Tagged: bird

The Exterior Staircase of the Prison

  • by Kentthrusting his feet out toward the edges
  • He urinated forever
  • the color of ocean spray
  • punched the yellow button
  • to have the knowledge but not the tools

Tune in next time part 396      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The exterior staircase of the prison was one of the most terrifying descents I’d ever made. The steps were steep and slippery, as well as flimsy. About every fifth or sixth tread was missing. But I had to move fast so I wouldn’t miss my chance to catch a ride.

A flotilla of megaswans was just coming abreast of the islet as I reached the bottom of those steps. They were as unsubtle as promised, as big and gaudy as parade floats but far more seaworthy. Spotting the first fishing boat in the megaswans’ wake, I jumped and waved my arms to get the operator’s attention.

The fisherman veered toward my position, steering by thrusting his feet out toward the edges of the catamaran’s structure. I was relieved that it had been so easy to obtain transportation, but immediately had to doubt my good luck as the fisherman opened his trousers and began relieving himself. He urinated forever, a prodigious stream the color of ocean spray. He was so intent on this activity that I wondered whether he’d even noticed me at all.

“I need a ride,” I called out. The man finally closed up his pants and looked in my direction.

He punched the yellow button attached to the mast, which caused a gangway to unfold across the rocks of the tidal zone he’d just finished contaminating. “Come on aboard, then,” he said.

Hurrying before he changed his mind, I said, “Thanks. I’m surprised you’re willing to pick up hitchhikers from the prison.”

“Normally I would not be.” He gave me a squinty look. “Where to, General?”

“Follow that zeppelin!” I pointed into the sky, but Jim’s stolen airship of course was nowhere in sight. The fisherman cast off anyway, and I wished I knew if we were heading the right way. So often I’m doomed to have the knowledge but not the tools to act on it, but here I was with the opposite problem. I had a speedy boat, but no idea where it should take me.

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The Frenchman Wasn’t Done Hurling Insults

  • by jenleave his victim with a peck on the cheek
  • well isn’t he resplendent
  • manacled together in front of him
  • before I take your blindfold off
  • Namaste, shitheads

Tune in next time part 379      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The Frenchman wasn’t done hurling insults. “How is a Contrarian warlord like a chicken? He will leave his victim with a peck on the cheek!”

I rolled off the table, squashing numerous grapes and sending many of the observer birds squawking and flapping. The joke was an old one, and quite inaccurate. In my experience you didn’t want to fuck with a Contrarian.

Fleur leapt from the table onto the retreating clown’s back. She had a curved Contrarian fruit knife between her teeth. I scrambled into the pants of my new general’s uniform and charged to help her subdue him. Harry took one look at me and halted his own advance. He sneered, “Well isn’t he resplendent in half a uniform.”

Isolde laid a placating hand on his arm.

He went on, “In my day, a general wouldn’t dream of appearing for battle shirtless.”

In short order, Fleur and I had subdued the clown-spy. He laid on the floor in his sequined jumpsuit, blindfolded, with his hands and feet all manacled together in front of him with the tasseled sashes from the curtains.

Fleur languidly dressed herself as she spoke to the prisoner. “You will be safely ensconced in a prison cell before I take your blindfold off, so that you will have no way of knowing where exactly you are.” She turned to her brother-in-law. “And Harry, you will be joining him if you don’t get your pettiness under control.”

“I will not stay here and be abused like this.” Harry roared, his froggy face bloating. “Come on Isolde, we’re leaving. Namaste, shitheads!”

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In the Zeppelin’s Toolbox

  • by jenpopular amongst the citizens
  • those fearless travelers and explorers
  • Oh, here’s a winner
  • visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter
  • still in the buckled position

Tune in next time part 343      Click Here for Earlier Installments

In the zeppelin’s toolbox I found an enormous roll of duct tape in the silvery color most popular amongst the citizens of the world. I took it and exited the gondola through the service door at the rear that let me into a mechanical room. The gauges on the auxiliary gas supply showed that I didn’t have a lot of time to fuck around.

I climbed a ladder through a hatch in the ceiling, into the envelope. There were actually three seagulls in there with me, roosting contentedly on the roof of the gondola. I studied the zeppelin’s hide until I located all three of their entry points, ragged holes where daylight streamed in.

