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May 30, 2019 June 14, 2019 / ~	/ 2 Comments
The corpse of his bodyguard stood headless across from him.
The blade materialized into the hand of the carcass, and in one fluid motion it lowered its level and darted toward him.
Robert saw the puppet's strings now, a slight light in the dark. The light of the moon gleamed off them as he took a quick breath.
Would it be enough?
Robert pulled his sword back and steeled himself. The body ran nearly parallel to the ground and its feet moved fast. Impossibly fast.
Blood spurting from the neck stump, the puppet swung up — then straight forward in a fencing thrust.
Robert had already committed to the upswing, bringing his sword over and down at the wrong angle.
Dropping a foot back in a hard pivot threw out his knee and avoided the thrust of the corpse puppet. Mostly. The sting in his side was nothing compared to whatever the hell happened to his knee, which screamed at him in agony.
Where is he –
Another person appeared near him, behind him.
To the right..?
A blade appeared at his throat, to his dismay. Then, it fell away. A limp body collapsed behind him. Slowly, very slowly he turned to look and saw his son. Much older than when he last saw him.
"Tristan?"
"I have news, m' Lord" He tossed a blade with the flick of his wrist into a bush nearby, and the bush screamed and out slumped the puppeteer.
"… Maybe call a healer first." Robert grunted. He stared at the dead puppeteer. an elf with a raven emblazoned on his forehead. Green eyes staring angrily in death. A strong glow emanated from Tristan's hands, snapping tendons and miscellaneous sinew back into place, rippling visibly underneath his skin. Robert grit his teeth and grunted in agony, to the delight of the darkness around them. The coppery smell of blood lingered in the air.
Invisible hands rubbed together and ancient lips licked, smacking loudly — but Robert couldn't hear.
"Thank you." Robert when did you learn that?"
"That's what I wanted to tell you. The news I mean." Tristan grinned just like Robert and more often than Robert. Normally it irritated Robert. A laugh came naturally from both.
"I do have other news, sir." Tristan narrowed his eyes. Even his curly brown hair looked more serious.
"One half of the Ravens is willing to talk terms."
"They're willing to talk? And half?" Robert scoffed.
"They're not monolithic, sir. Many groups tire of the fighting and are willing to talk. Probably half of them want to use this as a ruse to kill some of us. But the other half of that –"
"So, maybe 1/4 of them is willing to talk?"
"But it is that small group that is important."
"No…Impossible."
"It's exactly who you think it is. They survived…" He stared intensely and paused, gauging Robert's response.
"…However". Robert exhaled forcefully through his nose in a half laugh.
"However… they want a marriage. And familial rights to the council. Seats on the Senate. Votes."
Now it was Robert's turn to pause.
"They seriously are willing to consider this? What proof do I have?" Robert rubbed his knee and stood. A paper rustled, a sealed scroll. Sealed with a dark wax. Peace?
The scroll bore the ancient seal of Elven blood. Something that hasn't been seen for 30 years. Describing the terms, concession of all Elven territory in exchange for representation. A self-defense force for Elves. Additionally, an illustration was rolled up along with the document. A skillful hand had drawn a most delicate picture of a rare prize.
An Elven princess. For Robert's hand.
"But I am already married." Tristan stood silent.
"Father… You know she has been dead for nearly ten years now."
They stared at each other. The moon stared too.
"What…?" Robert's head suddenly hurt very badly and he had to sit down from the sudden wave of nausea. Memories of her long black hair in his hands flooded his mind amidst the tears.
"We need to get you to a proper healer." Tristan whispered to him as he put Robert's arm around his shoulder. "Let us leave this grim place. Rally the Halharken." Tristan now spoke loudly to the scouts gathered around him.
They stood unresponsive to Tristan's command. Tristan steadied himself under the weight of his father and prepared to shout again. Omar stepped forward from the troops with a face as sullen as Robert felt. He held a scroll in his hand.
"Tristan, step away from Robert." Omar's voice was barely a whisper. Tristan scoffed.
"What? Rally your troop and prepare to move to the capital. We do not have time for this."
Robert was feeling steadier, and stood on his own now. Shoulder to shoulder with his blood. He leaned to Tristan and spoke softer than Omar.
"BY ORDER OF THE KING, RULER OF ALL MEN AND ELF AND HALFBREED. STEP AWAY FROM LORD LOWMAN." Omar had drawn his weapon and stepped closer, in unison with the stomps of the Halharken closing their half circle upon them.
"Omar, what is this foolishness?" Robert spoke as he pulled his sword. He did not want to hurt his friends, but blood is blood. He helped raise the man standing next to him. Now they were back to back as the crowd closed in.
Omar stared, the smell of each others' sweat could be tasted on the air. "Robert… I… This scroll came just now by royal courier. The Kingsguard sent their best hawk to bring this." Omar tossed a parchment that had been crumpled up in a ball to Robert's hand. Robert read it and paled visibly even in the shadows of the trees. The shadows tingled with delight.
"Tristan… How can this be? The King says you are a traitor. You are collaborating with the Elves in a secret plot?" Robert turned to face Tristan, who stared at him in confusion.
"NO! I had just come here on the orders of the Court! This must be a mistake!" Everyone's knuckles tightened on their weapons.
"There is no mistake, child." Omar grimaced and took his stance. Robert stared in horror as Tristan began muttering ancient words and his sword glowed with a foreign light.
The light certain Elves could imbue in their blades.
Omar and the Halharken dashed forward together, Robert raised his blade to protect his son against their curved sabers. Tristan exhaled and the world exploded in ancient light.
Then darkness. Slight steam rising from the ground around them. Robert and Tristan stood in a small sea of corpses. Omar's face continued to grimace up at them from their feet.
Robert fell to the ground and screamed in a mix of rage and sadness.
Tristan still held his blade up. "Did you hear that, Father?"
Robert just stared at his dead friend in silence. His heart now a chunk of dead matter.
"We are still not alone… There was a strange scream just now, not the men here. What wa–" A large burst of blood sprayed from his mouth onto the back of Robert's head.
So warm
Tristan fell beside him, his body twitching furiously. Blood spurted from his ears and nose with each heartbeat. Steam rose from his body writhing in the dirt, and the steam quickly turned into a thick forceful blast as if a great furnace had opened before him.
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July 15, 2017 February 28, 2018 / ~	/ 4 Comments
Click here for the part before.
The parchment sealed, Elmyra hobbled outside on tired legs. Wind breezed cold on her face, forcing her to squint as she walked to the small pigeon coop off to the side of her hut. Sunshine felt far away. A fluttering of wings and a bit of twine send the parchment into the sky, and old eyes stare after it. Ancient eyes.
One pair of eyes belonged to the Elmyra. The others? Well.
The bird wasn't the fastest bird, or the most graceful. But it was the only bird Elmyra Cairon had. The others had fallen to the last winter, and she didn't care to buy more.
She didn't believe that she would be around much longer.
The bird fluttered along above the treeline, clumsily gaining altitude. Its yellow-red eyes stared out, blinking quickly. Were it a human, it would wonder if it was able to make it. But instinct drove the bird higher. Farther. The pigeon may not have been graceful, or fast — but it was old and reliable.
The parchment staggers its stride, but pigeon pride ensures that it reaches its destination just in time.
Finally able to descend, our pigeon makes an exhausted dive down toward the treeline, leaving what was left of the sun disappearing behind the Zephyr Mountains and entering the cool of the shade. It seemed to breathe a heavy sigh, swooping to land on the arm of a tall and lanky elf. The man gave a chuckle as he untied the paper from the bird's quivering leg.
"Ch'arleh, a message came for us. Judging from the bird, its probably your mother."
A snort-laugh came from a cave entrance behind the tall elf. The sound of a sword sliding into a sheath was followed by a whet-stone thudding on a wood table. Ch'arleh came out, auburn hair pulled into a high ponytail.
"That's definitely my mother's bird." He picked it up gently and stroked its head. The bird cooed pleasantly. "She's had this thing for as long as I can remember. Its time is almost up though."
He set the bird onto a branch, and it sat and stared at him as he took the parchment back into the damp cave. Ducking to get into the opening, he stood and walked long strides into the mountain. Candles perched wherever they could, casting dancing shadows over shelves of scroll and tome. The oaken chair that used to be his father's waited patiently for him, and he sat with a grunt. Cracked wax and rustled paper revealed the words with familiar handwriting:
Halharken East of the Zephyrs and travelling Westward.
Among them is one of your cousins from your father's side and a human noble.
He has some understanding of the arcane.
Something is not right, son. Please be careful. With love,
Your Öntarii
Ch'arleh stared at the parchment for a long time, feeling its rough texture between his fingers.
How much magic did she use to get this information?
He shook the concern over his mother aside and set his mind to work. He had little cause to worry for her, considering his plan. The Halharken have exposed themselves on this side of the Zephyrs during the peace.
"Hmph. Peace indeed." He whispered to himself. Action needed to be taken. If the Halharken were here, it meant that the Crown was willing to risk exposing itself. What made this risk worthwhile?
"J'imh! Send word to the outposts to recall their troops back here." Ch'ar shouted into the mouthpiece of a wooden tube that ran from beside his chair, along the ceiling and to the mouth of the cave. He removed his hair, and let it hang down to his shoulders. The flickering darkness intensified as the smallest breeze toys with the candles. A poison breeze that comes from within the cave. From the shadows themselves. Ch'arleh smiles to his invisible allies, whispering words that allows their dark energy to flow through him. Words neither human, elven, or even ancient orc.
He felt electric as his hairs seemed to throb with hungry power, standing on end. A power no one knew of but him. Not even his dear, sweet mother.
A fluttering of wings outside disappeared into the darkening woods, calling his Ravens. Ch'arleh opened a scroll he had read dozens of times before — a scroll that had the language he spoke inscribed in harsh, foul-looking scribbles. Scribbles that seemed to shift and change to an untrained eye.
