Sleeping in the Indigo City

Citizens in the Indigo city sleep between rivers.  Every bed made has two wooden rivulets on it, one running down each side.  At some point when citizens are sleeping, they fill with water.  The water is blue, not the indigo of the waterways.

If you wake in the night, you can watch lily pads slowly drifting by.  When you awake fully, they are gone.  No one quite knows where they come from or where they go, but no citizen of the Indigo city would dream of sleeping in a bed without rivulets.

You Owe Me!

This story owes a lot of it's tone to Simon Rich's collection of short stories, The Last Girlfriend on Earth.  Take a look - it's really cheap on Kindle, and it's awesome.

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The banker sat behind his desk, shuffling papers.  “It  looks like all this is in order.  How would you like to start making repayments?”

Caitlyn sat in shock.  The idea of being in debt was completely new to her; until today, she hadn’t realised she’d borrowed anything, not until this banker had got in touch and told her she had to start paying her loan back.

“What exactly am I supposed to have borrowed?” she asked.

“Well, let’s see,” he said, steepling his hands and looking up at the ceiling.  “There was my time for a start.  All those years I spent paying attention to you and running errands for you.  That could have been spent elsewhere.  All the time I spent thinking about you.  All the things I bought for you, all those birthday and Christmas gifts.”

“What?”

“You don’t even remember, do you?  Our first year of uni.  I spent the whole year spending my time on you, paying attention to you, and then, when I finally got up the courage to tell you how I felt, you said you only wanted to be friends!”

“...Thomas?”

“Yes, Caitlyn, of course it’s Thomas.  Or do you make a habit of taking up people’s time and attention?”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We were friends all right, but did you even consider going out with me?  Giving me a chance?  In fact, I’m going to add compensation for emotional distress onto this debt.  You can pay it off by giving me a chance.  Date me for a year – that same year I’ve already spent on you – and we’ll consider it even.”

“Are you insane?  I don’t owe you a relationship, Thomas.”

“You owe me time, attention, and money.  You took all those things from me, Caitlyn, and now I want them back.”

“I didn’t take them!  You gave them, of your own free will!  I can’t believe you’re acting like this, Thomas.  We were friends.  I wasn’t madly in love with you, no, but I didn't owe you that!  You can’t just demand that I give you a year of my life!”

He continued gazing at her over the desk in silence.  With disgust, she’d remembered how he’d do that at uni; go quiet and hope the awkward silence would net him the answer he wanted.

“What if I did give you a year of my life and I still didn’t want to be with you?” Caitlyn demanded.  Despite knowing the trick, the silence got to her.

“You’d have made me waste another year,” Thomas said, “so, obviously, you’d have to pay that back.  You can’t just play with people’s hearts like that Caitlyn.  I’m a nice guy, which is probably why nothing ever works out for me.  I did everything I could to make you happy, and you just wouldn’t even give me a chance.”

“Fuck you, you self-centred, entitled wanker.”

Caitlyn stormed out.  Left alone in the office, Thomas sighed.

“Nice guys always finish last,” he said, glumly.

Purity in the Indigo City

There's a place in the Indigo city where three buildings meet in a diamond shape, the fourth quarter open.  The narrow paths run along the waterways, down this empty corner, to a hidden place where the buildings meet.  Taliesin waits there.

There's a circular space in the hidden corner.  Taliesin walks on dark, emerald green grass, waiting for Elizet.  There is a statue here too, Purity, a maiden glancing coyly.

The citizens of the Indigo city rarely reach the statue.  As they get closer, the waterway between the paths narrows, and they are able to skip across.

The sun has not yet set, and high above her, Taliesin can see a circle of sky between the buildings.  When the sun sets, the moonstones set in the walls will glow in the darkness.  When they shine, Taliesin won't see the high walls of the buildings any more; only the open space of darkness, lit by tiny lights.  There is a galaxy here, if one cares to look for it.

The Indigo City

In the Indigo city, every street is a waterway.  The water is inky purple and is studded with iridescent moonstones, glowing like stars.  There are no streetlights, only the moonstones, and the light which spills from the buildings like the music that accompanies it..

When Elizet goes to meet her lover, she walks along the narrow paths which surround each building.  At some intersections, the waterways are narrow enough for her to skip over.  At others, there are small bridges, waist-high when raised, which lower at the touch of a button to allow passage.  Other times, Elizet has to walk far out of her way to find a place where she can cross.  The citizens of the Indigo city are used to this kind of circumstance.  They don't mind.  It is a pleasure to walk beside the unmarred surface of the waterways.

