Spoink Crossbreed. Spoink spoink spoink.
I do keep doing these things.
FragmentsHe doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he’s half way down the street. He stops dead. His hands whiten around the handlebars. Feet slide off the pedals. Stopped. It’s the right street. It’s the wrong street. The house is empty now.The newspaper is discarded without a second glance. His line of work brings him enough lies as is. He doesn’t need to read them as well.He turns the bottle over and over in his hands. He’s not a fan of ketchup, never was, never will be. It was granted a place in his refrigerator for one man alone. He puts it back. His absence won’t outlive its lifespan.It’s a simple act that constricts his throat. Pull out a pen. Sign a report. The pen is red. Something borrowed, something kept. It slides back into his coat pocket.He leaves the coffee shop with two coffees and two donuts in hand. It’s only when he returns to his lone desk that he sees his mistake.The movie’s words wash over him in a famil
Raindrops on StoneAlma was most decidedly not a night owl. Let her husband and their friend see the hours of the night no person should be forced to see. So, it was with some displeasure she woke up in the darkness at a time she would have preferred not to have known.Her displeasure faded to the worry and confusion that had become a regular part of her days. She could dimly see Jowd’s shape sitting up in the dark. She joined him and lightly touched his arm.“Nightmares again?” she asked softly.“I don’t recall,” he said in a voice that sounded far too neutral.Her heart would have sunk if it didn’t feel like that was its default position these days. Lies again.“Something is bothering you,” she tried.“Everything is fine.”Then why does it feel like I’ve lost a part of you? Why does it feel like you’ve lost me? I’m right here, love, always. The words stuck in her throat. She wondered what would happen if she coul
Four MinutesThis wasn’t supposed to happen. His ears are still ringing, but can’t drown out the horrible sounds at his feet. It doesn’t mesh, the man at his feet and the man who’d been at his side only moments ago. He’s a wreck, struggling to breathe, choking on his own blood, staining that pristine coat of his red.“Can you save him?” Jowd asks.“Not from injuries,” Sissel says, remembering another such time there was little he could do. Wasn’t this bad then though.Jowd crouches down and Sissel notices his hand is still clenched around his gun. Cabanela seems unaware, his body fighting just to breathe.“Four minutes,” Jowd says in a voice of deadly calm. “He always was too stubborn for his own good.”Sissel can’t feel the chill, but he does feel the dawning horror.Jowd rests a gentle hand on Cabanela’s shoulder. “He can’t make it.” His mouth thins, nearly gets lost in his beard and
Small Gestures1The papers are spread in a sprawl across the table in front of Cabanela. He ignores them, leaning back in the chair, idly twirling a pencil. He knows them by heart, scoured through them all for every last unchanging detail.It’s plans cycling through his mind. Seeking answers they don’t yet have. Fine tuning details. Make sure everything is right, nothing missed.Five years seemed an unending stretch and now it’s come down to a few short weeks.Twirl, twirl, snap.He stares down at the broken pencil and it’s as though it breaking has snapped something in him. It falls from a suddenly slack grip.The Professor comes up from the basement and freezes in the doorway. The Inspector is hunched, face buried in his hands. He thinks he detects a quiver in that coat, sees his shoulders heave, lock into place, lose that battle, and heave again.He backs away silently. Let him have his moment, one that was a long time in coming, the professor suspects. He’s no couns
Road Trip‘We’re in for a long haul.’That’s for sure. It feels like we’ve been driving for hours with little progress. We stop at a quaint service station for fuel, both for the car and for ourselves. While dad gasses up I wander around the store my gaze passing over a mix of wooden and plastic shelving. The cool air after the heat outside is refreshing.Old faintly disturbing taxidermy adorn one wall and I can’t help staring for longer than comfortable before turning my attention elsewhere. There’s the usual mix of basics and snack foods. There’s a shelf of cluttered disorganized movies, mostly older. Much to my surprise I even spot some VHS tapes.I scoop up some chips, linger over candy I’d long forgotten the existence of and get some of that too.“Yeah, we’ve been on the road for a while,” I hear my dad say. The cashier nods and smiles. I join them at the till and dad claps me on my back. “Nothing like a go