Art Imitating Life

The carpet smelled of death and roses, carnage, carnations...and dog – provenance of the creature above me. Stomach empty, I could add nothing to the mélange.

I choked back the spell to animate the beautiful vessel, fulfill my filial vassalage. False life was not the answer.

Nate lunged, knife ready to destroy the creation of a godforsaken magician. I couldn’t protest, but part of me died – same as when I first heard her torn to pieces.

Crawling, I reached the jar, anointed it. The soul flared, wrapping tight around the seal. Falling back, blinded, I swear I heard my mother laughing.

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Next

Age of Reason

She stood by the window, honey hair turned red by the setting sun. Beautiful, sweet-natured, and endlessly curious, she offered distraction he could neither afford nor bear to quash. If she’d been a boy, he’d have taken her on as an apprentice.  She bent over one of the tables, proving irrevocably that she could never pass for male.

“This piece has a flaw.” She spoke her mind, one reason he allowed her to plague him.

He didn’t look up. “Impossible.”

“First, you’ve taught me nothing is impossible. Second, no man is perfect. Third, the pressure of the machine will turn that tiny bubble into a crack, and whoever is operating the contraption will, at the very least, suffer great injury. Unless, of course, you allow me to fix it for you.” She picked up the gear.

“Leave it alone.”

“Then promise me one thing.”

He continued to focus on the annealing process for the curved shaft. “What’s that?”

“You’ll be the one to demonstrate to his lordship your grand new invention. That way, no innocent will be harmed by your hubris.”

She spoke of his possible death with such great cheer that he finally set aside his work and examined the piece.

“Bugger. You’re right.”

She laughed. “I know.”

“I don’t suppose you’d cut your hair and bind your breasts.”

“You wouldn’t like it if I did.”

He sighed. “To hell with convention. Be my apprentice.”

She snorted. “I’ll be your assistant, and you’ll pay.”

And so he would.




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Written for Thursday Threads. Check out the other entries. They're quite good.

Novice Aloft

Massey held the trammel. Gunnerson slid the pin into place. Seemed implausible one tiny piece could make such a difference. The machine roared back to life, steam pouring from her. We stabilized, then lifted.

Miss Willa gazed at clouds, knowing she’d get no thanks for recognizing the problem before we fell from the sky. Folks don’t care for witches.

“Distortion’s coming.” She said it nonchalantly, but grabbed a handle.

Silver creatures swam inside the energy wave, invisible to all but me and Miss Willa. Untrained, I did what I could to help her deflect them, praying she’d keep my secret.