Victim of the Megalithic Urge

Short Story: Dress Rehearsal Apocalypse

2011-10-21T18:12:18Z

Dress Rehearsal Apocalypse

I was at A&W when the world ended. There were probably worse places to be. Airplanes fell from the sky, ships ran aground, power was lost…and I got to finish my root beer float before I had to contemplate my new reality.

( I’d like to say I knew it was a drill, but to be honest I didn’t. )

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Notes: This photo was long sought after, and finally taken by Emma while we were driving across the countryside this summer. I like to describe it as "The A&W at the End of the Universe", and then Tessa Gratton suggested something dystopic might be in order.

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Short Story: Wane

2011-06-13T04:04:39Z

1. This is very much Laura's fault.
2. If it turns into a novel, I am going to kill it. ;)

Wane

( In the Kingdom of Ilithyria, there is not one soul afraid of the dark )

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Flashfic: From The Depths

2011-03-21T20:15:33Z

In the interest of actually posting something here, I requested prompts this morning, and hope to do a couple (hugely unedited) Flashfic posts this week.

This prompt comes care of Lanna, who suggested A group of survivors recounting to the military what the hell happened when the Very Large Monster rose out of the lake and began to stomp all over downtown Toronto. Mostly I made jokes about the Jays.

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From The Depths

They mobilize the military in Toronto once every couple of years. It’s always in the winter when it happens, and always because of snow. It’s not that Torontonians are surprised to get snow in winter in Canada…it’s just that they very quickly run out of places to put it.

( So it’s not completely untoward to see the army on the streets. )

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Notes: Not really my thing, I think. No more crazy disaster stories for me. Well, none that don't involve a dragon anyway.

Tomorrow: Dragons!

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Short Story: How To Fall Upwards (or Starry, Starry Night)

2010-09-03T19:31:55Z

( notes )

How To Fall Upwards
(or Starry, Starry Night)
E.K. Johnston

( They say that if you find the perfect place... )

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( notes )

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Short Story: Give Peas a Chance

2010-07-26T01:48:31Z

( notes )

Give Peas a Chance
E.K. Johnston

( Here's the thing about peas )

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Short Story: What Happened on Wednesday Afternoon

2010-06-08T14:42:22Z

What Happened on Wednesday Afternoon
E.K. Johnston

He invents time travel on a Wednesday, in the morning.

( At least, he thinks he does. )

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Short Story: Station Keeping

2010-05-10T16:34:01Z

It dawns on me that this one's probably going to need a bit of background information.

( One time, I went to Scotland... )

Station Keeping

E.K. Johnston

( There's a train station in Scotland that's barely a station at all )

Special thanks to Opal, who edited.

Dedicated to Amy, for whom the train did not come, and for whom the dream of Scotland will always be very close to my heart.

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Short Story: In Memoriam

2010-04-21T02:29:06Z

In Memoriam

Natalie remembers standing in front of the house, boxes piled up around her on the walkway.

Behind her, her father supervises the movers closely. Their furniture has made it this far without incurring damage and he is determined to maintain the status quo. Her mother stands beside her, weary and seemingly enveloped by the silence that surrounds their new home. Silence, this degree of it, is not something Natalie is used to, but she loves it for its newness and the promises it holds. Things will happen in this house; things which will stand out from what has come before.

“Well, at least the neighbours will be quiet,” her mother says, looking at the short, green hedge on the property line with vague distaste.

It is at this moment that Natalie realizes this will be the house she thinks of whenever she thinks of home.

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( The saddest and most profound gravestone in the cemetery belongs to Esther and Lily and Mary )

*

To the various permutations of the O'Brien family. Who shared their house and their history with an impressionable girl, and especially to Lesley O'Brien, who was awesome and witty to the end.

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Short Story: A Coffee Runs Through It

2010-04-13T21:18:08Z

A Coffee Runs Through It

A lot of the time, I don’t leave because I’m finished. I leave because I have to pee.

I find it inexpressibly frustrating. Here I sit, working hard and doing my best to stretch a four dollar coffee as far as it will go. In my heart, I know that as soon as my cup is empty I will feel morally compelled to vacate the premises. I sip slowly, rewarding myself by the word, and while away the hours plotting only to be betrayed in the end by my own bladder. So I gulp down the end of my drink, enough that I know I could have made it last through at least another hour of industry, and flee entirely rather than face the walk to the public washroom again.

( Yes, *again* )

To Laura, who loves coffee more than I do;
And to Steph, who almost doesn’t work in a coffee shop anymore.

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Short Story: Fairy Tracks

2010-03-29T01:25:23Z

Fairy Tracks

Tessa found the first signs the morning after Yule: a green trail of sweet-smelling slime underneath the biggest pine tree in the back yard.

She had a nail in the pocket of her coat. Her father had been hanging garlands outside, and Tessa had been in charge of passing him nails as he needed them. Christmas was always a time for hiding in plain sight. Tessa could decorate her house with garlands and stars, and no one ever guessed that it wasn’t Christmas she celebrated. Her mother said that when she was older, it might be more difficult, but for now, she enjoyed getting two weeks off school after her holiday.

When she saw the slime, her hand was in her pocket before she had time to think about it. She could barely feel the nail through her mittens, but the shapeless lump made her feel better. Still, she didn’t stay outside very long. She wasn’t sure she wanted to play with fairies.

**

( On the day before Christmas Eve, the world seemed to buzz. )

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Photo Writing

2010-02-18T18:55:22Z

DM_lunsford asked me why I wrote a story about three people who shared a gravestone. The following photos come from a cemetery near the cottage that I spent my summers at as a kid.

( Cut for photos )

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Short Story: A Turkey for Mrs. Eckhart

2010-02-17T16:26:03Z

A Turkey For Mrs. Eckert*
(*names changed to protect the conspirators)

The best part was that only two people ever knew who started it: the butcher and Heather Dinsmore. Heather knew because it had been her idea. The butcher knew because of the turkey.

*

( Heather pressed the brake pedal and slid into second gear to cross the tracks. )

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