so she had ended up landing a teaching job at the local elementary teaching farmer’s kids reading, writing and arithmetic.

The radio switched over to the Beatles as she passed through the one stop light in town and offered up a prayer to the traffic Gods when the light was green for her. One of the school buses turned on behind her and followed her the next two blocks and into the parking lot of Whitewash Elementary (or as the faculty liked to jokingly call it WWE).

She pulled ‘Bella’ into an unmarked parking space. First year fourth grade teachers did not apparently warrant a reserved parking spot. As she gathered her bags and walked toward the back entrance of the school, however, she noted that there were only about twenty parking spaces for the whole school anyway, she had only parked five spaces down from the spot marked ‘Principal’ where the black BMW was parked, and she wondered what the point of the reserved spots were anyway, save for just making the BMW feel special. With a slight rolling of her eyes she found her way inside and to her classroom room 408.

“Marked parking spaces but no wireless internet…” she sighed to no one in particular as she hooked up her laptop to the blue LAN line that had been taped to the floor from the wall jack to the foot of her desk. Even the laptop had not been school supplied. There was a five year old PC that rotted under her desk that they had given her. One week of that and she started to bring in her personal laptop to work from instead. The grant that the Whitewash R IV district had gotten from the state to upgrade computers last year had gone into the High School. So they had lap tops, a new computer lab for students and wireless internet capabilities. The grant they were expecting to get next year would go to the Middle School and if the government felt like giving up more money three years from now the Elementary was on the list. Until then Rachel’s home was more technologically equipped than the school she worked at.

She had just enough time to log into her computer, pull up the lesson plans for the day and update her Facebook profile to ’Monday’s are ugghhhh…’ before the bell rang announcing the admission of the children into the building, 7:25 am.




10/22/2009: This is the first bit I've written up for a post apocolyptic story, hopefully more to come in the near future

Posted on 2009-10-23 at 00:31:22.
Edited on 2010-02-20 at 03:29:30 by Merideth

Topic: Star Trek: No Good Deed Q&A
Subject: Oh!


Post!

Hey did someone say something about Twelfth Night? *swoons* One of my favorites. Viola is on the possible sea monkey name list because of that play... when the butler dude dresses up in those yellow stockings I die laughing.

Props to The Bard...

God... I'm off topic... well not exactly.

Klingons love Shakespeare don't they?

M.

P.S. 'Sure Mac go ahead and test those phasers but if you had actually spent the time to read the report I had sent you you might realize that I am still working on calibrating them and you might get a real close hair cut if ye ain't careful...'

Posted on 2009-10-22 at 23:34:37.
Edited on 2009-10-22 at 23:46:14 by Merideth

Topic: Loaded Dice #25: Morality and Prisoners
Subject: See...


This is why you should NEVER take prisoners... just kill 'em all!



M.


Posted on 2009-10-22 at 14:40:28.

Topic: GiGi's Triumphant Return Celebrated Across All 'Verses
Subject: Ohhh... Glory


Now there is a name I remember from old...
Yes yes welcome back. Always good to have familiar faces around here.

p.s. You should change the thread short name to 'Back in Commission!'

M.

Posted on 2009-10-22 at 12:53:06.

Topic: Stare into the Night Q&A
Subject: :)


Yay!
Beautiful work Nimu.

Poor Alex to get caught between the two of them.

I'm absolutely loving where this is going... mainly because I have no idea where it is going!

M.


Posted on 2009-10-22 at 00:28:43.

Topic: Witchcraft: Stare into the Night
Subject: Kitti-tude


"Aww... soft..." Alice murmured, as she ran her hand over Smoke's body.


The taint was strong and as Alice touched her Smoke could feel the oily sickness of it against her. Her mouth opened a little as cats do when they smell something bad or very strong, a row of tiny white teeth glistened in the early afternoon light. The hairs along Smoke’s spine tingled but she held her reserve, and let Alice’s hand smooth them down, although they threatened to spike back up immediately.

Out of the corner of her awareness she caught ear of Alex and the lovely woman stepping out of the store.

With a quick motion she reached out to grab his arm and drew herself close to him, "That is no little girl," she whispered in Alexander's ear, "She is immortal. Take Smoke inside and let me deal with this," although she spoke in a whisper her tone echoed with severity, "Do not argue with me."


This certainly made her hair stand on edge for a moment, and her lips curled into a slight snarl, but for the moment she stayed where she was and let the girl run her hand down her back again, smoothing down the hair for a moment before it puffed back up, Smoke looking like she could really use a dryer sheet right now.

