Betrayal

Posted on by gmfx

Late night was turning into early morning when something inside her finally broke. She couldn’t deny what was happening, even though she would like to. “So this is it?” she asked, giving in to pain and exhaustion. “After all this time?” Her throat spasmed, voice cracked. “Do . . . do you have any idea how much I loved you?”

No answer of course. She felt the knot tightening around her belly again. Another up-welling of agony. Another spiral into the abyss.

It had all started with a date at a trendy brew-pub all those years ago. They had split an order of parmesan truffle fries. That’s when she knew—from the first taste of those crisp, tangy fries—she was in love. And over all these years, she had been faithful, ordering the same fries almost every time she visited that brewery, each experience as satisfying as that first.

And now this. Betrayal of the most visceral kind.

Had she been stress eating? Of course. Was the high ABV pint she’d ordered a part of this too? Undoubtedly. But there was only one thing she could blame for the chunks floating in her toilet bowl.

“Alright,” she muttered in resignation. “It’s over.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Newt

Posted on by gmfx

“Cohen!” 

Not today, the boy thought. He knew the tone in his mother’s voice meant a bath. But he was ready. He had been practicing. “Abra ka-dabra, zala-ka-zoot!” Cohen said. “Turn this boy into a newt!” A spark, a pop, a puff, and he had transformed. 

Newt-Cohen peered between the leaves of the shrub he had been hiding behind. On the porch, his mother scanned the property with predatory keenness, but passed right over his hiding spot without even a pause. 

He was free!

Through the garden, out the gate, down the hill to the creek. It was one of Cohen’s favorite places to play. Fresh, cool water, soft, squishy mud, and somehow Cohen knew instinctively that the river bank was a variable candy store of yummy bugs and worms. 

Cohen froze. The shadows at the base of a nearby bush emanated a primal menace. 

He should flee. He should change back. He just needed to remember the words. 

A serpentine head emerged from the undergrowth. Dark, beady eyes and violent green scales.

Cohen was panicking, but still couldn’t find the words. 

The snake opened its mouth.

“Cohen Eidelberg!” It shrieked in his mother’s voice. “You come home this instant!”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Blizzard

Posted on by gmfx

Frost and steam.

Snowflakes glinting in the streetlamps. Breath on cold glass. Fingers tracing pictures; hands closing around ceramic that’s almost too hot to touch.

But only almost.

Mismatched mugs. Faded paint, familiar chips worn smooth. Marshmallows, plump and sticky, squishing together. Lips, stretching in smiles. Smiles tinted by chocolate and tinged with laughter.

Ice at the corners the window frame. Beads of water gathering, trickling down.

Comfort.

Curiosity.

Curtains.

Small explosions. Butter and salt. One big bowl. A blanket not quite big enough for two. Two bodies beneath it anyway. Darkened lamps and LCD glow. Static sparks jumping between hands.

Wind whistling down empty streets. Snow drifts like frozen waves, slowly swallowing the whole world.

Touch.

Tension.

Trust.

Mouths opened for laughter, for popcorn, for words unspoken, unutterable, and unnecessary. Shoulders, elbows, knees, hips.

Belts and buttons.

Couch and carpet.

The sudden darkness and silence of a blackout.

Fumbling hands, groping, seeking. Dancing flashlights. Shy matches and eager sparks. A constellation of candles. More blankets. Wine and skin. Heat.

Desire.

Delight.

Dreams.

The gentle approach of a winter dawn on a soft, white world. Shapes blurred, sound muffled, movement stilled.

Waking. Whispers. Eyes full of wonder. Full of light.

Serve

Posted on by gmfx

His name was Laurentius, and he served the emperor.

“Wine!” a voice echoed across the marble floors. “Wine, you useless son of a barbarian whore.” A milder insult than usual. The ruler of the world was not that drunk. Not yet, at least.

Laurentius moved swiftly, but not to the cellar. Instead, he scooped an ember from the central fire, carried it out to the balcony, and lit a brazier. Light blossomed invitingly in the cold night.

Was this how he served his emperor?

No time to contemplate. Laurentius descended to the cellar, retrieved a wineskin and carried it to the bath chamber. He poured it into the emperor’s cup himself and took the first sip.

“Some nights I wish it was poisoned,” the emperor declared, “and then I’d finally be rid of you.” Laurentius inclined his head politely and exited.

The general was waiting in the hall with a detachment of soldiers. At a nod from their commander, the men moved swiftly into the bath chamber.

Screams in the night.

Meanwhile, general appraised servant. “So, you’re the traitor?”

A bow. “My name is Laurentius, and I serve the emperor.”

The general smiled grimly and drew his sword. “Not anymore.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Climb

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WHY do you climb?

What sort of a question was that? John huffed as he drove a piton into the rock face, and not just because of the exertion. He hadn’t even wanted to do the stupid interview, but his friends had convinced him that it would “inspire people.”

Why DO you climb?

The question echoed in the vacuous space where his answer should have been. How could he articulate something so basic? Why does he breath? Why does he eat? Of course, those were things everyone did. Very few other people climbed mountains on multiple continents. So shouldn’t he have an answer?

Why do YOU climb?

The question stung like an accusation. Why must he justify his past time. Who cared? Certainly not the reporter. She seemed even less interested in the interview than he did. And in her blank, dispassionate stare, John had finally seen the pointlessness of his entire life.

Wind buffeted him on the rock face, howling:

Why do you CLIMB?

Cheek pressed against stone, John looked down. How insignificant he was to that wide world below him. How extraordinary that he should get to see it.

