TINY BUBBLES... a flash fiction for DEATH THROES WEBZINE

The ground was gray and flat and featureless, a vast metallic expanse. And the sky reflected that sameness in a smooth, milky, dirty-white dome. There was no wind. There was no sound. Nothing ever changed. 

But I was there (wherever 'there' was). I breathed. I walked... and every footfall was the same. The light, more a weak, universal, ambient glow, never changed. And the only thing to see was the horizon.

Sometimes I sat, cross-legged, 'Indian Style,' and waited. Perhaps a bird or even an insect would fly over the long sharp line? The sky might change. A cloud might form. Some rain might fall. But I never saw such things. And I never felt hunger, or thirst, or anything, save the cool, pore-less, silvery plain beneath my body. I called it silver, but it might have just been nickle.

I'd stare at my shirtsleeve for hours... I called them hours. I studied the weave. Each line became a street. Every cross point an intersection. Some had trees. Some had buildings. Some housed people. Some hid monsters. But it was hard to focus and soon I would forget. 

It was possible to sleep, but considering the 'bed.' the experience was hardly restorative. The surface had no 'give,' and my bones hurt.

I am a microbe... a sub-atomic particle, on a huge ball bearing rolling nowhere. 

But once, it was different. I drank iced tea and saw moonbeams. I said things and people answered. I read books and brushed my teeth. 

Yet the universe plays tricks. Tiny pin pricks of rare singularities exist there. Sometimes they hit things and gobble them up. I was such a meal.

Once I was 'there,' and now I am'here.' I suppose tiny germ-things wriggle on my skin. But I can't see them. I lay on my stomach and taste the ground. But my tongue is dry. I sense nothing. Even my nails fail to grow. 

Dreams? I do not have them. 

Perhaps I'll go blind and lose the horizon too?

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A SIMPLE WAY TO DIE... Jonathon 'culls' an unworthy soul... 4/03/13

Jonathon waited. He waited for the heartless entertainment exec to say goodnight to his daughter, pay the bill and leave. He felt it all from his perch on the tar paper roof.  By that, I mean he saw and sensed everything. The man's eyes were his eyes. The man's hands were his hands. He felt each movement... each breath... each thought. The tight, constricting belt..... The troublesome piece of steak between his teeth. 

He wanted to walk... just walk. He wanted to get back to the hotel, go up to his room, brush his teeth, get undressed, snuggle under the covers, turn out the lights and watch TV. The House and Garden channel was a favorite.  Not the cheap stuff. Not the 'nobody' hell holes. This guy liked the good stuff... million dollar great rooms.... custom built waterfalls.... hundred thousand dollar play houses. Look, the day you stop impressing people in L.A. is the day you die. If they ain't scared of you, you might as well strip down and bend over. It's all about perception. You are what they think you are. 

Now the streets weren't deserted, not that they ever are completely, but it wasn't very late and there were still people around. South Philadelphia has a lot of restaurants. You've seen it. Bruce Willis walked around here in The Sixth Sense.  Remember the house Rocky bought when he made a little money... oak floors... crown moldings.... good kitchen? Like that. 'Cept soon he realized he couldn't walk from that opera restaurant to his hotel. They're crazy. They all think that. Out of towners, I mean. Think every city, but New York, is a 'toy' city. Let 'em think it. Who cares. So after a few blocks, he grabs a car jockey outside another Italian place, slips him a ten and tells him he needs a cab. Four minutes later, he's off. And Jonathon follows from the rooftops, leaping 'cross narrow streets and streaking through the darkness, coming down from the heights when they left this more or less residential district and entered midtown. But he couldn't race along the streets. People would notice that. And even though they were beginning to accept the presence of life-eaters in their midst, spontaneous demonstrations of preternatural powers were still enough to set them off. Nobody likes to feel that vulnerable. So he sublimated through the air, floating just above the sidewalk. His toes never touching the ground. Then he condensed out of the ether right by the entrance and followed the Beefy-Tan guy inside.

How quiet the lobby was.... thick carpeting.... rich paneling.... round, gleaming tables with impossibly large floral displays.... a water feature.... a harpist. But unlike the one at the vampire revels, this one had a head.  Though she did seem lost in another world. 

The guy enters an elevator, shows his key card and says - Twelve, please..... Uniformed, vertical cabbie takes him up. Jonathon doesn't have a key card, but he has something else.... his eyes. So he just steps in 'looks' at the kid and points toward the mirrored ceiling. One heartbeat later, they silently ascend. But  remember, he can read that guy's mind. He knows he wants to get undressed. He knows he wants to crawl in bed. But he needs  time. And Jonathon gives it to him. The vampire waits in a small sitting area, a cozy, private public space on certain high-end floors. There's even a fireplace, lit of course and small, iced bottles of wine. He takes one, Australian, I think it is, grabs a glass from off the sideboard, sits down and imbibes. Blood will be the second course. 

Twenty minutes later, after nodding to a couple from   Amsterdam and trading Spanish niceties with a man from Guadalajara (theaters were letting out, you know), Jonathon got up, deposited his leavings on a silver tray expressly meant for that purpose, walked down the hallway and sublimated into the room.

A flickering light escaped from the surface of the flat screen. The sound was off. He stopped for a moment to watch an overdone, little brunette fireplug of a woman sell a ten million dollar co-op to Chelsea Handler, I think it was. But with the sound off, who could tell?..... The Beefy-Tan guy snored away from a wide, high bed. Stalin probably had such a bed. Jonathon found the remote on a large, lacquered night table and killed the power, plunging the space (more like a suite) into blackness. Then he carefully turned back the duvet and slipped in, right next to his victim, almost spooning him from behind. 

First he bit a shoulder. The victim stirred. Then he nipped an ear. The victim gasped. He was awake now and reached out for the lamp, fearing perhaps a bug, or a mouse, or a spider. But Jonathon choked him... almost to the point of paralysis... and whispered in his ear  ----- Relax... we're just not picking up your option..... The victim tried to speak and he almost had a stroke as blood vessels in his skull engorged nearly to the point of rupture....... The fit, 'young' Andalusian vampire sensed this and loosened his hold ever so slightly. .... Then the heartless entertainment executive found his voice, or a tiny bit of it, and he pleaded, praying to a creature he couldn't see. But never once did he mention his daughter or his wife or his parents. He never mentioned any living soul. And Jonathon knew he only feared losing his power and his money and his things. So he got up on his elbow, leaned down close to the face, explored with his tongue til he found an eye, then quickly sucked it out, biting through the fibrous optic nerve, as one would gnaw through a tough, piece of squid..... The victim convulsed and groaned. But Jonathon was undeterred and sucked out the mate as well. Then he opened the neck and drank the blood, consigning the man to oblivion. 

Eight heartbeats later the mutilated corpse ignited into a cold, blue flame that even the sprinklers failed to put out.

By the time Jonathon left, nothing remained but a wet, greasy residue. He put the wallet, ring and watch in the safe when he got home.

And although the population was somewhat used to supernatural creatures now, none took credit for this deed.... Just another case of spontaneous human combustion.

The estate was quickly settled. His wife married his partner and the daughter enrolled at Penn.

And all the souls he crushed sang songs and danced.

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