Penelope approached and asked the girl about her mother, a question the girl had some difficulty with. Smoke felt sorry for Alice, and she respected the girl’s condition. She didn’t feel she had any reason to currently fear the girl though, and so she stayed put.

“Smoke! Where do ya think you’re goin’,” he called to the bast, falling into the ruse that he’d just chased his escaping pet out onto the street, “C’mon, sweety! Get back here!”


Golden feline slits turned up to Alex.

“You really dumb enough to think I’m going to listen to that?” Smoke smarts off to Alex.

“And you… I don’t really even know you, so don’t you go start thinking you can boss me around just because you’re some powerful immortal…” to Penelope.


“Now then… I want to know where she is living. She’s not posing a threat currently… just talk to her. Find out where she is living, and if she won’t answer… I need to know and I’ll follow her to find out if I have to.” she offers to both of them.


Posted on 2009-10-21 at 15:29:12.
Edited on 2016-09-30 at 09:45:37 by Eol Fefalas

Topic: Star Trek: No Good Deed Q&A
Subject: Thank Ye!


Ever so kindly!

M.

BTW: Thought I would mention that the picture of the PADD from 2151 looks just like a Kindle! Might be a nice accessory for your Halloween Trek Costume... if you have an extra $300 dollars

M.

Posted on 2009-10-21 at 14:24:21.
Edited on 2009-10-21 at 15:09:56 by Merideth

Topic: Star Trek: No Good Deed Q&A
Subject: Trekie-Wanna-Be Question of the Day


Okay... Would Kennedy have some kind of 'Blackberry' equivalent computer thingy she could walk around with and get reports and messages and such?

And if so what is the thing called and can someone give me a real quick and dirty on how it operates?

Domo Arigato,

M.

Posted on 2009-10-21 at 13:47:51.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: muwahahaha!


Minion! *rubs hands together with evil glee*

I mean... Ion... welcome to Engineering! *grin*

M.


Posted on 2009-10-20 at 19:45:52.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: Just... wow...


Olan... this has been the best game recuitment thread in like forever. How many newbies have we gotten to express interest? Not to mention all of us old regulars...

Props to you.

M.


Posted on 2009-10-19 at 01:01:57.

Topic: Well, well, well, guess who's back...
Subject: Hey hey!


Well welcome back Emybear. We've missed your smiling face around here

M.

Posted on 2009-10-18 at 18:47:25.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: oooohhh...


Another newbie and an Olan prodigy...

This is shapping up to be very interesting.

M.

Posted on 2009-10-18 at 18:20:21.

Topic: Auguries of Destruction - The Aria of the Thirteen
Subject: Three's a crowd...


"Well... I don't have a helmet for you and it might get a little crowded on the back of my bike... but..." He shrugs, "I'm not going to stop you from joining us."

Downing his coffee he pushed back from the table and popped the cigarette he had pulled out before between his lips.

"Thanks Chief... and um... Sarah, different brand of coffee next time, k?" He grinned and when everyone else moved to join he heads out to finally get on this case.


Posted on 2009-10-18 at 02:59:33.

Topic: yet another movie thread...
Subject: Reviving old threads... it's what I do...


Where the Wild Things Are

Took my 6.5 year old step daughter to this this afternoon.

And I recommend it. They did a very good job of turning a book with ten sentences into a full length film without destroying it.

The CG is amazing... the 'monsters' are realistic and awesome.

It is much deeper than I thought it would be, the reason it is rated PG I suppose. No foul language and only moderate violence (poor Douglas).

The focus is on family and staying together when things are falling apart so it isn't light, but it is good.

M.


Posted on 2009-10-18 at 01:14:58.

Topic: A Collection of Short Stories
Subject: The Color of Death (previously as 'Her Barn')


Amanda loved the barn. It was her favorite place in the entire world. For its current purpose, storage of old hay and household items no longer wanted in the main house, it was overly large. That was part of its charm though, big and spacious. The house was full of – things; furniture, art, clothing, food, people. Thus the house had always felt cluttered, that clutter and the color that inevitably came with it was damaging to her senses. In stark contrast to that the barn’s nearly empty ground floor was comforting. Ever since she was a child she could recall coming out to the barn for that comfort.

At this particular moment was lying on her back staring up into the high rafters, just as she had done many times in her life. The ground was packed dirt covered in a layer of old hay. It smelled musty, damp and cool. Ashley would be upset that her dress was soiled, he always was, but it did not stop her from doing it.

As the barn had no windows, and only two ways in, the large swinging double doors and a smaller door to one side of them, which she always kept shut, the shafts of light from above were the only meaningful source of light. Her eyes had quickly adjusted to the dimness and had she wished she could have examined the space around her easily. Currently, though, she was at peace watching the tiny particles of dust swirl around in the light as she listened to the heavy swaying of a chain behind her head.

