Sorry

•June 9, 2010 • 1 Comment

I am sorry about the state of this blog. Currently all of my creative energy is being poured into a novel for young adults. It’s starting to come along very nicely, but I can’t tell you anything yet.

Once I feel I have time to focus on other things I’ll be back on the WAG, Fridayflash and Tuesday Serial.

Catch you all later.

FridayFlash, A Meeting in the Dark

•May 14, 2010 • 4 Comments

I forgot to set the genre in the #ff collector. Before you go on, know that this is zombie related and horrible. You have been warned.

A Meeting in the Dark

There wasn’t a lot of space in the closet, and it was dark. It was filled with junk, whatever you touched awoke the dust devils and they came whirling at your face. David assumed this was some old and forgotten room in Mercy Hospital. No one had been in here for years, except maybe, to throw in some more useless junk. They had been lucky the door hadn’t been locked, because if it had been, they would be cannibal grub by now.

“Jesus fuck” Susan said. Her voice was pure panic in the dark. She was blonde and that was all David remembered about her. He had been focusing on other things when they had met a few minutes ago. Like running from Mr. Williams. That old geezer had goddamn nearly bitten his cheek off. David could feel blood oozing out of his bite wound and drip down onto his doctor’s whites.

“I wish he would stop that” Susan continued. Mr. Williams was relentless. He just would not stop punching the closet door. David could tell that the frantic pace of the beating was driving Susan mad. It was all over her voice. “I mean he has to stop, get tired” she said. “He looked like he was a hundred years old.”

David could hear Susan’s heavy breathing in the dark. He imagined her spiraling down towards madness, he had to do something, talk to her.

“He is seventy-two years old, and his name is Richard Williams” was all David could say, he must be going into chock. It would only be the decent thing to do. And talking fucking hurt when you were missing a chunk of your cheek.

“Oh Jesus man, don’t tell me his name. I don’t wanna know him, there was blood all over his face” Susan replied. Her voice was getting muffled and hard to hear. She must be pumping adrenalin like a race-horse David thought. He wished that he could do something.

“Sorry” he said. “The blood is mostly mine, I think.” David cursed himself under his tongue, why the hell did he say that? It wasn’t helping a bit. He was forgetting all about bedside manner. He wasn’t doing a very good job of helping this young woman. Maybe he had lost his mind. He could pinpoint the exact second when it most probably had happened. It had been when Mr. Williams, which he had just pronounced dead, had sat bolt upright in his death-bed and taken a good clean bite right out of his face. That had been impossible, so was a seventy-two year old corpse ceaselessly banging on the closet door.

“He bit me in the face” David said. Yeah he was defiantly loosing it. Susan had said it alright, Jesus fuck.

“My husband is on this floor” Susan said after a few moments. “I was just on my way to see him when I met you. His name is Marcus, he has cancer. It’s pretty bad” she sighed. “I hope he is okay.”

“Marcus Bradly?” David asked.

“Yeah that’s my hubby” Susan said flatly.

“I’m sure he is fine Dr. Goldberg is very good” David said.

“Yes, Marcus likes him tremendously” Susan replied. “You got a wife?” she asked.

“Divorced” David said. In his ears the word sounded like a death sentence. He stilled loved Allie very much. “Six months now” he said.

“Oh that’s too bad” Susan replied. None of them spoke for a while. They just sat in the dark listening to deceased old Mr. Williams banging his fists to mash against the closet door.

© Isaac Liljedahl

WAG, Future

•May 11, 2010 • 10 Comments

This is my second blog post today. Don’t forget to scroll down and check out Space Blues,  part three.

“WAG #21: Message in a Bottle” It’s part of human nature that we sometimes wish we could communicate with our younger selves, our unreasonable selves, our subconscious selves, our self-destructive selves, our more innocent selves, or any number of other us-es that we all seem to have within. In this week’s WAG, consider the way we talk to ourselves, the tapes we play inside our heads, and write a piece: fiction or non-fiction, about yourself, a character, or someone else. As usual no limits and no rules. One-two-three Write!

You can find the full list of WAGs over at http://www.indiadrummond.com/

Future

Being able to glimpse the future wasn’t always a good thing. In fact, most of the time it was terrible. Jake had learned this the hard way. He had been cursed with the ability to watch the future play like a video in his head. Jake was also a savant, everything he ever saw stuck in his mind like photographs.

The first time he had glimpsed the future he had just been a toddler learning to walk. In his mind he had seen his daddy get hit by a car. Blood had pooled in the street and his daddy had died. But Jake couldn’t express this to his parents. Two weeks later, it had happened. Jake had cried a lot as a child.

