On a much lighter note (and to make up for no post yesterday, which I felt guilty about, but work was mundanely intensive), here’s a short snippet from the start of a new short story I’m working on. Just to give folks an idea of where my brain is at these days 🙂 Its not finished (there’s more written, of course), unedited, and largely in need of, well, finishing. But a lighter side snippet for your evening pleasure.
“There’s a giant in the back yard.”
“What’s it doing?”
She took a sip of tea. “Sitting on the children’s old play set.”
“Let me see,” he said, standing beside her. He twisted his head to the side, frowning. “You sure that’s a giant?”
“I think so.”
“No, I think that’s an ogre.”
“No its not.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s not ugly.”
Martin grunted. “You have something there, I guess. My, but what a huge sucker he is.”
They both stared out the window at the giant for a little longer. Martin folded his paper and tucked it under his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“I have things to take care of,” he said.
“What about the giant?”
“You take care of it, I’m busy. You know how Mondays can be, Candice.”
~
Candice stood in the backyard across from the giant and lit a cigaret. Martin didn’t approve of her smoking. Martin also wasn’t out here staring at a giant. She had one arm folded over her chest as she smoked, hand tucked into the crook of her elbow. She wore a cardigan to keep the cool November rain at bay, but she really wouldn’t have noticed it either way.
The giant hadn’t acknowledged her yet. He sat on top of the play set, knees bent up to his chest, massive hairy arms wrapped around them, just staring off.
“Hello,” Candice said, her voice sounding tiny before the monstrosity.
She didn’t think he’d heard her, but when she went to take another puff, he said, “That doesn’t smell healthy, you know.”
His voice was deep and resonating, echoing through her bones. He looked down at her, his gorgeous blue eyes threatening to suck her into his gaze. The cigaret slipped from her fingers, hissing as the smoking end rested in the wet grass.
“You need to go,” Candice said.
“What?”
“You can’t stay here.”
“Where will I go?”
“How should I know? Where did you come from in the first place?”
“I was rather hoping you might know that.”