The symbols surrounded an image of a particularly evil-looking mask. He mouthed the words that titled the forbidden paper to himself with a smile:
"Khosst Am'ojaan"
Robert and Omar smiled at each other and took a swig of their water at the same time. The plan they devised was perfect. They finished with just enough time for the sun to retire and for a crescent moon to rise. With the Halharken keeping guard around the makeshift campground, they both felt comfortable enough to get their rest. They needed it in the day to come. Omar fell asleep instantly, soft snores oozing from a wiry beard.
Hours passed, and the sliver of moon crept slowly above. Robert tossed and turned on the hard ground. He stood with a frustrated sigh. Maybe a walk would calm his nerves.
The Halharken were notoriously silent and so Robert did his best to match as he walked. The night itself seemed to absorb sound, as even the insects held their breath. He felt lonely even though he knew he was under guard. Finally, he saw a hooded figure standing next to a thick tree trunk. Thinking some small talk might just bore him enough to sleep, Robert strode to the silhouette of his guardian.
"A quieter night I have never seen. And yet I cannot sleep," Robert softly spoke as he walked up. "How goes your watch, tracker?"
Silence replied from the leaning figure. a beat passed and Robert froze where he stood.
"…Tracker?"
He kept his distance as he circled around wide, hand on the pommel of his weapon. A cloud passed over the waning crescent moon, stealing what little light there was. The hood still obscured the face of the figure as he came to stand in front. Roberts nerves were frayed and he shouted over his own thundering heart:
"Speak or I will cut you down!"
The figure jerked suddenly, no longer leaning against the thick oak.
"Oh, Gods! Sir! I apologize, I must have fallen asleep." The man sheepishly admitted. Robert breathed a sigh of frustrated relief and chuckled as he looked down.
"You scared the iron from my blood!" Looking back up Robert saw the man's face. Young. Eyes bulging in terror. Robert's mouth hung open – unable to speak – as he saw a thin line appear across the youth's throat. A thin line grew thicker and began to spray blood as his head rolled from his shoulders. The head plopped to the ground and rolled enough for the bulging eyes to reflect the light of the moon peeking back out from the clouds. The body remained standing perfectly upright.
Robert steeled his stomach against the urge to projectile vomit and drew his blade with a practiced hand. Glances around him revealed no one. Nothing. The headless body still stood with an eerie stiffness.
Then it shuddered!
Until then, read this funny story I wrote about magic in modern times!
May 7, 2017 / ~	/ 1 Comment
I was working late in a rural school, when the power went out. I was the night janitor, a job I had always enjoyed because of the relative solitude. I could sleep all day and relax for a bit before driving to work. I would bring my headphones and listen to some Silversun Pickups or Andrew Bird while I swept and mopped up the refuse from the day. Every day the halls were left filled with broken pencils and crumpled up papers with forgotten love scribbled inside. Sometimes I read the notes, and chuckled at their eager egos reaching for some strange ideal of romance. Sometimes I just sneaked a quick bowl and zoned out into my work and the music. Each day blended beautifully into the next. Rent was paid, snacks were bought, and small bits of my check I managed to save. I was content with my confident mediocrity.
Until the night the lights went out, I was enjoying the relaxing waves of soft rain on window panes.
The darkness washed down the hallway I was standing in like a splash of obsidian. It's difficult to describe the feeling I had, but it was not a normal, healthy fear of the dark. I felt… Unnerved. I knew it wasn't true, but I felt like I was being watched by the inky black that surrounded me and touched by the silence that swarmed and swirled.
I stood still for some time, expecting to hear the backup generators kick on or the clicking drone of emergency lights. But the only thing I heard was a loud metal clanging that shot down the hall and into my bones. Frozen. Reverberations shook my bones. Helpless. I stood as if locked in a dream. I felt like a child, confused. Silence finally began to echo and ring and ring and ring in my ears.
It must have been a dream. I must have fallen asleep. This must have been a dream, right? I don't even believe myself as I begin to think of how to write this…
The lights finally kicked on as the sound ended, with a hum and a flicker. And I saw I wasn't alone.
I caught a glimpse of a large hominid whirling away around a corner. Legs were too long, and the arms were longer. Slender. Pallid. Vein-y. I remember the veins. Thick and purple on a skinny frame. I could have sworn I saw them throb hungrily.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair in a classroom. I felt cold, and I shivered. I felt disoriented and my vision was blurry as a soft lightning flash illuminated the room with the slightest gleam. Slowly getting to my feet, my eyes noticed the room number posted on the board amidst reminders and notes. The room was in that hallway I was in, or that I thought I was in before…
I found my coworker after running outside into the breezy night rain and into another building. I must have looked wild, because he asked if I was OK. I wasn't. I'm still not.
My partner said the lights never went out.
And it's been two days, and I thought it was an exhaustion-induced hallucination because I hadn't been sleeping recently. My dog has been constantly barking at the clouds and the squirrels that have moved into the roof of my home, constantly scratching and squealing.
But now I have a unusual dot where my bicep meets the forearm. Sight bruising, too. As if I had gotten stung or poked.
Now that I look closely, it's starting to seem infected. The bruising is a dark hue, darker than even when I broke a bone as a child. And the veins are thicker around that dot. And my head… aches. Constant throbbing.
Maybe I should drive to the city hospital, an hour's drive away. Those big-city doctors will know what this is.
Probably just a bug-bite, mixed with this fever and paranoia.
Yeah. That's it. Still gonna go check and make sure.
Make sure it's nothing serious.
November 30, 2016 July 15, 2017 / ~	/ Leave a comment
Click here for the part before
"Bread?" Omar eagerly hopped down from the branch above.
"Yes, an old Elvish woman gave this to me for the trip I had ahead" Robert said. "There's plenty to share."
He held the bag out to his subordinate. An arrow flew from his left and whisked the bag from his hand, pinning it to a tree with a vibrating twang. Robert smiled and looked at the archer, eyes wide underneath their hood.
"You have a keen sense for magic, tracker. Omar, where did you find this one?" Robert beckoned for them to come from the brush and they stepped forward with a visible pride, nearly prancing like a show horse in the Capital on Parade Day. Omar smiled wide with white teeth shining in the sun and gave a laugh. He and Robert stepped around the corpses and the small lake of blood forming around them. Flies already began to buzz upon their corpses with the greedy instinct of insects.
"This one I found following us a few years ago. An elf, actually. A criminal from the ruins of their once glorious city" Omar chuckled and clasped them on the shoulder. "He followed us for days, without any of us noticing. He has a natural skill that we made useful, and he is now a brother. One of the best. Lucky for him…" Omar squeezed him hard on his shoulders, causing the elf to wince in pain. …" he didn't steal from us." Omar gave a hearty chuckle and released him.
"I was… curious." The elf spoke more softly than Robert expected. Monotone. "These men captured a Raven without his group noticing. A Raven with whom I had a personal score to settle" A small smile curled the edges of his mouth. "You were testing us, earlier. With the bread. I waited to see if anyone besides me noticed…"
"But they did not" Robert finished with a grin. The elf smiled.
"I am Landar. I have a wider skill set than most." Robert looked to Omar approvingly.
"You did well to find this one, Omar. He will prove useful in the days to come. You have elemental magic, don't you?" Other hooded figures stepped from the bushes, forming a circle around them with their backs to the three. Protective.
"Elemental? Landar. Why didn't you tell us?" The elf's eyes were wide and staring back into Robert's piercing glare. Silence fell between them all for a moment. Omar shouted to his men:
"It's a bruin, don't worry about it." They apparently sensed the creature and mistook it for… something else.
"Why didn't you tell us, Landar?" The stare continued. Then the wind shifted, the way the wind sometimes does.
The wind pushed its way through the trees, rustling the leaves above and around the group. The smell of the forest whirled into Robert's nose, making him nostalgic for something he couldn't quite remember. He stared through the elf, thinking hard about why he couldn't remember. The smell of damp leaves and an air slowly growing colder spread a strange longing within his soul. The elf mistook this for the stare of a legendarily ruthless officer of the Imperium, a stare that meant impending doom.
"Please… you must understand that it… it's not something I… like to use. Or for others to be aware of. But you knew?" Landar was visibly shaken. As a cloud passed over the sun, draping the group in shadows, a Halharken blade appeared before the throat of the elf, held by a hooded man who appeared with the shadow's passing. The ancient darkness within the shade of the forest trembled with lustful anticipation. More blood may come on this scene. Blood that may only begin to quench their thirst. Robert and Omar's silence coaxed more words from the fearful elf.
"You know it drains my life, more so than other magic. I have nearly no control over it. I fear that I use… too much when I do…"
"Which element?" Robert snapped back from his daydream. He was tired, but there was so much more to do on this day.
"…Ice." Landar whispered. Omar grinned, and waved to the silent man behind the elf. The curved steel whistled as it flew back into its scabbard. The elf breathed heavily, horrified.
"Normally we would kill you where you stand, ele-mental." The word dripped with acid from Omar's lips. "But you will come in handy with a mission we have in the future. Some of us may actually survive with your skill on our side."
The elf flicked his eyes between Omar and Robert, not entirely convinced that they would let him live. Robert spoke words of reassurance.
"We really do need you. We won't wait until you fall asleep to slit your throat as if you held the blood of the flame." The sunlight trickled through the trees into Robert's eyes, and he looked up. "Omar, let's get moving back to the mountains. We have some planning to do." As the sun danced between the leaves, glittering gold, Robert had a strange image flash into his mind's eye. A beach, at night. Then some strange house, with green grass surrounding it. Perfect grass. He shook his head involuntarily with a odd twitch, and the images vanished. The sun still glistened between the leaves. Nostalgia again.