At first he was only able to see a limited future, a week or two ahead in time, always something directly connected to himself. But as he grew his ability gained strength. He could eventually see several decades into the future, and he could see other people’s future. People he didn’t even know.

Jake had spent his entire life travelling around the world. On his bedroom walls hung diplomas and newspaper cutouts. Each one told its own story of heroism. Jake had always been the right man at the right place. He had saved them, all but one.

Now he was an old man. Too tired and spent, it was time to go on. He laid down on his bed and wept for his daddy, slowly drifting into the unending sleep. For thirty years he had been waiting for this final moment.

© Isaac Liljedahl

Space Blues, Part Three

•May 11, 2010 • 2 Comments

Mars was a bad place. The syndicates had gained a firm grip over the cities at an early stage in the colonization. Now the planet was controlled by men standing in the shadows playing with their corrupt puppets. Because of this things happened on Mars, both bad and great.

“I need to see a man” Ace said as the ship drifted towards the dock of Mars City. “When do we meet your contact?”

“In two days” Garret said. “Do you need me to come with you?”

“This is something I have to do alone.” Outside they could see the red city stretch out in an infinity of skyscrapers, and in the middle was a huge triangular building, the Black Pyramid. It was a giant looking down on the city, watching and controlling.

“Look, trees” Garret pointed at a plaza close to the docks. “I can’t believe they got that environment management center to work. They are even dismantling the dome.”

Ace sighed and shock his head. He took a nibble out of his sandwich, the bread was stale and smelled faintly of mildew.

“They are creating another Earth, it’s amazing” Garret said.

“I wonder how this one is going to end” Ace replied.

“Hey, you don’t always have to be so gloom Ace. Lighten up a bit, and eat your damned breakfast. You look a shade grayer every time I see you.” Garret said. He was worried. The last few months Ace had been acting strange. Something had happened to his friend, and Garret hated not knowing what. “How can I help you if you never talk to me? Tell me where you are going, let me come along.”

“I’m sorry Garret but I don’t need your help” Ace said.

“So that’s how it is?” Garret felt anger surge through him. All of a sudden he was hot, blood pumping with rage. “If that’s that then you can just get your sorry ass out of here right now.”

“Yeah, okay” Ace said. He got up from his seat and walked away.

For a long moment Garret sat there, staring at Ace’s unfinished sandwich.

© Isaac Liljedahl

Space Blues, Part Two

•May 4, 2010 • 5 Comments

Here is the second part in my sci-fi serial, Space Blues. I hope you will enjoy it.

If you missed the prelude to Space Blues, you can find it here https://heartigan.wordpress.com/2010/04/29/fridayflash-space-blues/

Space Blues, Part Two

Ace walked through the empty corridors of the Earth Satellite. His boots clicked against the mesh walkways. He had to leave. Security on the satellite was lax, but Ace knew better than to stick around. As he made his way towards the shuttle-bay he thought about her.

He didn’t really miss her, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He didn’t really care that Dave had killed her. In a way it felt right. He guessed she had it coming, the way she had screwed over Dave when everything changed.

Ace punched the code to the shuttle door and it slid open with a hiss. A faint aroma of engine grease and stale air greeted him as he stepped onboard. The shuttle was a big bulky remnant from the Planet Wars. It had been used as a freight carrier, hauling megatons of weapons from one end of the galaxy to the other. It wasn’t the fastest ship around, but it was a though one.

“You back already, Ace?” Garret called from the kitchen.

“Yeah” Ace replied. He walked into the kitchen. “What’s cooking?”

“Noodles. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Not really. But we have to leave.”

“Yeah?” Garret raised his eyebrows at Ace. “A man came around here, looking for you. Did he find you?”

“He did. Got any band aids?”

“Over in that cabinet, second drawer.” Garret pointed at a drawer Ace had never seen. He didn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen. This was Garret’s reign. “He’s the reason we have to go?”

“I shot him” Ace answered. He rummaged around the drawer until he found a small, battered package of band aids. Ace took one and covered the cut on his cheek.

“I guess he had it coming.” Garret shrugged and poured noodles into a bowl.

“He did.” Ace slumped down in one of the bar stools by the kitchen counter.

“You look thin. Eat this.” Garret slid over the bowl of noodles. “I’ll go fire up the ship.”

For a long while Ace sat nibbling on the noodles, watching space go by as the shuttle drifted soundlessly towards a jump portal. He took one last look at the gray sphere that was Earth and wished that he never had to see it again.

The ship cringed slightly and a tingling feeling deep in Ace’s gut told him that they had entered the jump portal and transitioned into hyper space. Garret walked back into the kitchen a few minutes later.

