Tagged: shark

In The Past, You Know

  • by Kent“In the past, you know,
  • arrived at the unwelcome conclusion
  • She’s a lyin’-ass bitch.
  • might well have been considered winged sharks
  • couldn’t believe anyone would want to

Tune in next time part 350      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“In the past, you know, aerial combat was among the courtly arts taught in Contrarian finishing schools.” Fleur’s voice carried to me as she ascended to her gunner’s seat and I clambered down to mine. When I reached my perch I also arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that the harpoon gun I was about to employ hadn’t been maintained properly.

“Isolde assured me, before we departed from the carrier, that the zeppelin’s weaponry was in top condition.”

I didn’t bother shouting a reply to Fleur, but if I had it would have been, “She’s a lyin’-ass bitch.” The sights were crooked, the trigger felt like someone had used it as a place to hold chewing gum, and the gun wasn’t loaded. The harpoon rolled around in the gunnery compartment, flung this way and that by Jim’s desperate flight path.

Jim was buying us time, but it seemed to be at the expense of altitude. I hoped the topside gun was in better condition, because our adversary wasn’t likely to present itself to me down here. We were skimming the whitecaps.

Grabbing the harpoon before it impaled me, I worked on getting it loaded. Suddenly we veered so hard to starboard that the force of the turn tipped our vessel sideways. Thus my seat became the perfect vantage to observe as a school of ferocious looking flying fish — they might well have been considered winged sharks, only bigger — burst forth from the ocean. They were the reason Jim heeled us over so drastically. The huge creatures arced over us and sank their serrated teeth into the not-so-armored envelope of the Pentagonal faction’s airship.

And then we yawed back to level flight, and I could see only spume. For those few seconds, that cramped keel-mounted gunner’s nest was the best place to obtain a view of such a singular spectacle, but having gone through it I couldn’t believe anyone would want to.

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As I Watched My Former Lover Face Near-Certain Death

  • by jenmazes of winding passageways
  • a bit of low-level xenophobia, right?
  • seizing the black bottle
  • the Lyudmila who was not his sister
  • her mother bought it in Germany

Tune In Next Time Part 21                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

As I watched my former lover face near-certain death by shark attack, I turned the metal box over in my hands. Tessa alone knew the combination. Should I save her? Offer to share the treasure with her in exchange for her help? Demand the digits as the price for her life, keeping the box’s contents for myself?

The fins sliced through the waves, stalking her. It reminded me of when I first met her, years ago at a party. She strode in wearing nothing but a sharkskin minidress. I found out later her mother bought it in Germany. I was drawn to her immediately, and asked her to dance. That’s when John strode in with a couple of girls, both named Lyudmila. He kissed the Lyudmila who was not his sister, and then noticed me dancing with the delectable Tessa. He discarded Lyudmila rather rudely and tried to cut between me and Tessa, but she turned her back on him, seizing the black bottle of our host’s inky homebrew liquor in one hand and me in the other.

To John and his shabby treatment of his Russian date she said, “Nothing like a bit of low-level xenophobia, right?”

Before he could even formulate a reply she dragged me out of the party and through mazes of winding passageways to her own apartment where we spent the rest of the night downing the bitter black alcohol and screwing.

Could I let a girl like that be eaten by sharks? I could not.

 

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A Second Woman in Chef’s Whites

  • by jen“Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered.
  • my angry heart
  • the fire is slowly dying
  • vital, sunburnt, carefree
  • where social graces are never needed

Tune In Next Time Part 20                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

A second woman in chef’s whites approached the craft services table. The first woman elbowed her and pointed at the vital, sunburnt, carefree Tyler as he cavorted around the beach naked. “Look, Esmerelda!” she whispered. A movie set seems to be a place where social graces are never needed.

While the two of them ogled the actor, I cast my eyes back out to the zodiac bobbing in the waves near the pier. Tessa had double crossed me so many times in the past 24 hours I wasn’t sure I could ever trust her again. The woman was maddening, and for years I carried an inferno of passion for her in my angry heart.

“She’s cast her lot with John now,” I said to myself, “and in my heart the fire is slowly dying.”

I shook the metal box, hoping to divine its contents, but the sloshing rattle gave me nothing to go on. I stared at the lock, remembering that Tessa alone knew the combination.

Out on the sea, the ominous fins were circling ever closer to the zodiac and its lone passenger.

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While Tessa Laughed

  • k-avatar— those Unicorn things you know, without horns —
  • at the sight of the nude young man
  • Because it’s the latter.
  • coquelicot malice in his face
  • very nervous about his voice being taped

Tune In Next Time Part 19                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

While Tessa laughed like a warped violin played by a demented jackrabbit and John checked the regulator on his diving suit, I started paddling toward shore, careful to keep the box out of sight beneath the surface of the water. The sharks might get me, but John and Tessa damn well weren’t getting the treasure. If the chum-vortex that attracted the sharks in the first place kept them distracted, I would be ashore and long gone before my former partner and my former paramour found the empty hole on the seabed. When the sandy bottom came up to meet my exhausted strokes, I knew my troubles were all behind me.

“Cut!” a shrill voice bellowed. I looked up from where I had crawled onto the beach and discovered a film crew in front of me. I stifled a laugh at the sight of the nude young man jogging in place. The director stormed down on me, coquelicot malice in his face and a piece of driftwood in his hand. I stood, tucking the metal box under my arm and scowling to match the director’s vicious mood.

