A Bit More Time

Quick quick quick! Gotta get there before two, she said, and the bus was late and slow and dropped me at 1:54 and now I gotta move quick quick quick. Said she could help but only if I'm quick quick! Down the street, past the butcher, turn left, then the second right. Was that a right? Do alleys count or only streets? I don't know. If it was Google Maps I'd know, but this is creepy old woman directions and I don't know.

Creepy old women count the alleys, they've gotta count them, so stop staring and run past and count: one the alley, two the street, right and hey.

I've never seen this street before.

Where did this street come from?

Is that really a cobblestone road? Are those buildings made of wood? I've never heard of this part of town. Woah, horse! And why's that guy staring like he sees an alien?

Okay, back, reverse direction, turning right one way means turning left the other way...

There's no street there now. Is that guy walking toward me really wearing a sword?

Maybe I shouldn't've asked that weird old woman for more time before my report was due.

Tread on Me

"Comeoncomeoncomeonnnnnn," said the tile, "step on me. C'mon!" The bathroom door swung open and someone walked in, missing the tile by one-fifth of a tilewidth. "Maaaaaaan," the tile said.

"Don't worry, 54," said nearby 73. "I'm sure you'll get stepped on soon. No reason to worry about it."

"I know, I know, but this is my ten-thousandth time. It's big!"

"Ohhh," said 73, "you'll be in the ten-kay club."

"Right!" cried 54. "And maybe, you know," it stopped.

"Maybe...?"

"Maybe when I'm in the ten-kay, 211 will be interested in me."

"Ohh, 211? Man, 211 is hot. Ho-o-o-ot."

"I know, right?"

"But totally attached to 240."

"Yeah, I know. And why wouldn't it be? 240 is totally awesome. 240 gets stepped on, like, all the time."

"And it's so nice about it, too."

As if on cue, 240 yelled across the floor. "Hey 54! Just heard about your near miss. No worries, man, you'll hit ten-kay any time now. You're awesome, bud!"

"See?" said 73. "Who wouldn't want to get next to a tile like that?"

"What's so great about getting stepped on," growled 1 from behind the propped-open bathroom door.

"Nothing, 1," said 54, "you just don't get it."

Unpleasantly of Cucumber

Her glass of water tasted unpleasantly of cucumber. In the end, that was what pushed her over the edge. Sitting in the judge's chambers, kept waiting for hours just to see an officious appointed individual who unreasonably had some say over how she used her home. The blast shattered the windows into shards, the largest smaller than a grain of sand, and demolished the heavy oak door. Splinters flew into the marble courthouse hall outside. Alarms rang throughout the building.

Security skidded to a stop in front of the ruins of the door and found her sitting comfortably in the judge's office, a small smirk on her face. Everything around her was crushed, shredded, pulverized, or generally annihilated.

"What happened?" cried one guard. "Ma'am, are you all right?" asked another.

"I'm fine," she said, languid. "But perhaps I shan't wait for the judge any longer."

She strode out of the hall, ignoring the guards' entreaties to wait, to see a doctor, to answer some questions. She passed the judge, who breathlessly wondered, "What happened to my office?"

"In the future," she said in passing, I recommend you not tell a wizard that she may not zone her home for magic."

Escape from the Lost City

It burst from the wall of the crypt without warning, a venomous-green thing shining with a searing light that filled the chamber with angled shadows. A moment after it appeared it knocked Justine across the room. Her head hit the wall, and as the room went black she watched the monster advancing on Yesmin. When she opened her eyes, Yesmin was pulling her out of the crypt. The chamber where the demon had ambushed them was bright with red and green, blood human and otherworldly mixed in garish abstraction.

"J- j- j--" stuttered Yesmin.

"Justine," said Justine. Yesmin nodded. She shook her head and stumbled, and Justine noticed cuts, some still bleeding, all over her partner. She found her feet and started leading Yesmin through the streets of the abandoned city. "This way," she said. "How did you kill it?"

"Didn't," said Yesmin. "Couldn't. Had to get out." She stopped and doubled over against a wall.

"You did great," said Justine. "I can't believe you held it off long enough to get me out."

"Didn't," she said. "Couldn't. Had to get out." She retched, and her open mouth cast a burning green light on the street of the old city.

Murderers Anonymous

I checked that my face was covered, then stepped up to the lectern. "Remember that this is a safe place. Don't judge, because everyone here is trying. Who wants to speak first?" The first person up was fully covered with the robe and hood, but I recognized his tennis shoes from previous weeks. "My name is Mike," he mumbled, "and I'm a murderer."

"Hi, Mike," we chorused.

"I still remember when I lost control. He was just a kid, fourteen or fifteen, and I was older and so cool." We'd all heard the story before, but when he sat down, the front of his hood was damp.

"Thanks, Mike," I said. "Who wants to follow him?"

The person who replaced him had a reedy, grandmother's voice. "My name is Agnes," she said, "and I'm a murderer."

"Hi, Agnes," said the chorus.

"I'm afraid I fell off the wagon this week." I rolled my eyes. She falls off the wagon every week. "I took my rifle down to the park, picked out some man and shot him." She paused. "I'll try to do better next week," she said quietly, and then sat down.

Some of us are trying harder than others.

The Humane Thing

Death sits over a book, leaning into it as though hanging on a great speaker's every word. Every other minute after silent minute, Death turns a page, scrabbling with its bony finger for a grip on the paper. Occasionally, it brings its hand up to its mouth as though it might lick the phalanges with an absent tongue before turning the next page. Near the end of the book, a whisper slips from between the Reaper's teeth, like the last hissing breath of a dozen dying folk. Someone close enough to Death, close enough to be quite reasonably nervous, might think the whisper sounds a little like the words, "Oh, no."

"No, really?" it breathes again, and it turns the pages faster until it reaches the end. "I can't believe he did it," Death says. "It makes sense, but still... wow."

Death reaches for the next book in the series. Later whispers sound more like, "Really?" and "Oh, but... why?" along with, "God, he kills more people than I do."

In the end, Death took George R.R. Martin before he could finish the series. In a one-of-a-kind press conference, Death stated, "It seemed like the humane thing to do."

The Grim Reader

She hardly expected the visitor. She was in good health with good doctors, and she wasn't old. But there it was, interrupting her a quarter of the way into Ancillary Justice: the Reaper. "Listen," she said, "just let me finish this book and I'll go quietly, okay? You don't want me to throw a fuss, do you?"

Death shook its head and beckoned.

"Now? Okay, how about a deal. I hear you like those. So, read the first thirty pages of this." She pulled the Game of Thrones off a shelf and handed it to Death. "If you can put it down without finishing it after that, fine, I'm yours. Otherwise, I get to finish my book."

Death sat and read silently. She went back to reading. She was getting hungry when she realized Death was still reading.

"Here," she said. "I have to go out. If you finish that before I get back, here are the rest."

A week later, Death came to her while she was working on Ancillary Sword. "All finished?" she said. "If you liked those, try the Wheel of Time. Here." She pulled another stack from her bookcase.

She lived another forty long, healthy years.