Tag: decay

RITUAL?

Quintuplet Cluster, NASA on the Commons

Up, down, up, down, updown.

The weird choreography of gnats in the late winter sunlight, rising in unison from the incense cedar and bouncing in the chilly, bright air.  A constellation of illuminated bioplasm.  Is it a communal mating ritual?  An invitation to passing birds to come, feast?  A celebration of approaching seasonal change?  All of that? None?

Faster and faster, the frenzied dance brings their tiny grey bodies together, until they are a single whirling orb of gossamer fluff.

Bang!

They resettle, simultaneously, into the cedar.  The sun shines, the breeze stirs.

And then again, up, down, up, down.

Image by NASA via flickr.com/commons
“Quintuplet Cluster”

CHANGE

When I was young, I jolted down this narrow canyon in my hot jalopy, windows open, inferno winds in my hair.  The river below green and cool as it raced me to the sea.  On the beach, I ran, jumped in the frigid ocean and shouted for no reason.  I drank cheap beer, ate greasy food and slept in the sand.

Today, the canyon is a crucible but I glide along in refrigerated comfort.  The river creeps, sluggish and yellow.  The wind has died.  I drink fine wine but avoid the crowded beach.  Have I changed? Or has the world?

Image by Simon Matzinger via Unsplash.com

This story first appeared at TheDrabble.com 

Altitude

In the high mountains, the air is clear, the sun shines hot.  When the wind blows, it rages.  Thunder deafens and lightening blinds with obliterating brightness, erasing all shadows.

She sees across a vast expanse.  To  Eternity?  Further?   All because the air is thin.

Now, if only she could breathe.

Image by David Siglin via Unsplash.com

Harbingers

We should have known.  All the signs were there.  The slow drift of feathers across the yard. The crow in the leafless tree, feasting upon the body of a songbird.  The relentless cold, even as the calendar advanced to days when the soft edge of spring should have cut into winter.

We ignored the dire portents.

Then a phone call.

Now it seems so odd to take out the garbage, bring in the mail, walk the dog, all while knowing you are not here.

Image by Charles Tyler via Unsplash.com

The Perverseness of Blackberries

He tried to be a good neighbor but the guy next door was a challenge.  His own yard was pristine, weed free, bark dusted.  But at the fence a blackberry intruded, snaking its prickly way into his suburban paradise.  He cut it back, it returned.  Again and again.  Finally, hoe in hand, he walked next door requesting access to remove the briar at its source.  Permission granted, smirkingly.  A ten minute search at the property line yielded a leafless  thread of vine.  The full glory of the pest only manifested itself on his side of the fence.

Image by Molly Francis via Unsplash.com

Conversation

“How was your walk?” he asked.

“Dumb and boring,” she muttered.

“Your mood?”

“Sad.”

“Your attitude?”

“Unreasonable and self-indulgent.”

“I’ll leave you alone, then.”  He turned to go.

“No.  Wait.”

Image by Alex Ronsdorf via Unsplash.com

King Gulch Confidential (New)

EXT., HALLWAY/OUTSIDE SMALL BUILDING, DAY

Detective Andrew Tassel, young, new on job, squares his shoulders before entering outer room of the Morgue. Gives himself a little pep-talk.

ANDREW

Okay, Drew, you can do this. Yes, it’s your first murder, yes, you’re new on the job.

Sign on the wall instructs him to put on “sterile suit” hanging on wall and gloves. Also tells him to leave all phones and electronic devices in basket on counter. He does this while continuing the pep talk.

ANDREW (CONT’D)

But this is a frickin’ one horse town. And you have a degree, a degree in Criminology. Use your head. You probably know more forensics than this podunk doctor. Let’s just get this over quickly.

He opens the door and enters main room of Morgue.

INT., MORGUE, DAY

Body of KATHERINE FEATHER on slab, we see her bare feet and head. The rest of the body is draped. Medical Examiner ISAIAH CRANE examines the feet as Andrew enters. CRANE is a tall, thin, slightly morose man, given to folding his hands in front of his chest while speaking. His speech is cryptic, punctuated by the occasional inappropriate smile.

ANDREW

Hi. You are . . .?

CRANE

Isaiah Crane, M.D., J.D., Ph.D.

(turning)

Your M.E. You can call me Dr. Crane.

ANDREW

Hello. Hi. I’m Andrew Tassel. Detective Andrew Tassel.

CRANE

Welcome to King Gulch. How can I help you?

Andrew glances at the body as CRANE continues to examine lower extremities. He retches slightly.

CRANE (CONT’D)

What? Did you say something?

ANDREW

No, nothing. So, Dr. Crane can you give me any information about Ms. Feather’s death?

CRANE

Yes. . .

ANDREW

(impatient)

Well . . . Your report?

CRANE

. . . isn’t complete yet.

ANDREW

What? What am I doing here? You called me, said I should come over.

CRANE

I thought we should meet.

ANDREW

Really? Like I don’t have enough to do? Okay, as long as I’m here, how about a preview?

CRANE

I don’t do previews . . . But I’ll humor you since you’re new. Death occurred at approximately 11pm. Cause of death was asphyxia. But the blood work isn’t complete. The discoloration and edema of the feet and ankles I can’t figure out yet.

ANDREW

Great. How can give me a time of death when you don’t even know what she died of? You’re wasting MY time.

CRANE

I’m wasting your time? Listen, sonny, I’m not only the ME in this county, I’m the only doctor, too. You were the one who wanted me to get this autopsy done. I’d rather be delivering a baby somewhere.

ANDREW

Hey! Out here there have to be more deaths than births.

CRANE

Natural deaths, but not . . . Murder!

Continue reading King Gulch Confidential (New)