Birthmachine - H.R.Giger She looks across at him and thinks about the gun in her shoulder bag; the one that lies across the table, having spilled her pack of cigarettes. She Opens the pack and offers him one. He smiles; takes one and lights hers then his own. She exhales upwards, while putting the pack back in her bag.
The forces harnessed in the firing chamber; the alchemy of gunpowder; require that a firearm be constructed from material of substantial weight – both material and ethical.
The gun in her bag is small and has a dull blue hue to its metallic surface. It carries six rounds in the little magazine that slides into the handgrip.
She has fired it exactly once and the noise – so disproportionate to its size – had made her feel like this was something she could not control, she hoped this constituted respect for the power of the weapon, but in her heart she knew she was afraid of it.
And yet she had kept it, afraid of tempting some fate by getting rid of it, afraid of the moment when she would regret not having it there to protect her. It was a feeling, she realised, very similar to her feelings about David – always weary and often distrustful of him, but unable to give him up for fear of losing that protection he offered – both emotional and physical.
She hated David, she misses him.
“So what’s your star-sign?” she asks above the music muffled behind dark glass, then holds up a finger, “Wait, let me see if I can get it.”
He grins, runs a hand through his hair as if preparing for a photograph.
“Yeah,” he says “Go on, tell me.”
She wonders if she’ll leave with him.
“Scorpio” she says, taking a drag of the cigarette.
He sits back and nods his head slightly, his mouth turned down at the corners.
“I’m impressed” he says “It’s Aries, but you were close.”
She rests her elbows on the table and blows smoke in his general direction. She thinks about the gun in her bag.
“And you’re an Aquarius” he says, tilting his head to one side.
She guesses she’ll probably be leaving with him.
Exerpt from 'Markov Chain'
The forces harnessed in the firing chamber; the alchemy of gunpowder; require that a firearm be constructed from material of substantial weight – both material and ethical.
The gun in her bag is small and has a dull blue hue to its metallic surface. It carries six rounds in the little magazine that slides into the handgrip.
She has fired it exactly once and the noise – so disproportionate to its size – had made her feel like this was something she could not control, she hoped this constituted respect for the power of the weapon, but in her heart she knew she was afraid of it.
And yet she had kept it, afraid of tempting some fate by getting rid of it, afraid of the moment when she would regret not having it there to protect her. It was a feeling, she realised, very similar to her feelings about David – always weary and often distrustful of him, but unable to give him up for fear of losing that protection he offered – both emotional and physical.
She hated David, she misses him.
“So what’s your star-sign?” she asks above the music muffled behind dark glass, then holds up a finger, “Wait, let me see if I can get it.”
He grins, runs a hand through his hair as if preparing for a photograph.
“Yeah,” he says “Go on, tell me.”
She wonders if she’ll leave with him.
“Scorpio” she says, taking a drag of the cigarette.
He sits back and nods his head slightly, his mouth turned down at the corners.
“I’m impressed” he says “It’s Aries, but you were close.”
She rests her elbows on the table and blows smoke in his general direction. She thinks about the gun in her bag.
“And you’re an Aquarius” he says, tilting his head to one side.
She guesses she’ll probably be leaving with him.
Exerpt from 'Markov Chain'
3 comments:
Sometime not to leave and hve a cold hand gun thay now make with plastic and light .She thinks all i ever was trust and loyalty never given to be tainted in a land of uncaring freedoms no familys so tired to bind so why not walk out side and hear it one last time.Would be so much better than watching all this corpotaty greed by peoeple with no ties to andone but a bank acount and control .You never know when you will be there next target .Death that comes fast is allways better than a slow beheading.
When she leaves with him, where exactly are they going? To the firing range? Perhaps, an all night pancake buffet or disco roller skating rink?
Pisces, I do love the imagery you paint with your words. I can actually envision the club scene where the action of the story takes place and have an idea of what the people involved look like despite you leaving out physical descriptions. Is Markov Chain a collection of short stories or will you bind all the excerpts posted here together to form one novel?
It's a novel... almost finished.
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