The window ledge is small, far smaller than I remember. Maybe it always was. Maybe I’m the one that’s grown.
So much looks different now. The fields are green and lush as always, but the cityscape on the horizon is new. A sign of time passing. Of moments left behind.
I shift my weight, adjusting my feet, clutching the frame in a white-knuckled grip. The distance between my feet and the ground grows into a dizzying tunnel vision. I shut my eyes tight and breathe. One misstep would send me plummeting five stories down. Continue reading
A little science fiction, in honor of Mr. Bradbury passing away earlier this month.
I miss color.
That’s the one thought going through my head as I scan item after item for customer after customer. It’s been a busy shift, what with the holiday and all. Everyone in the whole colony seems excited except for me.
I miss color.
It had seemed so cool when the opportunity first came up. I mean c’mon, I was eight. Who didn’t want to live on the moon? It had seemed like the best birthday present ever. We would be the very first, and Dad was going to develop moon-growing vegetables and Mom was going to design a drill to well deep into the surface to harvest moon ice.
Plus there was a rocket ship ride. Complete with a whole hour of anti-gravity free time. That feeling of floating, of not being weighed down by yourself or towards anything else, was the most amazing thing in the world.
I even got to wear a spacesuit. Had to, in order to get from the ship into the airlock. Fifteen minutes to put on a suit I got to wear for about two and a half. That was pretty cool, too.
Our first year was in tents, as the building happened. They’d built the entire Air-and-Grav dome around absolutely nothing to begin with, because it cost less to have people work after the dome was built, than outfit a bunch of people in suits for long periods of time. It seemed like camping. Which is fun for about two weeks. But then you kind of miss running water and warmth. The AG dome is protected from the harsh heat in the sun and cold in the shadow times, but the temperature is always either chilly or hot. And really, there wasn’t much here but rocks and dirt at first, so exploring wasn’t as exciting as it sounded.
The tales that say he was a man turned beast are wrong.
There were never any claws or fangs. He’d never howled into the night or wrought fear upon men through feral yellow eyes.
His true nature was much more difficult to discern beneath layers of expensive, well-fitted clothing and years of practiced charm. One could easily fall victim to the seductive grin and fine cheek bones. His milky skin, smooth and velvety soft.
He never wore gloves. When he danced, the young women swooned. It was the thrill of feeling the heat of his hands upon their waists. The small, addictive taste of the forbidden. Continue reading