Stacy Archives

June 15, 2005

Stacy: Flight

We salvaged the camera from the Wilson place. Four-alarm job, and volunteer crews came in from three counties. Nice folks. Too bad.

Ed took it over to the mini-mart to get developed. We joked about what we might get back, halfhearted-like. The Wilsons had had three kids.

When Ed picked up the pictures, the mini-mart clerk said only the one picture printed off the whole roll, even though it wasn't burned or nothing.

When we looked at the picture we shivered like someone was walking across our graves. The timestamp on the picture was 5/27, 9:23AM...the morning after the fire.

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June 16, 2005

Stacy: Divinity

‘The new gods are mad things,’ he thought. Dependent, as they were, on sheer mass of worshippers for strength, their machinations and power struggles were Titan-esque in stature. And just as destructive.

‘No wonder the weather in the northern hemisphere is always so screwy…and the humans think it's ozone layer holes,’ he chuckled to himself.

He watched as two lesser gods clashed across the middle of North America, their battle causing massive thunderheads to build in the skies. Soon the killer tornadoes would spin from the mess, killing hundreds.

He grunted in disgust. He hefted a thunderbolt and let fly.

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June 17, 2005

Stacy: The Watcher

I sit at the bar, watch the action, wait for trouble.

The little old man with the wild hair and wilder jacket tosses the dice, does a little jig when he wins.

Casino traffic surges around the table. The little old man waits until it subsides. He restlessly shakes the dice in his right hand, always carefully in view of the croupier.

A woman turns and walks away from the table. She's been there about fifteen minutes, watching the action, saying nothing. The little old man stops shaking the dice, curses her loudly. He throws, loses.

I order another drink.

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June 18, 2005

Stacy: Rocket Man


Nine years of training, I finally get to go up.


Not my favorite crew ever. Hope I can stand them without wanting to jump out the airlock.


Really hate that physicist from Italy. Arrogant prick.


The pilot's cute, it'll be nice to have a woman around this trip.


Four hundred-something experiments in three months. Christ, they think I'm a machine?


I wish my flight suit wasn’t bunched up like that.


No hold this time, we’re going up!


God, I’m going to miss the kids.


Did I leave the iron on?


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June 19, 2005

Stacy: Waiting

She was ten when she was dragged from her home, screaming, kicking, biting. Her father's merciless hands clamped on her shoulders, holding her still as the preacher mouthed the words, meaningless to her, that bound her to the awful old man.

Money changed hands, and she watched as her parents receded in the distance. Not waving, no. They instead hunched over the small fortune in their hands, and she was already forgotten.

Two years later, he lay in their bed, wracked with fever and dying. She sat nearby, waiting for it to be over. Waiting to get her life back.

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June 20, 2005

Stacy: Tedium Kills

I get up, I wash, I go to work.

I work, I eat, I come home.

Repeat. Endlessly.

The darkness inside threatens to overwhelm me some days. The hatred I feel swells until it feels like my skin will blacken and burst. My rage will be a live thing then, feeding on the lives of those around me.

Some day I know I'll snap. I will finally lose control.

I don't worry much about that day. I just know it will come. Until then, I get up, wash, go to work.

I work, I eat, I come home.

Repeat. Endlessly.

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June 22, 2005

Stacy: Random Curses

He dropped the book as if it were a live thing, scrambled backwards until he slammed into his desk. The book fell flat on the floor, and the words continued to blaze from the page.

Heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps, he inched forward as the glow faded to something readable.

"...imeacht gan teacht ort..."

Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch the fast fading glow. A blur of images passed before his eyes. Then darkness. He tried to scream but heard no sound. He tried to move and could not feel his body.

Stupid used bookstore.

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June 23, 2005

Stacy: One Away

She stood in the sweltering afternoon sun, taking shallow breaths of the tepid air. Sweat trickled down her back, made her palms slick. The stench rising from the stagnant pond behind her was pervasive, rotting vegetation cloying at her nostrils.

She squinted at the grass, trying to see through sweat stung eyes. Her mind wandered, made leaden by the heat. Visions of cool showers, icy drinks and air conditioning pulled at her thoughts.

She gripped the club firmly and swung. The ball rolled up, down, sideways, and missed the cup by two inches.

“Sorry, babe,” he said, “that’s a bogie.”

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June 25, 2005

Stacy: Love Hurts

He stared at the picture for a moment, lost in memories of that summer. Trips to the coast, intimate dinners, wild and heartrending sex. He thought she'd be there forever, she apparently had other ideas.

He placed the photo and a lock of her hair on one of her old shirts, wrapped them up tenderly and placed them in the brazier. He poured lighter fluid over the bundle and lit it with a match. It flared briefly then smoldered, filling the area with acrid smoke.

If I can't have you, no one can, he thought bitterly, then began the incantation.

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June 26, 2005

Stacy: History

James read the memorial plaque again, even though he could recite it by heart:

Manhattan Island, once a bastion of commerce, cuisine and fashion, now lies beneath 100 meters of sea water, a tribute to man's folly.

"Stupid memorial," he thought. "Doesn't even tell the real reason why it happened."

He came out here every night, had since it happened, three years ago. As a mechanical engineer, he knew the reason for the island’s submergence, that held no mystery for him.

What really drew him here, night after night, was the single light still shining from the top floor window.

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