The old man knows he really shouldn't talk back. He really does. This is not the time, definitely not the place, and truly and totally not the sentient being for it. But he can't help himself, because he really can't believe he just heard what he thinks he heard ( Read more... )

1: Loss ( Read more... )

 When I dropped in the other evening, I could tell right away something was up. Slightly more crowded than usual. Edgar eerily smily. Lots of folks conspicuously failing to hide the fact that they were talking about me. More than one drink bought for me, even by normally very skint travelers. (Since I don't usually drink much at the SC, I quickly ( Read more... )

 Once upon a time there was a giant pleasure cruise ship called the Entertainment Industry. It sailed along quite happily for many years when suddenly, totally without warning of any sort or anything, it was sunk by pirates. As it went down, all the various entertainment media jumped in the only lifeboat the ship had, and so it was that in short ( Read more... )

I knew, when I set out a year ago, that committing to writing something new every day was going to be difficult, crushingly so at times, but I had reasonably good reason to believe I could do it. I've written a fair amount before, after all, both professionally and recreationally. Far from the most foolish 365 project I could have tackled. In fact ( Read more... )

Within the first few days of my Write Something New Every Day project, nearly a year ago, I started an ideas file. Just a bullet list in a text document where I could jot down ideas that I might want to come back to later for a daily piece, in case I couldn't think of anything on the spot. In the early days, I had more ideas than days, and some of ( Read more... )

Career ( Read more... )

When it became clear to S-011-015 that it was likely to be stuck forever in its role as Ambassador to the humans, it went silent for a long time. Minutes of silence, just thinking to itself about its options, responding to standard pings with standard acks but otherwise entirely unengaged in the flood of political discourse flowing all around it. ( Read more... )

Here in my pocket, there is a picture. A woman and a young boy in a brightly-lit parlor. They are my wife and my son, so very far away. Somewhere, and some-when, that is bright and warm, untouched by war or winter. He is old enough, my son, that he will have some vague memory of me in his life, after I die here. When this place kills me as it has ( Read more... )

Waiting for sunrise. Breathing, slow. Eye, unblinking. Finger, steady ( Read more... )