"Strange" He muttered to himself, and he cracked his neck. The Halharken disappeared into the forest like darting birds, and he began to walk. They could not be seen or heard, but he knew they would escort him as he walked. Invisible. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, feeling the design as he had always done. But somehow, this time it seemed foreign and unfamiliar. As if it was his first time feeling it. He tossed the old woman's staff into the woods to his side and walked down the road.
The old woman hissed as she sensed him throwing the cane away. She had no way to track him now. But she had heard some of what was said between the group despite the distance. Halharken on this side of the mountain. An elf that held the Blood of the Ice. She tossed her anger aside as she scribbled furiously onto a parchment, arthritis shooting pain up her wrist. She gritted her teeth and sealed the roll with a bit of wax and a stamp. A stamp with the image of a raven holding one snake in its mouth and another in its claw as the two serpents twisted around its body trying to strangle it.
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October 24, 2016 July 6, 2017 / ~	/ Leave a comment
"Elven…?" Robert repeated groggily. His memory was still fuzzy, and his head burned as if it had been set out to bake in the sun. Despite the pain in his body he pushed himself into a sitting position and let his eyes adjust to his surroundings. It was a modest hut. A once colorful rug covered the dirt floor with intricate patterns, the walls were the dark color of a local wood. A small fireplace was across the room, with a black kettle bubbling over the flames. It smelled pretty good, and his stomach rumbled into the quietness.
"Let me get you some food. This was my Grandmother's recipe. So you can guess that it's an old one." She cackled cheerfully like the elderly tend to do. She turned and hobbled away, a gnarled wooden cane steadying her gait. Her silver hair was pulled into a bun and Robert could see that her ears were longer and drawn into a pointed tip. All at once completely alien and somehow familiar. Robert rubbed his temples, taking the edge off of his throbbing skull.
Robert James Lowman. My name. But who… am I?
"Here you are." The old woman smiled and handed him the bowl. Her hands shook way too much, yet only a small bit spilled out. A thick brown stew steamed before him, carrots and potatoes and beef urged him to feast. Raising the first spoonful, he smiled as his mouth filled with saliva. Closing his eyes as he chewed, he gave a small moan as he turned the only-slightly tough meat between his teeth. The smell filled the air around him, and suddenly he felt emotional. He was missing someone. Someone who used to cook like this.
"Linda!" He burst out with a full mouth. He gulped down the bite and stared ahead, eyes pulled wide. He knew he was married to a beautiful woman, one he was blessed to even know at all. Robert remembered some of who he was. They lived in a manor house far from here.
Nearly the other side of the world.
His heart beat faster in his chest, and he fought to keep the blood from his face. Robert was lucky these Elves didn't recognize him, but that's about as far as his luck stretched. His legs felt as if millions of needles were slowly prodding into them. He must have been thrown from his horse.
Why am I so far from the border? Why did the Crown send me here?
"Linda? Who is she? A lucky woman to have such a handsome man worry for her." The woman grinned at him with twinkling eyes, thinking of past times when Elves were forever young. When she still had her husband there to keep her warm during the long winters.
"I am the lucky one, truly." Robert replied.
I can't let her know I am from the Capital.
New memories were swirling into existence on the canvas of his mind, painted with an eldritch brush held by the skilled, long-fingered hands of ancient shadows. They enjoyed using this world. It was more diverse than the traditional universes they sculpted to lure their captives into false memories. So many opportunities for chaos, so many shadows that could grow and tangle and twist the minds of corporeal beings to their hateful desires.
So many variables.
"You're a sweet man for saying that" The woman continuing to smile. "So I know your wife's name. Who are you?"
"My name is R…Roger…" He trailed off and stuffed his face quickly with a heaping spoonful of the delicious stew to buy him time to think. His name was infamous enough that he knew to hide it from even this frail woman. And she was so pleasant! The only Elves he had ever met were on the battlefield as a younger man or in the secret laboratories under the Citadel, unknown to even the nobility of the Imperium.
"Roger Theregin." He said after swallowing his bite. He could feel it travelling all the way down into his gut. As if the potato was wrapped in guilt. Rubbing his head with one hand, he used the other to place the bowl on the table next to him. He knew he had to get back to safety. His mission was a failure, but he gleaned some important facts that he had to get back to the Council.
"Ohhh, a name from your East! You must be a farmer?"
"…Yes. My wife and I have a small farm right on the border of the Imperium."
"We both know the Imperiums' borders reach much farther than the lines on the map." She laughed softly and shook her head. "Ever since that one day all those years ago, we Elves have always lived in fear. Mortality such as humans know it truly is a burden to us like we have never borne before." Robert nodded silently, as he slowly began to swing his pained legs over the side of the bed. He winced as the woman put her hand softly on his shoulder.
"You should rest. Forgive the ramblings of an old woman." Robert rubbed his thighs, urging the stinging away as best as he could. He must have been here for days. Feeling weak, he pushed himself up to stand. He placed his hands on his lower back and stretched.
"I am strong enough to relieve myself from your care. I wish I had some way to pay your hospitality, you were far too gracious to a stranger you scarcely know."
"Nonsense" She waved her hand and shook her head with a solemn smile. "You are in an Elven home. We may be poorer than we were before, but these traditions of hospitality will never die. Even if we do." He nodded with silent respect, and stretched his hand out to take hers, she smiled and gave it freely — almost blushing as he kissed it.
"Truly, thank you" He said with real respect. "I will come back one day to thank you for this kindness. For now I must leave." She grabbed his hand with surprising strength as he tried to release hers. He was startled, and looked into her eyes. Hazel, but darker. He felt a small fear grow within him before she smiled and spoke, reminding him of his own grandmother.
"Not before I pack you a bag of bread to keep you going!"
He laughed as he walked to the door, opening it. Looking outside as she prepared his bag. The land was lush, clouds flew along on the breaths of cool wind. People – Elves – went about their day, some carrying water to their homes. Some tending their modest shops. Mountains watched in the distance. He listened to the far Eastern birds sing their foreign songs. Unheard to him, the old woman muttered to herself inside.
"Never before have I felt such smooth hands on a farmer." She scoffed. "Roger Theregin? More like Lord something-or-other." Placing the last bit of bread into the bag, she tied it shut with a bit of twine. She flicked her eyes over to Robert, and seeing his back still turned she began to hold a hand over the bag. The smallest glow emanated from the tips of her fingers as she whispered words that twisted her tongue around in her mouth, and made the space within the hut darker. Even a skilled mage like her could not sense the devious pleasure of the shadows. The fire shrank and sputtered, almost going out as she resolved her incantation.
"Foolish human. To think that I would believe such a poor lie. And for him to believe my own!" Her lips pulled back in a toothy smile as she unconsciously ground her teeth. Even if this spell took time from her own life, it was worth it to help her son's cause. The last hundred years left Elves mistrustful of humans. This 'Roger' was certainly an Imperial spy, sent to gather information on her family. The old woman began to shuffle toward Robert's turned back, the smile transforming from the conniving grin to a pleasant beaming. Resisting the urge to take the large knife from her left and cleave it into his spine, she reassured herself with thoughts of her talented son. So gifted with the arts, and with many friends he had spirited away into different parts of the world. Even the Capital of the Imperium itself. Reaching to tap Robert on the shoulder, she thought to herself:
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October 20, 2016 July 6, 2017 / ~	/ 2 Comments
His heartbeat thundered painfully in his ear, mixing with the strange whispers that came and went like a terrible breeze between rotting trees. He swore that he could feel spit spewing from empty space next to him as the strange language dripped into his ears.
Ko'se lano makora kojani noss'e
He shivered so hard he thought his back might spasm.
Robert knew that his wife would never make it off the planet, like most of those on Earth. There were only so many shuttles that were capable of escaping the gravity-well. Not nearly enough. They never made enough. A terrible case-study of financial Darwinism.
He heard the airlock open, a whooshing creak accompanied by shouts and boots thumping into the passenger cabin. Voices other than the ones from the darkness trickled through the flimsy plastic door to the suitcase compartment he crammed himself into. A thin line of light gave him the air he needed to breathe and allowed him to hear his soon-to-be captors.
"Well, looks like Brillby finally offed himself. Poor bastard." A gruff chuckle.
"Have some respect, Clark. The man lost more than most." A reverent voice said.
"Hey — I said 'poor bastard'. Just… keeping it light." Clark grumbled. Slow, heavy footsteps.
"Jackson, what do you think?" Silence. Boots thumped around, and he heard the steel click of a rifle loading a bullet into its chamber.
"There will be no need for that, Clark. Robert and I know each other." Robert felt frost spread within his gut.
Who is Jackson? I don't know anyone named —
The compartment clicked open and light flooded fiery fluorescence into his retinas. Squinting, he saw the familiar sight of a gun barrel leveled at his face. A man's eyes came into focus, eyes dark as coal looking furiously at him. A large hand came from the side and pushed the gun barrel down.
"God, Clark. You still can't listen. You want to be stuck on sewage duty again?" The older voice chided like an irritated father.
"No, sir." Clark still stared at Robert with hateful daggers, unblinking. He backed away, and allowed the older man to step forward and stare at Robert. A shock of white hair on top of his head was contained by a small black beanie, a large and regal white beard covered his face and went down to the center of his chest. The bluest eyes Robert had ever seen. Like clear ice over a frozen lake. He had seen this man somewhere before. Somewhere. But where?
"Robert, get on out of there. Out of the shadows." Robert sheepishly climbed down with the awkward movements of an older, out of shape man. A foot down onto the chair below – with hands still in the luggage hold – he began to slip and the artificial gravity caused him to fall — but Jackson caught him. Strong despite his age and taller than he expected, Robert was set down onto his feet by Jackson holding him under his arms. Like a parent sets up a toddler. He felt the blood rush to his face. Recovering quickly, Robert spoke:
"You said you knew me. Explain." The men erupted in laughter around him.
