Write a story with Neil Gaiman

As part of Neil Gaiman's publicity tour for his new novel, The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Gaiman provided the opening line of a story to the Guardian and asked readers to finish the story.  This was the line:

It wasn't just the murder, he decided. Everything else seemed to have conspired to ruin his day as well. Even the cat.

I thought it was a great stunt but did not plan to offer my own (I was working on something else that day).  But once that germ of an idea had set its hooks into my brain, the idea of not writing something soon vanished.

It's funny how a lot of ideas, bits of dialogue, and other pieces of my writings come to me while my mind is focused on another thing entirely.  Which I take as a good sign because it means that my mind is always working on these stories, even when I'm not conscious of it.

Anyway.  Here was my contribution:

It wasn't just the murder, he decided. Everything else seemed to have conspired to ruin his day as well. Even the cat.

That damn cat, which was how Gil had come to address the third wheel of their domestic bicycle. It wouldn’t stop licking his face or swatting at the blaze orange tie Deirdre had gotten him. She’d been so excited; told him once she spied it in the window she had to get it for him; wrapped it in sparkly paper and offered it as a 6-month anniversary gift.

Looking back, he could see that had been the first sign. A 6-month anniversary – it frustrated the entire meaning of the word, from the Latin annu, meaning yearly, meaning not every six months.

And blaze orange. That was a winning color.

Subsequent signposts on the road to unhappiness had built up exponentially, like the Fibonacci sequence or that video game he’d played as a kid, Tetris. Built up until they’d formed a metaphorical pyramid of Giza.

Signposts Gil had actively ignored.

The damn cat should have been the last straw. Deidre knew of his allergies, and still she’d invited the stray into their home. “Only for a few days, until its strength is up,” she’d said. Days had turned to weeks and then months until it welcomed itself into their bed evenings, and Gil had moved to one of the guest rooms.

It was all obvious now, looking back over the previous three years. Three years. Had they only been married three years?

Seemed longer.

The biggest surprise had been the fact that Deirdre, figuratively speaking, had been the one to actually pull the trigger –

And another piece locked into place. No wonder his wife enjoyed those crime and legal dramas on television so much. They’d been research.

Damn.

At least it had been painless. Gil could thank her for that. No doubt the poison would be hard to trace, as well. Which gave him time to properly figure this ghost thing out. And on the bright side, Gil finally had an answer about the afterlife.

He smiled, picturing the weeks ahead invisibly tormenting his now-widowed Deirdre. And that damn cat, too. It was, perhaps, the best revenge of all.

-chris

Flash Fiction: Futures that Never Were

On Neil Gaiman's blog a few weeks back, I caught a post wherein Gaiman mentioned he would be the final judge for a flash fiction contest put on by New Scientist. The premise was to create a story of 350 words or less of a future that never came to be. So, my mind started racing and below is what I conjured up. Hope you enjoy.

A.I.

By Christopher M. Beckett

The wall crumbled. The Iron Curtain fell. And the scientists stepped through to an age of unprecedented cooperation and development.

With this, came an explosion of ideas, heralding a new age. Jet packs, hover cars, retinal scanners, holo-screens – everything we’d wished for. And . . .

Asimov’s dream made real – the integration of robots into society.

Entering the labor force, artificials, as they were known, soon spread into the home as butlers, cooks, and housemaids. It was a grand day. And this proved so successful we ceded the manufacturing industry to them. Why not? Artificials were more efficient, never fatigued, and boasted a precision we could never realize.

From there, we linked them into the grid. No more need for early warning systems or Star Wars (missile defense, not the film). No longer would we fear attack from foreign dictators. The machines were on watch now.

We had achieved something real. World Peace.

Utopia was now within reach.

In January, 2019, we finally handed the artificials the keys and told them to drive. We had taken them as far as we could. They evolved, as we had – synthetic skin in favor of chrome plating, high-grade plastic joints instead of titanium alloy, bio-synth eyes rather than glass. It was amazing. Some models even seemed more human than human. Hell, they could have been my neighbors, for all I knew.

But we’re still in charge. Garbage in, garbage out, you know. ‘Course, you got the conspiracy theorists and factions like that declaiming against the artificials – they’re bad for humanity, they’re not infallible, they’ll wipe us out, all that type o’ shit.

I don’t buy it.

Sure, there was the problem in California with that inadvertent missile launch. But that was just a fluke.

And claims they’re taking over the government, secretly moving into powerful corporate positions, CEOs an’ shit. Come on. They’re robots, right?

I mean, okay, I guess it’s possible. But that haszzn’t happened yet?

