Post by torainfor on Dec 21, 2008 21:46:44 GMT -5
I found a writing blog through Jeff's interview of Theodore Beale. The blog is rantingroom.blogspot.com and is run by Bruce Bethke (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bruce_Bethke). He does sorta-weekly short story challenges, and I hopped in, five days late, for the Thanksgiving one.
I won! Yay, me! Yeah, so only six people put in stories, but still! He even said it was publishable, with some polishing. Anyone up for help polishing? Also, I have no earthly idea where to send it or how. Help, please?
I stare at the snow out the window, trying to remember what it feels like. I think it’s cold. And, back at the Ded, almost always came with wind. I try to remember what it feels like to be cold, but can’t. The yellow-green, full-body suit maintains a constant sixty-five degrees on my skin, down to my shaved head.
Snap! The teacher cracks one of its long, thin tendrils at my ear, like a whip. Sharp, pointed, transparent teeth hang like ice cycles from pale lips. Ice cycles are cold, too. I think.
“Student Graff, pay attention, please, or you will be realigned,” it hisses.
“Sorry, instructor,” I hiss back. “I was looking at the snow.”
It turns to look out the window and shrinks back. “Why would you do that, Student Graff? It is so very cold and unpleasant. Soon, the Elders will command even the skies and complete the transformation of this world from the barbaric to the glorious.”
It continues on about the wonders of the new world, and my eyes glaze over. I imagine sitting on the back of Granddad’s snowmobile, feeling the cold bite at my skin.
Granddad once told me about the Before. There were only people and animals on the planet back then. Lots of people, millions and billions. I don’t know if I believe him. But, then the Schrell crash-landed in Lake Pend Oreille in northern Idaho. There were only a thousand of them left, and they were so weak, a hundred died the first year. Granddad said all the countries volunteered to help them. They taught them how to find food (funny that they ate the same stuff we did) and gave them places to settle. They were really nice and grateful. Least, that’s what Granddad said.
That was sixty years ago. Before the plague that wiped out most of the people. Before the people were herded into Dedicated Areas where they wouldn’t bother the Schrell. Before the Schrell killed almost all the cows so they could make jewelry out of their teeth. I remember having meat once. That was a long time ago. Before they took me off the Ded to go to the glorious school.
I have a free period before evening meal, so I go to the showers. There’s one, second from the last on the left, that has a busted handle. If you hit it just right, it only puts out cold water, not the steady one hundred four degrees of every other tap in the school. I turn it on high. Bumps rise up on my skin. A minute later, my jaw starts shaking. I think that’s called shivering. I shut off the water and hurry to the mirror. My lips are blue.
We don’t dare tell the Schrell about the busted shower. They might fix it.
Evening meal is a formal, so I put on the blue hooded cape over my bodysuit. The suit feels hot after the cold water, and my face turns red. I hope it goes back to normal soon, or they’ll send me to the infirmary. I carefully slide Granddad’s military ID in my sleeve. I never go anywhere without it, but I know they’d take it away if they knew.
I forgot. Tonight is the Feast of Friendship. It’s the anniversary of the big dinner the people gave the Schrell when they first crashed. Granddad said they had burgers and fries, but since the Schrell killed almost all the cows, we just get pigeon. They’re not too bad, but I miss Granddad’s ribs.
We have a special visitor for Evening Lecture—an Elder. They’re even paler and more fragile-looking than our teachers. I keep waiting for it to fall over and break into a dozen pieces. He talks about progress and glory and how lucky we are to be in the school. But I keep imagining the snow. The lecture hall doesn’t have windows, so I close my eyes. I wonder if the flakes are still the big, wet, fat ones, or if the cold night turned them to the sharp, tiny ones that sting when they hit your skin.
“Hey, John.”
I jump at the sound of my people-name and look around quick to see if an instructor heard. If we get caught using English, it’s no good.
“Hey, John,” Tony says.
“What?” I whisper.
“Why we gotta listen to this guy? Why we gotta celebrate the Feast of Friendship. These guys aren’t friends.”
“Man, don’t say that. If they hear you…” I don’t get to finish. Instructor Sowl wraps a tendril around my neck and pulls. I hear Tony gurgling behind me. It drags us into the administration room and stands us in front of its chaise as it sprawls.
“Student Graff, Student Xeta, what were you speaking of?”
I feel cold in my suit, but I’m sweating, and my heart’s pounding hard. Instructor Sowl loosens his grab on my throat.
“This is crap,” Tony says in English. “We shouldn’t have to celebrate this stupid feast. This is…”
Tony gurgles. I don’t dare turn my head.
“Student Xeta,” Instructor Sowl hisses, “it is forbidden to speak any but the glorious language of Schrell. And, I’m afraid we cannot allow such speech by one who is chosen to be civilized.”
Tony thumps to the floor in a heap. I feel my pulse slow to normal. Instructor Sowl turns to me.
“Student Graff, do you understand?”
I look at Instructor Sowl in its yellow eyes, pull out the ID card, and slice the sharp plastic across the tendril around my neck. The fragile flesh cuts easily and falls into a writhing snake on the ground, and the Instructor howls in pain. Warm, red blood covers my hands.