Small shafts of light fell from cracks in the roof. When it rained those shafts of light turned into dribbles of cool water and sometimes even fountains of it if it rained hard enough. Then her dress would get really dirty. At night the cracks were lost in the darkness, but she knew where they were and tried to imagine that if she stared at them long enough they would focus into her field of vision and that perhaps she could see out into the sky that way.

The lights were like fingers, sometimes she thought of them as the very fingers of God, reaching down in His eternal grace to comfort and accept her as His child. The first time she had thought of them as fingers she had thought of them as her mother’s fingers, reaching down from heaven to do the same. For it was here, on this very spot that she had come the day her mother had died.

The drab browns and cool grays that the barn offered had been what she needed. In a way it was ironic. The barn was where she had gone to deal with her mother’s death. Yet the purchase of the barn, which came with the main house and the acres of land around it, had been made in order to save her mother’s life.

Good clean fresh country air is what Amanda’s father, a doctor, had said she needed. So they had moved, the whole family, here and filled the house with plants. Sometimes her father would send off for some exotic plant from countries she had never heard of. They would arrive in great wooden crates. He would then take great care to position it perfectly within her mother’s chambers, and then tend to them as dearly as he did his wife. The crates for those plants were no doubt stacked somewhere in this very barn still.

The plants, the air, the medicine – it did no good. For in the end her mother had still died. Died terribly.

It had been the first time death had touched her. Certainly Amanda had seen death prior to this. Her father was a doctor. But it had always been other people’s deaths. Her mother’s death had seemed in a way like her own.

Amanda had often tried, while lying on the barn floor, to remember her mother when she had not been sick. To remember her mother looking healthy, laughing, playing… there were vague moments of memory, but like the dust they danced constantly and could not be focused on before they drifted into the darkness again. And like the dust she sometimes wondered if they were real, or if they were a figment of her imagination. The mind could play tricks on someone, especially if they thought too hardly. What she could concretely remember about her mother was the blood and the plants.

Everyone thought of blood as one color: red. But Amanda knew it came in many colors. Fresh from a wound against the still warm flesh it was often red. Mixed in with some other body fluid, such as saliva or tears and it could turn shades of pink. Or could take on shades of near black when it came from the darker wells of the human body, the organs, the lungs, or the arteries. It also could take different colors depending on what it landed on. Blood upon a bleached white pillow case looked very different from blood dribbled upon soft damp soil, or upon the robust waxy green leaves of a plant with a name longer than her mothers’ life.

This kaleidoscope of colors, the many reds of blood, the shifting greens of plant life, the clean whites of linen, the punctured black of her father’s medical bag, this is what she always thought of when she thought of death. For her death had not been a pale horse, it had not left in its wake a pallet of dulled colors.

Contrary to what many though, it was this assault of color, not the blood itself that bothered her. The blood was what her mother had needed. Blood was life. When blood was removed from the body, either by the body itself or by some outside force, life could be drained, and that is what had happened to her mother. Disease had crippled her body to a point that it expelled its own life force.

When the last of her life had been purged Amanda could find no comfort in the house. Her father had shed his tears for his wife long before she had taken her last breath. While her older brother, Ashley, did whatever grieving he had left to do in private. So she had grieved on her own.

Hours upon hours were spent on her back in the barn. She let the pale fingers of light and the muted colors soothe her. Privately she wished that her mother had been buried in the barn so she could have her close by. The thought had not occurred to her until after the burial and was not a real possibility, but the dream did not fade.

Even now, twenty long years after her mother’s death, she thought of how nice it would be. She could lay on the ground held in the loving embrace of the shafts of light and talk to her. There were so many things that had happened that Amanda had longed to tell her mother, or to tell anyone who would listen for that matter.

Her brother Ashley had taken over his father’s business when he had finally passed, in a room painted bright blue Amanda distinctly remembered. He had married and had two children now. For herself, Amanda had not gotten married and lived with Ashley in the same house the two had grown up in, acting as a nurse to his patients. The siblings were accused of having a cool detachment from the world around them. In Ashley this was seen as a necessary condition due to his job. In Amanda it was seen as the primary reason she remained unwed.

Such things were of little consequence at the moment, however. War had descended upon the country. The reasons for the war were of little interest to her. Her family’s business had kept her well provided for and it was a business that would continue to matter what side ended up the victor. People would die and get sick even if there was not a war and so doctors would always be needed. Her personal rights were unlikely to change either way.

