It was mid-summer. The midnight stars felt nearer in the cool. I see a strange orange glow below the horizon. There are no houses there. Two miles tops. I return indoors. ‘There’s a forest fire behind the beach!’
‘Where!?’ He walks out unconvinced.
He rings emergency services. They ask the location.
‘Thanks. We know.’
Flames rising. The wind was headed our way. Best not to overthink.
Flashing lights drive south in a loop to the beach. No traffic. No siren. Only the sound of fire cracking filled the room.
Fifteen minutes later night smothers the coast in black velvet once more.
I shake my head, still feeling some bit of dimensional sickness. What dimension am I on again?
This looks to be New York City, but I know how the dimensions work. With the multiverse theory discredited, this is just a city that looks like the Big Apple.
“Spare change, kind sir.”
I turn to the source of that voice, expecting some panhandler.
To my horror, the man next to me has no lower torso. His right arm’s bigger than the rest of his body. Worst of all is his face.
I then realize that I’m in the “AI Art” dimension.
He wasn’t the only one. The barman mixed cocktails on automatic as he stared at the couple dancing provocatively in the dimly lit corner. It was hard to see where one body ended and another began. What do they say? Get a room. The stranger pressed her against the wall. The barman tired of the show. He was transfixed. The woman smiled lasciviously, her lover’s lips pressed hungrily to her throat. The barman slid the martini towards him. “Maybe stop staring now, fella, give them some privacy”. His voice was a whisper. “But my wife has never looked so beautiful”.
There were two of them, three counting the white tail disappearing under the low branches of a Scott’s Pine, I don’t even give it a second glance.
Carefully, lens changed, I drop onto the scratchy stubble of newly cut barley, gently inching forward on hands and knees to the brow of the hill where I lay for twenty two minutes exactly, my lens filled with, not my muse but friends of; frolicking and leaping together, turning full circles in mid air then running one after the other.
When showering that evening I find four ticks feeding greedily on my tummy…
He hefted his claymore, the two-hander heavy in his trembling hands. His enemies closed in around him. Steel rang on steel, flesh was carved, and men screamed as their bowels were opened. He swooned and struggled to stay upright. Blood poured from his mouth. It streamed from cuts and gashes all over his body. His leather tunic hung in shreds, yet he would sacrifice every drop of blood for his laird.
The fearsome knight with the dragon emblazoned on his armor charged. Their swords clashed, separated, and clashed again. His enemy was skilled, implacable. The end came all too quickly.
It was mid-summer. The midnight stars felt nearer in the cool. I see a strange orange glow below the horizon. There are no houses there. Two miles tops. I return indoors. ‘There’s a forest fire behind the beach!’
‘Where!?’ He walks out unconvinced.
He rings emergency services. They ask the location.
‘Thanks. We know.’
Flames rising. The wind was headed our way. Best not to overthink.
Flashing lights drive south in a loop to the beach. No traffic. No siren. Only the sound of fire cracking filled the room.
Fifteen minutes later night smothers the coast in black velvet once more.
Title: Dimensional Sickness
I shake my head, still feeling some bit of dimensional sickness. What dimension am I on again?
This looks to be New York City, but I know how the dimensions work. With the multiverse theory discredited, this is just a city that looks like the Big Apple.
“Spare change, kind sir.”
I turn to the source of that voice, expecting some panhandler.
To my horror, the man next to me has no lower torso. His right arm’s bigger than the rest of his body. Worst of all is his face.
I then realize that I’m in the “AI Art” dimension.
The Looker
He wasn’t the only one. The barman mixed cocktails on automatic as he stared at the couple dancing provocatively in the dimly lit corner. It was hard to see where one body ended and another began. What do they say? Get a room. The stranger pressed her against the wall. The barman tired of the show. He was transfixed. The woman smiled lasciviously, her lover’s lips pressed hungrily to her throat. The barman slid the martini towards him. “Maybe stop staring now, fella, give them some privacy”. His voice was a whisper. “But my wife has never looked so beautiful”.
There were two of them, three counting the white tail disappearing under the low branches of a Scott’s Pine, I don’t even give it a second glance.
Carefully, lens changed, I drop onto the scratchy stubble of newly cut barley, gently inching forward on hands and knees to the brow of the hill where I lay for twenty two minutes exactly, my lens filled with, not my muse but friends of; frolicking and leaping together, turning full circles in mid air then running one after the other.
When showering that evening I find four ticks feeding greedily on my tummy…
Oh my!! That’s not nice!! Ticks are horrid and lots of them this summer here apparently. I hope you got them.
Beautifully written
I seem to be a tick magnet Pipp, every day I have one or two!! Wretched things...
Today I should like to climb a tree
To a shady point in the high canopy.
There to sleep in a comforting nest
Like squirrel, or a bird,
Or a monkey, at rest.
Then will I wake with the new day glow
To see how lovely the land
Lies endless below.
Then will I leave in a tree-topping swing
To discover what beauty the future may bring.
But one thing I know – I will sing as I go.
I’ll lighten the load with my song-of–the-road
Till the road makes it’s leap
From the edge of the earth.
To wherever.
'The Highlander'
He hefted his claymore, the two-hander heavy in his trembling hands. His enemies closed in around him. Steel rang on steel, flesh was carved, and men screamed as their bowels were opened. He swooned and struggled to stay upright. Blood poured from his mouth. It streamed from cuts and gashes all over his body. His leather tunic hung in shreds, yet he would sacrifice every drop of blood for his laird.
The fearsome knight with the dragon emblazoned on his armor charged. Their swords clashed, separated, and clashed again. His enemy was skilled, implacable. The end came all too quickly.