Cloning Pt. 2

I’ve successfully cloned myself.

Twice. One clone I’ll raise myself, one will be given up for adoption to a family in Ireland.

I’ll also be adopting a baby from the developing world. Bangladesh perhaps.

I’ll raise my adopted child and my clone together, their every experience will identical.

When my children turn 18, I’ll find the child I’d given up so many years ago, and perform a series of tests comparing my genetic offspring to the child I raised, with the clone I raised myself as a control.

Thus ends the nature/nurture debate.

Then: Nerd girls will sleep with me.

Cloning

I’ve successfully cloned myself.

Let’s be perfectly clear, there’s no mistaking him for me. The clone’s a foetus at the moment, growing to term in a surrogate I found on Craigslist. She’s doing it for science.

And because I’m paying her.

Now that I’ve perfected the process, I’ll impregnate twenty-nine other surrogates, each with a perfect genetic duplicate of myself.

I’ll raise the children, homeschool them, teach them all they need to be the best possible versions of me.

They’ll need to be.

I’m forming a choir, you see. When they turn 14 we’re taking our show on the road.

It was...

…an abomination. Even I admitted that, and I’m what you’d call a “Mad” scientist.

You see, as surface area increases geometrically, mass increases exponentially. So he lay there, 40 feet long, gasping for air, wheezing and doing little else, every moment agony. His life, though living hell, wouldn’t be long. I took some comfort in that

Sometimes I hate being a geneticist.

The colour was easy. A layer of bleach, then fire-engine red.

“Clifford!” my niece called out. She threw her arms around him joyously.

I felt horrible, but how can a man say no to a six year old?

Revenge

The best revenge, they say, is living well.

As you go to work, I’m breaking into your home. I intend to move your furniture into your roommates room, and his into yours. I will decorate your rooms such that it appears nothing has been changed.

I will move the furniture in your living room so it looks like the room was rotated 90 degrees clockwise.

I’ve already cleared this with your roommate, he’s going to behave as though your home has always been thus.

Living well may be the best revenge, but driving you mad will be a close second.

Raise the Dead

I’ve heard tell that you should leave the dead be. That if you raise them they don’t come all the way back, that something’s… off about them. Some important part of them missing.

But you’ve been gone three months and it hasn’t gotten any easier. I sleepwalk through my days, directionless where once I had purpose. You did so much for me, were such an important part of my life, and I don’t think I ever took the time to appreciate it properly.

So I’ll bring you back.

And however much of you returns, I’ll count it as a blessing.

Passion

People believe they understand passion. They don’t.

Passion consumes, enough that it should frighten you. It borders on dangerous obsession. Passion inspires actions you’d have thought beyond you, it awakens impulses within you that, to one who didn’t understand passion, seem profoundly disturbing.

Take you, for example. You don’t understand passion. Sitting there, three seats ahead of me on the bus downtown, as you do Monday to Friday, reading your Oprah book club novel, as you do whenever Oprah endorses a book. When you finish your page, you’ll lick your thumb before you turn it.

You don‘t understand.

You will.

Summoning

Months of preparation, but the rituals were ready. Offerings of blood poured down upon the sacred altar, and the portal to the great nether-beyond opened.

The high priest smiled. Power beyond comprehension was his for the taking. He only had to steel himself.

He stepped toward the portal, thinking himself ready.

He was incorrect.

Tentacles snaked out, ensnaring him. Before he could even scream, he was sucked into the portal, which closed behind him.

The coven stared at one another, wondering what they ought to do.

It was, apparently, true what they say.

Never summon anything bigger than you are.

As Good as it Gets

Is this really as good as it gets?

I asked myself this as I sat on the lawn chair in front of my home, after a day of work. The day was over now, and I had three days off coming up.

Languidly, I sipped the beer I just opened. Shards of ice hit my tongue as I drank.

I took a deep pull on the cigarette I had in my left hand.

From behind the building across the way from mine, the sun slowly started rising, painting the sky in red and gold.

Yes, I smiled, it truly is.

Execution

Dark, but not so dark you couldn’t see the crowd.

The shadow from the tree they‘d hung the noose from covered most of the condemned‘s face.

They led him to his execution, chanting.

This ends here.

This ends here.

This ends here.

The executioner, eyes shrouded beneath the brim of his hat, asked if he had any final words.

“I didn’t kill her,” he said, emotionlessly, “and if you hang me you’ll never know who did.”

They hung him. His left foot twitched, then nothing.

He was gone, and with him went his secret.

In time, the David Lynchmob dissipated.

Iceland

“Prime Minister Siguroardottir, the economic forecasts have been completed and I’m afraid that the news isn’t good.”

Johanna stood, her back to her trusted aide, staring blankly out the window at the cliffsides near her offices. She was drained, used up, and it seemed like the news, since the economic collapse, was always bad, and always getting worse.