"This one has balls, lieutenant." Lee giggled.
"Leave us." Jackson whispered. The two guards exchanged glances.
"Sir?" They both said together. Jackson remained silent, simply looking at them from the corner of his eyes. They both looked at each other and shrugged in unison, walking toward the airlock.
"We'll be right outside, sir." Jackson waved his left hand at them, his right on his sidearm.
"I know why you're here, Robert. Do you?" Jackson asked as he stared unblinking with wolf-eyes. Robert replied with silence and a stare.
"I finessed my way into this universe. I followed you from outside your real home, back on Sedgebrook Drive. You fell through quite the rabbit hole. Again. Do you know what's happening yet?"
"What are you talking about? Sedgebrook? I lived outside of the city, within view of the Great Elevator. What do you mean, 'this universe'? Who are you!?" Robert said.
The older man shook his head.
"When you think of your wife, what memories do you see?" Robert's heart skipped a beat. Those strange memories of a different timeline flashed again into his vision as he conjured the image of Linda's face. Something was horribly wrong.
"I… I don't know what's happening to me. These memories aren't –"
"Those are your true memories, Robert. Each time you slip between worlds, they become harder to see. Given enough time, they will vanish completely. You have to focus, focus on your love. That's the only thing that they don't understand."
A thunderous explosion shook the Gwaden, and they both lost their footing and fell into seats across the aisle from each other. They locked eyes and Jackson stood remarkably fast for someone his age. He leaned over Robert and put his left thumb in the middle of his forehead with a soft force and his right thumb into the skin over his heart. An electric current rushed through Robert, and memories he had forgotten about rushed back to him in an instant. The cold forest. The sands of post-war America. The lights flickered and died inside the shuttle as another explosion rocked the Gwaden, and the red glow of emergency lights filled the cabin. Whispers violently hissed, forcing fear to flow into Robert's body. A fear laced with anger. He remembered everything now.
But for how long?
"They hate me, Robert. I try to save the souls they keep. You are not alone in this game. Millions of people over the course of human history have become trapped in their game, replaced by the elites of their malevolent society…"
A blast rocked the ship, cracking a hole in the hull of the Gwaden. Air began to rush out of the docking bay, and he could hear the screams of Lee and Clark as they were sucked into the vacuum of space. The artificial gravity created by rotation was stopped as the frigate lost power, and Jackson skillfully glided over to the airlock and pounded his fist on the emergency seal to force the door shut.
"They are going to kill us both, Robert. Fill your mind with thoughts of your wife, and your life. Maybe they will be strong enough to –"
Another explosion rocked the ship and there was the monstrous sound of steel being ripped apart, violently tossing the shuttle out into space. Crashing and tumbling, Robert was bounced around inside the cabin along with Jackson. He protected his head the best he could, and pissed himself only a little bit.
"Dream of her to escape, Robert. You must dream of -"
A stray slug of iron tore into the shuttle, tearing it in half like a wet paper bag. Robert's eyes dilated from fear. Remembering the first time he was knocked out by the vacuum of space, he could not help but let fear wash over him. There were no happy thoughts to be had. Clutching at his throat, his lungs burned as the air was pulled out of them. He felt his eyes bulge, and begin to pop.
Stars looked on, devoid of emotion. They had seen this all before.
And they would see it all again.
A washcloth woke him, icy on his steaming head. Comforting. Soft. A skillful hand dabbed his fevered skull with the caring touch of a mother. Almost settling back into the pillow, Robert began to sit upright and pain shot through his body, driving him back into the bed. His legs were like hard, dead rubber. Forcing his eyes open, the natural light made him squint.
"Hush now, don't try to move. I found you in the dark wood. You should know better than to go there. Bandits love to ambush travellers. You had nothing but the clothes on your back when I found you." Robert's eyes had adjusted and focused on the elderly woman who was tending to him. The corners of her mouth were tilted ever so slightly upward, the tiniest smile.
"Where -" A cough thundered from his chest, labored. He felt exhausted and weak. "Where am I?"
This thought he kept to himself. Robert knew his name, but his mind was a terrible mixture of shadows and fog. He was scared, and tired. So tired.
"You are far from home, ser. Human land is a week's ride from here, with a fast horse. And we don't have any of those left." The woman sighed. Something about the sighs of the elderly make one feel an existential despair, and it weighed on Robert's fragile psyche. Tears began to form under his eyes.
"Shhh. There, there… Don't worry. You have surely heard tales of Elven hospitality?"
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October 11, 2016 May 28, 2017 / ~	/ Leave a comment
Jason Gathers looked back at the colonies being pulled into Earth's gravity as he began to prime the small craft for a long burn. Fire spread around the O' Neill cylinders like fearsome flowers, orange mingling with yellow and red with a terrible fury. The screams of millions of people burning alive went unheard as his engine spun up, and he felt a heavy sorrow grow inside his chest.
"I wish she could have seen this with me. Who knew that revenge could be beautiful?" Jason softly slurred to himself. "Her hair was the same color when the sun shined just right." He felt a small pride that he had turned a group of exploited slave laborers into an efficient task force. Each of their charges detonated at the right time, at all the right places. The Earth's gravity did the rest.
"They were good men…" He whispered to the memory of his wife. "Friends, even. But we all made sacrifices for this cause." As his engine kicked into gear and the long burn began, the charges he had secretly placed on their vessels exploded and destroyed all evidence of their involvement. Shadows watched, pleased with the dark fruits of their labor. Their suggestions in this universe have climaxed to this result. A beacon he had dropped into orbit began an automatic broadcast on all channels, which had previously been completely jammed.
"People of Earth. Escape while you can. We are here to bring a new age to humanity. We are here to show you that Earth is too small and too fragile a basket to put all of our eggs in. We have played in this cradle for too long, and despite our advances the Earth cannot thrive under the weight of all of us. Look above you, now. See the terror the Republic and the Consortium have created. They are destroying the colonies, and their sloppy work creates more destruction for the people on Earth, while they hide comfortably in their shelters. They do not care for those in space. We are expendable to them. Rise up, and leave now. We need your help to achieve humanity's destiny, to spread our civilization to the stars. Come, join us and prosper together in space. Or stay, and die."
Robert cried, his imagination showing him images of chaos in the major cities. People fighting over each other to leave Earth. Soldiers struggling to keep control and to keep their fingers from their triggers. His wife alone in a crowd, trying to herd a group of small children. There was almost no way for them to get out in time. Not with an entire city trying to evacuate. Hope was translucent, faint as a whisper in a thunderstorm. If the colonies roaring into the atmosphere did not create the panic, then that broadcast that just played over the intercom certainly would.
In the cockpit, Jason's accomplice cried too. He was frustrated with his cause, knowing now that the people they condemned to die on Earth were mostly innocent. There was no way to contact command and to call off Axis' descent. It probably had too much momentum anyway. It could not be stopped. Something else was bothering him. Racking his brain, he could not remember why Jason ordered him to kidnap Robert James Lowman. He couldn't even remember the orders. The shadows stared through him with smug, obsidian smiles. They knew why. Confused and isolated with his guilt, he programmed the autopilot to take Robert to the hidden fleet behind Axis, and sat back in his seat. He stared at the blockade of ships in front of him that ignored this shuttle, turning to face the ancient celestial demon that doomed their home world. Flashes erupted silently as he coasted above their firing solution.
"Useless." He mouthed silently and put the small, silenced gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His body recoiled, and floated up. Blood and brain vibrated strangely in zero gravity as the shadows laughed, dancing along with the crimson bubbles. Whispers filled the cabin as the man's dead body floated and dreamed of another universe. Whispers from shadows that were always watching in pleasure.
Robert had moved ahead to the front of the craft to take Omar's body and give it some semblance of respect by covering his dead face with his coat and placing it in a seat. Robert could hear the raspy conversation, and stifling his tears he drifted toward the cockpit to investigate. He gasped when he opened the door, seeing the corpse floating in the same moment as the whispers went silent.
"I must be going fucking crazy." Robert muttered to himself. He put himself in the pilot's seat after softly pushing the corpse down and behind the chair. Robert had no sorrow for this terrorist, regardless of his situation. The only thoughts he could think were of Linda, horrified on the planet's surface as humanity's impending doom coasted toward them. Remembering some basic flight controls, he began to flip switches and tried to move the yoke. It was stuck in its programming, and he was unable to move the controls. A notice flashed on the instrument panel:
PLEASE ENTER THE PASSWORD TO ACCESS FLIGHT CONTROL.
'Password' did not work. 'Guest' did not work. Robert slammed his fist in frustration on the flashing screen, which also did not work. To the pleasure of the darkness, he was trapped in this thing on its way to the last place he wanted to be. He pushed himself back into the cabin, searching for the escape pods in the back. Their doors had been welded shut. Probably a preemptive move by the terrorist to stop any escape. Without options, Robert glided to the seats on the right, resigned to gazing down at the tracers within the barrage of hot steel. Suddenly the front of the asteroid appeared underneath the shuttle, and he could see that the U.E.R.'s attack was barely whittling away at the surface. The explosions were probably gigantic, but the sheer size of the asteroid made it useless.
"Useless", Robert muttered angrily. He stared down at his elder, the massive stone rolling beneath him. Pockmarked with craters, the ancient drifted underneath the craft for what felt like ages. He tried to look off to see the edge, but the immense rock stretched out to blend with the darkness of space. There were abandoned structures that dotted the landscape, old mining bases probably. Finally the end of the space boulder appeared, and he could see mammoth thrusters that were darkened and cold. Without realizing it, Robert had been crying this whole time, tears filling the space around his face. He was startled into a scream as the V.I.'s voice broke the silence:
"Please buckle your seat-belts and prepare to dock. We have arrived at our programmed destination. Thank you for flying with The Consortium, where your comfort is our priority."
