(An entire work inspired by the randomly-chosen song "Fire in my Soul" by Walk off the Earth)
Jane had started work early that morning, even before daybreak. It was
going to be 45 degrees in the shade today according to the weather
forecasts and she had to take advantage of that - at least before the
weather took advantage of her. She was sweating bullets as she dragged
another bundle of firewood, fallen branches and detritus to add to the
pile she had constructed in the middle of the backyard.
She paused to wipe the moisture from her forehead and embraced the mercy
of a brief gust of cool breeze. But she couldn't afford to be
distracted. All of this was dependent on timing. She ran back to the
huge roll of grass turf that had been waiting behind the house for the
last three seasons, part of her nostalgic for the time such purchases
were simple and straightforward. Heaving with all her might, Jane
dragged the turf towards her crude wooden volcano and began to unfurl it
like wallpaper around the structure.
Nearly an hour later, the sun burning the sky above white and Jane about
a pint down on moisture, she'd finished. The heap was wrapped up and
damn-near airtight. She glanced at her watch, and saw she still had a
good seventeen seconds to spare before ignition point. She took out a
box of matches, struck one and dropped it into the tiny pucker at the
top of the heap while she herself retreated back into the shadows at the
edge of the house.
Jane's eyes were fixed on the heap as the first curls of thick grey
smoke began to emerge from the shaft. Between that trapped fire and the
sweltering heat from above, it wouldn't be long before everything inside
her pile began to blacken and carbonize. Already the smoke was getting
thinner and bluer as the temperature rose. Jane could imagine the whole
thing was alive, waking up, filling with energy and yearning straining
to be released...
No, I can get lucky later tonight, after this is finished! she told herself. Or at least a cold shower...
It was past-midday now, time had flowed by and the pile was shimmering
in a heat-haze. It was a small pile, or else the process would take
weeks and require constant supervision. The blue smoke was a steady
curling up into the sky, like a genie about to emerge from a magic lamp.
Just a few more hours and it would all be over...
At some point, Daria had followed her out into the backyard and looked at the pile, unimpressed.
"You know, you could just buy charcoal sticks pre-carbonized," she observed.
"Oh bite me, Morgendorffer," Jane retorted.
Together they sat in the shade and watched the charcoal burning pile work its elemental transformations.
Friday 11 January 2019
2.5 Minute Fictions
Breaking Dumb
"So, Mr. D, you'll definitely give me extra credit for this after-class chemical stuff?"
"Indeed, KEVIN, you have FOR ONCE managed to grasp a concept with the SAME ALACRITY as you would AN OVAL BALL WRAPPED IN SWINE-FLESH! Now, just remember, when you offer it to your FELLOW TROGLODYTES, you make it known that the FIRST taste AND NO OTHER is FREE! And if you mention any of this to anyone outside this lab, YOU WILL LEARN FIRST HAND THE RATIO OF SULFURIC ACIDS NEEDED to BOIL your WORTHLESS CARCASS till it wouldn't FILL AN ASHTRAY!"
"No worries, Mr. D, I don't want anyone to know about this."
"That is a wise decision, Mr. Thompson. It might just save your life."
"You know, I had no idea how much sudafed you needed to make dry ice..."
"For the upteenth time, Kevin, this ISN'T DRY ICE! IT'S A DIFFERENT ICE ALTOGETHER!"
"All right! Science, bitches!"
Daria Meets God
Daria looked around the vast office, drawing a fingertip through the thick layer of dust that had gathered on the desktop - at least, the bits not drowned in memos from the overflowing IN box. The OUT box had clearly been empty for a very long time.
A near-mummified post-it note with the words OUT TO LUNCH, HOLD MY CALLS scratched hastily into it clung to the massive writing pad in the middle of the desk.
Daria regarded the sight for a long time. "I cannot even pretend to be surprised. Oh, well, I might as well get started." She plucked the first memo off the pile and studied it for a moment. "Hmm. Adam and Steve, you say? Why the hell not?" She reached out to the intercom and pressed it.
"Uh, hello?" asked a nervous voice.
"Yes, this is your new supervisor, a Miss Daria Morgendorffer. There's going to be a few changes around here..."
Idle Hands, Evil Thoughts
(Challenge - to feature a story including a pizza, a Roku Player, "I meant to do that", a dog called Snuggles, a moment of genius, "Mama likes the tuba" and a game of chance.)
"Hmmm. Anchovies. How utterly wonderful. The day was going really badly but now? Oh, let joy be unconfined."
"I can pick them off? Or you can stop trying to order fast food online. You need to look into the staff's greasy and hopeless faces if you want them to get the toppings right. Or at least shout at them over the phone line."