Why? Why hadn’t her predecessor stopped their national banks taking part in mortgage-backed derivative trading? It’d never been anything more than a shell game, that much had been obvious for at least five years, to anyone who’d bothered to examine it closely. And when the market collapsed it’d left her beautiful nation on the brink of bankruptcy, and each day it seemed more likely it’d tip over that brink.

“What, Matthias?” She asked quietly, trying to keep her voice from, “For god’s sake what? What more could possibly be wrong?”

“Due to the IMFs demand that we raise our interest rates, growth has stagnated to the point of almost nothing. Unless we lower the rates, our economy will never recover properly.”

Johanna sighed deeply. “But if we lower them, we’ll lose our IMF aid, and we’ll be right back where we were in 2008. The currency flight will cause untold chaos.”

The aid nodded sorrowfully.

Johanna continued gazing out her window. She felt like she’d aged a decade in the very short time she’d been in office. She’d spent a lifetime doing her best to serve the people of her beloved homeland, only to find herself the head of state at the worst possible time, placed at the helm of the ship moments before it sailed off the abyss.

She’d done all she could to be strong, for such a long time. But she was exhausted, and feared she had nothing left to give. Something inside her snapped that day, and her sadness was replaced by righteous anger. If her country were to vanish into economic oblivion, then before it did she’d stab back at the world from hell’s very heart.

“Matthias?”

“Yes, Prime Minister Siguroardottir?”

“I believe that the time has come for us to do the unthinkable. Prepare the staff to travel to Eyjafjallajokull.”

“Madam Prime Minister, surely you can’t be thinking…”

“Yes, all options have been taken from us, all except lashing out blindly. I didn’t want to be the leader who used our great nations failsafe system, but the time truly has come. To Eyjafjallajokull, Matthias. We have a volcano to set off.”

Oh, and for today:

My story shant be appearing here, since i've been published in the excellent online mag Dark Recesses. I heartily recommend you read me there:

http://www.darkrecesses.com/?p=1926

...and while you're at it, cruise the site, it's a pretty cool collection of stories.

Musings on a Crime Fighting Cyborg

It took dozens of surgeries and billions in R&D, but finally, my crime fighting cyborg was ready to protect the people of this good city.

Automan, the Automated man, was beyond human. His reflexes finely honed, his strength incalculable. Bullets bounced off his titanium skinshell, and he could see in near-total darkness. He was the perfect crime fighting machine. He was designed to be.

Now he was complete, and that very night the police shone the Auto-symbol above the city skyline. It was time for the two of us to spring into action.

Quick, Munsi, he called, to the Automobile!

Alien Invasion

The sky darkened as the alien invasion force closed in. Their armada hovered above the cities of earth, shadowing their populations. It would’ve been terrifying…

…except…

…the armada looked ridiculous. Seriously, ridiculous. They were old-school, ‘50’s style flying saucers, something from an Ed Wood film. I couldn’t help grinning, it was so kitsch!

I’m told our ambassadors laughed out loud at the alien’s pulsating, green heads. Right in the middle of peace negotiations.

Perhaps had they not been laughed at, they wouldn’t be so angry. Ah well, too late now.

It’s less funny now that the bombs are raining down.

Tarot

I read my tarot, but all that would come up was death.

Death in tarot doesn’t mean actual death, merely change. Nonetheless, the effect of drawing it over and over was unnerving.

What did it mean? If change was my future, it would be unplanned.

I drew, again and again, trying for a different result.

Death.

Death.

Death.

Finally, going through the deck card by card, I saw that my roommate had replaced my tarot deck with one where every card was death.

Later, washing blood off my hands, I reflected that it was perhaps an apt draw after all.

Rocket Boots

For my birthday this year, I got Rocket Boots.

I’d been saying I wanted them since 2001. It is, in my opinion, officially the future, and Rocket Boots signify that to me. Fortunately, enough of my friends are engineers and, apparently, they’ve spent their free time designing and testing a prototype.

They won’t be available for public purchase for years, it takes forever for so dangerous a product to get to market. But they gave me the prototype pair.

It was an incredibly thoughtful gift.

Anyway, enjoy sitting in traffic, sucker, I’ll meet you at work.

I have to soar.

Terrorism

It’s remarkable who you can track down online. It actually took surprisingly little effort. A half hour of research, quick email and after a few weeks I had my contact.

The meet itself was a lot more tense. It wasn’t the sort of bar I normally went to and I didn’t feel perfectly safe. But when I handed the shadowy character my suitcase full of cash, and he gave me the product, I knew it was worth it.

And now I have it, three cases of weaponized Anthrax.

Now; off to Vancouver. I have a Justin Bieber concert to interrupt.

Recession-Proof

Whistling as I worked, I bound and gagged the young family and left them locked in their basement.

Upstairs, dousing their furniture in gasoline, I wondered who they were. But I didn’t wonder too hard, it wasn’t healthy in my line of work to ask many questions.

When the gascan was empty, I made my way out the back and, as I climbed into my waiting car, threw a lit book of matches behind me.