Docking clamps loudly clamped onto the side, shockingly fast after this announcement. He looked out the window and he could see dozens of ships surrounding the shuttle. They were older transport craft, dirty and outdated looking. There were massive guns on each of them, and he knew that they must have been jury-rigged to become a fighting force. He saw the space around him disappearing as the shuttle was brought into a docking bay of a much larger ship. Steel and chrome shined beneath the lighting inside as he saw the name of the craft painted high above the deck and the walkways. The U.E.R.'s Gwaden. The old ship thought to have been lost over 20 years ago on a deep-space patrol now closed around him.
The shuttle's movement ceased with an iron screech as Robert's heart pounded in his chest. Who knows what these rebels would do to him? They would probably think he killed the pilot. He floated up and hid in an overhead compartment, not able to stop tears welling up in his eyes. He was completely hidden, but he was not alone. His fear was with him. The shadows were with him, keeping him company. And he could hear their gleeful whispers. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to fill his mind with his wife's beautiful face.
Suddenly he was seeing flashes of her in places they had never been. Like lightning illuminating a darkened art gallery. A beach at night somewhere, walking from a strange automobile that hadn't been relevant for generations. The same car at a 20th century drive-in theater.
What are these memories?
He had no time to think more, as he heard the airlock start to open with a hiss and the creaking of metal.
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October 9, 2016 / ~	/ Leave a comment
So, we all know cats are pretty weird. My cat is definitely no exception. Her name is Mrs. Gibbles, and she is probably one of the weirdest I have ever met. She loves to get to the sinks as I try to wash my hands or start the bath so that she can get the absolute freshest water possible. She will stare at the faucets in wonder as the water starts to come out, like it is some magical thing beyond understanding. It's not uncommon for me to go home after working all day to find her in a cat-trance, staring at the faucets in one room or another. She will look at me as I make fun of her strange obsession, meowing needily.
"More water, Dad!" If she had her way, she would be a watterlogged piggy.
Recently, she has been acting even stranger around the faucets. She's been refraining from drinking the water, unless I put it in her bowl. But she still stares, and it has been all she does for a week now. Extremely unusual and out of cat-character. She sometimes even makes a racket while I watch TV or clean the house, swatting at the steel and chrome and meowing incessantly. Sometimes I thought that she was attacking a roach or something! She would hiss and go into crazy-mode, running around the house at maximum velocity with her fuzzy white gut swinging back and forth only to charge back into the bathtub and attack at the faucet. I would try to surprise her, to see what she was up to, but whenever I did she was just staring in wonder at the glistening steel. The same look she has when she stares off into the spaces in-between atoms, gazing at ghosts.
Bored and with some extra money, I decided to set up some cameras. I thought maybe I could get some prime footage and get onto America's Funniest Videos or something along those lines. Maybe just make my folks laugh. That would have been enough. But I don't know what to do with these tapes now. I've begun moving out because of these tapes. I stay in a hotel with my Mrs. Gibbles, only packing during the day.
The footage started as usual. Just her looking out the window as I drive away, then immediately she plodded over to the bathroom. The camera in there was at a downward angle, looking from a corner where the ceiling meets the walls. She sat on the edge of the tub, away from the faucet. Staring. Nothing remarkable happened for a while, and she crawled into the far end of the tub laying down where she could stare at the faucet. Very very boring. But then I began to see some movement at the chrome, and I was unable to understand how the water suddenly began to run when I realized it wasn't water.
Slowly, over the course of several minutes I saw a purple finger stretch from the faucet. Unmistakably a finger. There was a long nail, black on the tip, cracked and moldy. It felt around the tip of the spigot and Mrs. Gibbles began to hunt it. She crept toward it, and suddenly slid to attack, swatting and hissing at it. No audio, but this was the thing that she would always do. Smack, smack, smack and the finger disappeared. She stared up into the faucet, cutely sniffing at what I knew to be impossible.
Then the finger crept up from the drain below her, bits of my wife's long black hair entangling it, but then I saw it was unlike a finger because it was much too long and it had no knuckles. More like a tentacle than a finger. It poked at her with an intelligent curiosity, startling her tail into a big poof, coaxing her to attack again. Playing. It disappeared, and as she investigated the drain, it reached from above and tickled the back of her head.
She leaned into it like she leaned into my rubs. I vomited.
I googled some information on my address. A young girl had been drowned in the tub by her mother when she was only 6.
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October 4, 2016 October 15, 2016 / ~	/ Leave a comment
The hum of the engine filled the passenger cabin and Robert stood frozen, clutching his suitcase. He stared at the corpse of his friend as it floated eerily just above the floor, dead nose inches from the tacky carpet. Gulping with a dry throat made him cough, and Robert covered his mouth involuntarily. The man with the gun turned his sneer to a frown as he tightened his aim on Robert's face.
"Don't. Move. Slowly toss the suitcase down and put your hands up."
Moments passed, and he tossed the suitcase to his side just as the man began to bloat with rage. It quickly floated away and bounced around in the seats across the aisle. He was in no position to negotiate here.
Here goes nothing.
"You're not going to get out of here alive if you don't put down that gun." Robert leveled his eyes at the man with a monotone drone his father used to use on him. The man was defiant, like Robert used to be.
"Pfft!" The man expelled air in disbelief. "No one in the U.E.R. knows this is happening right now. No one but you. And you have no way to contact anyone."
He was wrong there. This entire time Robert had been using his mobile to send a live stream of this attack to executive officials at the Consortium. The communicator was floating now, dangling from his suitcase that hovered off to the side, above the seats. If the man looked close, he could easily see a red light blinking softly. But his attention was wholly on Robert, who continued his speech craft:
"Doesn't matter. You get to Persephone on schedule, you have security waiting. You deviate from this shuttle's flight path, you have military personnel just itching for action."
The man stared with an empty face at Robert. Slowly, the gun went to his side. Relaxing. His eyes were deep in his face, and when the lights flickered for a moment he looked like a skeleton. A slow smile found its way onto the tired man and Robert's blood turned to ice as he spoke.
"We have seized Persephone, and the Prime Minister's office there. He's surely been executed by now. Justice… Justice is almost here." The man's whisper was below a breath, and Robert only saw his lips move:
"Any minute now." The man was very assured of himself.
"Justice..? What "justice" is this? Whose justice? Who are you?!" Robert shouted now, and the gun raised again in response to his agitation.
"We are the remnants of those you sent into space — those you sent to DIE!" The man shouted at him, gun flinging wildly around with each gesticulation.
"What are you talking about? Forced colonization ended over two decades ago! Reparations were made!"
"Fool!" The man screamed. His teeth were bared with his lips pulled back in a snarl. It took all the will he had left to keep his finger from the trigger.
"You think that those "contractors" you use are willing employees?! What man would willingly take his family on the first deep space colonization?"
Families?
Robert only knew that the contractors the Consortium used for deep space were paid well, and supplied well. He was under the impression that they were all willing scientists and engineers and workers. Everyone in the world was. Robert could only stare blankly at the angry terrorist, too confused to speak.
"What do you think happened to the colonists from before? They just lived on like usual!? Why did we need to have mass incentivized immigration to the Lagrange colonies then?! They should have had plenty of people there already! Are all of you so stupid?!"
"We thought there were casualt–"
The man slammed his fist into his chest loudly, grabbing at his heart. His teeth were grinding, and Robert could hear them. They sounded as if they would explode into dust any second. Several seconds passed.
"You had… no idea? No one did?" Tears poured from his eyes in steady streams. He did not sob, but the tears would not stop. Robert shook his head.
"I have no idea what you are talking about. We thought the contractors were all professionals looking for new frontiers. 'Pioneers and Adventurers!' Haven't you seen the promo commercials?"
"Good God. It was only the execs who knew? How could they keep such a secret, so many military personnel were used to move us all…" The man's voice cracked. He looked even more tired now, older. Weaker. Smaller somehow.
"Jason got us so riled up. We were away for so long… No contact, or news… We just thought you all had forsaken us, and just used us up and tossed us aside. But…" He trailed off, staring out the window just over Robert's shoulder. The Earth stared back at him pleadingly.
"Hey… What is your name?" Robert asked quietly, with caution. He slowly lowered his hands, and the man did not react. His unblinking stare reflected the glow of the lights inside the cabin.
"It doesn't matter. All of this will be over soon." He sounded if he had already died.
"Axis is coming. It's probably almost here." The man whispered with great reverence, as if speaking of a mighty, vengeful god that could hear him.
"Axis? What is that?" Robert asked, egging him on for more information. If he noticed that comm device, all of this tenuous trust would fly out the airlock. Robert needed more information.
"Axis is the reason you came up here, Robert. But we lied to you about the specifics." A sardonic snicker. The man looked down and shook his head. Robert was confused still but the shuttle's autopilot interrupted, announcing that they would soon be docking at Persephone.
"I'll get us away from the station. There's no reason for you to die there anymore."
"Wait!!" Robert exclaimed as the man began to duck back into the cockpit. "Why did you want me? Why me?" The man paused for a moment, and without looking back he spoke to Robert.
"I'm sorry about your friend. I am. And your family on Earth. But there's nothing we can do now. Looks like you're coming to space with us. We will find a way to make you… useful." The door shut behind him, and the man whispered to himself in solitude as he flipped switches.
"Maybe. I believe you enough to let you live, but my friends… They probably won't."
Robert drifted over to his phone, and ended the live stream. He pulled himself into the seat and looked to his left out the window. The vastness of space stretched itself before him, and he could see the blockade of frigates created in response to the alien discovery on Luna. Something wasn't quite right though, and he couldn't place his finger on it. He stared, confused at a shadowed part of space behind the ships. A large place without stars.
Impossible. Must be a trick of the light.