I tucked the flapping gulls into the jacket of my morning suit and began to climb the zeppelin’s framework. When I reached the first hole, I slapped several layers of duct tape over it. I repeated the process at the second hole. I had to traverse the entire inside of the envelope to reach the last hole, swinging from truss to truss like a contestant on Ninja Warrior. Finally I reached the last hole, the largest of the three. I reached into my jacket and shoved each struggling bird one by one out through the hole, then tore off yards of duct tape to close them out and keep the buoyant gasses in.

I felt like those fearless travelers and explorers you read about in the history books. I had saved the day! As I made my way back to the mechanical room I could picture the looks of adoration I would receive from my wife and her sister, the admiration I would get from Jim. I could imagine Fleur saying, “Oh, here’s a winner! A hero, a visionary, fantasist, poet, and painter!”

When I reentered the gondola, I was quite sweaty and covered with feathers. Fleur and Isolde were still bickering, and Jim was at the controls, still in the buckled position in the copilot’s seat, bouncing the infants in his arms. My heroics went unheralded.

I still did not entirely trust Jim. Nor the warlord’s daughters, when it came right down to it. I eyed the roll of duct tape in my hands, wondering if I should seize the moment to finally get some answers.

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“You’ve Forgotten the Man You Married Just One Day Ago?”

  • by jenI got my eye on you
  • two urchins upon their knees
  • all the stains matched
  • also many gulls
  • their hideous noise increased

Tune in next time part 337      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“You’ve forgotten the man you married just one day ago?” I asked Isolde. “I am shocked by proxy.” I unbuttoned my jacket and handed my daughter to Fleur.

Fleur flashed a devilish smile. “Perhaps I should make you Harry’s proxy again, and while you’re tending to Isolde I can make Jim your proxy.”

“But you’ve just given birth!” Isolde cried, holding up my son as proof. “You can’t make proper use of him!”

“I got my eye on you,” I said, pointing at Jim. Turning back to Fleur and her sister I said, “He’s married to UnderDuchess Esmerelda of Svenborgia, you know. Probably in league with that dick Arlo.”

“At least you know I’m not hiding a jetpack,” Jim drawled, flexing his naked torso.

“A Svenborgian by marriage?” Fleur said. “Show me your papers.”

Jim hooked a finger into the pocket of his tight jeans and pulled out his diplomatic credentials. It featured the Svenborgian crest, an etching of the country’s first king and queen at a nude beach, sitting crosslegged on either side of a sandcastle, the two urchins upon their knees a spiky warning of Svenborgia’s maritime prowess. Most countries use intricate stamps and raised seals on their official documents, but Svenborgia prefers smudges made from a rare green coffee that is grown and brewed exclusively along the Svenborgian coast. Looking at Jim’s passport, all the stains matched the expected color, but the only way to be sure was to taste them. Fleur’s delicate tongue emerged from her mouth and flicked quickly across the uppermost green smear.

“It’s authentic,” she declared. “Yum. I’ve always loved that flavor.” As an aside to Isolde she said, “The viscount always let me lick his whenever we were together.”

I’d heard rumors that Svenborgia’s green coffee had hallucinogenic properties, which might explain what my wife saw in Arlo.

As the sisters continued their study of my brother’s credentials, I decided that someone needed to fly the zeppelin. I looked through the window and discovered that we were surrounded by seabirds. There were terns and albatrosses, and also many gulls. Many, many gulls. Soon their hideous noise increased so that their cries could be heard inside the gondola.

“Where exactly are we headed?” I asked Fleur.

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I Have Always Been a Man

  • by jenmistrusted his own senses more
  • What kind of candy was it?
  • I hope they jammed their fingers into him
  • “The Devil’s at the bottom of it, I’m sure.”
  • My arse is killing me.

Tune in next time part 221                           Click Here for Earlier Installments

I have always been a man who mistrusted his own senses more than most people do, largely due to all the mind games and psychedelics my parents employed in my upbringing, but I was sure that there was a candy bar strapped to the leg of Gordon the goose. What kind of candy was it? It was vitally important that I find out. It was likely the key to everything. If Esmerelda had resorted to something as dusty and disused as the washerwoman’s code, it only made sense that the confectioner’s code was also in play.

As the gander continued to rub against Isaac’s pants, I crouched and deftly unstrapped the candy bar from his scaly leg. The wrapper was unfamiliar, but the lettering looked Tibetan. Whoever sent this message, I hope they jammed their fingers into Himalayan mittens before frostbite set in.