"I could but I wanted to find if there was at least one thing that Roku Player is good for."
"...a Roku Player? You mean one of those mini-USB VCR things?"
"I bow to your superior technical knowledge."
"You know they're meant to stream TV shows, not order pizza?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh, next you're gonna tell me you meant to do that."
"I meant to do that. Oh darn, you can read me like a book."
"Yeah, maybe you should read a book too. The instruction manual, perhaps?"
"No, I needed a man's perspective."
"Stupidly manipulating a digital device to expect fast food... Oh, I get it. Someone's writing a skit for their award-winning satire show with David Wollgreen?"
"Not quite. I simply used the Roku to record my pizza order, then played it down the phone. I then tell David that it works and he'll be busting his new life hack on the next episode. I sure hope he doesn't specify no anchovies."
"So either it works, he's a success and you get the credit..."
"Or it fails spectacularly and he's humiliated live on air."
"Whereupon you'd say, 'Gee, David. It was a joke. I thought you were smart.' and avoid being fired?"
"Game theory in action, Ms. Lane."
"Daria, I am proud to witness another moment of genius. You think this'll be the straw that breaks the dromedary's back, though? David really bounced back from giving Snuggles the dog those laxatives before that minute's silence. They still print T-shirts of when he used the ouiji board to contact the spirit of Amy Winehouse."
"I let you get in on the ground floor with those."
"Yeah, well, I stand by my belief there are only so many fonts to make the words MAMA LIKES THE TUBA visually-interesting. Well, here's hoping that if you don't get that human turd emoji fired you don't get fired as well."
"That would be tragic. I'd have to order pizza like a normal person."
"Daria, you've never been like a normal person. Now, do I pick off the anchovies or do you pay for another pizza?"
"Hmm. Let's toss a coin."
"Coins? Daria, please, physical currency is so passe!"
"That reminds me, I must tell David that beggars on the street now accept bitcoins. That should prove interesting..."
"So, Mr. D, you'll definitely give me extra credit for this after-class chemical stuff?"
"Indeed, KEVIN, you have FOR ONCE managed to grasp a concept with the SAME ALACRITY as you would AN OVAL BALL WRAPPED IN SWINE-FLESH! Now, just remember, when you offer it to your FELLOW TROGLODYTES, you make it known that the FIRST taste AND NO OTHER is FREE! And if you mention any of this to anyone outside this lab, YOU WILL LEARN FIRST HAND THE RATIO OF SULFURIC ACIDS NEEDED to BOIL your WORTHLESS CARCASS till it wouldn't FILL AN ASHTRAY!"
"No worries, Mr. D, I don't want anyone to know about this."
"That is a wise decision, Mr. Thompson. It might just save your life."
"You know, I had no idea how much sudafed you needed to make dry ice..."
"For the upteenth time, Kevin, this ISN'T DRY ICE! IT'S A DIFFERENT ICE ALTOGETHER!"
"All right! Science, bitches!"
Daria Meets God
Daria looked around the vast office, drawing a fingertip through the thick layer of dust that had gathered on the desktop - at least, the bits not drowned in memos from the overflowing IN box. The OUT box had clearly been empty for a very long time.
A near-mummified post-it note with the words OUT TO LUNCH, HOLD MY CALLS scratched hastily into it clung to the massive writing pad in the middle of the desk.
Daria regarded the sight for a long time. "I cannot even pretend to be surprised. Oh, well, I might as well get started." She plucked the first memo off the pile and studied it for a moment. "Hmm. Adam and Steve, you say? Why the hell not?" She reached out to the intercom and pressed it.
"Uh, hello?" asked a nervous voice.
"Yes, this is your new supervisor, a Miss Daria Morgendorffer. There's going to be a few changes around here..."
Idle Hands, Evil Thoughts
(Challenge - to feature a story including a pizza, a Roku Player, "I meant to do that", a dog called Snuggles, a moment of genius, "Mama likes the tuba" and a game of chance.)
"Hmmm. Anchovies. How utterly wonderful. The day was going really badly but now? Oh, let joy be unconfined."
"I can pick them off? Or you can stop trying to order fast food online. You need to look into the staff's greasy and hopeless faces if you want them to get the toppings right. Or at least shout at them over the phone line."
"I could but I wanted to find if there was at least one thing that Roku Player is good for."
"...a Roku Player? You mean one of those mini-USB VCR things?"
"I bow to your superior technical knowledge."
"You know they're meant to stream TV shows, not order pizza?"
"Uh-huh."
"Oh, next you're gonna tell me you meant to do that."
"I meant to do that. Oh darn, you can read me like a book."