He stretched his vision to see as best as he could toward the ominous darkness out there, beyond the frigates. Robert passed several painful minutes in silence and he saw the shadow slowly grow. A couple more stars disappeared within it. The darkness had been gathering its strength beyond the blockade.
"Fuck. It's a giant asteroid." Robert breathed. He pounded his communicator's speed dial and reached electric along with his soul for his wife, searching. Hoping. He begged for her to pick up, but it was a Monday, and she was probably still in class. Looking at his watch as the phone rang, he pleaded for some cosmic being to tell her to pick up the phone. But nothing was listening. Nothing good, at least. Unknown to Robert, his extreme emotions and fracturing psyche were the source of macabre delight to the demons that placed him here in this universe. He was nothing more than a pawn. His fear and frustration and existential horror tingled the shadows and made them dance with delight. Lights flickered in the cabin. Whispers of their ritual leaked into his mind and tickled his ears, and Robert whipped around to find what made those sounds. A language he had never heard but for some reason found too familiar.
In this moment he finally reached the front desk of the school, and he asked to speak to Mrs. Lowman, with as much normalcy as he could muster.
"Linda… You need to dismiss class and get everyone out of there. You need to go to the emergency shuttle outside the city, a panic will start soon. I know it."
"R.J., wait, what are you talking about? Everything is fine here. Nothing is wro–"
"Listen to me, Lin. You have to trust me. Get out of there, please. Please." Robert began to cry. "There's an asteroid coming. It's terrorists."
"Robert James, this isn't funny, " Her voice cracked and gave a nervous laugh. "You got me, OK?" Suddenly he could hear a siren go off in the background, and the kids all screamed in unison. "Robert, oh my god. It's on the Persephone camera feed. You weren't lying! I have to go, but how did you know?! I can't do this alone R.J.! Where will I meet you?!"
"I'll find you! Don't go to Persephone! It's a trap! Linda? LIN?!" But the line was already dead. He looked at the communicator and saw that there was no service at all. The Consortium must have alerted everyone, just like he had hoped. But there was no way to prepare for something like this. A mass evacuation plan had been discussed, but there were nowhere near enough shuttles available for an exodus like this. He could only imagine the chaos his wife would have to endure trying to escape. If she could even get out of the city. But why was the service cut off so suddenly?
He floated over to the other side of the empty passenger cabin to look at the Earth. He felt cold as he stared at massive shooting stars entering the atmosphere, and he couldn't understand what they were. But then he realized that they were the various O'Neill colonies slowly falling into the atmosphere. New Sydney, New Beijing, New London. They were being ripped apart by the Earth's last line of defense. Several million people lived in each of them.
Something suddenly slammed into the window Robert looked out of, and he screamed at the unknown horror as it drifted away. Then he noticed that it was a human corpse. More of them were tumbling by, and it sounded like a hail storm outside. The ship turned away from Earth as he watched the burning colonies returning home. A bright flash lit the night side of Earth below him, as one cylinder hit the Indian subcontinent. His view turned with the ship, and he saw what was left of the great crown jewel of humanity's first steps into space. Persephone was now nothing more than a blossoming flower of twinkling glass and steel that spread partly into space, partly into orbit, and partly into tiny lines of fire streaking down to the Earth.
The hum of the engine filled the passenger cabin, a steady rhythm to accompany the sobs of Robert James. The shadows watched him and trembled with pleasure at his hopelessness, whispering among themselves in impossible tones.
On the Earth's surface, a child in a rural area stared up in wonder at the great streaks of light flying across the sky. He giggled and laughed as he held out his arms like an airplane, running back to the house as fast as he could. He wanted to share this moment with his mother, who waited inside crying as she watched an emergency broadcast repeat itself.
September 28, 2016 October 4, 2016 / ~	/ 2 Comments
The stare of stars from eons ago gave a passing glance to the tiny craft drifting slowly away from Persephone Station. Veiled by the darkness and coasting through space, it went unnoticed on the radar of the large U.E.R. frigates that formed a mechanical canyon around it. Drifting and rotating slowly. Just like a bullet that was stuck in time.
"Even if a member of the crew looked out a window, they might not even notice this thing." Jason Gathers half-chuckled as he took a small swig from the bottle. Nose burning from the scent, a tiny bit trickled from the corners of his mouth and bubbled in the small cabin around him, twitching and trembling tiny little amoebas of alcohol. Silence purred.
"Wish I could at least listen to music, this is going to take a while." He gobbled up the bubbling bits of whiskey from all around him, and Jason reminded himself of a dog he used to have. Junior giggled endlessly watching the dog chase after the bubbles that Jason blew for the pup to chase. After papa taught him how, Jason Junior loved blowing the bubbles himself. New liquid appeared in the small compartment as he stared out the window at the stern steel sides of the massive warships.
These bubbles came from his eyes, translucent and reflecting the lights that littered the sides of the frigates. Thousands of portholes stared at Jason. He stared back. Thinking. His wife used to tell him that he thought too much. After what happened on the mining base, she never spoke about it again. She never spoke about anything. Tears constantly flowed from her hazel eyes as she stared off in silence. She gazed at the spaces in-between atoms. A half-trained doctor that the workers had access to made some vague diagnosis:
"She's traumatized, Jason. There's not a lot I can really do for her besides some kind of therapy, and I don't have the time…" The Doc motioned behind him – like a ringleader in a circus – to the lines of tiny dirty cots behind him in the cave that was his clinic. Coughs mixed with wheezing breaths and the barely audible sound of mice chirping to each other from the shadows.
"There's not enough meds to go around to fight this flu, and the accidents keep piling up. I'm doing the best I can. I'm sorry." Jason stared back at the Doc. His eyes must have been hollow looking, tired. He sure felt tired.
"Look, Jason…" The Doc put his arm carefully around the shell of a man, and walked him out of the cave clinic and into the main cavern. Even through his shirt, the Doc could feel that he was cold. Stalactites poked down threateningly. They seemed larger than usual. At least it didn't smell like gangrene out here, Jason thought absentmindedly.
"Just try and talk to her. I know it's hard… All of us cried for you. Just like we cried for the Willow family, and for the Karns. I'll tell you the same thing that I told them: Talk, be with each other, be there for each other, and for god's sake – keep working. Idle hands do the devil's work, they say. Sure wish they'd give the guards more real work to do. I hear they get fed well. I bet they could mine if they tried…" He trailed off awkwardly.
Jason stared at Doc's face. He was trying hard, but Jason's mind hardly retained any of what he said. His wife was essentially catatonic. She had one sick day left from work, but if she didn't show up for her shifts then they would put her out the airlock. Just like the old lady Karn, after her sons were killed for insubordination. Jason forced a smile. The doctor forced a smile back and disappeared back into his clinic.
More tears were bubbled around Jason in the cabin of the craft. His hand was playing with the grip of his sidearm absentmindedly, and he took his hand away to swat his stray tears. Only a few more minutes before he would be able to kick the engine on, and get back to Axis.
An old proverb of sorts crossed his mind: "Revenge is a dish best served cold". Space was very cold. He saw his wife's streaming tears turn to ice in an instant as the air whipped out of the airlock. Tiny bits of ice spiraling into infinity.
"I'll never get sick of this view, R.J. It makes you feel small, every single time. It's humbling." Omar was looking over Robert's shoulder at the Earth's sphere below them. A beautiful orb hurtling through space. The moon could be seen hovering over the opposite side of the blue and green glow below.
"I wonder how long ago that weird shrine-thing was placed there on Luna. Do you ever think of that?"
"Not really, Omar. I'm actually crunching some numbers in my head. Do you have the recent market price for yttrium? I think it spiked again because of the U.E.R.'s increase in ship production."
"Sure. I probably have it in my folder here." He started ruffling through his papers and Robert thought about other polite ways to tell him to shut up. He needed silence to think every time before a negotiation. "Robert-time", his wife called it lovingly. She always knew to just give him some chamomile tea and to go watch the TV in the other room. God, he loved her. And he was lucky enough to be loved back.
"Here, R.J. This is that memo they sent out the other… What the fuck?"
Robert looked to Omar, irritated. His eyes were wide and locked straight ahead. Robert followed his gaze to the door to the pilot's cabin, which was ajar. Dark blobs came tumbling and fluttering out, the strange dance of liquid in zero gravity.
Omar unbuckled his seat belt and pushed off his chair, drifting quickly to the front. Steadying himself quietly on another cushioned chair, he slowly reached out and poked one of the dark blobs and Robert watched as the liquid trembled away from him. Looking at his finger, the color drained from his face. He looked at Robert and mouthed:
"Blood".
The sound of a heart thumping filled Robert's ears. He and Omar stared at each other, each wondering what to do. All the while the blood tumbled through the air between them. Robert grabbed his suitcase, and he looked up to see a man wearing a pilot uniform holding a large knife to Omar's throat. A skinny, long blade.
"I take it this one's name isn't 'Robert', is it?" The man sneered through gritted teeth. Robert reached his hand up and out to Omar's horrified face. A vain gesture. The blade pressed tighter against his throat for a moment, drawing blood. Robert continued to stare in silence, unable to respond to the terrible question.
In one swift motion, the man flicked the knife back, pushed Omar to his knees with a hand and a quick kick, and stabbed straight down into the back of the neck. After a spasm, Omar's dark eyes rolled back into his head. The man grinned as the limp body was pushed onto the ground, and bounced softly back up. Floating face-down as if possessed. In shock, Robert could only feel a numbed surprise at how little blood came out.
"You're coming with me, Robert — or should I say R.J.?" The sinister sneer was almost cartoonish in proportion to his face. R.J. felt cold, only his friends called him that. How could he know? Robert's face was an open book.
"We know more than you might think. We have people in the Republic government, in the Consortium…" The man chuckled as he drew a small silenced gun and pointed it at Robert.
Click here for the next part!