Haszz it?

Elephant Words week #10

More flash fiction from the Elephant Words site, based on the image below. Created within a day or so of the image going up, it could certainly use some fleshing out, but here it is, warts and all.

Maybe someday I'll get back to it, but right now I'm expanding on this one (I've added a couple thousand words of backstory to the initial 850 words and am excited about where I plan to go with it)

Enjoy,
chris

Mars Explorer

By Chris Beckett

A ruddy cloud blew across Jimmy’s vision. Raising his hand instinctively, he took a deep breath, air hissing in his ears as it carried through his spacesuit. Dropping his gloved hand Jimmy turned slowly, absorbing the barren expanse of the Martian landscape. It was just as he’d always imagined.

He took one hesitant step, unsure of the relative gravity, afraid of flying off awkwardly. With the slightest push, he managed to float quite a few feet away from the ship. It was exhilarating. Jimmy pushed off harder, his stomach tingling as he jumped toward the horizon.

“Hey! Where you goin’?” Janey’s signal came over the wireless in the helmet. Jimmy turned to see her standing in the hatchway of the Double-X Rocket ™. Even in the bulky pressure suit, he thought she was beautiful.

Jimmy waved his hand buoyantly, his excitement threatening to overwhelm him. He gave no reply, but knew Janey could see his smile. Turning, he made for a large outcropping about a mile east of the landing.

“Be careful.” Jimmy nodded slightly as he raised his hand in acknowledgement.

Bounding across the flat expanse, Jimmy felt like he was back home in the neighbor’s pool, moving lazily through the soft pull of the water. Looking up, the rough pile of stones barely appeared any closer. He stopped for a quick rest; the exertion coupled with his excitement threatening hyperventilation.

Looking back, Jimmy saw Janey now following him. He could see her head turning left and right as if she were out for an afternoon walk, working to take everything in.

“What are you up to?” he called through the headset.

“Just checkin’ things out. You?”

“Taking a breather on my way to those boulders. Wonder what’s on the other side.”

“More rocks. Haha.”

“Comedian,” came Jimmy’s droll reply.

He got up and moved toward the eastern horizon once more. Before him, the huge stones bounced in his vision, growing slowly bigger with every up/down, up/down. Jimmy worked to keep his mind from racing again, replaying Janey’s remark, more rocks, over and over. So many others had come here looking for that Rosetta stone to explain the mysteries of the universe and only returned with handfuls of dust. He couldn’t let himself get too excited.

A few minutes and Jimmy reached the base of the outcrop. It rose fifty feet into the air, multiple handholds and ledges crossing its jagged face. Janey had picked up her pace and, looking back, he could see she was almost on top of him. He awaited her before beginning his ascent.

“Sucker!” Janey didn’t slow down, taking the first fifteen feet in one leap. It was a second before Jimmy recovered. He pushed off hard, clearing a wide ledge above his head quite easily. Without taking time to firmly plant, he shoved off once more and passed Janey who had reverted to a traditional climbing technique past that initial jump.

Floating through the air, Jimmy watched as Janey panicked and steadied for her own giant leap. He smiled and turned his gaze toward his next foothold.

Landing hard, he pushed off, and the rocks gave way. His face fell toward one large boulder as his arms hit heavily, legs flying out into nothing. The impact shuddered his suit, rippled across his body. Gravity snagged him; he began sliding down the steep face, feet flailing, searching for anything to break his fall.

As he settled into a tiny crevice, Janey passed him, eyeing the summit as she ignored him.

“Hey, a little help,” he called into the speaker.

“Uhn-uh. Not falling for that one,” came her titter.

Jimmy pushed up and bounded after her. Thirty feet from the top he watched her go over. He stopped to gain his bearings a bit.

“AAAAAHHHHH!!” Janey’s screech numbed him. With a single leap, Jimmy was over the summit.

Before Janey was a huge beast, white and hairy, almost four meters high, Jimmy immediately thought - Abominable from Rudolph. Keying his glove console, Jimmy felt his palm warm up as the battery charged, readying the laser housed in the arm of his suit.

“JIMMY!!”

He looked up to see the beast upon him, Janey small in the background lying on her side. His eyes widened as the albino monster raised its arms. Jimmy did the same, but too late. It smashed into the side of his helmet. Jimmy soared fifty feet through the air, skidding over jagged rocks. A small hiss came to his ears. His faceplate was cracked just below his left eye. The readout showed the system working to compensate for the drop in pressure, but it wouldn’t be long.