Elizet and her lover plan to meet at the Angel.  The Angel is made of a pale grey stone, and stands atop a tall column.  Stairs wide around the column, not high enough so people can stand next to the Angel, but high enough that they can touch the hem of her skirt.  Water cascades down from this landing, turning the spiral stairs into a waterfall. 

The citizens of the Indigo city where waterproof shoes, so Elizet's feet do not become wet as she climbs the stairs.  She can feel the water sloshing coolly against her toes, but is not dampened by it.  Above her, the Angel gleams in the starlight, glowing silver against the inky purple sky, like the moonstones that light the waterways.

The Edited Eugene Morris

My first version was written in a rush, as soon as I found the right voice.  This is the edited version.

Eugene Morris

I swear to god, someone up there has got it in for me.

For fuck's sake.

It's not like I've got some kind of issue with dead bodies or anything.  Really, in my line of work?  Might as well be allergic to money.  Or drugs.  Or to lying itself.

Seeing the corpse of someone I knew and whom I'd never expected to see again?  That fucking threw me.

The chief's looking at me expectantly.  I give a grave nod, and the mortician pulls the sheet back over her face.

"Those bastards," the chief says into the silence.  "It'll be a damn good day when we finally bring them down."

'They' are the local mob, who I've been investigating undercover.  Me?  I'm Eugene Morris, bullshitter extraordinaire.  The truth ain't black or white, and neither am I.  And nor is that corpse on the table.  We were two of the only three mixed race kids growing up on our street.

She - Javina - was my next door neighbour when we were kids.  Her big brother - the third kid - and I were close. Right up until we were all teenagers, and I suddenly found his little sister a lot more interesting.  It didn't even last that long, just a month or two, but that was long enough for Troy never to speak to me again.

Goddamit it.  Thinking of Troy, and his mama, and his mama's baby girl under that sheet?  Christ.  My mum taught her mum how to braid Javina's hair, for fuck's sake.  Her mum was white, and didn't have a clue how to deal with mixed hair.

"It's their style," I said to the chief, commenting on the state they'd left Javina's body in.  Fucking christ.  "Any idea of motive?"

"Nope."  The chief slapped a hand to my shoulder.  "That's your job."

Of course it was.  I'd better get some kind of bonus for this.

***

Finding the motive, it turned out, was the easy part.  Practically handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

It was later that same day; yesterday now, must be.  I'd nipped out for another pack of fags when I'd seen Ernie looming at me out of the shadows.  And trust me, Ernie can fucking loom.

I'd greeted him, with a dash of curiosity.  Ernie didn't normally approach me in public.  Ernie didn't normally come out in daylight.

He'd grinned, asked what I'd come out for, then offered me a cigarette.  He was holding out a match when someone came up behind me and dropped a sack over my head.

I spent what was probably the whole night having the fucking shit kicked out of me.  Eventually, during one of his fag breaks, he found the time to explain it to me.

"The boss found out about you, Eugene," he said, lighting another fag.  Fucker.  I'd never even got to take a single drag of mine.  I glared balefully up at him from the floor, my head turned sideways.  I was trussed up like a turkey.  Ernie'd never been one for fighting fair.  Probably why he was so successful at it.

He didn't wait for me to reply.  I wasn't fucking planning to.

"So this," he continued, "is your punishment.  The girl," he grinned at me, "was your warning."

"You killed some girl to warn me you were going to kick the shit out of me?" I wheezed.  I could taste blood.

He waved the match out, and sat there in silence, grinning at me, like a goddamn pumpkin.

"Or are you planning to kill me too?"  I continued, when it was clear he was just going to carry on sitting there with that fucking look on his face.

"We're not going to kill you, Eugene," he said.  Well, thank fuck for that.  "We're going to keep you.  And if you don't do what we want, we'll kill another one.  Who was next?  Natasha?  Tia?"

I was having trouble breathing.  Not because of what he'd said, because he'd broken a few of my fucking ribs.

He finished his fag, then stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"You could just offer me fucking money," I suggested.  "Instead of brutally slaughtering your way through a chronological list of my exes."

"Nah," Ernie said, picking up a baseball bat.  "We'd never trust you if we had to buy you."

Well, shit.

