Shards (6 page)

She gaped at the hare, unsure
what to do. Tears loomed.

"Quiet," it whispered, "the
moles are hunting. Just. Don't. Move."

The wind caressed the long
grass, as she stood, rigid, alone, trapped amidst the ripples of a
rainbow-speckled field.

* * *

Cruel Summer: Sun

Hopping from foot to foot,
Reuben struggled against the sizzling carpark asphalt. The line to
the ice-cream van was hot and humbling.

A pretty girl with pale eyes
walked past, sensuously licking her cone. Beyond her, another
ice-cream van painted garish red sat unattended.

Bounding over to it, he sought
refuge from the battering sun beneath its canopy.

A clownish man appeared at the
window, beckoning him inside. Maddened by the heat, Reuben eagerly
complied. A blast of frost welcomed him as he entered through the
back door.

The clown offered him a jagged
smile and a melting maggot-white cone.

The van door slammed shut
behind Reuben, muffling his scream.

* * *

Dread Seasons Quartet: Naked Azure Sky

"Not far now," Jake muttered to
himself. "I'm gonna beat you yet, you arid son-of-a-bitch."

The sky overhead blazed a raw
sapphire blue, fuelled by the bloated sun as it hovered at the edge
of noon. Ahead, an expansive stretch of rock, sand, and cracking
salt shimmered in the boiler-room heat. A ragged line of hills
enclosed the valley, holding the green, temperate world forever at
bay.

As he shook the diminishing
bottle of water, a fuzzy sense of euphoria tingled through his head
and down his arms until his hairs stood on end.

"Another two miles, maybe
three." He pointed the water bottle toward the line of hills. "I'll
be the first to conquer this damn valley."

The camera trembled in his
hand, but faithfully recorded every step and spoken thought.

"That fool Dennison paid the
price," he mused. "Didn't bring enough water. Dropped dead within
sight of his car."

The camera captured everything
for posterity.

Stepping onto the salt lake, he
walked along the tracks he gouged this morning. His solo dawn
expedition across the valley had been slow. The salt flats were
treacherous, trapping him in stinging waist-deep sinkholes. The
return wasn't much better.

"Gotta follow the tracks. No
surprises now."

The heat battered down. Sweat
saturated his khakis but was soon snatched away. Despite the
lotion, the back of his neck burned like unquenched fire.

His original tracks were
near-forgotten scars, a tattered line scored into the salt. Step
after awkward step, he faithfully retraced them.

He squinted up at the swollen
furnace cooking the sky. The sun refused to budge from its midday
throne.

He clamped his eyes shut and
carelessly splashed water across his face.

"Ah, that's good. Time for ...
dessert," he stammered.

When he opened his eyes, a
single line of tracks banked off to the right. Another to the
left.

"What?"

In the haze, the hilly ranges
were identical.

Waves of heat flushed through
his body; his head a pressure-cooker, ready to burst.

"Gotta sit. Bearings. Bearings
... ummm ..."

The camera recorded a long
pause.

He crouched over the burning
ground, and in halting motions, unhooked his pack. He slung it off.
He dropped the water bottle to wipe his face.

Blinking feverishly, he reached
out for the bottle, but groped instead the course texture of
salt.

"Shit!"

The bottle and pack were both
sinking into the greedy earth. The ground beneath his knees
sagged.

He crawled, struggling against
the heat sandwiching him into the pliant earth. But the salt lake
was too vast. An unremitting monolith.

Abrasive, desiccating salt
flowed into his every pore.

About him, the pockmark-line of
footsteps was swallowed. Every trace of his epic trek devoured by
the invidious earth.

"Just two miles," he croaked,
collapsing on his back. Salt crusted his lips and trickled free as
he choked out his last breath.

Infused with salt and sand, he
lay defeated, a victim of the unconquered valley. Another claimed
prize, basking in the infinity of the naked azure sky.

* * *

Cruel Summer: Sky

Ashley reclaimed her spot on
the towel, sprawling out to catch the sun's rays from every angle.
She removed her sunglasses with fingers sticky from ice-cream,
opening her face to the warmth of the sky.