Those around her though, were very interested in all of it. You were expected to align yourself on one side of the great dividing line or the other. Of course the barn lay on land where it was best to align yourself with the South. Neighbors could be rather persuasive if you claimed otherwise. Ashley had put in his lot with the South, though he had not joined the ranks. Amanda had guessed this was because, like herself, he truly did not feel passionately either way and had only thrown his marker in with the Southern cause so he could continue to live in the home he had grown up in.

If it had not been for the blood spattered gray and blue uniforms that showed up at their door and colored her life with their pain and their death, she likely would not have even noticed the war going on around her. Even the battle that had passed so close they could hear the cannons and see the plumbs of dirt that they caused rising into the air would not have affected her had not the wounded filled the house. That night the blood soaked the linens and the floor until Amanda could see no other color but shades of red.

And so her days were filled with the care of wounded soldiers. Most did not stay long. Bandaged, fed and cleaned up they usually hurried back to their units, eager to begin the fight again. Others died while being treated, or were brought in already dead by some comrade who still had too much hope and not enough luck on their side. Those left in the wooden boxes that were brought to the house, a reminder to all the price the fighting had. Amanda thought of the plants that had been so carefully packaged and mailed in her childhood whenever the boxes piled up in their yard.

Some stayed longer though. Broken bones, amputations, influenza and other ailments that needed more time to heal would often take up residence at the home for some time. Amanda was particularly good with these. Her bedside manners were impeccable. The soldiers found her to be prompt, courteous, kind and not imposing.

When Michael found himself in her care he found Amanda to be the most endearing woman he had ever met. He had taken damage from a cannon ball. His one ankle shattered into a pulpy mess and the rest of his body covered in bruises and lacerations that caused him great pain and threatened to become infected. So she had stayed with him for several nights. Watching the wounds and talking to him to keep his mind off the pain.

During those long nights Michael told her about his sister, Chastity, who was older than him but still lived at home, caring for their parents. He had told Amanda she reminded him of her, it was something she had heard a lot. She was often compared to a sister, a wife, a mother or some aunt back home. She did not think he reminded her of anyone she knew, but she did not tell him that. Instead they had talked about Chastity and about Elizabeth, the girl Michael had intentions to marry when the war was over. Likely he would have to have the foot removed, and then, no longer fit for the battlefield, he would return to them. Amanda knew this, Michael knew this; they did not talk about it. Instead they talked about family, books, food, weather and God. God did not save his foot.

The day before Ashley had told Michael that he had recovered well from the surgery and could go home as soon as he was ready. So this morning he had gathered his things and had asked Amanda to come and say goodbye. They were alone in the room when he told her he wished she were coming with him. That if she wanted to he would send her money as soon as he got settled back home, that she could come and be his wife.

Hours later she lay on the floor remembering the moment he proposed to her. The memory, which did not dance like those of her mother being happy, but instead was solid and very real, mad her brow furrow. Moments after getting the words out his eyes had flickered and she wished she could have seen her face mirrored in them at that moment. It must have been an interesting expression that crossed over her features then. Whatever the expression looked like its affect was easily seen in Michael, who pulled back a step and fumbled over his words. Amanda had been quick to recover though and offered a smile and then a suggestion that perhaps he walk with her out to the barn. It was a somewhat strange request but he was too flummoxed to protest. Together they had walked, he leaning heavily on his crutches, into the barn.

Now, closing her eyes she took a deep breath and smiled as she found she could still smell him. His scent, carried with the bits of dust through the hands of God calmed her as she lay on the dirt floor. She wanted to stay there, to be wrapped in his scent for as long as she could. Eventually it would fade, it always did, but for now it was there and it pleased her so.

If she did not get up soon, though, Ashley would come searching for her. Deep down she wondered if he knew or at least suspected. Part of her also wondered what he would do if really found out. But she was careful and so she hoped that it was not something she would ever have to find out.

Slowly she opened her eyes, beginning to prepare herself to return back to the house. Drawing herself partially off the floor she looked to the south side of the barn, toward the doors. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall by the door. She would have to drag them upstairs to the loft, stash them with the crates the exotic plants had come in, perhaps tomorrow. Today she was exhausted.

Turning slowly she faced the north side of the barn now, kneeling on the ground and smiling as Michael came into view against the dull brown wall. She didn’t want to leave him, she thought maybe she loved him.

Again she wished that his eyes were more like mirrors so she could see the expression on her own face as she looked up at him, but his glassy brown eyes reflected little but the be speckled light around them. It was almost hypnotic how that light moved as he swayed slowly from left to right; the heavy chain suspending him off the floor still creaking against the rafter.