At the Edge of the Wood

I've never been very good at poetry.  Except comic limericks - I can write those!

Young ladies make their way past me
Over dale and stile
Oh, won't you come and lie with me?
Just for a little while.
It is cold, and I am all alone
You will be my queen on gilded throne
As long as you don't go.

Later now, a colder season
Young men ignore the voice of reason
And urge each other to imbibe more
and more, not knowing what's in store
And when they stumble over me
They'll be scared sober, you wait and see.
I am the bones at the edge of the wood
I waited and called to those who passed
Until those drunken, frightened lads
Freed me from my bed of grass.

Eugene Fucking Morris

A short for the Blakenhall Writer's Group.   The original specs can be found here - essentially, a bit of background, and instructions to write a short story or poem.  This is mine.

Eugene Fucking Morris


I swear to god, someone up there has got it fucking in for me.

For fuck's sake.

It's not like I've got some kind of issue with dead bodies or anything.  Really, in my line of work?  Might as well be allergic to money.  Or drugs.  Or to lying itself.

Seeing the corpse of someone I knew and whom I'd never expected to see again?  That fucking threw me.

The chief's looking at me expectantly.  I give a grave nod, and the mortician pulls the sheet back over her face.

"Those bastards," the chief says into the silence.  "It'll be a damn good day when we finally bring them down."

'They' are the local mob, who I've been investigating undercover.  Me?  I'm Eugene Morris, bullshitter extraordinaire.  The truth ain't black or white, and neither am fucking I.  And nor is that corpse on the table.  We were two of the only three mixed race kids growing up on our street.

She - Javina - was my next door neighbour when we were kids.  Her big brother - the third kid - and I were close. Right up until we were all teenagers, and I suddenly found his little sister a lot more interesting.  It didn't even last that long, just a month or two, but that was long enough for Troy never to speak to me again.

Goddamit it.  Thinking of Troy, and his mama, and his mama's baby girl under that sheet?  Christ.  My mum taught her mum how to braid Javina's hair, for fuck's sake.  Her mum was white, and didn't have a clue how to deal with mixed hair.

"It's their style," I said to the chief, commenting on the state they'd left Javina's body in.  Fucking christ.  "Any idea of motive?"

"Nope."  The chief slapped a hand to my shoulder.  "That's your job."

Of course it fucking was.  I'd better get some kind of bonus for this.

***

Finding the motive, it turned out, was the easy part.  Practically handed to me on a silver fucking platter.

It was later that same day; yesterday now, must be.  I'd nipped out for another pack of fags when I'd seen Ernie looming at me out of the shadows.  And trust me, Ernie can fucking loom.

I'd greeted him, with a dash of curiosity.  Ernie didn't normally approach me in public.  Ernie didn't normally come out in fucking daylight, for christ's sake.

He'd grinned, asked what I'd come out for, then offered me a cigarette.  He was holding out a match when someone came up behind me and dropped a sack over my head.

I spent what was probably the whole night having the fucking shit kicked out of me.  Eventually, during one of his fag breaks, he found the time to explain it to me.

"The boss found out about you, Eugene," he said, lighting another fag.  Fucker.  I'd never even got to take a single drag of mine.  I glared balefully up at him from the floor, my head turned sideways.  I was trussed up like a fucking turkey.  Ernie'd never been one for fighting fucking fair.  Probably why he was so successful at it.

He didn't wait for me to reply.  I wasn't fucking planning to.  

"So this," he continued, "is your punishment.  The girl," he grinned at me, "was your fucking warning?"

"You killed some girl to warn me you were going to kick the shit out of me?" I wheezed.  I could taste blood.

He waved the match out, and sat there in silence, grinning at me, like a fucking pumpkin.

"Or are you planning to kill me too?"  I continued, when it was clear he was just going to carry on sitting there with that fucking look on his face.

"We're not going to kill you, Eugene," he said.  Well, thank fuck for that.  "We're to keep you.  And if you don't do what we want, we'll kill another one.  Who was next?  Natasha?  Tia?"

I was having trouble breathing.  Not because of what he'd said, because he'd broken a few of my fucking ribs.

He finished his fag, then stood up, rubbing his hands together.

"You could just offer me fucking money," I said.  "Instead of brutally fucking slaughtering your way through a chronological list of my exes."

"Nah," Ernie said, picking up a baseball bat.  "We'd never trust you if we had to buy you."

Well, shit.