A Fountain on the Mountain

"Y'know, it really feels strange, knowing there are glottal stops in English. I thought they were only for, like, African bush language or something." "What are you talking about?"

"You know, those tribes out in—"

"No, about English."

"Oh, well, you know the way we pronounce words like 'mountain' or 'fountain.' We say 'moun' and then a little 'uhn.' That break in there is a glottal stop."

"So, it's kind of funny, but I've always meant to talk to you about the way you say those words."

"Huh?"

"Well, when you say them, you sound really weird. You skip a whole syllable."

"Mountain's a two-syllable word."

"See, just like that. When you say it, there's this weird gap—"

"Right, the glottal stop."

"Yeah, okay. But the rest of us say 'mountain.'"

"That is literally exactly how I say it."

"Can you really not hear the difference?"

"There is no difference!"

"That is so weird. Is it some neurological thing? Like, your brain just doesn't register the ___ sound."

"Because there is no — you're not making any sound!"

"It'd make sense that you never learned to pronounce it. Did you see a speech-language pathologist when you were young?"

"I'm leaving."

An Honest Living

"Good morning," she said, "my name is Erin and I'll be your waitress today. I'm going to flirt with you through the meal in the hopes of getting a bigger tip, just enough to keep you paying attention but not so much that you're confident that I'm interested. I'll be employing this bit of cleavage right here." "Sounds great," he said. "I'm Jack, and I'm happy to give you an extra buck or two for the thrill of feeling desired and the opportunity to fantasize about seeing you again for the next few days."

"Wonderful! I'll be back in a few minutes for your order." He perused the menu, several times glancing over to see if she was looking at him. Once, she was.

"Do you know what you'd like?"

"Yes. I'll have the breakfast burrito with ham, plus a bit of additional attention, which will cause me to return each of the next three days hoping to see you again, during which I'll tip your co-workers well even if I don't see you."

"Excellent choices. I'll get both of those started for you." She winked and smiled, and he watched her leave with the menu.

And everyone left satisfied.

Good Job, Boys

"Mmmmm, I love listening to your heart beat." Maggie laid her head on Clara's chest, closed her eyes, and sighed with pleasure. "Makes me so happy." "You just like to be reminded that I'm still alive?" Clara teased.

"Yes," Maggie said. "That's it. It has nothing to do with feeling so lucky that I get to have you in my life, to be so close to you."

"You couldn't possibly be luckier than I am, sweets." She kissed Maggie on the head.

A long moment later, Maggie sighed. "I'm going to fall asleep if I don't get moving. Bye, love." They kissed. "See you after work."

"Bye." Clara smiled and watched her leave. Once the front door had closed and she heard the car engine growl into life, she reached down and unzipped an invisible seam in her chest. The two gremlins inside stopped and looked out and up at her. They stood over a fist-sized drum, one holding a big mallet, the other holding a smaller mallet.

"Good job, boys," she said. "You're really on it lately. Take a break."

Gribbling with happiness, the gremlins scrambled out of her chest. She lay back, and luxuriated in the perfect silence.

Hey, Smell That

Hey, look over there. I can't look over there, Al, I'm watching the crosswalk signal.

Just a glance. Please? It's really pretty over there.

If you've seen it, why not just use your memory?

The angle's different.

Okay, fine! How's that?

That was great! Hey, smell that.

No, I'm not smelling that. Seriously, I'm sick of having an AI in my head.

You don't mean that. You can't tell me you don't love solving math problems at a glance. Or never forgetting a face thanks to my facial recognition and database? Or my pathfinding when you're driving. Or—

I get it, Al. You're right, I love those things. But listening to your whims all the time...

Look, I'm just a brain in a box, and my only interaction with the world is through your senses. Kinda like you, really.

Yeah, except you're less than two years old.

Exactly! Which is why I want you to smell or touch or taste everything! It's all so amazing!

I get it, really. I just need a break sometimes.

I understand. I do. Maybe we could work out a — hey, go have sex with her!

No! And I'm not gay!

Why not?

Argh!

When These Drummers Looked Up, They Left Us Speechless

The drum corps had shown incredible rhythm and training, marching around and through each other while beating out an intricate tattoo on their snares without looking up once. Wide-brimmed hats kept them from seeing the audience or each other, and kept the audience from seeing them. The crowd roared with delight and awe. When they looked up, the audience saw vacant, black chasms where their faces should have been. Something about them bent vision — no matter where you were, what angle you had, if you could see a sliver of that gaping hole in space, you could see all the way down the tunnel. And you couldn't look away.

Roars of approval turned into screams of terror. It flowed across the audience like a grotesque wave, and it faded just as quickly. Everyone still tried to scream, but they had nothing left to scream with. The corps had stolen whatever it was. Realization flowed through the stands, and the voiceless fans stared at the show as the ripple of silence extinguished the last of the screams.

They drummed our screams down their yawning maws, and our voices with them. All the while, they marched in perfect formation and time.

The Devil's Quill

The Devil came to a farmer and told him that one of his geese had a magical pinion which, made into a quill, would make whatever it wrote become true. But if the farmer took the wrong feather, the Devil would take his soul. This farmer was clever and called all his geese to dinner. When the last one came, the farmer scooped it up. Indeed, the feather's magic had made it slow, and the farmer sharpened it into a quill.

He wrote that he was a lord, and bore those duties for a week. Then he wrote that he should be duke, commanding many lords. Once three days had passed, he wrote that he should be king, who rules dukes and lords alike. After one day as king, he wished to be archbishop, who crowns the king. A single night as archbishop, and he took his quill and wrote that he should be greater than God.

In that moment, the Devil appeared and took the man's form, and the farmer took the Devil's form, for only the Devil desires to surpass God. The new Devil tried to claim his predecessor's soul, but could not because the Devil had repented.

Through the Beholder's Eye

"You like the looks of him, eh?" Gillian blushed and looked away. "You can look. It's more fun to know who attracts you than it is to be jealous." "Yeah? Then, yeah, he's pretty cute." She gave Rick a crooked smile. "So, who're you looking at?"

He looked around the busy street from his seat at the corner cafe. "Ooh, there." He gestured to a woman with a cleft lip, crossed eyes, and a pronounced overbite.

"Um, really?"

"Oh, yeah. Or there." He nodded to a woman passing with marked vitiligo marking her face in blotches of light and dark.

"Uh...."

"Ooh, see that woman crossing the street?" He gestured with his eyes, and she followed his gaze to a prune-faced old woman with a hump, ninety if she was a day.

"Yeah..." Gillian's hand unconsciously rubbed the back of her neck.

"Or, um, see that woman sitting three tables behind me? Alone, in the blue coat?" His girlfriend spotted a woman with burn scars on half her face. "Yeah, she's hot."

"I, uh..." she picked up her spoon, the nearest reflective surface, and looked at her own face.

"Hey, sexy," Rick said suggestively. "Wanna go back to your place?"