The Bear of Bad News

Len ducked out of his tent and contained a scream, backpedaling so hard he fell on the damp, loamy ground. Only a tremulous moan escaped his throat, and he quieted himself after another pounding heartbeat, afraid of stirring the seven-foot slab of bear looming over him as though it'd been waiting for him to wake up.

"I have bad news." Len's jaw dropped. The basso voice had come from the bear's mouth, which seemed impossibly large as Len couldn't pull his eyes away from it.

"Wh... what?"

"He's cheating on you." This time Len watched the bear's jaw opening to "speak" and closing when it was done, though it didn't look like it moved to shape the words. It opened again. "It's not that he didn't want to go camping, just that he wanted the apartment to himself. Because he's cheating on you."

"I, uh, yeah. I heard you. I.... Maybe I'll pack up early and go surprise him." Len looked past the bear in thought. "And if he's not, uh... not, then I'll say it wasn't as nice without him."

"I have more bad news," said the bear. "You won't get home." Len couldn't contain the screaming that followed.

A Study in Perspective

Howard came home excited, the book tucked under his arm against the rain, old canvas binding feeling solid and real against his ribs. Setting it on the small desk beside his narrow bed, he quivered as he reread the title: "The Educated Man's Guide to Out-of-Bodie Experiences." With a smoldering focus, he opened the book and began reading.

He skipped the introduction and the tedious account of the author's travels in the "Near Orient." The older Howard got, the more his body felt like a shackle. He wanted techniques to loosen that bond, not century-old racism. Finally, he found the instructions.

The next day, Howard lit candles, burned incense, and crossed his legs on his bed, the book open in front of him. As instructed, he meditated, repeating a mantra in his head. Time blurred. He opened his eyes on a new perspective and swelled with joy. He could see himself, legs crossed and hands resting on knees, book open in front of him. He could sense things beyond the room.

Incredible! Amazing! Howard felt a flood of relief at the freedom from his body.

Howard realized he couldn't see to read the chapter on getting back into his body.

Liquid Pain

Pain radiated through his body, beginning at the throat and soon wracking him head to toe with agony. He contorted and writhed, muscles spasming with near-bone-cracking force, and the only thing he dared spare the willpower to control was keeping the clay bottle of liquid pain at his lips. He wouldn't be charged with drinking less than every last drop.

The person watching him with a cruel smile had long ago forsaken human appearances. They wore only a collection of rags tied in place with rough knots or with mud daubed and let to harden. The cruel smile faded, swallow after swallow, into a mild boredom, and their eyes wandered around the dingy dungeon chamber of stone and mortar. He was drinking, his conviction was clear, so he held no more interest for his captor. Or they had never been interested, and the mask of cruelty was too tiring, or too boring, to continue wearing.

He came to, alone in the empty room, after something akin to a blackout, with only mist-shrouded memories of licking at the rim of the bottle, lest he be accused of leaving a single drop.

"I have your family," they had said. "Drink every drop, or they die after the worst pain they have ever experienced, each of them watching in turn until the youngest is last." These dry words, flavored with malice that has been used too many times like a destitute family's last teabag, gave him his conviction.

He went home, crawling until he could stumble, stumbling until he could run, arriving to a happy home disturbed only by his fear, his appearance. They had never been taken, never been threatened or in any danger. His partner gave him a note, delivered by anonymous messenger.

"Now you know how far you will go."

One-Line Review: Hunter Killer (2018), starring Gerard Butler

This is the perfect movie to watch alongside The Hunt for Red October so you can see why one is good and one is this one.

The Cat and the Key

Linsa was young, and she was beautiful, and she was rich. Naturally, everyone in the village wanted to marry her. To fend off the onslaught of suitors, she put a ring in a locked box, and the key she hung from the collar of her cat, Sweet Button. "Whosoever shall catch the cat shall have the key to my heart," said Linsa, "and shall wed me with that ring."

Many tried, but Sweet Button was both swift and canny. When they snuck up on where she sunned on a roof, she leapt down faster than they could follow. When they surprised her in the street, she ran through a fence and left them behind. The one who came closest got a claw across the face for his trouble.

Miriam did not chase the cat, she sat near her. She did not sneak up on the cat, she relaxed in the cat's favorite spots and let the cat come to her. In time they became friends, and soon they were inseparable.

Linsa waited, and waited, and one day said, "You have the key to my heart! Why not bring me the ring?"

"Why should I?" said Miriam. "I have the cat."

Dog Noir 6

I knew he was following me from the moment I left The Yard. He one tried to keep a respectful distance, but I sniffed him out before we'd gone ten steps. Much as I'd've liked to lose him or confront him, I had business that couldn't wait.

He was still there when I paused and, subtle as you please, dropped my package. It was a condensed list of everything important I'd gotten my nose into over the last day, and I left it where the right people would see it. Getting together in person wasn't possible, especially with this yahoo on my tail.

He'd been waiting for that. Before I could blink, he was on my deposit like fleas on... well. Clearly, he knew what he was getting into: He used a bag so he wouldn't contaminate the evidence.

At that point the table turned. He headed back to The Yard, I followed. I almost got the sense that he wanted me behind him, like he was gloating. I'm still not sure what he wanted, especially since he dropped my package right in the trash. Maybe he's trying to show me he's in charge around here.

We'll see about that.

The Second Best Time Is Now

Grant fired a burst down the corridor and pulled back around the corner for cover. So far, he was holding the rival military firm back. He sent another burst around the corner, and answering fire spanged off the metal corridor around him.

Reloading, his hand brushed the standard-issue grenade on his belt. That would surprise the invaders for sure. Timed right, it would figuratively and literally cripple them, letting Grant's firm mop up with ease. Figuratively. The literal mopping would, hopefully, fall to someone else.

But it had to be the right time. He fired again to keep them back. They had to be bunched up for the best effect. They were too spread out in this corridor, and he'd rather save the grenade for when it could have a real impact. Heh, impact. He fired another burst. He had a good spot here... but if they brought more pressure or flanked him, he might need the grenade for his tactical retreat. Better to hold onto it. Could be more useful later.

A metallic clatter dragged his eyeline to the floor, where a live grenade spun to a stop. Boy, they were going to feel stupid if they needed that—