Isaac peered at the exotic candy in my hand, her eyes wide. “The Devil’s at the bottom of it, I’m sure.”

“The Devil” is what a lot of people called my father.

Gordon didn’t like being ignored. With a loud honk he nipped Isaac. She yelped and scolded the bird, then stood rubbing her rump. “We need to get out of here, find a place to stow Gordon. My arse is killing me. You’ll need to check it for me to make sure he didn’t break the skin.”

While the thought of examining Isaac’s arse would normally have been quite intriguing, I was currently much more concerned about the chocolate bar in my hand. I remembered John’s childhood spent in the Tibetan monastery. If the message really had been sent by my father, things were very dire indeed.

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The Whispering Waiter Withdrew

  • by jenfour kinds of bird: chicken, turkey, ostrich, and goose
  • “I’m going to tell you something, honey.”
  • very enchanting conversational powers
  • “Ooo boy!”
  • a sleek little black bra

Tune in next time part 129                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The whispering waiter withdrew. The name he’d given was a familiar one because it was not his. It was instead one of the standard aliases used by the agency. If I had a dollar for every “Graham Crackers” I had met in the course of my career, I’d be able to buy four kinds of bird: chicken, turkey, ostrich, and goose.

I nibbled my smore politely and listened to the gossiping of the arms merchants. Inside my jacket, Tallulah began squeezing again. Her message this time was, “I’m going to tell you something, honey.” She may be the most dangerous woman in the world, but she has very enchanting conversational powers when she’s hidden inside ones clothes, and what she told me — well, honey, I’ll just say that it sent me straight back to the restroom.

“Ooo boy!” she cooed as soon as we were alone again. She quickly stripped the both of us.

It took her a while. Underneath the old man costume she’d had the Svetlana getup, and beneath that was the Tessa disguise. Now she wore only her Tallulah uniform, which consisted of a sleek little black bra and nothing else.

“Lock the door,” she ordered. “We can’t risk my husband walking in on us. Or your wife. Or Graham Crackers.”

She clambered aboard and got down to business before I could tell her the door had no lock.

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Once He Was Barefoot

  • by jenand then await instructions
  • crowned by telephone wires
  • “Sure you gonna go home, Johnny! I know you are.”
  • doctors weren’t able to analyze the semen samples
  • and tell them to be punctual

Tune in next time part 68                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Once he was barefoot, the enigmatic stranger fished a sheet of paper out of his right moccasin and handed it to me. It was damp with foot-sweat. From the left he fished another note, which he tucked between Svetlana’s lips, making her wrinkle her nose.

“Go to these coordinates once you’ve decoded them, and then await instructions,” the man said as he slipped his feet back into their buckskin sheaths. While he was doubled over I noticed that his head was crowned by telephone wires and the feathers I spotted earlier were actually live birds tethered there.

“I’d rather go home than to your mysterious coordinates, dude,” I said.

“Sure you gonna go home, Johnny! I know you are.” His tone was mocking.

Why did he think I was John? Was it because I was in the company of Svetlana? She was trying to spit the notepaper out of her mouth, presumably to tell this man I was not her brother, but the paper stuck to her lips and tongue, and everything she said was muffled into indistinguishability.

“Things are heating up,” the man said, straightening, and ignoring Svetlana’s sputterings. “Our doctors weren’t able to analyze the semen samples because they were all contaminated with monkey semen.” He smiled briefly. “The samples were contaminated, not the doctors. Anyway, we need to collect fresh samples from everyone, so go to those coordinates, call your team, and tell them to be punctual. We can’t afford another screw-up.” He shook my hand, gave Svetlana a nod, and sprinted down the alley to a waiting limousine.

Svetlana finally spat her paper gag onto the ground and yelled, “This isn’t John!” at the receding black car.

I scooped up her soggy note and stuck it in my pocket along with my own.

“Now, what’s all this about semen?” I asked.

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The Floodgates Were Opened

  • k-avatarIt never ended.
  • were opened three times a day
  • indistinguishable from the rustling of a tree
  • Limping up to the altar
  • graveyards for machines

The floodgates were opened three times a day, to manage the pressure. Beatitude manifested spontaneously in the cold stone building. It never ended. And if it wasn’t bled off on a regular schedule, the strain would become too much for the ornate stained-glass windows to handle.