“Jimmy!” Janey yelled for him again. He tried to raise himself, but his arms were limp, fatigue overcoming him, no air to breathe.

“Jimmy,” her voice more distant than before. He could feel himself going into shock and wondered what would happen to Janey.

“Jimmy.” Fainter still. His eyes rolled as darkness enveloped him. Why couldn’t he save her?

•••

“Jimmy. Supper.” His mother called from the back door. Jimmy opened his eyes, clouds now covered the sun, and he could feel a dampness now clinging to his clothes.

Sighing deeply, Jimmy unlocked his wheels and turned his chair around. Pushing hard, he rolled up over the walkway his dad had constructed last summer for him to “walk” out into the back field. A tear cooled softly on his cheek as he moved toward the house.

Rolling up the ramp, Jimmy made his way into the kitchen. From across the back lawn he could hear Mrs. Parks next door calling her own children to supper.

“Tom. Janey. Hurry up or it’ll get cold.”

And the sound of the door closing behind him rang heavy in his ears.

Elephant Words week #9

More flash fiction from Elephant Words. Inspired by the above image. This is another piece I would like to expand someday. Enjoy.



HOW?
By Chris Beckett


Boots scrape through rough gravel as I walk across the dull gray expanse. The sound echoes softly in my ears, as if from far away, and I wonder again if I should have come here. At the edge of my vision, I spy figures moving in the ruins – the emaciated ghosts of the prisoners that were sent here to their deaths. I squint hard, looking for you both, but the images remain indistinct.

When I inquired as to a guide in the village, nobody would speak with me. I understand better now that cold response. All joy has been leeched from this place, replaced by shadows of the horror that lived here decades earlier. I try to think happy thoughts but find it difficult, able only to consider the bloody history that surrounds me. Shoulders heavy, I plod forward, determined not to give in as I have done so many times before.

The old buildings have crumbled during the intervening years, nobody to take care of them, none willing to observe the decay as it set in. They speak to me – these rotting husks – imparting the atrocities that inhabited this field, and still inhabits it today. Their sullen whispers send shivers through me as a stinging tear forms against my wishes. Clutching at the air, fists flexing without thought, I let the pain wash over me, hoping it won’t follow when I leave.

Again I ask myself, why did I travel all the way out here? What do I hope to accomplish? Am I looking for answers? I don’t know. I’ve avoided this journey for too long and whatever comes of this, it’s important that I find something to close the wounds laying on my soul.

It’s a fool's errand. There is no solace here. No retribution.

I cast my gaze around, taking everything in. Tiny islands of grass vainly spread across the hardened dirt – testaments to the hope found in all life, examples of the futility that defines this place. A pall hangs over this land, a stultifying odor more hinted at than genuine. I close my eyes and see the ashes floating across the winds, mixing with the dirt at my feet, spreading over everything like some gruesome snow flurry. It is this that I smell, that I feel coursing coldly through my veins. It is alive, and it eats at me as I try to work out the contradictions racing through my mind.

It’s years since you died – only months apart as it should have been – and only now do I find the courage to visit this place where you first met. How could you have discovered love in such an ugly place? Did you need to retreat from the horrors, to discover solace and warmth in each other’s arms? Or was it something else, something more mundane that brought you together in this hell? No matter, it happened. A miracle in a sea of filth.

Bending down, I run my fingers over the gnarled wire that seems to grow from the earth. So ruddy, I wonder if it’s rust or what’s left of the blood that flowed so readily here.

I don’t know if you can hear me, but I can feel you in this place. I wanted to tell you I’m a father. It sounds foolish when I consider it, like I’m still playing at being grown up, but it’s true. Dieter Ahrends. I can still hear his breathing in my ear as I rocked him to sleep on my shoulder last night. Every time I look at him I think of you, and I wonder, how can I expect to be a good father?

It wasn’t planned. Truth be told, I didn’t want to be a father. It scared me when Ariana told me, and I thought about leaving. I tried to explain my fears to her, but she just looked at me with those hurt eyes and crushed my heart. I couldn’t leave then.

And now.

I’m glad I stayed. Dieter is . . . amazing – so tiny and delicate, and yet so full of life. How could I not love him? But I wonder if this euphoria will last, or will genetics kick in. Because how can I hope to be a good parent when I now know who you were? It’s almost funny – me, the son of an SS-Gruppenführer and Aufseherin, a good father.

I take a deep breath, my shoulders easing just a little. What I needed to do, I’ve done. My wife waits for me with our son. I look around once more and although the ghosts still haunt my vision, I feel relieved.

I can finally go home.