“What are you doing here!” he screamed. “Can’t you see we’re filming! Beach closed!”

“I’m here to inspect the set,” I improvised. “Your permits better all be in proper order, too!”

The director dropped his driftwood club. “Oh, of course. It’ll only take a moment. Help yourself to some hot coffee.” And he scurried off.

I glanced back out over the water to see Tessa alone in the zodiac, eyeing the circling fins uneasily. I tried not to laugh, in case the film crew started doubting my story. Never wonder if it’s a good or bad idea to laugh out loud among your enemies. Because it’s the latter.

At the craft services table, I got a hot beverage. The nude young man jogged up to me and said, “In my scene, in the finished movie, I’ll be riding animals — those Unicorn things you know, without horns — but it’s all digital. So I have to move like I’m riding.” His eyes fell on the corroded metal box I still carried. “You’re not recording this are you?” And he ran away.

The caterer shrugged. After I stared openmouthed for a few seconds, she said, “Tyler’s going to do fine in this business. He’s very nervous about his voice being taped, but he’s okay going full-frontal.”

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My Time in the Sewer

  • by jenyou are a murderess or something
  • “Rouse yourself, my dear girl.”
  • I’m afraid that our hunt’s over
  • cudgeling his brain for some pretext
  • captured by a group of angry citizens

Tune In Next Time Part 18                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My time in the sewer does not bear speaking of. Suffice it to say that I made my way through the filthy pipe all the way to its outlet into the sea. I then spent a few minutes scrubbing myself clean with saltwater. Or as clean as one can get that close to raw sewage.

As luck would have it, my flume ride of effluent deposited me only a mile down the beach from the pier I’d been trying to reach anyway. I swam along parallel to the shore, dragging the submersible digging machine along. I arrived at the pier as the sun peeked over the horizon. I’d have to work fast if I wanted to claim my prize without being captured by a group of angry citizens.

The roar of an outboard motor cut through the crashing of the waves and there they were, John and Tessa, in a new zodiac, closing in on the pier. The engine cut out and I heard John say, “Rouse yourself, my dear girl.”

Tessa stretched and yawned as she sat up. With their attention on the pilings and the waves, neither had noticed me yet. I had one chance.

I took a huge breath and dove down to the bottom, the weight of the digging machine making my descent dangerously fast. I embedded its nose into the sandy bottom in the spot where I thought the treasure was most likely to be buried, and turned it on.

Sand and seashells and little bits of pulverized fish flew up in a gory tornado behind the machine, chumming the water and cutting visibility to zero. My lungs ached for air like a man cudgeling his brain for some pretext to explain away his Ashley Madison account.

The light on my underwater digging machine turned from green to red, the signal that it had found something. I shoved it aside and stuck my hands down into the hole it had made. They closed around a metal box. I yanked it free from the seabed and kicked for the surface.

When my head broke through to the air, I took a very noisy breath. Tessa, mere yards away, spotted me immediately and said to John, “I’m afraid that our hunt’s over.” Looking back at me she said, “Is this close enough to the East River for you, you bastard? You should know by now that I’m nobody’s poodle.”

“No Tessa, you’re no poodle. You are a murderess, or something even worse.”

I stared her down as I treaded water, holding the metal box just below the surface of the rolling waves. And then I spotted the dorsal fins. Sharks, attracted, no doubt, by the fresh fish smoothie my digging machine had blended up.

Damn.

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The Ballroom Was Poorly Lit

  • k-avatarprobably view it as an escape
  • — and full of sharks
  • a beacon of common sense
  • Stop laughing like that, you monster!
  • get his diploma by hook or by crook
  • the four dissenting board members
  • kill the joy of anticipation

The ballroom was poorly lit — and full of sharks — so the ceremony was taking place in the courtyard. Neville swore he’d get his diploma by hook or by crook, and tonight it looked like he would be proved right, over the protests of the four dissenting board members who said his senior project — flying sharks — was unethical and hazardous.

The school superintendent, usually a beacon of common sense, spoke on Neville’s behalf and swayed the remaining officials to share a lenient judgement regarding indiscretions of youth and marine biology.

Most seniors were excited about graduation, would probably view it as an escape, but Neville’s feelings were mixed. Sure, the awarding of the diploma vindicated his years of proclaiming that it would one day be his, but in truth he really loved being a student at this school. His shark-themed project had been meant to sabotage his chances for another year, and then Superintendent Troubaillo had to interfere, had to kill the joy of anticipation of buying a new backpack and pencil case at the end of summer. Could Neville entice him into the ballroom? No, the man was far too clever for that.

“Congratulations on your big night, Neville,” came the superintendent’s oily voice.

Neville turned. “The night is young. It might yet prove bigger than either one of us knows.”

“Don’t spoil it for the children. It’s weird enough they’re sharing the stage with a 35-year-old man.”

Neville sneered. “Spoil it? I aim to make it unforgettable! You see, Superintendent, you forgot about my senior project from last year, which has been growing on the pergola above you ever since.”

Thorny vines ensnared Troubaillo and dragged him aloft. As he vanished among the leaves he said, “Stop laughing like that, you monster!”

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