With the chain hoisted across his chest and under his arms his body hung there limply but could almost be mistaken for standing there on its own accord for a brief moment, even with the missing foot. His head drooped too much, though. From the floor it was not terrible for she could still see up into his face and watch the light catch his bulging eyes. But standing the affect was not altogether as optimal as she would like. She had yet to devise a way to keep their heads from drooping like that though. The bones in the neck were too fluid. The last one she had tried to tie a broom stick along his spine but to get the head to not droop forward she had to tie the last ribbon just under the jaw, if the tie was too tight it pulled the lips strangely and tilted the head backwards too much so he looked up at the rafters instead of at her. The effect of that was worse than the drooping. So she let Michael droop. Her favorite position was on the floor anyway.

Slowly she crawled over so she was by his foot. The soil beneath it was wet, and placing a finger on it, still slightly warm. The sticky mud moved between her fingers, smearing her pale skin with the reddish brown muck. Michael’s life, moving between her fingers. As she examined it another drop from the tip of his boot hit the top of her hand and sluggishly dribbled toward her wrist. Her eyes lidded and she gasped slightly at the sensation and the tingling that rippled through her with it.

Breathing deeper now she looked up at Michael, following the trail of sticky red up his leg and to his back. The scalpel had left only a small mark half way up his back near the spine. As he had moved to embrace her in the privacy of the barn he had not noticed it until she turned her wrist just slightly and pulled it out. His eyes had met hers then, the look of surprise in them unmistakable. They never cried out when she did it like that, it was quick and relatively painless. With the artery so perfectly cut she imagined they were only aware of the warmth of their life draining out and down their legs as she helped them to the ground. It was also easy to manage the blood this way, their heads could be cradled in her lap while she held them close and watched the blood flow out of their back and into the soil.

When they stopped moving she could hoist them up on the chain. Which is where she kept them temporarily.

Michael would be hers for the next few days. Eventually his eyes would lose their gleam and his smell would fade and be replaced by the smell of pure decay. She would lower him and bury him with her other men in one of the unused horse stalls. They were all there; save for the first - he was in the lake. She liked to keep them there, in the barn with her. She buried them face up, so when she lay on the barn floor watching the light or the rain drift down they could watch with her.

So that they too could feel the fingers of God caressing them and know the bliss it brought her; so that she would not be alone.





10/16/2009: Got this whipped up tonight. Kind of going off an idea I've had for awhile but until now had some difficulty getting on paper. I think the mood of Halloween coming so close kind of helped.

2/28/2010: Edited this to bring more 'flow' to the piece. Hope the efforts were succesful.


Posted on 2009-10-17 at 05:15:47.
Edited on 2010-02-28 at 14:40:40 by Merideth

Topic: A Collection of Short Stories
Subject: A Collection of Short Stories


I've been thinking of working on more short stories instead of the overwhelming task of writing a novel, or even novella.

So for your enjoyment and critique I offer the following stories.

M.

And, btw, I will preceed these with a warning: I don't write happy stories and many have a tendancy to be a bit on the graphic side, so if you are looking for light reading, please look elsewhere - thanks!

Posted on 2009-10-17 at 05:09:03.
Edited on 2009-10-17 at 05:18:16 by Merideth

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: Oh dear...


Callie can be a bit... quick tempered too... we are going to have one rocking ship... lol

M.


Posted on 2009-10-17 at 01:11:35.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: See!


^ likes my whatevers

M.


Posted on 2009-10-16 at 20:04:38.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: Olan!


I shouldn't even acknowledge such comments with a post...

But work is boring

And... for the record everyone likes my 'whatevers'... I've taken a poll.



M.


Posted on 2009-10-16 at 19:29:04.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: OMG!




Did I just see that?! It's a newbie! Posting... trying to join a game!!

I think I just had a heart attack right here at my desk!

Welcome welcome Ion!!

Once I get over the shock I'll hug you or whatever



M.

Posted on 2009-10-16 at 19:18:26.

Topic: To boldly go (again) where no one has gone before...
Subject: hehe


Um... yeah they are turning red! One of the side effects... the rdinn ink bleeds... *shrug* it's worth it.

M.


Posted on 2009-10-16 at 15:56:43.

Topic: Auguries of Destruction: The Clock Tower Q&A
Subject: Sibby!


Awesome! Guin just gets more and more interesting with each post. Footprints on the ceiling, as much as Eve was looking around I bet she missed that.



Looking forward to whatever Rer has to throw at us next.

M.


Posted on 2009-10-16 at 15:47:54.

 


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