The elderly host smiles at the camera. "Now, we'll see a chemical reaction. Baking soda is a base, and vinegar...." A quarter cup of the white powder is upended into the mock volcano made of paper mache, and a small hiss escapes it. The host, Science Man, turns to the boy and girl who are his assistants for the week, and tells them a little more about what just happened.
A shouted "Hey, you!" interrupts the taping. A man in a black jumpsuit runs through carrying a shark. (Really? A shark? You're sure you want to go with that?) It is clearly a hammerhead, identified by its distinctive head. Small, though. Must be a baby. The shout came from two security guards chasing the black-jumpsuited man, brandishing flashlights.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
(3xD6) Valistone Stag - Pt 1
Kelo blinked. Kelo groaned. Kelo krnlo. As he rolled over, the frost cracked on the edge of his firs. His movement made the heavy cloak shift, and open tiny vents into the outside air. The biting cold sought a way to get inside, and to make Kelo knrlo again.
Throwing off his firs, the squat black-haired anthropod (we'll call him, for the sake of argument, a man) felt ready to face the day. At least, he told himself he was. And he had done that for the past 19 turns, every morning since he could remember. He had emulated his damo, who had woken up every morning to cook duer-rom. And he stretched, thinking of his moda, wondering if they would ever be united again.
He pulled on close-fitted pants and a chest-cover, then draped more firs over himself. His lora slept soundly the ground under the pile of firs he had just vacated. The brisk air was a little bitter, but the bed was no longer inviting. Kelo did not like things that offered comfort and invitation too long. That was not how his tribe had stayed alive.
----
Three years earlier, there had been a calamity. The entire face of the planet was about to change. What had once been the green of Slutia had turned into the white of Flama. And the white of Flama was no more. No more. White had turned to black. The darkness had come. And it thirsted for the planet.
----
A valistone stag approached, a white horn shining. The other looked to have been broken or sawed, and the obvious gap in the horn was difficult to overlook. Valistone not had a place in the hands of Kelo or his people for time uncounted. It had caused the great destruction, when the ancients had coveted the metal above all others, and had declared it, and its symbols, to be the purpose of life.
Kelo, himself, had once seen valistone inside Harmol, the forbidden mountain. Each must journey into Harmol when he became adult. The mountain was filled with long unused corridors that, if followed, went deep into the hills. Nothing prevented the entrance, and deep within, there was vast, untold quantities of valistone. With a torch, the bars shined. But left there for three days, one quickly realized that you couldn't eat or drink valistone. After just that short time, one realized why valistone was useless and not a single candidate had ever come out desiring the wicked stone.
Throwing off his firs, the squat black-haired anthropod (we'll call him, for the sake of argument, a man) felt ready to face the day. At least, he told himself he was. And he had done that for the past 19 turns, every morning since he could remember. He had emulated his damo, who had woken up every morning to cook duer-rom. And he stretched, thinking of his moda, wondering if they would ever be united again.
He pulled on close-fitted pants and a chest-cover, then draped more firs over himself. His lora slept soundly the ground under the pile of firs he had just vacated. The brisk air was a little bitter, but the bed was no longer inviting. Kelo did not like things that offered comfort and invitation too long. That was not how his tribe had stayed alive.
----
Three years earlier, there had been a calamity. The entire face of the planet was about to change. What had once been the green of Slutia had turned into the white of Flama. And the white of Flama was no more. No more. White had turned to black. The darkness had come. And it thirsted for the planet.
----
A valistone stag approached, a white horn shining. The other looked to have been broken or sawed, and the obvious gap in the horn was difficult to overlook. Valistone not had a place in the hands of Kelo or his people for time uncounted. It had caused the great destruction, when the ancients had coveted the metal above all others, and had declared it, and its symbols, to be the purpose of life.
Kelo, himself, had once seen valistone inside Harmol, the forbidden mountain. Each must journey into Harmol when he became adult. The mountain was filled with long unused corridors that, if followed, went deep into the hills. Nothing prevented the entrance, and deep within, there was vast, untold quantities of valistone. With a torch, the bars shined. But left there for three days, one quickly realized that you couldn't eat or drink valistone. After just that short time, one realized why valistone was useless and not a single candidate had ever come out desiring the wicked stone.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
(3xD6) Sounds of Quiet
Today is the fifth of December. The grass grows brown on the side of the road. Under the seat the car is vibrating. Is someone trying to reach him? John's hand moves to his pocket and pats. No. No.... Just an illusion. Honk! Did mary-ann just text? Woowoo! Did my boss just call?
