Catsignal is taking its usual holiday hiatus. We’ll be back the week of January 6, 2013. In the meanwhile, check out the archives. There are both Christmas and New Year’s stories here, in addition to everything else.
Month: December 2012
#quikfic 32
“I’m going to get a new camera,” Ty said. In the next room, a frisson of horror shot through his faithful Canon, and it shuttered.
Quotable 132
Everybody can write; writers can’t do anything else.
– Mignon McLaughlin
haiku 244
Newtown –
Rachel still weeps
for her children
#quikfic 31
My gasoline bomb hit the big snake on the altar of the ruined church. Fire for the devil. I turned. The devil always has friends.
Fiction: Gunsmoke in Mesa View Gulch
The lean, scruffy outlaw had plenty of space at the bar, and the conversations swirling around him in the saloon carefully omitted any reference to him.
He heard a feminine voice behind him, and the voice was saying his name: “Barker Krebs.” He swiveled on his barstool and caught a small fist with his nose. He bellowed briefly and began bleeding into his bushy moustache. He stared hatefully in the direction from which the offending hand had come.
There he saw a woman. She was built along the lines an Amazon if the designer had been instructed to bring the project in under budget. That made her five feet tall, counting the boots and hat.
“Barker Krebs,” she said, “you killed my daddy, burned our home…”
“I’ve never seen you before, girl!”
“And had unnatural relations with what would have been a prize-winning watermelon.”
Krebs’s eyes went wide, and he brought his hand down from his bleeding nostrils. “Sarah Jane Buonarroti. I thought…”
Quotable 131
Everything that needs to be said has already been said. But since no one was listening, everything must be said again.
– André Gide
haiku 243
everywhere
the familiar faces
of strangers
#quikfic 30
When I said I’d walk a thousand miles for you, I didn’t think there’d be so many bridges. You know I hate bridges. I’ll miss you.
Fiction: The Neighbor’s Pet
Viola stood on her back porch and watched her children play on the swing set. She turned her head to the left and looked into Mr. Frappingham’s yard. There, as always, was Rufus. The heavy log chain kept him securely fastened to his house.
Rufus was straining at the end of the chain and doing his best to watch the children play; he could mostly see around an oak tree. Frappingham had given his permission for the kids to visit Rufus occasionally, but the animal needed more attention than he was getting.
Frappingham himself probably did, too, but Viola considered that his problem. The old man could take care of himself; Rufus relied on the kindness and care of humans.
“Bobby!”
“What, Mom?”
“Get the leash from the closet and go ask Mr. Frappingham if you and Teresa can take Rufus to the park.”
“Okay!” The children ran past her to get the long leash. Soon, they were pounding on Mr. Frappingham’s back door.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure Rufus would enjoy that,” he said. “Go right ahead.” He looked over and waved cheerily at Viola. She waved back, but only to keep the neglectful old fart in a friendly frame of mind.
Bobby hooked the leash to Rufus’s collar and then unhooked the big chain. Rufus began to dance around the children and he almost took flight as they walked the two blocks to the park.
Viola remained outside until she did see Rufus sailing happily over the trees and doing the occasional loop.
She went inside, muttering to herself. “If you’re not going to take proper care of a dragon, you just shouldn’t get one.”