“My name is John.”
The snow’s just as cold as I remember. I check my suit thermostat and try to remember where the Ded lay.
I won! Yay, me! Yeah, so only six people put in stories, but still! He even said it was publishable, with some polishing. Anyone up for help polishing? Also, I have no earthly idea where to send it or how. Help, please?
I stare at the snow out the window, trying to remember what it feels like. I think it’s cold. And, back at the Ded, almost always came with wind. I try to remember what it feels like to be cold, but can’t. The yellow-green, full-body suit maintains a constant sixty-five degrees on my skin, down to my shaved head.
Snap! The teacher cracks one of its long, thin tendrils at my ear, like a whip. Sharp, pointed, transparent teeth hang like ice cycles from pale lips. Ice cycles are cold, too. I think.
“Student Graff, pay attention, please, or you will be realigned,” it hisses.
“Sorry, instructor,” I hiss back. “I was looking at the snow.”
It turns to look out the window and shrinks back. “Why would you do that, Student Graff? It is so very cold and unpleasant. Soon, the Elders will command even the skies and complete the transformation of this world from the barbaric to the glorious.”
It continues on about the wonders of the new world, and my eyes glaze over. I imagine sitting on the back of Granddad’s snowmobile, feeling the cold bite at my skin.
Granddad once told me about the Before. There were only people and animals on the planet back then. Lots of people, millions and billions. I don’t know if I believe him. But, then the Schrell crash-landed in Lake Pend Oreille in northern Idaho. There were only a thousand of them left, and they were so weak, a hundred died the first year. Granddad said all the countries volunteered to help them. They taught them how to find food (funny that they ate the same stuff we did) and gave them places to settle. They were really nice and grateful. Least, that’s what Granddad said.
That was sixty years ago. Before the plague that wiped out most of the people. Before the people were herded into Dedicated Areas where they wouldn’t bother the Schrell. Before the Schrell killed almost all the cows so they could make jewelry out of their teeth. I remember having meat once. That was a long time ago. Before they took me off the Ded to go to the glorious school.
I have a free period before evening meal, so I go to the showers. There’s one, second from the last on the left, that has a busted handle. If you hit it just right, it only puts out cold water, not the steady one hundred four degrees of every other tap in the school. I turn it on high. Bumps rise up on my skin. A minute later, my jaw starts shaking. I think that’s called shivering. I shut off the water and hurry to the mirror. My lips are blue.
We don’t dare tell the Schrell about the busted shower. They might fix it.
Evening meal is a formal, so I put on the blue hooded cape over my bodysuit. The suit feels hot after the cold water, and my face turns red. I hope it goes back to normal soon, or they’ll send me to the infirmary. I carefully slide Granddad’s military ID in my sleeve. I never go anywhere without it, but I know they’d take it away if they knew.
I forgot. Tonight is the Feast of Friendship. It’s the anniversary of the big dinner the people gave the Schrell when they first crashed. Granddad said they had burgers and fries, but since the Schrell killed almost all the cows, we just get pigeon. They’re not too bad, but I miss Granddad’s ribs.
We have a special visitor for Evening Lecture—an Elder. They’re even paler and more fragile-looking than our teachers. I keep waiting for it to fall over and break into a dozen pieces. He talks about progress and glory and how lucky we are to be in the school. But I keep imagining the snow. The lecture hall doesn’t have windows, so I close my eyes. I wonder if the flakes are still the big, wet, fat ones, or if the cold night turned them to the sharp, tiny ones that sting when they hit your skin.
“Hey, John.”
I jump at the sound of my people-name and look around quick to see if an instructor heard. If we get caught using English, it’s no good.
“Hey, John,” Tony says.
“What?” I whisper.
“Why we gotta listen to this guy? Why we gotta celebrate the Feast of Friendship. These guys aren’t friends.”
“Man, don’t say that. If they hear you…” I don’t get to finish. Instructor Sowl wraps a tendril around my neck and pulls. I hear Tony gurgling behind me. It drags us into the administration room and stands us in front of its chaise as it sprawls.
“Student Graff, Student Xeta, what were you speaking of?”
I feel cold in my suit, but I’m sweating, and my heart’s pounding hard. Instructor Sowl loosens his grab on my throat.
“This is crap,” Tony says in English. “We shouldn’t have to celebrate this stupid feast. This is…”
Tony gurgles. I don’t dare turn my head.
“Student Xeta,” Instructor Sowl hisses, “it is forbidden to speak any but the glorious language of Schrell. And, I’m afraid we cannot allow such speech by one who is chosen to be civilized.”
Tony thumps to the floor in a heap. I feel my pulse slow to normal. Instructor Sowl turns to me.
“Student Graff, do you understand?”
I look at Instructor Sowl in its yellow eyes, pull out the ID card, and slice the sharp plastic across the tendril around my neck. The fragile flesh cuts easily and falls into a writhing snake on the ground, and the Instructor howls in pain. Warm, red blood covers my hands.
“My name is John.”
The snow’s just as cold as I remember. I check my suit thermostat and try to remember where the Ded lay.
but I don't see much that needs to be done.
