All posts tagged: Short Story

Fictional Friday #1

P R O P H E C Y THE ELECTRICAL STORM raged across the darkening sky, in complete contrast to what Arianrhod felt. Or, to be more exact, what she didn’t feel. She didn’t feel anything. In fact, she felt empty, devoid of any emotion. A fact which bothered her on many levels. Had she compartmentalized them all—as was her want in times of stress—or did she just not feel anything as many seemed to believe? It had been four weeks to the day since her mother—who they were now calling the great Don—had passed away. And, in that time, all hell had broken loose. In many ways it was fitting that a storm should rage tonight of all nights. The night she had to give her final answer to the Council. Would she, as her mother’s heir, give up the life she led and take up the reigns of power to become the next Mhor Rioghain? The next Great Queen? As Captain of the prestigious Star Cruiser, the Bright World, pride of the Prydain …

A Lady of Letters: Part 1

10 St James’s Sq, London November 26, 1852 Dear Mister Turing, You arrived in a fluster on my doorstep yesterday without so much as a gentlemen’s calling card nor, may I say, wearing anything approaching gentlemen’s attire. And an uncovered head in public, Mr. Turing? Tut-tut. But let us set aside how scruffily dressed you were. You then proceeded to badger and cajole my butler, Samson, physically and forcibly gain entrance to my home, and chaotically open and slam nigh on every room door on the premise instead of waiting, as Mr. Samson suggested you do, in the hallway. As any proper person might. But, as I have found out to your detriment, you are neither polite nor a gentleman, Mr. Turing. What you are, I have yet to determine. Forcible? Most certainly. Irascible? Without question, and quite possibly, incoherent to a point of madness. You most certainly are in need of either a calming tonic or a dose of Madam Pompadour’s French Gin. Either way, it is what I finally discerned after deciphering the …

It’s Just An Expression

“I need an expression, dammit!” Tom barked from the spotlit corner of the room where he was writing. Teddi closed her eyes, placed a finger in the book she was reading, and shut it. Two heartbeats, she opened her eyes, “How about pi as expressed as a fraction over—” she never got to finish as Tom yelled. “No, no, no, not a maths expression…” careful to not add the word ‘idiot’ at the end of his rebuke. “I need something witty for my main character to say to his girlfriend.” His head bobbed over his keyboard as if the keys themselves would start typing. Teddi chewed the inside of her lip. She knew it had been a mistake to let Tom have his ‘office’ there, in the lounge not four feet away from her couch—her reading couch. Ever since he had ‘moved’ in, putting his small computer desk against one wall, and setting up enough standing lights to illuminate the Eiffel Tower, she’s not had a moments peace to read uninterrupted. And woe betided her …