No one could go inside, of course.  Too intense. Just being within a two-block radius at any of the thrice-daily ventings of surplus divine grace tended to overload most people’s sensibilities. No one lived that close to the cathedral anymore. Respectable businesses couldn’t operate in the hot zone, so the textile district had shifted north, abandoning the old work floors to be graveyards for machines.

I camped under a disused loom in one of the old mills, just yards from one of the huge double doorways that served as relief valves. After two days I felt accustomed to the bizarre climate of the zone, like a mountaineer adjusting to thinner air. But already my skin was raw and my mind was growing brittle. I had to make my move.

I knew the floodgate schedule well, so I was ready when the doors gave forth their gust of rose-scented golden light. I was off to one side, and dashed inside the building after the radiance had diminished, seconds before the doors boomed shut again.

The bird roosted on the pulpit. I couldn’t look directly at it, the glow from its plumage was too dazzling. The pressure was building fast, but I knew that right now it was as low as it ever got. Limping up to the altar, I shut my eyes and groped toward the shining creature. I only needed one feather.

The bird spread its huge wings with a sound indistinguishable from the rustling of a tree. I kept my eyes closed tight and leaned forward until I feared I would lose my balance. I strained to reach the shimmering avian beast.

I only needed one feather.

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Ripples Would Betray Him

  1. k-avatarCharacter – ninja, just one week from retirement
  2. Setting – penguin enclosure
  3. Object – snorkel
  4. Situation – revenge

Ripples would betray him, so there were no ripples.

Shivering would reveal his lack of adaptation to this environment, so there was no shivering.

Oddly, the snorkel didn’t seem to pose a problem.

Swimming among the penguins behind the glass, Jin sought to merge with their graceful motion the way his black garb helped him blend with their distinctive coloration. Swimming, he watched the crowd on the other side of the glass. Watched for them to note something amiss, watched for them to discover that one of the penguins was actually a ninja. Hoped they wouldn’t realize that, in fact, two of them were.

Na must be in here somewhere, too. The one who had dishonored the guild and deflowered Jin’s betrothed. He could only be hiding among the penguins, because Jin knew he wasn’t in any of the other traditional ninja hideouts.

Time was of the essence. Jin and Na were both only a week from retirement, and union rules were very strict about seeking vengeance once a shadow warrior started drawing a pension. But Jin knew he was close, that he need only be patient a little longer.

The time would soon be right. The place was certainly right.

Revenge, after all, was best served cold.

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Everything About Felicity Was All Brown

  • by jenrolled her beautiful eyes
  • like some patient livery cob
  • suddenly declared unlawful
  • no other password
  • the beautiful dog’s friendly attention
  • as plainly as the geese
  • causing an obstruction in the shaft
  • interposed his elegantly marked body
  • in the crepuscular twilight
  • WOW! Is she dragging!
  • such petty jealousies
  • all brown, brown eyes, brown hair

Everything about Felicity was all brown, brown eyes, brown hair, brown tobacco-stained teeth. She wore a brown velour jumpsuit and brown leather boots. Erasmus thought she dressed that way to hide her beauty from the eyes of men, to prevent such petty jealousies as she must have experienced in school when she no doubt turned the heads of her friends’ swains. It was for very similar reasons that Erasmus had covered his body with detailed black tattoos. Such subterfuge did not fool Erasmus, who saw her sensual attractiveness as plainly as the geese flying overhead and honking in the crepuscular twilight saw the small pond in the woods as their pit stop for the night.

“Why must those horrid sentries be causing an obstruction in the shaft?” wailed Felicity.

WOW! Is she dragging! thought Erasmus. Felicity was usually stoic in the face of such disappointment. She must be completely exhausted to break down like that. They knew when they signed up for the Amazing Race that there would be frustrations, but nothing had prepared them for this task, in which they were required to navigate their way through a disused emerald mine in Myanmar. Much to their chagrin, the team had just found themselves back at the entrance and had gone outside for some fresh air and to pet the large black dog that was chained there.

“Are you certain you know no other password?” Erasmus asked.

Felicity rolled her beautiful eyes like some patient livery cob who had lost all patience upon learning that horses had been suddenly declared unlawful.

“If I knew another password,” she grumbled, “don’t you think I would have mentioned it?”

Her despair drew the beautiful dog’s friendly attention, and it demanded to be petted. Erasmus felt a flair of jealousy and interposed his elegantly marked body between Felicity and the animal.

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