"Yeah, maybe you should read a book too. The instruction manual, perhaps?"
"No, I needed a man's perspective."
"Stupidly manipulating a digital device to expect fast food... Oh, I get it. Someone's writing a skit for their award-winning satire show with David Wollgreen?"
"Not quite. I simply used the Roku to record my pizza order, then played it down the phone. I then tell David that it works and he'll be busting his new life hack on the next episode. I sure hope he doesn't specify no anchovies."
"So either it works, he's a success and you get the credit..."
"Or it fails spectacularly and he's humiliated live on air."
"Whereupon you'd say, 'Gee, David. It was a joke. I thought you were smart.' and avoid being fired?"
"Game theory in action, Ms. Lane."
"Daria, I am proud to witness another moment of genius. You think this'll be the straw that breaks the dromedary's back, though? David really bounced back from giving Snuggles the dog those laxatives before that minute's silence. They still print T-shirts of when he used the ouiji board to contact the spirit of Amy Winehouse."
"I let you get in on the ground floor with those."
"Yeah, well, I stand by my belief there are only so many fonts to make the words MAMA LIKES THE TUBA visually-interesting. Well, here's hoping that if you don't get that human turd emoji fired you don't get fired as well."
"That would be tragic. I'd have to order pizza like a normal person."
"Daria, you've never been like a normal person. Now, do I pick off the anchovies or do you pay for another pizza?"
"Hmm. Let's toss a coin."
"Coins? Daria, please, physical currency is so passe!"
"That reminds me, I must tell David that beggars on the street now accept bitcoins. That should prove interesting..."
5 Minute Fiction: Ghost in the Skull
Melody regarded the document in her hands keeping her new face neutral.
If these writings were what they thought she was, she was facing someone
who knew her every last trick and gambit. She was good at what she did,
but not arrogant. Even a ninety-pound weakling with no combat
experience and thick glasses could defeat her if they knew her well
enough and this Daria Morgenwhatever was showing a greater understanding
of Melody Powers than any number of communist psycho-strategist units.
Just how the hell did some misery chick teenager know all this?
Melody Powers knew she'd skipped a few years here and there in her endless quest to fight the threat of international communism. Her paymasters had realized she was simply too damn important an asset to allow old age to claim her as the years went by. When her body finally started to lose the edge, they had managed to transfer her living consciousness into a fresh body. Tactically speaking, getting hold of an enemy agent was the best - Melody had spent enough time among the Ruskies she could mingle with those spineless corrupt dogs in her sleep.
Five times now she had woken up in a body she hadn't been born in, five times she'd looked into the mirror and seen a stranger. Three times it had been a woman, which was two left than she'd preferred. Thankfully these corrupt commie bastards swung enough in different directions she'd managed to find some comfort before removing any and all of the witnesses. But this time? This was different.
At first she'd assumed she'd been lucky enough to infiltrate an enemy agent before chaos unfurled at some apple pie high school - but her new body wasn't a commie agent. The body's decadent and effete parents might have had leanings to Mother Russia's so-called bolshevistic chaos, but the most dangerous thing about this body was its combat boots. There had been a screw up at HQ. Was some proper American teen now sacrificed needlessly? Or was there more to this than she'd thought?
Melody had been certain it was some screw up with her superiors - until she met her body's best friend.
Daria. A girl who just happened to have written a dozen stories completely breaching any secrecy Melody had one possessed about her actions back in 57. The details, the descriptions, Melody couldn't have done better herself. How the hell did this Daria girl know all that? And why was she calling it fiction?
There was only one possible explanation - Daria was the body now being used by one of her oldest enemies, who had been "reincarnated" (stupid hippy expression) by the Russians using the same translocation technology that the US of A had pioneered after WW2. Daria was as yet unaware that "Jane" was onto her, which was good because Melody was well aware of how fragile her state was at present. It took months before the transplant took hold and Melody stopped being a dream in Jane's head and actually her. She would normally have kept her distance, waited until she was secure.
No time.
Melody stalked across the high school towards "Daria", ready to snap her neck and then run for it.
And then football flew out of the sky and struck her sharply on the head. She dropped face-first into the grass.
"Whoa," shouted the quarterback. "Sorry, Jane! Are you okay?"
Jane lifted her head, feeling incredibly groggy and unsure what year it was. The knucklehead Kevin gave her something to focus on. "Not concussed enough to fall for your naked testosterone, Kevin. Hit me harder next time, huh?" she grumbled, getting to her feet and stumbling over to Daria.
"You'll have to get your skull dented on the other side now, to even it up," she advised.
