Author: Gregory M. Fox
Category: Fiction
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/gregory-m-fox/page,5,17426-a-breath-of-fiction.html
Animal
Section V
Selection
The first animal committee concluded with the designation of territories. The areas around the equator had been particularly popular, leaving the polar and mountain regions reserved for the hardier mammals and birds. Everyone was feeling positive, especially with the balance of predators and prey to maintain equilibrium.
Then a voice interrupted. “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” Lion—the committee president said.
“Hi, humans here. Um, we didn’t get any territory.”
“Let’s see what’s available. Can you endure extremes of temperature?”
“Iffy.”
“Disease resistance?” Warthog asked.
“Hit or miss.”
“Strength?” Elephant inquired.
“Check out these guns,” the man said while flexing his bicep.
“We’ll say ‘modest’,” the lion said skeptically. “Any fangs? Claws? Horns or antlers?”
“Uh, no.”
“Any advantages at all?” Owl asked.
“We walk upright. Good sized brains.”
“Look,” Lion said exasperated. “You’re an absurd creature. We’re just going to drop you somewhere near the middle. Do your best, but it’s possible that you may need to move around to find the place that’s best.
“Thank you,” the human said. “We’re just grateful for the opportunity.” And with that the human contingent waddled out with their strange two-legged gate.
“Poor things,” Horse said.
“I give ‘em a decade,” the dodo said.
Housebroken
The cat gazed up at Pearl expectantly, as though it had rung the doorbell itself. Pearl looked up and down the street, expecting to spot the fleeing prankster who had abandoned the creature. Seeing neither she tried shooing it away. The cat meowed. Soft. Frail. Familiar. Pearl looked hard at the pathetic, mournful eyes and shook her head.
In one swift motion, she scooped up the cat and carried it into the bathroom. Not giving the animal time to react, she plopped it into the tub and turned on the shower. The cat mewed weekly, but didn’t struggle. While the shower ran, Pearl made a grilled cheese and bacon that was ready when the cat emerged from the bathroom. It sniffed the sandwich then attacked it ravenously. After dinner, Pearl brought the cat into the guest room. It curled up on the bed and was quickly asleep. Descending into the basement, Pearl unpacked a box she hadn’t seen in years, took out a t-shirt, boxers, and sweatpants, then stealthily laid them at the foot of the guest bed.
“Oh Max,” she whispered, “What has your father done to you now?”
The next morning, her son emerged from the guest room.
Lost
Charlotte stepped outside for lunch, and headed for the deli, but, remembering she would probably run into James there, turned around and headed for the park. There was usually a hot dog cart near the fountain but, when she came over the low hill shielding the center of the park from the road, Charlotte saw neither the fountain, nor the hot dog stand, but a large circus tent. Intrigued, she peaked inside. The cavernous tent was empty except for a small chair, illuminated by a single spotlight. She found the chair occupied by a rather large toad.
“Shows over,” it croaked, “exit to the left.”
Slightly disconcerted, Charlotte drifted toward the exit, opposite of where she entered, and left the tent to find herself in a forest. Night had fallen, and a row of torches lit a trail between the trees. Unsure of where else to go, she followed the trail into the woods. Ghostly faces peeked out at her from behind the trees, pressing their fingers to their lips. It hurried her steps. She came into a clearing, where a girl was sitting. It was herself at age 13. “I think I’m lost,” one, or both of them, said.
Remains
Originally published as an honorable mention in the 2014 Lovecraftian Micro Fiction Contest hosted by the H. P. Lovecraft Film Festival and CthulhuCon
Many called it a miracle. If Marcus hadn’t been woken up by a nightmare, he would have been crushed in his bed when the ceiling collapsed. The Schwartz’s had bought the house eight years before, when Anna was two and Jamie was pregnant with Marcus, but they had never explored the crawlspace. When the water spot appeared nearly a year ago, they simply lacked spare cash and so, ignored it. But even if they had made the repairs immediately, nothing could have prepared them for what was in the ceiling above their son’s room.
