Castle Paradox

[Moogle1]

(cross-posted from my brand new writing blog)

"Vampires," she affirmed, straightfaced. Then, to add credence to her story, she stood erect and slammed her hands down on my desk.

It's in my job description that I can't mock these kids or even contradict them. I'm supposed to be a listener; the idea is that if they talk enough, eventually they'll say something. Even then, there's precious little I can do, which mostly amounts to referring them to a specialist. Technically, my position is closer to social work than to psychology.

Some days I just feel impotent.

"Vampires?" I asked. She grunted in the affirmative with a slight nod.

I keep a mental chronicle of the things I'd like to say to them. #1138: Which one of them told you? Was it Mrs. Sandborn? I tell myself that the day I quit is the day I stop chronicling and start using these lines.

"When did you first suspect that they were vampires?" No matter how much the kid is boring you, you stimulate conversation. Get the kid to talk.

The ribbon her mother undoubtedly planted in her hair bounced lazily as she stood back up and crossed her arms. "I guess I always suspected. You're not one of them, are you?"

"Teachers or vampires?"

"Vampires. I'm not stupid."

"No. Are you?" (That would have been #1139, but sometimes I can't help myself.)

Her hands dropped again, this time to her hips. She made a face: repulsion. "What do you think? No!"

"Good."

"I have to go into the sunlight for gym. That's how you can tell if they're not vampires: if they go into the sun. The gym coach isn't a vampire and that's why they make him teach health, too, since the vampires really don't care about health."

"That makes sense. But how do the teachers get from, say, the 300s building to the teacher's lounge?" I shouldn't challenge the kids like I did here, but this kid was really into her story.

She sat down in the chair and leaned forward intently, eyes gleaming. It was clear that she'd considered this and other implications. "The underground. They probably haven't told you about it."

I shook my head. In fact, I had heard about the storm tunnel that was a popular hideaway for truant smokers until they gated them up a decade or so back, but from what I could tell, that was just straight piping with only two entry points: one on each end.

"They wouldn't tell you if you're not one of them. But you never see them walking in the open air, and you know only the gym coach attends the pep rallies."

In fact, I didn't know that. I didn't attend my own high school's pep rallies and I certainly wasn't going to start now. Admittedly, she was right about never having seen the teachers in the sunlight, but I wasn't exactly chummy with them.

"It sounds like you've got it all figured out. What are you planning to do about it?"

"Nothing. It's still illegal to kill vampires, right? The government doesn't recognize them as undead if they're not legally dead."

I was slightly taken aback. "That's probably true. Are you concerned about your safety, though?"

She grinned triumphantly. "Nope! I'm protected. Here, take this. Vampires can't stand it." She dragged her backpack out from under her chair and unzipped one of the side pouches. Instantly, the room flooded with a nigh-palpable stench. My eyes watered and I gagged as I extended my hand. She proudly palmed me something small and roundish that I slid into a desk drawer.

#1141: They're not the only ones.

"Thanks," I choked. The bell rang, signifying the end of the class period and therefore our session. She zipped the backpack closed and hoisted the straps onto her shoulders. "Careful out there."

"Thanks. You too." She turned and walked out the door. I turned and opened the window. Great. The smell had stained my hand. I looked through the trash can for the plastic bag from lunch and used it to contain the smell. I'd have thrown it away except for two reasons: first, it'd stink up my office, and second, I was sure she'd ask me about it the next time she was here.

I spent the next few minutes looking for a hand wipe and, finding one, was wiping the stink off my hand when the second bell rang. Just then, the handle turned, the door swung open, and in walked another kid accompanied by Mr. Watson (pre-physics). "This is Brandon. He's here to talk to you--"

Mr. Watson crinkled his forehead and looked slightly ill. "That smell -- is that garlic?" Brandon turned and we watched Mr. Watson walk off without further explanation.

I turned my head to look out my window and saw the gym coach leading a group of kids onto the track. Nice weather today -- not a cloud in the sky. Unconsciously, my hand reached for the plastic bag.
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Slime Salad :: Independent Game Design

[Pepsi Ranger]

[Moogle1]

It's just a sketch, and a pretty unpolished one at that. I started with the opening line and had no idea where it'd end up until I got there.

Despite the roughness, I feel satisfied with it. This was an hour's work and my first short fiction since high school. I'll probably try a more ambitious short next.

Glad you liked it. My wife had a similarish complaint, saying it ended too early and you didn't know if they were or not. Any dissatisfaction of this sort is intentional, though it's not the sort of thing I'll aim for on any sort of regular basis.

This is probably the sort of style I'll go for with most of my entries -- the short story style. I'm considering using random word generators to come up with bases for the story and going from there.

Just noticed that italics were lost in the copy/paste. Not a huge deal, but worth noting.
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Slime Salad :: Independent Game Design

[Pepsi Ranger]

I think it's better that we don't know if they're real or not. It's always fun to tease a reader. It's the actions and reactions that give the story its life; the subject only adds the fuel. I'm more interested in seeing how the psychologist responds to weirdness (or lack thereof). So far she's just a wisecracker--and probably hiding some inadequacy that you haven't developed yet.

In any case, I'll be looking forward to the next one.

Oh, and try to avoid those random word generators. While they're meant to inspire creativity, using a generic tool tends to keep the author from thinking for himself, and thus defeats the purpose. You can usually get great ideas from combining two things in real life you might interact with, or read about in a newspaper, or see on television that don't normally go together.

Like coffee and penguins.

Story: A homesick explorer, trying to get a taste of the life he once knew, decides to open a mock Starbucks in Antarctica. While he finds a stash of coffee grounds in his laboratory storeroom, his efforts to find normalcy go wasted. He builds a coffee stand out of plywood in the heart of the penguin mating grounds. But the penguins don't drink coffee. He snaps. This wasn't the throwback to his old life he wanted.

And you get the idea. From two words, we just created a character on the edge of madness. There's no need for one of those lame idea generators. Creativity starts with creativity.
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Progress Report:

The Adventures of Powerstick Man: Extended Edition

Currently Updating: General sweep of the game world and dialogue boxes. Adding extended maps.

Tightfloss Maiden

Currently Updating: Chapter 2

[Uncommon]

It's weird, but no one seems to be able to recognize a vignette on sight. They'll complain about how a story's too short, has no conflict, doesn't go anywhere. These are not things a vignette is concerned with, it just offers a fragment, an isolated incident. The third comic I ever made, the WGMD eight-page teaser, got similar complaints. This bothered me until I realized the issue. I like vignettes, they're good times.

This was an entertaining read, I'd like to see more.