Jane rubbed the back of her head. "Might be a good idea. I had this crazy flash of being some commie-hating spy. Weird. Maybe I should lay off the schoolwork for a while..."
Natasha Ivanovich-Oblimov regarded the girl beside her thoughtfully. She had been sure Melody Powers had been translocated into Jane Lane to try and stop her work for Mother Russia, but it seemed that it was wrong. This was good. Jane Lane would be a true asset to the Party when the time was right, but in the meantime "Daria Morgendorffer" had to bide her time until the time was right to begin the uprising.
Melody Powers knew she'd skipped a few years here and there in her endless quest to fight the threat of international communism. Her paymasters had realized she was simply too damn important an asset to allow old age to claim her as the years went by. When her body finally started to lose the edge, they had managed to transfer her living consciousness into a fresh body. Tactically speaking, getting hold of an enemy agent was the best - Melody had spent enough time among the Ruskies she could mingle with those spineless corrupt dogs in her sleep.
Five times now she had woken up in a body she hadn't been born in, five times she'd looked into the mirror and seen a stranger. Three times it had been a woman, which was two left than she'd preferred. Thankfully these corrupt commie bastards swung enough in different directions she'd managed to find some comfort before removing any and all of the witnesses. But this time? This was different.
At first she'd assumed she'd been lucky enough to infiltrate an enemy agent before chaos unfurled at some apple pie high school - but her new body wasn't a commie agent. The body's decadent and effete parents might have had leanings to Mother Russia's so-called bolshevistic chaos, but the most dangerous thing about this body was its combat boots. There had been a screw up at HQ. Was some proper American teen now sacrificed needlessly? Or was there more to this than she'd thought?
Melody had been certain it was some screw up with her superiors - until she met her body's best friend.
Daria. A girl who just happened to have written a dozen stories completely breaching any secrecy Melody had one possessed about her actions back in 57. The details, the descriptions, Melody couldn't have done better herself. How the hell did this Daria girl know all that? And why was she calling it fiction?
There was only one possible explanation - Daria was the body now being used by one of her oldest enemies, who had been "reincarnated" (stupid hippy expression) by the Russians using the same translocation technology that the US of A had pioneered after WW2. Daria was as yet unaware that "Jane" was onto her, which was good because Melody was well aware of how fragile her state was at present. It took months before the transplant took hold and Melody stopped being a dream in Jane's head and actually her. She would normally have kept her distance, waited until she was secure.
No time.
Melody stalked across the high school towards "Daria", ready to snap her neck and then run for it.
And then football flew out of the sky and struck her sharply on the head. She dropped face-first into the grass.
"Whoa," shouted the quarterback. "Sorry, Jane! Are you okay?"
Jane lifted her head, feeling incredibly groggy and unsure what year it was. The knucklehead Kevin gave her something to focus on. "Not concussed enough to fall for your naked testosterone, Kevin. Hit me harder next time, huh?" she grumbled, getting to her feet and stumbling over to Daria.
"You'll have to get your skull dented on the other side now, to even it up," she advised.
Jane rubbed the back of her head. "Might be a good idea. I had this crazy flash of being some commie-hating spy. Weird. Maybe I should lay off the schoolwork for a while..."
Natasha Ivanovich-Oblimov regarded the girl beside her thoughtfully. She had been sure Melody Powers had been translocated into Jane Lane to try and stop her work for Mother Russia, but it seemed that it was wrong. This was good. Jane Lane would be a true asset to the Party when the time was right, but in the meantime "Daria Morgendorffer" had to bide her time until the time was right to begin the uprising.
5 Fiction Fiction: The Daria Gene
Daria listened patiently while the very-excited-looking medical practitioner concluding his oh-so-credible speech.
"So, let me get this straight," she said after a moment. "It turns out that some freak coding of my DNA is why I have a high-intellect, intense cynicism and compulsive isolation. It couldn't have anything to do with unique family arrangement and life circumstances, or the conga-line of humiliating formative incidents that I've endured for the last sixteen years, or indeed anything suggestive of the idea of free will. It's just some random gene and I've been fooling myself I had any say in it. Gee, thanks Doc, you're wasted treating physical ailments when you could be healing the spirits of hurting angels."
"Daria," the doctor says, "I am telling you what we have discovered. These test results aren't a judgement..."
"Surely that's what all test results are. Unless you're asking for a bribe, in which case I should remind you I left my wallet in my other backless gown and if you're expecting a tip after using my ass as a dartboard for your syringes..."
"Daria, your hair, your eye colour, your height, your life-expectancy, all this is affected by your genetic makeup."
"Which is why I was hoping I had a say in the rest."
"But a discovery like this could change the world?"
