The train barely shudders as it runs over the girl; that many tons on that many wheels make a joke of her bones. The conductor never brakes. Must not have been looking.
Whiplash catches her fluttering bonnet and snarls with anticipation. Now. Now! After all these tries he’s finally poured out the libation of virgin’s blood on the gravel, and–wait–the outline of a man like a bull, glowing brighter–
“Lord Unipakiphykos!” he cries over the train’s thunder. “At last, at last, manifest by my sacrifice!”
And you will be rewarded, loyal Snidely, roars the Rail God in his mind.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
In the first picture Aurelia’s yawning, not a cute pink kitten mouth way: her eyes are half closed and she looks like something just hit her in the head, but really she just wasn’t ready for the booth to start.
In the second she’s vamping. No happy girl vamps alone. Not unless she’s got somebody else out there waiting to pull out the pictures, which isn’t alone, of course. She’s got her side to the camera and her lips pursed, back arched, hands on her thighs.
In the third one she’s not there.
In the fourth she’s wearing a ski mask.
“Delaware,” chuckles Amira. “Became the first state and it pretty much went downhill after that!”
“Yes,” says Rumer uncertainly.
“Nobody’s ever got anything interesting to say about Delaware unless they’re trying really hard,” she adds. “It’s like that Wayne’s World thing they did. ‘We could go to Delaware! …Hey. We’re in Delaware.‘” She giggles. “Let’s do that! The thing! You be Mike Meyers.”
“You just did,” says Rumer. “That was it.”
“The only way you can stop saying mean things about it,” says Amira, “is to start making fun of some other state entirely! Hellooo!”
“We’re in West Virginia.”
“Hellooo Delaware!”
“They said Portland wouldn’t be safe until it ate me,” says Andromeda, tears dry by now.
“Those barbarians,” says Perseus. “Those blind fools! Listen, I could get in a lot of trouble for this, but–”
Andromeda’s eyes open wide. Perseus reaches down and sets a yellow hard hat on her head. There’s a can in a coozie attached to either side of it. Straws lead from the cans down to her mouth.
“I put beer in the left one,” says Perseus. “The right one’s Mountain Dew, you know, in case you’re not into that.”
“Oh,” says Andromeda.
“Okay!” says Perseus. “Bye!”
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Where is your father?
Can’t be known.
Where is your mother?
Home alone.
Where is your sister?
Oversea.
Where is your brother?
Far from me.
What’s California?
Burning brush.
Why is it burning?
Thunderhush.
Where is the thunder?
My brother’s laugh.
Where is your brother?
Diamondcraft.
What’s a diamond?
Stars that broke.
Why are they broken?
Heartache. Hope.
What do they hope for?
My brother’s smile.
Where is your brother?
Thousands of miles.
How many thousands?
Stars by night.
Are you a star?
Writing in light.
What’s your hope?
That my brother will see.
Where is your brother?
Far from me.
Provo’s not in Wisconsin or Washington, but that’s where the trucks are: limbo. Abbot and Sweeney chew outside the Flying J.
“Think they’ll sell?” Sweeney takes a pinch of Skoal.
“They’ll sell.” Abbott snorts. “Milwaukee. Watch, they’ll call ’em the Beers.”
Milford’s going over the trailer, pulling padlocks and tucking flaps. He looks back, then eases the handle of the big steel door.
White noise and white leather. Endless grass. Sepia and clean cotton, crack and arc, the sun and the floodlights–
“Quit,” says Abbott sharply. “You’ll let it all out.”
“I was just checking,” says Milford, and slams it shut.
“A Mister Sort,” says the aide, “from the Office of Mayhem Evaluation.”
Sort shakes hands with the Minister, nods to the Cabinet. “Glad I can be of service,” he says. “I assume you want my take on the situation outside?”
The Minister nods. “We moved the Capitol out here to get away from the unrest, and now–”
“I am fairly certain that it is, in fact, mayhem.”
Quiet.
After a while, one of the Czars coughs. “That’s… that’s all? Do you have a notion of the cause?”
“Oh,” says Sort politely, “you really want to know that? It’s all your fault.”
Thursday, January 5, 2006