The smell was rancid. No one knew how long the carcasses had been up there—probably since the former owners moved out. Phil called them vermin, and Jamie called them beasts. Their daughter, Anna, called them monsters. The authorities called it an incident and did their best to hide the evidence, removing it in black bags at night. Specialists summoned to examine the remains tried to explain it away by calling them inbred iguanas. But little Marcus called them raptors. However, what he didn’t admit to anyone was that when he came into his room and saw the wreckage, one of the creatures was still moving.
Waiting (i)
When Dillon looked at the night sky, there was a halo around the moon as his breath rose in a thin cloud of mist.
How long have I been out here? he thought. It must have been at least two hours since he took his post. He had done his best to wait patiently, but he was starting to give up hope.
—SNAP—
What was that? He looked up and down the path, hoping for a familiar figure coming toward him, but there was nothing. Nothing he could see anyway. That was the scariest part. Dillon knew that his friends were close, but he didn’t know what else was. Coyotes? Bears? Something worse?
“Hello?” His voice sounded thin and shaky. “Is anybody there?”
It was unnaturally quiet. Dillon could almost hear his heart beating. Something was there, he thought, something made that noise. The problem was the trees. Anything could be out there, and if it wasn’t on the path, he wouldn’t see it. His heart beating faster now. I’ve been here long enough. I’ll just leave.
But he didn’t. After all, his friends were counting on him. He couldn’t abandon them. They needed his help to catch the snipe.
Spill
For the briefest of seconds, he lost his bearing in reality. It was dark. Or his eyes were closed. Maybe both. He could have been flying or falling or dead and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. Then he felt the blood rushing to his left cheek and with it came a sharp, stinging pain. His sense of balance came back just in time for him to realize that he actually was falling. Staggering, he tried to recover, but he stepped into a slick, wet patch of floor and crashed to the ground. He smelled beer. There was a beer in his hand, though most of it was now spilled all over him. And he heard people—a growing sound of laughter from all sides. He saw faces looking down at him, leering, malicious, and all laughing. Except for one. A tall, leggy woman stood over him with a look almost of hatred. His first thought was that she was the sort of woman he would like to sleep with. Then it all came back—his cocky swagger, the stupid words that had spilled out of his mouth, and the slap that had sent his world reeling.
Headlights
At 4:00 am, Jordan was cruising down the country road going 73 miles per hour with classic rock on the radio and five cups of coffee in his veins. And even though he had his high beam headlights on, the deer seemed to come out of nowhere, leaping into the road with all the noble resolve of a doomed centurion falling on his sword. For a moment their eyes met. They faced each other like expert opponents in a game of chess who know after the first five moves who will win and who will lose. And regardless of whether the game will go on for minutes or days or years, they play it to the conclusion. Each looked at the other with the eyes of fate. So, when Jordan lifted his foot from the gas and fumbled for the brake, and when the deer turned to run back into the safety of the woods, it was not because they expected to escape, but because those were the only moves ava
ilable, just as it was the rules of physics that carried them irrevocably closer together, closer to checkmate. As bones and metal crumbled, Jordan and the deer knew each other.
Thunder
In 1955, a lost WWI landmine, buried beneath a Belgian farm, exploded, possibly due to a lightning strike. The only fatality was a cow
“Did you bring in the cow?”
Ludolf stood dripping in the doorway as the torrent raged outside behind him. “Did I do what?”
“The cow! The cow!” Mathilde cried.
Ludolf looked at his wife in disbelief. “You want me to go back out there?”
“I want you to save the cow”
“It’s a cow. It can take a little rain.”
“Well you’re a cow, so you should be able to take it too.”
Ludolf was exasperated. Thunder, lightning, wind, and rain were fighting their way into the house and he refused to engage them again on their own turf. “Nothing is going to happen to the cow,” he raged. As though to punctuate the determination in his voice, a bolt of lightning crashed down from the sky.
