All posts filed under: Fiction

Friday Fiction

ODE TO JOAN OF ARC SHE FELT A BEAD OF SWEAT trickle down her back, while others formed ready to soak her shirt beneath her encounter suit. The overwhelming urge was to scratch at the irritation from the carbon that leached out from the suit, but she couldn’t. Couldn’t because of the large rubber gloves covering her hands. Hands that rested either side of the communications rig, waiting. Waiting for a signal. A word. Anything that would tell her what was happening in her own little sphere of the war. She had not taken her eyes from the leader board, out front, in over ten minutes. Concentrating on the usually ever changing data. The lettered tiles were not flipping over. A fact that relayed the alarming truth. The battle was not going well. Four squadrons had flown out in the early hours of the morning to engage the enemy, through the thick fog that covered the tiny hamlet. The base lay hidden, nestled in the sheltering cover of trees. All but the runway that is. …

The Dark

THERE WAS NO LIGHT. That was precious knowledge. The realization of which had cost her more than she would have thought possible, if she had but known. Everything needs a context. And for the darkness to mean anything there had to have been a memory of light. The memory was fading fast. It would happen, and then, more often than not, happen again. Sometimes there was more than just the tentative awareness that, in its-self, did not always register. She could not remember. It would come back to her, things usually did. She always remembered didn’t she? But she couldn’t remember. Time was something she had an eternity of, milliseconds were like millennia here.