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December 17, 2007

Monday

Tired, torn, or trendy.

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Dave: The Latest Thing

Roger took the wrap off Chrys' shoulders, then felt her stiffen.  He looked up, followed her gaze. 

The denizens of the ballroom were anything but fashionable.  Their clothing was ragged, in tatters.  Their hair was dirty and knotted. Their cheeks were sunken and they shuffled listlessly across the polished wooden floor.

"I see why Mrs Patterson was concerned about her son," Chrys said.

"These guys look like DPs, or camp refugees, not the 'leading fashion lights of San Francisco,'" Roger muttered.

"But there's Alanna St John over there.  She's a top model.  And there's the Mayor, too.  Roger, what the hell's going on here?"

"Let's find out."

Read more from ***Dave's .

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Ted: Thank You Mr. Brooks

The doctor scanned the auditorium for any hint that the assembled crowd actually understood what they had seen. He huddled backstage, the anger and fear of the crowd a wall of force, pushing him aside. His tuxedo, the height of fashion for this dashing man about town, was torn where someone from the audience had rushed the stage in anger. Even the woman with the trendy fur stole had lost her composure. Under all the screams, he could still hear "Puttin' on the Ritz" playing on the gramophone.

But none of that mattered. The Creature, and his credibility, had fled.

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From The Comments: Meowbag

The last vendor arrives when the others have gone, and sets his stall between the mists and the road. The primary gods are leaving the market with their finds. They hold the perfect souls to the light, admiring the lives they will lead. Peace prize winners are always popular. Saints and martyrs are making a comeback.

The after-hours vendor sets out his wares. There are tricksters, artists, murderers, souls with bloodstains, souls that are torn, souls dusty and beaten from travel. The gods of few believers will come and pick through them soon. There are always bargains to be had.

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