“Where are we going?” Ace asked.

“Mars” Garret replied as he poured himself a bowl of noodle soup. “A man contacted me while you were gone. Offering us a job. Saying that there is a lot of credit in picking up cargo on Mars, jump with it to Ganymede.” Garret made a grimace and swallowed a mouthful of noodles, “This shit’s gone cold.”

Mars was good. Ace needed to see a man about a package there.

© Isaac Liljedahl

FridayFlash, Space Blues

•April 29, 2010 • 16 Comments

I’m participating in something called #FridayFlash. It’s a weekly compilation of flash fiction by several writers. If you like a good read I can recommend that you check out the full list at, http://jmstrother.com/MadUtopia/

Space Blues

Ace could see Earth. A dead sphere floating in endless space. He could see continents and mountains. Once the Earth had been blue and green, full of life and covered in clouds. That was how Ace remembered his home planet. But things had changed after The Effect. Earth had fallen in decay and died. It was sad.

“Ace, are you alright?” Dave asked. He stood by the table, a whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Water was expensive in the Earth Satellites.

“Yeah, I’m okay. What are you doing here?” He was lying. Ace wasn’t okay, far from it. Seeing Earth made him think of all the people he left behind, his family, her. Most of all he thought about her.

“I’ve been tracking you for days” Dave sat down and slid over the whiskey glass to Ace. Dave had been Ace’s best friend, once. Things happened, people moved on. Ace still had the scars from where the bullets had ripped through him.

“How did you find me?” Ace didn’t look at Dave. He didn’t take the whiskey. He didn’t drink. Dave knew that, or he had forgotten. It didn’t matter anymore. He kept looking at the dead rock where he had been born. Kept thinking of the woman he had left behind. Or had she left him?

“I’m the man” Dave chuckled. He sipped his precious water and watched Ace. Ace could see it in his peripheral vision. Dave was waiting for the right question, and he knew Ace was going to ask.

“Why are you here Dave?” Ace felt suspension crackle through the air. It was as if everyone in the restaurant stopped their conversation only to hear Dave’s reply.

“She’s dead” Dave said. His voice had a tinge of nerves. “I killed her.” He was watching Ace, studying his face for a reaction. There was none. Ace kept watching the Earth as they slowly orbited around it.

“How did it happen?” Ace’s voice was flat, almost bored, like he already knew the answer. She had been the woman for him, the only person he had ever loved. She had been his dark heart. Now she was dead and that was okay. So much had changed.

“I rigged her shuttle with explosives. She died instantly.” Dave emptied his glass of water and put it down on the table in front of him. “You’re the last one, Ace” he said.

“I know” Ace replied.

In a moment of blurred movement both men reached for their pistols. Both men fired a single shot.

Ever since they had been kids learning to survive Ace had been the better gunslinger. He had been a gutsy kid, constantly getting into trouble with the big boys and the hard cases. Dave had always been there to get him out of it. Dave had been the first of them to kill someone, and he had done it to save Ace. Together they had bled like brothers. Not anymore.

This last moment Dave had been faster, but Ace’s aim had been truer.

A thin streak of blood trailed down Ace’s cheek from where the bullet had rushed past. Dave was staring at him with dying eyes. He had been shot through the heart and blood bloomed like a rose on his jacket.

Ace got up from his seat. “So long, old friend”

© Isaac Liljedahl

WAG, Burn

•April 25, 2010 • 15 Comments

I’m going to try something new this week. It’s called WAG, Writing Adventure Group,  and it looks like it can be a lot of fun. You can find more information over at http://www.indiadrummond.com/writers-group/

“WAG #19: Pick a Pocket” Let’s do some stalking people-watching for this one! Pick someone out of a crowd and describe what (you imagine) is in their pockets (Unless you want to be brave and ask them!) Give us both meaning and physical details, and don’t forget to let yourself be surprised.

Burn

He had nothing in his pockets. Not anymore. He was going somewhere new and exciting. He needed to be empty, void of the things that had tied him down all his life. It was good to be free from the shackles of his choices. It felt like he had lost all that weight he was always talking about.

He had left his house one last time, not looking back. He had crashed his Porsche set fire to his money and clothes. It felt so good, but it smelled so bad.

He thought about his family. Maybe they would cry for him, wishing he’d stay. But how could he, when every cell in his body burned and ached for something different.

“C O M E” the robed figure beckoned. Something twinkled in the shadows, he could see the cold gleam through the fire. It swooped down upon him with the sound of thunder. He smiled and moved on.

© Isaac Liljedahl