text:
Black Bird's Song (Gaze) - TOSKAGO - Racial Justice
Black Bird's Song (Gaze)
Size 25 x 37.6 cm / 9.8 x 14.8" 37 x 55 cm / 14.6 x 21.7"
25 x 37.6 cm / 9.8 x 14.8" / Unframed 25 x 37.6 cm / 9.8 x 14.8" / Black frame 25 x 37.6 cm / 9.8 x 14.8" / White frame 25 x 37.6 cm / 9.8 x 14.8" / Walnut frame 37 x 55 cm / 14.6 x 21.7" / Unframed 37 x 55 cm / 14.6 x 21.7" / Black frame 37 x 55 cm / 14.6 x 21.7" / White frame 37 x 55 cm / 14.6 x 21.7" / Walnut frame
Original medium: Oil on panel
Print medium: Hahnemühle German Etching fine art paper
Frame: Artwork will be framed with a square profile hand-crafted solid wood frame coated with black lacquer at 20mm width, 22mm depth and internal depth of 18mm. Our frames make use of the highest quality materials from sustainable sources. Put together by Fine Art Guild-commended framers, the print is protected with sealed brown taped backs and a crystal-clear acrylic glazing. Arrive ready to hang. Mounted on 50mm acid-free foam board. Measuring 35 x 47.6 cm including frame.
Frame: Artwork will be framed with a square profile hand-crafted solid wood frame coated with white lacquer at 20mm width, 22mm depth and internal depth of 18mm. Our frames make use of the highest quality materials from sustainable sources. Put together by Fine Art Guild-commended framers, the print is protected with sealed brown taped backs and a crystal-clear acrylic glazing. Arrive ready to hang. Mounted on 50mm acid-free foam board. Measuring 35 x 47.6 cm including frame.
Frame: Artwork will be framed with a square profile hand-crafted solid wood frame at 20mm width, 20mm depth and internal depth of 18mm. Our frames make use of the highest quality materials from sustainable sources. Put together by Fine Art Guild-commended framers and finished with a natural walnut finish, the print is protected with sealed brown taped backs and a crystal-clear acrylic glazing. Arrive ready to hang. Mounted on 50mm acid-free foam board. Measuring 35 x 47.6 cm including frame.
Protected by our quality guarantee Secured payment
Born from a conversation with the artist's best friend, The Black Bird's Song (Gaze) is a two-part painting series on the existence of black women. The piece acts as a depiction of the external view of black women through the lens of idealism and white supremacy. As the figure opens her arms to the viewer a wound on her right side can be seen gushing with blood; in this way, TOSKAGO labels her as a sacrifice.
Martin Mbuguah (b.2001), better known as TOSKAGO, is an artist born in Ol'Kalou, Kenya, raised in Indiana, and currently lives and works in Baltimore, MD. Born to a poor family of farmers and labourers, the artist's formative years were characterised by a deep sense of anxiety, violence and instability. At six years old, Mbuguah and his family had a twist of fate when they won the coveted "green card lottery" and were offered the chance to move to the United States.
As a first-generation immigrant, Mbuguah faced many hardships in his journey to the Western World. The artist's anxieties took a different form as he attempted to reconcile his inherited Kikuyu culture and the last tie to his family and homeland. He also began to acclimate to his new racial identity as a "black man" - an identity not previously experienced having come from an ethnically and racially homogeneous village.
It wasn't until his senior year that he discovered the power of art. After many warnings from teachers due to poor behaviour, one decided to question Mbuguah, pushing him to "try painting." His infatuation with art and painting emerged during a painting commission on toxic relationships. By which, he realised that through his people's ancestral practice of narrative he could bridge connections between himself and others.
Mbuguah's works have been displayed in significant national exhibitions at venues such as the Pratt Manhattan Gallery (New York) and The National YoungArts Foundation Gallery (Miami, FL). His paintings are part of private and public collections around the world, including the Fort Wayne Museum of Art, the St. Claire Collection, and the Swartz Collection. Mbuguah has also been the recipient of numerous prestigious national and international awards. He was a recipient of the coveted Gold Award from the National YoungArts Foundation, as well as a semifinalist for 2020 U.S. Presidential Scholars. He currently studies painting at the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA) and expects his BFA by 2024.
Based on our agreement with the artist, 15% of the pre-VAT price excluding frames will be donated to support To Write Love On Her Arms.
More by TOSKAGO
Don't Give Me Your Love
Moment of Bliss
A Revelation
An Ebony Cage (Consequence)

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
Granulina margaritula är en snäckart som först beskrevs av Carpenter 1857.  Granulina margaritula ingår i släktet Granulina och familjen Cystiscidae. Inga underarter finns listade i Catalogue of Life.

Källor

Snäckor
margaritula

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
VIRGINIA COMMONWEALTH UNIVERSITY CARY STREET GYM & AQUATIC CENTER
Originally constructed in 1891, the VCU Cary Street Gym building has housed a public market, auditorium, warehouse, and now stands as a world-class recreational facility for VCU students, faculty and staff.
Despite its grand size, the architecture of the 100,000 SF addition defers to the historic nature of the existing structure and neighborhood. The inside, however, is a tribute to both the building's historical roots and 21st century architecture, aesthetics, and health and fitness facilities. Wrapped in the walls of the original 32,000 SF market, gym patrons can appreciate the history of the space while enjoying the 38' rock-climbing wall for bouldering, caving area and belaying classes, 3-lane Indoor running track, 18,000 SF fitness center with cardio, selectorized and free weight equipment, 4-court gym for basketball, volleyball, table tennis and badminton. a Multi Activity Center with indoor turf for soccer, dodge ball and more.
Architects: Moseley Architects | Owner: Virginia Commonwealth University | Location: Richmond, VA


Received 3 March 2005; Accepted 16 August 2005; Published online 4 January 2006.
We examined intraspecies genetic variation in house mice (Mus musculus molossinus) from the northern third of the Japanese Islands, in order to obtain evidence of the history of mouse colonization that might have shaped the current genetic diversity. We extended the previous sampling of mitochondrial cytochrome b sequence and added information from the Y-linked Sry gene and ribosomal RNA gene surveys. We distinguish mitochondrial haplotypes characteristic of the North Asian musculus subspecies group (involving M. m. musculus and M. m. molossinus) as 'MUS', and that of the Southeast Asian castaneus subspecies group as 'CAS' (although the mice resemble MUS morphologically). There was a clear geographic partition of MUS and CAS types into southern and northern Hokkaido, respectively. Conversely, on Tohoku, the MUS and CAS types were interspersed without clear geographic subdivision. In contrast to the mtDNA data, all Hokkaido and Tohoku mice examined were found to possess a unique type for the Y-linked Sry gene, specific to Korea and Japan. Restriction site analysis of nuclear rDNA probe showed a consistent distribution of MUS and CAS types, as major and minor components, respectively, in the Hokkaido and Tohoku mice. These data support the previous notion that the Hokkaido and Tohoku mice experienced genetic hybridization between primary residents of CAS origin and MUS newcomers arriving via a southern route. The invasion of the MUS type could correspond with the evidence for arrival of prehistoric peoples. There are, however, alternative interpretations, including genetic admixture between MUS arriving by a southern route and CAS from a northern route.


text:
Instagram is becoming a go-to app for food ordering.
Photo Illustration by Lorenzo Di Cola/NurPhoto via Getty Images
How the Pandemic Has Given Rise to Virtual Restaurants in Chicago
These restaurateurs are hustling in the age of coronavirus
by Elias Cepeda Nov 9, 2020, 3:58pm CST
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Instagram isn't immune to the public health crisis: The halcyon days of scrolling through food porn have disappeared as indoor dining restrictions have kept diners at home. As many influencers have quieted their accounts, a corps of cooks and entrepreneurs in Chicago have seized the opportunity to use the platforms to introduce their pop-ups to a crop of new customers.
In the past, chefs like Jasmine Sheth may have used social media to generate awareness of their businesses. But now, the Instagram page for Sheth's Tasting India — her Andersonville ghost kitchen — links to a Google document where its weekly menu can be viewed, and she uses the page to communicate directly with and take orders from customers. "The pandemic has changed everything," she says. "Nothing is the same as it was before."
"Online has really been a lifeline for a lot of businesses like mine," Sheth continues. "At the same time, it's not enough to advertise on social media. You need to nurture relationships within the industry."
Sheth grew up in Mumbai and lived in New Jersey before moving to New York. She ended up in Chicago and worked at several Boka Restaurant Group venues, like GT Fish & Oyster and Momotaro. She's not interested in fusion, unlike, say, Vermillion, the River North restaurant that meshes Indo and Latin flavors. At Tasting India, she focuses on specific regions of India with a menu that rotates weekly. That's something the U.S. lacks.
"When I go to Indian restaurants here, it's not the food I grew up with on a day-to-day basis, not the one I experienced when I traveled around the country visiting family. It certainly does not represent all of the regional cuisines and so many specialties that even Indians ourselves are sometimes not aware of," she says.
Roasted Sweet Potatoes scented with toasted Coconut, Cumin and tons of Curry Leaves! The earthy tones of the Curry Leaves really magnifies the sweetness of the Potatoes. A classic Farali preparation gracing our Thali this week, accompanied by Moongphali ki Kadhi (Peanut and Sour Yogurt Kadhi), Sama ke Chawal ki Tehri (Sawa Millet), Farali Pattice and Angoor ki Chutney (Grape Chutney) During Navratri (The Festival nine nights) all nine incarnations of Goddess Durga are worshipped (one on each day of the festival) to celebrate her victory over the devil Mahishasura, signifying the ultimate victory of 'Good over Evil." Another Navratri tradition involves Upvaas (fasting), ingredients considered Satvik (pure), by Ayurvedic principles, are allowed to be consumed during this time (the dishes are referred to as Farali) but the resulting dishes are ALWAYS DELICIOUS!! How are you enjoying the start of your weekend!? Be sure to set your notifications for the new menu going live at 6 pm today!