An endless vortex of azure
paling to indigo filled her vision. A contrast to the hectic bustle
of bodies and mismatched colours, the sky was awesome.
Breathtaking.

She continued to stare,
captivated by the brilliant shades of blue as they swirled and
danced. A majestic infinity.

Enveloping.

Invasive.

#

Headed for the surf, Todd
nudged Jamie, pointing to a sunbathing girl with vacant eyes. Eyes
the colour of the sky.

* * *

Dread Seasons Quartet: The Rustle of Autumnal
Leaves

"Hold up, Brian!" Hayden
called, as his friend tore off down the street.

"Catch up ya loser!" Brian
slowed down anyway.

Rugged up against the constant
drizzle, Hayden found it difficult to keep up with his friend's
energy. He only gave up his computer and relented to go out into
the bleak afternoon after hours of Brian's goading.

He soon caught up to Brian, but
noticed a fine layer of mist had collected along the sleeves of his
Parka. "We should head back soon."

Brian said nothing. Instead, he
scanned the street for something to do.

The streets were wide, much
wider than those of the city, and near-deserted. Every street in
the town was lined with trees that stood naked against the grey
autumn sky. The blanket of leaves covered the town in rich shades
of auburn, amber, and brown.

"Hey, check that out," Brian
pointed to a huge mass of leaves.

Where Brian pointed, Hayden saw
a roughly circular clump of sodden leaves spilled out onto the
road.

"Can you see that stuff above
the leaves?" Brian asked.

"I don't get it. What
stuff?"

"The black stuff," said Brian.
"Like a whole swarm of flies or somethin'. They're jumping in and
out of those leaves."

Hayden concentrated hard as he
studied the clump of leaves; Brian had tricked him before. The
leaves were darker than normal, almost the shade of rust, and
wet-looking. The clump was especially dense and wide, having seeped
from the gutter to cover about a third of the street in a ragged
circular pattern.

"I just see some old leaves,"
he said.

"What about that?" Brian
challenged, pointing at the leaves again.

"Stop foolin' around," Hayden
eyed his friend suspiciously. A knot formed in his stomach.

"Come on!" said Brian. "You're
tellin' me you can't see those gold bits? Could be coins. Might be
worth somethin'."

"Sorry. I just see leaves,"
Hayden edged away. "Maybe we should get going."

"No. Not until you tell me you
see it too!"

"Forget it. Let's go."

"But the flies look so weird.
I'm gonna catch one to take home and scare my sister."

"Brian, let's go," Hayden
grabbed him by the arm.

"No! I'm at least gonna get
some of those coins," Brian shook off the restraining hand.

He stopped at the edge of the
leaves and bent down. Awe was obvious on his face as he reached
toward the rust-coloured mass.

"Don't!" Hayden called.

Brian's eyes widened as his
fingers delved into the slimy leaves.

In a terrible blur, he
disappeared, sucked by the arm into the clump of leaves. Barely a
leaf rustled or fluttered to mark his passing.

"Brian!" Hayden screamed.

For long seconds he stood
dumfounded, reaching a hand toward the leaves before snatching it
back.

The wind funnelled through the
street behind him. It swept up the crimson mass of leaves,
scattering the pile to desolation. Only solid, naked road lay
beneath. Hayden stared at the bare asphalt, trembling, amid the
rustle of autumnal leaves.

* * *

Cruel Summer: Surf

"Come on!" called Todd.

Jamie paddled against the
breaking white-water, struggling to reach him. He disappeared from
view with the swell of every wave.

The safety flags were tiny,
fluttering streamers in the distance. Colourful smudges marked the
timid people as they clung to the shore. No one, except him and
Jamie, was more than waist-deep in the water.

Then he saw it. Them. Seething
masses of seaweed, flowing with the tide.

The first, careless brush
burned like acid.

Floundering, legs afire, he
tried to paddle ashore. With his throat constricting and muscles
convulsing, his last sight as he sank was of Jamie, swimming
towards the weeds.

* * *

Dread Seasons Quartet: Pallid Wisps of
Snow

Sara muttered to herself as she
trudged through the snow and plunged between sagging, ancient
pines. "That bastard should be out here instead of me. Maybe the
cold might shut down that ego of his."