Both Ludolf and Mathilde had heard their parents’ stories about what the English soldiers had left beneath their farm thirty-nine years before. Somehow that lightning reached deep enough into ground to ignite the several tons of explosives. The house was rocked by thunder and a shower of dirt and stones. Ludolf looked out the window and gaped at the twenty foot deep crater in the hill where he had last seen the cow.
Boss
My boss was a dog. A black lab named Duke, to be specific. I didn’t know that when I took the job, but I’m not sure whether it would have affected my decision. He was always energetic and friendly and interacted with employees enthusiastically. However, he was rarely in his office and thus wasn’t very productive, meaning the rest of us had to do his work. His assistant’s job was particularly demanding. She was hired around the same time I was and had expected to answer phones and schedule appointments, but Duke relied on her for walks, feeding, even cleaning up messes. I felt bad for her, but she would just shrug and say that a job’s a job. It was most people’s attitude. They were content to have a positive work environment.
Then the boss bit James. Nobody knows exactly what happened. Corporate denies knowledge of the event, but there were threats of legal action and a substantial payoff. Needless to say, Duke and the company parted ways. Corporate brought in a replacement—a hotshot who had made important gains at several small branches in the Midwest. My new boss is a blue-headed macaw. Things are not the same.
Laugh
The lizard was trapped under a bowl.
“What do we do now?”
“I’ve got an idea,” Phil said. “Let’s boil it.”
Markus laughed. “We totally should.”
In minutes a pot of water was bubbling on the stove. As Phil dumped the lizard into the pot, boiling water splashed onto Markus’s arm. Phil laughed while his friend swore. Soon, however, they laughed together at a faint scream emanating from the pot as the lizard slowly stopped thrashing.
“Dead?”
“Probably.”
“Let’s make sure.”
With a spoon, Phil scooped up the steaming reptile and, chuckling, used a strand of dental floss to fashion a miniature noose. The two friends laughed at the how lizard’s legs and tail flopped around as he swung from the gallows of Phil’s fingers.
They laughed and laughed.
Still laughing, Markus grabbed the pot and hurled its steaming contents at Phil, whose screams were cut short when Markus began beating him with the pot, battering his face. Markus laughed as blood and teeth spilled onto the carpet. He laughed as he fashioned a noose out of bedsheets. And he laughed at the way Phil’s feet flopped around as he hung in the stairwell.
Markus laughed and laughed and laughed.
Raccoon
A raccoon’s hand looks remarkably like a human’s. That’s what Mark thought as he lifted the heavy stone over his head. The creature in front of him reached toward the sky as though it hoped to find a handhold to climb out of its own blood. It chomped at the air, trying desperately to coax a mouthful into its lungs, all the while making a raspy gurgling sound in its throat. It was a pitiful sight, but the worst part was the intestines that had spilled out on the road after the car tore open the raccoon’s stomach. The animal would not recover.
Mark had never hit anything while driving before—not a mailbox, a tree, an animal, certainly not a person. But he almost hit all those things when he had seen the raccoon and swerved wildly to avoid it. As it was, the animal was the only one to suffer. Now he stood over the carnage he had created, preparing to finish the job. But that hand . . . so small and feeble, reaching out to heaven like a prayer.
Mark dropped the stone beside him and collapsed in the grass while his car’s hazard lights blinked on and off.
Wings
Todd’s first pet was a bird: a parakeet named Mr. Rainbows. And when Todd was only six, he set that bird free and stared in amazement as he watched it fly away. For years, he dreamed of flying away too. So, when Todd was a little older, he grew wings. He wasn’t a very good flier at first—the best he could do was fall gracefully. But as he practiced and got stronger, soon he was able to leap from his second story window and glide through the breeze climbing higher and higher until the fences and roads that had kept him caged were nothing but faint etchings on the glittering countryside below. He would fly for hours without a single care weighing him down.