A post shared by The Amuse Bouche (@the_amusebouche) on Oct 24, 2020 at 8:23am PDT
Crucially, Tasting India makes high-end and regionally specific food a bit more accessible: "I want to make this cuisine accessible," Sheth says. "When you take that high-end, fine dining approach, I feel to a certain degree that you have to give up on accessibility. Not everyone can afford a $150 prix fixe deal.
"I have to put more thought into if it's something I want to do, but with Tasting India, accessibility and spreading awareness and knowledge is important. At the same time, I also want to break the stereotype of Indian food merely being a cheap $15.99 buffet. I don't want to perpetuate that stereotype."
Thus far, Sheth has been surprised by how well her Tasting India Instagram business has been received, as well as just how much there is to do when one turns from a traditional restaurant kitchen model to a one-woman-shop.
"I've gotten to know my customers — I know one person usually orders a certain quantity of something, another is allergic to nuts. I appreciate this very personal connection. I feel like in a larger operation, some of that personalization is lost for sure. I'm sharing my own personal stories, how I learned to cook it, how I experienced it growing up."
While Sheth clearly believes this emerging model of selling food directly to customers has advantages — especially during an economic downturn and pandemic — she does hope that Tasting India will translate to a more traditional brick-and-mortar establishment one day. "For me, there's joy in being a restaurant chef," she says.
Creative latitude is a large part of what Sheth says she enjoys with her current setup. With many eaters more limited in their ability to move around, let alone travel, she hopes that Tasting India provides a rare pandemic opportunity to experience new locales: "I don't have to cook the same dishes over and over," she says.
"If you're locked down, what better way to travel and explore different regions than by taking a virtual journey through a plate of food? That part is super exciting."
"They know what's hot"
Bianca's Burgers signature item.
Bianca's Burgers [Official Photo]
Whereas Sheth says she's been able to forge a more personal connection with customers through Instagram, sibling owners Elizabeth and Rafael Royal of Bianca's Burgers say they have less interaction with eaters working out of their Humboldt Park commercial kitchen than they did in restaurants and bars in the past.
"There's a bunch of kitchens in here, yes. There's a Chick-fil-A in here, but we are not Chick-fil-A," Elizabeth Royal says. "There are other kitchens in here that are mom-and-pop places, like Mary's, like Savor 27, that are not corporate — they're being solely run by one or two people, like us. People don't understand it. They'll think we're lying and post on Facebook [laughs]. I promise you, Bianca is a person and we don't have a million dollars."
The Royals still connect with customers despite the lack of facetime. They remember regular customers by their screen names and reach out to them individually whenever possible. A friend has helped them learn how to navigate and utilize social media, and young Chicago industry members in Chicago, whom the Royals gave a first job or trained in years past, have also helped spread the word about Bianca's Burgers.
"They know what's hot," Elizabeth Royal says. "And they'll tell their followers where to go and what to try. It's the same thing with Bianca, my daughter. Bianca tells me what's up. She'll tell me, 'No, you're using this wrong. This is not right.'"
The pair wanted to open a traditional diner, but the pandemic pushed them toward the ghost kitchen route. Though the Royals say they save on overhead costs, it seems like they consider one of the main benefits of starting Bianca's Burgers in this novel way the fact that they've been able to see what works and doesn't, menu-wise, with a little less risk.
"It is expensive, but we don't pay for gas, water, front-desk people, garbage, and we have licensing flexibility in that we have the ability to do pop-ups built-into our license," Rafael Royal explains. His sister continues:
"It's hard to find a lease in a good area, and by 'good area' I mean one with high traffic. We didn't want to just jump into it, so we said, 'Let's test it, let's see,'" she says. "For example, today we're meeting to change the menu. With a storefront you have to have consistency."
The ability to tinker with their menu in order to see what eaters respond to is important to the Royals, even though they had a pretty clear idea of what they wanted their concept to be from the start. Growing up with Panamanian food in their home, the siblings came to like and crave the Anglo-American diner food, like hamburgers, that they'd get during special meals out.
"Ideally, when Bianca gets bigger and moves out of here, it will be a diner. Because I love diners," Rafael Royal says. "I love American street food. You know how Rick Bayless and all these chefs appropriate other countries' foods? We're going to appropriate American food.
"We're not chefs, but we know how to run a place. We know how to make things tasty, we know how to engage people, but we're not chefs. We asked ourselves, 'What can we make that is really good? Burgers.'"
Quality is job No. 1
Yall can get eggrolls and our very own sweet and sour sauce by bulk or wholesale too FYI dm for more info #eggrolls #ribs #bbqpork #bbqribs #bbqporn #chicagochinesefood #chinesefoodchicago #igerschicago #feastagram #feastyoureyes #peanutbutter #eggrollsfordays #subtleasianeats #chicagofoodie
A post shared by 3 Little Pigs (@3littlepigschi) on Sep 12, 2020 at 8:47pm PDT
Henry Cai intended to open up a restaurant earlier this year before pandemic restrictions put that on pause. Instead, Cai launched 3 Little Pigs, one of Chicago's most successful virtual restaurants. He specializes in Cantonese food, with pork fried rice, barbecue ribs, and more.
The big-ticket item is the scrumptious barbecue pork, which sells out about a month in advance. Cai takes orders every day for smaller items like fried rice and egg rolls with homemade shrimp chips and sweet and sour sauce. The nostalgia hits in different ways. Those who grew up with Chinese-American food will notice that the sauce is thinner than those found in those familiar little plastic packets. Cai says he doesn't use fillers like cornstarch: "That would be cheating them."
For Cai, the nostalgia comes from continuing his father's work. He's the man who introduced Cai to cooking and taught him the importance of fresh, hot food: "If I brought you something cold, you'd be like, 'Oh man, fuck this guy,'" says Cai. "'He don't give a fuck about me. He don't care about quality.'"
Cai works on a schedule that allows him to hand off his food to customers when it's at its best, he says. That means customers direct-messaging him on Instagram and ordering their food hours in advance.
"The main thing with what I'm doing is I want to make sure the quality is there. That's why I have to make people wait," he says.
"There's people who don't understand that this isn't a 'restaurant-restaurant.' You wait three hours for your food to pick it up. If you come at 10, and I've had this happen, where you come at 10 and I'm like, 'We're going to have to reschedule.' And he's like, 'I'll take the food cold.' I can't do that."
Henry Cai is creative with a Chinese spin on the pork chop sandwich.
Courtesy of Henry Cai
Similar to Sheth, who wants to address cultural stereotypes that relate to India, Cai wants to do his part to demonstrate qualitative substance in Chinese cuisine. "Chinese food is perceived as the cheaper food of Asia," he says.
Cai says that he's currently only offering about 10 percent of what he wants to eventually serve in his Hong Kong-style cafe. Rolling out an expansive menu while still being a one-man shop isn't wise if quality is paramount, according to the cook.
Commercial kitchens may be cost-prohibitive for him at this point, given how much time he puts into his from-scratch sauces and barbecue. Cai works out of a friend's kitchen: "I did the math," he says.
"You pay a certain amount, cheapest I saw was $21 an hour. I need a lot of hours just to prep. Making the sauce from scratch takes a long time. I did the math and it's the same thing as paying three or four grand a month for rent."
Its barbecue pork may sell out weeks in advance, but Cai says he won't consider 3 Little Pigs actually open for business until he has his brick-and-mortar cafe. "We have to play it by ear with COVID," he says.
Just try it
With so much uncertainty in the restaurant world, businesses like Cai's have to balance ambition and extensive planning with wait-and-see attitudes. It can't be easy, but the hope of owners of operations like Tasting India, Bianca's Burgers, and 3 Little Pigs seems to be that they can carve out a way to stay creative, save money, and grow their reputations during the pandemic.
Cai still can't share about 90 percent of the food he's dreamed of sharing with Chicago since his childhood, and he doesn't yet know when his concept will get a roof and become a proper "place." For the time being, doing a few things his way and convincing one customer at a time has to do.
"I just want people to try my food," he says. "Even if someone doesn't like it, I want them to at least try it."
Chicago Restaurant Openings


text:
Q: How to convert CSV to Parquet in Julia I have a CSV file that I want to convert to Parquet in Julia. I couldn't find anything about it in the forums nor the docs on this conversion. Is such a conversion possible in Julia or do I just simply read the CSV as Parquet? If so? How can I go about doing that?
This is what I have so far.
begin
    using Pkg
    Pkg.add("PlutoUI")
    Pkg.add("HTTP")
    Pkg.add("StatsModels")
    Pkg.activate(".")
    import CSV, DataFrames, Dates, StatsPlots, StatsModels
    import DataFrames.DataFrame
    using Plots, PlutoUI, HTTP, DelimitedFiles, Parquet
end

begin
    df = CSV.read("/home/onur/julia-assignment/temp.csv", DataFrame)
end

A: Use Parquet.jl as in code below:
using CSV,DataFrames,Parquet
c = CSV.read(IOBuffer("a;b;c\n1;2.5;a\n2;3.5;b"), DataFrame, delim=";")
Parquet.write_parquet("dat.parquet", c)

As for a test let us try to read this back:
julia> Parquet.read_parquet("dat.parquet") |> DataFrame
2×3 DataFrame
 Row │ a       b         c
     │ Int64?  Float64?  String?
─────┼───────────────────────────
   1 │      1       2.5  a
   2 │      2       3.5  b

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


(A) Impulse signal. (B) Ramp function.
(C) Parabola. (D) Square pulse.
Integration of step signal gives Ramp function.
What is the Laplace transform of step signal of 5 units magnitude?
What is the use of digital signal processing?
What are the advantages of a digital signal?
Can you convert analog signal to digital?