As the inferno faded into the distance behind I took time to reflect. Say what you will about contract killing, but the business was recession-proof.

Pest Control

After the third time I found my garden dug up I decided something had to be done.

So one spring morning, before the crack of dawn, I crept into my yard to see what it was eating my lettuce.

The sight was disgusting to say the least.

He crouched in my carrot patch, purple cargos hanging low, leather jacket covered in patches and chains, blue and red thread running through his dreadlocks.

His face ghastly pale, his lips and eyes jet black.

Quietly, I returned to the house to find my wife.

“Honey? We’ve got Juggalos. Fetch me the shotgun.”

Evolution

Returning from work today, I found my roommate hovering in midair in front of our building, a pair of butterfly wings sprouting from her back.

The wings were, I had to admit, beautiful. Gold and blue and orange, stretching out six feet to either side of her, they glistened in the evening light as she flitted to and fro.

I’ve evolved, she beamed, a chance mutation has caused me to become a more viable organism!

Evolution does not work that way, I told her evenly, which I think you know perfectly well.

And with that, she fell to the ground.

Starbucks

They’ve opened a Starbucks in my bedroom.

I’m not positive I gave Starbucks permission to open a store in my home, but they claim I did, and I make bad decisions when I drink, so who knows?

Now it’s here, where my closet was. Logo near my ceiling, countertop coffee makers, eerily perky coffee girl, always staring at me in a friendly but somewhat blank manner.

Lite jazz wakes me each day.

Frankly, I don’t see how it stays in business. I don‘t even like coffee.

But that’s not my problem. It’s not MY Starbucks, it’s just in my bedroom.

After the Last War

After the last war, we thought that was it for the species. But in reality it was quite the opposite.

Seeing the devastation wreaked made humanity realize how precious and fragile life was on this little blue rock. After the war concluded, all the people of earth agreed we’d never make war again.

Well, the two of us did. Me and Brian.

He’s in an abandoned military base in Australia. I’m in an underground bunker in British Columbia.

The point is, we’ve agreed not to make war on one another.

Not that we could, but still, better late than never…

Dessert

The first thing you’ll taste is the suffering of a thousand sinners*. Their screams unscreamed will pulse through your body, shaking you to the very core.

The flavour will sicken you, but you’ll find you cannot stop eating. In fact, the more you eat, the hungrier you’ll become.

Eventually, as you stuff yourself, you’ll starve. Your body will weaken and wither, leaving you skin and bones, barely enough strength left to continue raising spoon to mouth.

But you will continue.

Forever.

Starving, feeding, but eternally unsated.

Because there’s always room for HELL-O!

*also available in suffering of a thousand sinners/mango

Slow Ride

Won’t you take me to Funkytown?

No, seriously, won’t you? It’s on your way and I’m way too drunk to drive there myself.

Well, it’s not precisely on your way, but it’s not too far out of your way. Just take the highway to the danger zone, then turn off on the boulevard of broken dreams ‘til you get to alphabet street, then turn left. Drive ‘til you get to cyprus avenue, turn right, and head down to the dark end of the street. It’s an extra fifteen minutes, tops.

No? Fine. Thanks for nothing, I’ll find my own way.

Your Journey

You must travel to the bog of desolation. Take my sword with you, to fight the bog wraiths.

The center of the bog is the entranceway to the labyrinth. In front is a sphinx. Answer it’s riddle correctly, lest it devour you.

Once inside, find your way to the center of the caverns and fight the minotaur who stands guard over the exit. His skin is stone, my sword will not aid you. Fight him using wits and when he’s defeated exit the maze and arrive at your destination.

Order me a Keiths when you arrive. I’ll be by later.

the Dribblecast

seems a swack of folk on the drabblecast forums have put together a fancast because the writing on the board is too damn good for just one podcast. and on that, i tend to agree with them, there's some very fine work on there. ch-check it out!

http://dribblecast.posterous.com/

Springtime

I love spring, it’s my favourite season. Every year it reminds me how much beauty there is in the world.

I spend my winters indoors, in general, crouched behind a computer screen, avoiding the blistering cold. So when the snow finally melts, and I venture outside, it makes me so glad to be alive my heart aches.

I love every part of it, the smell of dew on the grass, watching the world turn green and vivid anew, the sound of birds twittering in the trees…

“Justin Bieber,” they tweet, and “#FollowFriday @ConanOBrien.”

Perhaps I’ve spent too much time online…

The Empire Hotel

The Empire Hotel was the last place I felt really happy.

We came here to stay when we spent weekends in the city. Before Mommy and Daddy started fighting. Before Daddy started not bringing Mommy and me when he went to the city. Back when we were a family.

So when I fell into the pool while Mommy was asleep, I came back here. I thought I’d be happy.

It’s okay, I guess. Nobody can see me or hear me, but I always got taught to stay out of peoples way anyway.

It’s peaceful here. Quiet.

I guess it’s okay.