Like a vast collapsed spider
web, the blanket of snow coated everything within its reach.
Charcoal-grey clouds choked the sky with their pregnant burden of
ice and water.

Sara's jump suit and the
matching mitts and boots were the best money could buy. Stylish and
warm. Even so, the cold leached through into her bones. The angry
trudging only kept the worst of the chill at bay.

"How dare he fool around with
that tramp. We've only been here two days! Two days!"

The image of Paul and that
slutty ski instructor together, naked, replayed ad nauseam through
her mind. She marched blindly along the trail, beyond the highest
ski field. The resort dwindled into the distance.

"Getting old! Not as
beautiful!" she spat, fighting his painful, lingering words. "We'll
see, pig! Even after I've bled you dry, you'll be hit with the
plastic surgery bills. I'll still be beautiful when that slut is
old and grey!"

She stumbled through a dense
knot of primordial snow-locked pines. A small clearing opened up
before her. In the centre, untouched by the falling snow, a
circular plane of ice sparkled in the twilight gloom.

She edged closer.

A mini blizzard swirled through
the clearing, picking up drifts of snow and stealing them away on
the breeze. Huddled near the circle of ice, she bundled herself
tight against the gale. For a few fleeting moments, her world was
nothing but a white blur.

Once the mini-blizzard abated,
Sara glanced around the clearing. The sentinel pines were still
blanketed in snow, but each was now armed with a thousand shards of
ice, bristling from branches like warding blades.

As she studied the clearing for
the way back, she glanced down at the frosted tarn. Her breath
caught in her throat.

Gazing back at her was a
perfect reflection. Shimmering golden hair, flawless lines. Even
her puffy snow-clothes appeared to gleam in the ghostly
reflection.

Stunned, she crouched closer,
leaning over the ice to stare and admire. All thoughts of Paul were
forgotten.

Fingers of arctic cold chilled
the air around her. More snow spiralled to the earth but none fell
upon the glass-like surface.

Her reflection was everything
she ever wanted. Faultless. Ideal. No wrinkles lining her eyes. No
blemishes of age.

Captivated by her beauty, she
extended a hand toward the shimmering plane.

She brushed the ice.

Sudden, numbing cold infused
her body. An intense white flash blinded her. An instant later she
was enveloped by serenity. A flawless goddess entombed within the
ice.

Beauty was hers eternal,
beneath pallid wisps of snow.

* * *

Cruel Summer: Shadow

They had all deserted her.

Jamie and Todd went off to body
surf. Reuben had dragged Dad off to dig a hole. They all left at
once, all promised they'd return soon.

After hours of sandcastles and
wading, they still hadn't returned.

Stranded on the beach, sitting
in her family's encampment of towels and bags, little Stacey
watched the dusk shadows lengthen across the sand.

The last clumps of beach-goers
were trekking homeward. Only a solitary girl remained nearby, a
girl staring skyward whom she didn't dare disturb.

But Stacey wouldn't cry.
Wrapped in her sandy towel, she welcomed the crowding shadows as
they reached for her. They would be her new family tonight.

* * *

A Killer Smile

Every girl needs a killer
smile. White teeth like bleached bone, ruby lips the shade of
blood. A neat slit in the face more precise than a deft blade
twist. Every time you flash it, some hapless fool drops like a coal
sack at your feet.

Nothing wins your victim over,
or is as persuasive, as a serial killer smile. Except a pair of
razor-sharp stilettos. Or an axe.

* * *

Congo Jenga

"Wriggly little shit." He
stabbed the blade into his thigh. Stifled the scream. Withdrew the
blade with clumsy palms amid a gush of blood.

Stabbing himself had become a
problem since his fingers had withered off.

The worm squirmed, just beneath
his skin, toward his groin.

He fumbled the slick knife.
Pressed it between his palms. Stabbed again into his thigh, inches
above the first wound. Gritted teeth didn't silence his cry a
second time.

The worm continued upwards. The
blade missed yet again.

Tears trickled down his face as
he slid the knife out. It clattered to the floor.