Number Four, In Which the Author Discusses an Incomplete Hastag

I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.  ~Douglas Adams

If you have been reading this blog or following me on Twitter, you know that I attempted an idea I called #writehome for my return ride from Seattle. The plan was to take the time of the flight to write an entire short story (about 5,000 words or so). Being relatively new to applying deadlines, and for myriad reasons (including a long ascent, a late flight, and the effect of Lorazepam that I take for flight-related anxiety), I was not successful in completing this story. I also incorrectly assumed that I would be able to update to Twitter via mms on my phone during the flight, but there is no signal for flights and thus, no updates were possible. Duh.

Anywho, I've been sitting on the story now for a couple of days. Part of the reason is that I started a new job on Monday (yay the life of a working stiff and writer), the other is pure laziness. I plan to work on this over the next couple days, assuming I get the opportunity (like now, I suppose) and then I was thinking I would attempt to get it into some form of literary magazine. This is a story concerning a minor character from one of my novel ideas, and it fits mostly into the fantasy category (you could call it Americana fantasy, Indiana Jones-style fantasy, etc.). It is set in the Columbia River gorge of Oregon, which is a place we visited during the trip and I thought would be fitting for a story. I'm enjoying it so far, and think it should be a fun read when it's done. I'll keep you all updated.

In other news, the trip was great and we had a lot of fun. We saw a great deal of Seattle and some of greater Washington and Oregon, including Astoria and the Goonies house like I mentioned before. I'm thinking of setting a short story in the Pike Place Market, but I have to work out exactly how I will do this and what the elements will be. In other words, it's in the works. Also, I'm going to start planning a weekly word count completion of 10,000 words. Not a whole lot, but with other jobs, it will at least move me along.

Flash Fiction: The Divide

There was a sudden shift in the silence. The darkness. The lights flickered and the hull shuddered. I could feel how fragile this craft truly was, thousands of miles above the surface of the Earth. Above the solid ground. Above gravity. Above the rational. The logical.

Alone on the station, I could experience just how isolated I was. Nothing shows true separation from humanity as does fear. Pure and absolute fear. Away from all mankind. Apart from comforting arms. From words of peace and comfort.

As the shockwave hit, I felt the joints give. The whole beast of steel and aluminum and titanium and whatever else wiggled around. Wiggled! If that is anything, it is not comforting. It lends to a point of view of instability. Of lack of safety.

I stood up and walked toward the other end. Which is to say I floated. There is no gravity in space. Of this, I am sure you are aware. I walked down the halls – A1, A2, AE14, E6, E5, EF12, F11, F10. I reached the other end of the station. A small room designed to be a gymnasium of sorts. I looked around and saw nothing. I looked out the porthole and saw nothing. Then I turned my head and looked down hall FZ21. I shouldn’t have looked at FZ21.

There was a quality to the light that was unearthly. Unspacestation-ly? It was fucking weird, that’s what. I stared into that hall and contemplated traversing the distance. I did not savor the idea.

I radioed Houston. “Houston, some strange shuddering going on up here. Over”

“Steady now, ISS 21. You’ve only been up there for 14 days.”

“Only remarking on a physical happening, Houston.”

“All is well and good, 21. There are no indicators on down here. Everything is five by five.”

Ridiculous. Ri-dic-u-lous! I know what I felt. I know what I saw. I know what is there. It’s staring at me now. The weirdness. The void. The dark? Or is it the light? My eyes are red now. I’ve been awake so long. Staring at the hallway.

“21, do you read? ISS 21? Hello? Wilson? Are you there? What on Earth is going on? It’s been 8 days since you contacted last. We need to know your situ…” I break the connection. Fuck off. Nothing on Earth is going on. Bastard.

There is a hand that beckons. It is there, coming from the hall. Requesting my presence. Asking for my company. It is not connected to anything. I stare.

I consider my surroundings. There is little for me here. Will they send someone to check. Will they send someone to kill me? They did this to me. I am certain.

The hand is held open. It appears female. It has red nail polish. My libido jumps into my throat. Take the hand, it tells me. I think again. I am already dead. There is little that the hallway can do to me now.

I step forward. I take the hand. I walk across the divide. The darkness is light.