And because the alternative would be falling, he climbed.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Promotion

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“Sorry you didn’t get the promotion,” Lara said. She and Ronni were the only two in the breakroom, but she had still approached both Ronni and the conversation topic furtively.

“Oh, it’s alright,” Ronni answered.

Lara shook her head. “Bastards.”

“It’s fine, really,” Ronni insisted. “I don’t even care.” It was a lie that Lara could see through easily, even though they weren’t that close. But then, Lara wasn’t the one Ronnie was trying to convince. Perhaps it was the very fact that Lara had spotted the attempted self-deception and didn’t call her on it that allowed Ronni to finally admit the truth. “I shouldn’t care, right?”

“You . . . shouldn’t?”

“I hate this job!” she declared. Lara’s eyes widened, which somehow encouraged Ronni. “I hate the people I work for. I hate the way this company treats its customers. Why do I even care what any of those . . . those . . . those bastards think?”

“Yeah, screw ‘em!” Lara suggested.

“Screw ‘em!” Ronni echoed. “Wait—no.”

“No?”

Ronni sighed. “No . . .”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I do care, dammit.” She looked around, took in the dingy, depressing breakroom and considered her place in it. “I guess . . . I guess I just wanted it all to mean something.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

A Lot

Posted on by gmfx

“Oh, oh hey!” Juliet said, spinning Bianca around and pointing. “This brewery does carryout. We could totally buy a pack and take them up to the roof of my apartment. You’ve gotta see the view!” But when Juliet looked over to see if Bianca was bouncing with excitement too, she instead saw a nervous, wide-eyed face that looked even paler than usual. “Sorry,” Juliet said. “Never mind.”

“What?” Bianca asked. “I didn’t—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I saw your reaction.”
“I’m sorry,” Bianca said, blushing, “it was just . . . a lot.”

Juliet swallowed hard. The words reverberated in her mind, adding to the echoes of all the other times she had heard that same phrase. Next would be the part where the person fled. She forced herself to smile. “People say I’m best in small doses. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

“But . . . the roof?”

“I was kidding,” Juliet shrugged. “You can forget about it.”

But Bianca was rooted in place. “I said it was a lot. I didn’t say that was bad.”

“You mean . . .”

Bianca hooked her arm through Juliet’s and pulled her toward the brewery. “You move fast,” she said, “but you’re always worth catching up to.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Crazy

Posted on by gmfx

They’re going to tell you that I’m crazy, and you’re probably going to believe them because I sound crazy, and there’s nothing I can do to persuade you that I’m not, even if everything I say is true, because the lies will have such pleasing colors and smooth shapes, and the truth will cut you open with its jagged edges and uncomfortable barbs, and I can’t blame you for wanting to avoid the same pain that makes me howl like a beast into the chaos of humanity, and I can’t blame you for ignoring my screams when they have told you I am crazy just because they’re scared of what I’ve seen and what I know and what I might reveal about the way they control us like viruses that creep in and become a part of the body even as they weaken it, and more than anything they are afraid that I might tell you how to remove their influence for good, but even if I told you what had to be done, you would say that I’m crazy, and I would answer that the whole world is insane, so the mad are the only ones you can trust.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Trust

Posted on by gmfx

Cyan wrapped their arms tightly around Kevin’s broad chest, nuzzled the back of his neck, and whispered, “I love you.” To Cyan’s surprise, they felt Kevin’s body tense abruptly.

“Oh my god,” Kevin muttered.

“What?” Cyan asked tersely, anger swooping in to mask a sudden swell of anxiety as they drew back.

Kevin turned, unable to meet his fiance’s eyes. “I . . . I just farted.”

“You just . . .” Reflexively, Cyan sniffed, and then immediately regretted it. “Like right now?”

Kevin’s face had gone bright red, and he could barely meet Cyan’s eyes. “Right when you grabbed me.”

“So . . . right into my crotch,” Cyan said, nose now wrinkling involuntarily for multiple reasons.

As the fart cloud lingered around them, Kevin’s embarrassment only grew. He was just as revolted by the smell, but felt he just had to endure it as a sort of penance. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said.

Cyan folded their arms, giving their fiance a calm, appraising stare. Then a shrug. “That’s alright,” they said. “I’ll just fart in the bed tonight.”

“You’ll—” Kevin blinked rapidly, too surprised to be embarrassed. Then he saw the wide grin spreading across Cyan’s face.

Laughter, sudden, hearty, and pure.

“I love you too.”

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox

Thread

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Round and round Ana wound the thread, bright turquoise running between her fingers. “If you would just let me explain…” she tried to say.

“You’re not going,” the older woman announced, not even glancing away from her work on the loom. “There’s no point discussing it.” Her fingers danced like a harpist plucking the strings, but hers was a song of color and patterns that would take weeks to complete. Ana marveled, not for the first time, how someone as severe as her mother was capable of creating such beauty.

Every thread in its place.

Round and round, Ana spun the thread, her grip on the shuttle so tight her fingers started to hurt. Her mother continued weaving. “You don’t really need me here, Ana remarked.

The answer came automatically. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I do.”

No thread out of place, Ana thought. The last of the turquoise thread slipped through her fingers. The shuttle was ready. But instead of handing it to her mother, Ana slipped it into her pocket and said, “Mother, I think this will be your finest work yet.”

Ana meant what she said, but her mother simply scoffed. Ana didn’t care. She was leaving.

* * *

Story by Gregory M. Fox