Ring Ring Ring.... Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz.... Baaa-ding.... The sounds coalesce into a blinding wall of sound. Each little notification. Every small ring. One at a time, they are nothing. A phone. A text. An email. A letter. A vibration. Who is trying to get a hold of me now?
ARGH!!!! EVERYONE!! THE ANSWER IS EVERYONE!!!... and no one. "Hello? Who is it?" Did I really just pick up my phone and say hello to a dial tone? My phone vibrates. Ah ha! "Hello?" This time it IS a text. Sender unknown.
Click! Wait... click? Nothing in my communication arsenal goes click. A sensation of heat is flowing over my face. Simultaneously, I can feel the wind biting into one cheek through the cracked window. Click. The heat is gone. And, somehow, I know that something else is gone, too.
Click. Ah ha! I know what it is. If I can just crane my head, I can see it. But see what? See that? "No, I don't." I open my eyes. Then open my eyes. And there it is. Quiet. Huh... that is what it looks like. The sunshine bathes me through openings in the leafy canopy. A breeze wooshes. Birds chirp far off. The sound of quiet, a lullaby.
The paramedics find him, while the police scratch their heads. Another? Yep.
Ring Ring Ring.... Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz.... Baaa-ding.... The sounds coalesce into a blinding wall of sound. Each little notification. Every small ring. One at a time, they are nothing. A phone. A text. An email. A letter. A vibration. Who is trying to get a hold of me now?
ARGH!!!! EVERYONE!! THE ANSWER IS EVERYONE!!!... and no one. "Hello? Who is it?" Did I really just pick up my phone and say hello to a dial tone? My phone vibrates. Ah ha! "Hello?" This time it IS a text. Sender unknown.
Click! Wait... click? Nothing in my communication arsenal goes click. A sensation of heat is flowing over my face. Simultaneously, I can feel the wind biting into one cheek through the cracked window. Click. The heat is gone. And, somehow, I know that something else is gone, too.
Click. Ah ha! I know what it is. If I can just crane my head, I can see it. But see what? See that? "No, I don't." I open my eyes. Then open my eyes. And there it is. Quiet. Huh... that is what it looks like. The sunshine bathes me through openings in the leafy canopy. A breeze wooshes. Birds chirp far off. The sound of quiet, a lullaby.
The paramedics find him, while the police scratch their heads. Another? Yep.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Trial (3xD6) - Julia and the Arsonist
The judge's gavel slams hard on the wooden bench. The judge is calling for order, and no one is listening. Around Julia, the entire court room is clamoring for the head of the slight, grey-haired man who sits at the other table. An especially loud shout carries an explitive that Julia didn't know was still used across the room. Flash! How did they get camera in here?
Julia rolls over, and her head throbs. The alarm clock just continues beeping, and she rolls over the other lump in the bed, her boyfriend, to smack it a couple times. A groan escapes her as she picks up her phone. Multiple notifications come up, but none of them woke her. Damn! She is going to be late for work. Grabbing a piece of toast, she pulls on the last of her clothes in her mad dash and runs out the door.
The interview room feels both dank and stark at once. Julia sits and waits for the convicted a****** to come in. He has burned four buildings, three of them hospitals, in the past month. And now they have caught him. Despite the grisly back story, a smile splits her lips because this guy is facing a sentencing hearing tomorrow where they will decide on life without parole, or the death penalty. As he enters, Julia is struck by his looks. A grandfatherly face looking out from two coke-bottle lenses, with thick white hair brushed back from his large forehead, makes her think of Mister Magoo crossed with Santa.
Julia rolls over, and her head throbs. The alarm clock just continues beeping, and she rolls over the other lump in the bed, her boyfriend, to smack it a couple times. A groan escapes her as she picks up her phone. Multiple notifications come up, but none of them woke her. Damn! She is going to be late for work. Grabbing a piece of toast, she pulls on the last of her clothes in her mad dash and runs out the door.
The interview room feels both dank and stark at once. Julia sits and waits for the convicted a****** to come in. He has burned four buildings, three of them hospitals, in the past month. And now they have caught him. Despite the grisly back story, a smile splits her lips because this guy is facing a sentencing hearing tomorrow where they will decide on life without parole, or the death penalty. As he enters, Julia is struck by his looks. A grandfatherly face looking out from two coke-bottle lenses, with thick white hair brushed back from his large forehead, makes her think of Mister Magoo crossed with Santa.
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