They shot Todd down one day, right out of the sky. They found his body where it had fallen in the woods, cut off his wings and called it a hunting accident. It wasn’t safe, they said. He was a danger to himself and to others. After all, what if everyone took it into their heads that they could fly? What would we do with all our roads and fences? This is for the best.
Constrict
It was something you’d see in a dream, and for a moment, he thought it might be one. James was late and angry, making it a miracle he hadn’t run her over as he came around the curve. She was just standing there, right in the middle of the street. Immediately, he slammed on the brakes. The woman was facing away from him, but obviously heard the screeching tires and turned around slowly. Her hands were raised to her face, one holding a match, the other cupped to protect the flame lighting a cigarette between her lips. However, it took him a moment to discern what was particularly unsettling about this stranger: she had a serpent wrapped tightly around each arm, their small heads swaying slowly as they too turned to look at the car. Eyes like embers burned into him. She approached the driver’s side and leaned her head toward the open window. The coiled snakes extended their heads into the car, flicking out their tongues to taste James’ frightened breath. A voice like ashes: “Do you think she hates herself because you left?”
James hit the gas. He drove away as fast as possible, afraid of looking back.
Illumination
Alenka marched with determination, hoping the precise movements would distract her from the anxiety creeping into her belly. It was to be her first time out of the tunnel, and she would face the trial of illumination. It was a rite of passage everyone went through when they reached adulthood—an initiation into the sacred truths. Only those who survived were deemed worthy to work for the community. Now it was her turn.
Leaving the tunnels was like being born a second time. She could not have conceived of anything like the sky or the enormous plants that towered above her.
“Climb,” said Dalida, the guide for the new initiates. “Climb and see the light.”
Alenka was first. With shaky legs she began climbing, fearing the wind would carry her away. When she reached the top, unfathomable brightness poured over her. For the first time, she saw the sun. At last, she thought, I understand. This is why we build our towers so high. This is why we must work so hard. This is illumination.
A nearby wren
spotted the lone ant perched on a blade of grass and in one swift motion gobbled it up.
Alenka was not worthy.
Leash
He hadn’t needed a leash for Max in their fourteen years together. Floyd would say, “Come on, Max,” and the dog would trot along behind him. They would spend long afternoons at the river side by side. Floyd would scratch him behind the ears and say, “You’re a good boy, Max. You’re a good boy.”
Floyd and Max grew old together. Their steps got slower and smaller. Max could no longer spring up at Floyd’s call, but he was as faithful as ever. One afternoon, Max shakily rose to his feet. Looking back, he barked just once. Floyd nodded and stood up. Together they walked through the town, over the railroad tracks, and into the country. They walked through corn fields and crossed creeks. When they got tired, they would rest. Max would nuzzle Floyd’s leg, and Floyd would scratch Max’s ears. Then they would move on, Max leading, and Floyd following.
They reached the farm around sunset. The yelping of puppies echoed from the barn, and someone watched them from the farmhouse. Max limped toward an enormous old oak. Floyd sat with his back to the tree, and Max rested his head in his lap. They closed their eyes.
Bernard
They all smiled and patted his head. He hated it. Especially when the teenagers said, “Cool picture. Did you draw that? Are you gonna be an artist when you grow up?” Well of course he drew it, but he was going to be an astronaut when he grew up. Or when the old ladies turned to each other with silly grins and said, “Well isn’t he just the cutest thing?” But they wouldn’t answer his question and they smelled funny, and he wasn’t cute, and neither was Bernard. Or when the men leaned over him and said, “Where are your parents, young man?” But he already knew where his parents were. They were at thirty-two-twelve-north-sycamore-street-mount-carlisle-michigan. But he wasn’t looking for his parents. He was looking for Bernard.
He’d given up and started walking home when he saw an old man with big glasses sitting on his porch and decided to give it one more try. “Have you seen Bernard? This is him, and he’s lost”
The old man squinted at the picture and wrinkled his giant nose. Then his eyes brightened and he said, “Why that’s the Apatosaurus I found last week. I wondered if his owner would come looking.”