| New Fiction: Orbits, Oddities and Other Issues |
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| Written by Brian Vuyk | |||||
| Tuesday, 29 August 2006 | |||||
Page 3 of 3 Yukon hummed along with the melodic-murmur of the grass as he sped toward the Candelabra Towers. Candelabra would be there. The thought of her electric smile, her vanilla fragrance, her long blonde hair inspired him to run faster. The length of the grass increased to waist high, and the sound of the grass increased in volume. It was several moments before he heard the sound that was not a hum. It was a growl. Yukon turned his head in all directions looking for the snarl-sound. The blue-orange grass, now shoulder high, continued to whir its melody as his footfalls hit the blades. The beast reared up as Yukon jumped across a small ditch in the fiber-woods. Yukon screamed and fell on his back. He would have choked on his vomit had he eaten anything before running. The beast was similar to an earth lion, but the mouth was a four-sided series of teeth-blades rotating toward his face. He smelled rotting meat and foul gas, and tried to shimmy away on his back as the paws of the beast pulled him back toward the open mouth. Yukon said a prayer in between gasps for breath. The beast roared and lowered its head down to begin biting and tearing the new prey. Yukon’s left hand felt the container of oil. He yanked it loose from his belt and threw it into the beast’s mouth. Maybe it was the silicon container, maybe it was the taste of the oil, but the beast coughed and weakened its grasp on him. In that moment, Yukon rolled over, got up and charged through the high grass toward Candelabra. He could hear the beast sputtering and choking behind him. Yukon staggered and coughed as he scanned his card along the gate and entered the beautiful grounds. He went inside, showered, and changed into his business clothes. He walked into the soft blue-grey conference room and sat down, still breathing hard, five moments later than Powers had ordered. “Hair-raising day, huh?” Powers said. “Yeah,” Yukon said. Small talk had stopped several moments before Yukon entered. Seventeen employees looked around the room and ended up staring at their own reflections in the shiny zircon table top. Thirty moments later, Candelabra slowly walked into the room and all seventeen pairs of eyes were drawn to feast on the energy of her charisma. Normally her blond hair cascaded down her back, her green eyes penetrated every contributor’s gaze, and her incisive commentary directed every move the employees surrounding her would make. Today, all seventeen pairs of eyes felt betrayed. Her bedraggled countenance and disheveled hair looked like she had been in a cat-fight. “We’re here for you, Candelabra! All seventeen of us,” Powers said. “Most gracious words, Mr. Powers. I have accidentally ingested something that I am allergic to. You all are dismissed until the next Work Day. I must rest.” “What’s got you down?” Powers asked. “I think I ate something with olive oil in it.” “We’re very sorry and hope you feel better soon!” chorused sixteen voices.
He is a fan of Star Trek and Star Wars, and also believes strongly in the continued exploration of outer space. In addition to writing, his interests include fitness running, organic gardening, volunteer teaching, and working with other writers. He is active in his church, Grace Family of Richardson. Future projects include a novel involving a little known religious group’s involvement with the American Civil War. |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 30 August 2006 ) | |||||
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