"Oh? How? Are you going to fix the IQs of prospective presidents? Take down fundamentalist religions with a spiked punch full of cynicism? Will Microsoft and Apple pay for a disease that makes people stay at home and on computers..."
Jane elbowed her in the ribs. "Daria, you're giving the man ideas. Make him pay for them first."
"There goes the question of nature versus nurture," Daria said, glaring at her.
The doctor sighs and then looks to the shocked Helen, Jake and Quinn. "This is obviously staggering news, and I should give you some time to adjust. Er, any questions right now, though?"
Quinn held up a hand. "If you name it after Daria, can you just call it the Daria Gene, not the Morgendorffer gene? I don't want anyone at school to think I'm unclean or anything..."
***
The night watchman shouted and screamed through the gag at the black-clad figures that had stormed the facility. Animal-liberation nutters, obviously, and not one of them had realized that the test-animals in this particular lab were beyond help. Letting them out into the world would not make things better, but unleash an unstoppable and highly contagious apocalypse. If only he could be heard...
The monkeys looked up at the torch-beams shining into their cage.
Oh great, now it seems we're being experimented on at night too, one subject grumbled. There goes my hopes for an amazing double-life. Or at least one where I can sleep and dream of a less idiotic world.
They're not scientists, another subject replied. Unless the Casual Friday policy has been introduced and these idiots have forgotten where the light-switches are. Which, now I come to think of it, could be exactly what happened.
I think these are some kind of animal rights terrorists, mused a third. Wow, I bet that makeup they're using to hide their features has only been tested on the ugly, naughty bunny-rabbits. We should be honored that people of such high moral standing are taking time from their precious schedules to open a cage.
It would be very bad manners if we mauled them for their troubles.
Very bad manners. On the other hand, they didn't bring us pizza.
Good point. Let's waste these suckas.
Moments later the lab was full of screams and blood as the infected monkeys went amok. Slashed, scratched and bitten, one of the intruders managed to escape into the street outside. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, there was froth at the corner of his mouth.
He spared no thought for his fallen comrades. What a bunch of deluded, self-centred idiots. Probably doing the cause more harm than good. And he'd seen three of them eating hamburgers before the raid. He was better off without them. He felt like going home, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. But first pizza. Pizza was good.
The infected human, patient zero, stumbled off into the Lawndale night...
NEXT: TWENTY-EIGHT DARIAS LATER...
"So, let me get this straight," she said after a moment. "It turns out that some freak coding of my DNA is why I have a high-intellect, intense cynicism and compulsive isolation. It couldn't have anything to do with unique family arrangement and life circumstances, or the conga-line of humiliating formative incidents that I've endured for the last sixteen years, or indeed anything suggestive of the idea of free will. It's just some random gene and I've been fooling myself I had any say in it. Gee, thanks Doc, you're wasted treating physical ailments when you could be healing the spirits of hurting angels."
"Daria," the doctor says, "I am telling you what we have discovered. These test results aren't a judgement..."
"Surely that's what all test results are. Unless you're asking for a bribe, in which case I should remind you I left my wallet in my other backless gown and if you're expecting a tip after using my ass as a dartboard for your syringes..."
"Daria, your hair, your eye colour, your height, your life-expectancy, all this is affected by your genetic makeup."
"Which is why I was hoping I had a say in the rest."
"But a discovery like this could change the world?"
"Oh? How? Are you going to fix the IQs of prospective presidents? Take down fundamentalist religions with a spiked punch full of cynicism? Will Microsoft and Apple pay for a disease that makes people stay at home and on computers..."
Jane elbowed her in the ribs. "Daria, you're giving the man ideas. Make him pay for them first."
"There goes the question of nature versus nurture," Daria said, glaring at her.
The doctor sighs and then looks to the shocked Helen, Jake and Quinn. "This is obviously staggering news, and I should give you some time to adjust. Er, any questions right now, though?"
Quinn held up a hand. "If you name it after Daria, can you just call it the Daria Gene, not the Morgendorffer gene? I don't want anyone at school to think I'm unclean or anything..."
***
The night watchman shouted and screamed through the gag at the black-clad figures that had stormed the facility. Animal-liberation nutters, obviously, and not one of them had realized that the test-animals in this particular lab were beyond help. Letting them out into the world would not make things better, but unleash an unstoppable and highly contagious apocalypse. If only he could be heard...
The monkeys looked up at the torch-beams shining into their cage.
Oh great, now it seems we're being experimented on at night too, one subject grumbled. There goes my hopes for an amazing double-life. Or at least one where I can sleep and dream of a less idiotic world.
They're not scientists, another subject replied. Unless the Casual Friday policy has been introduced and these idiots have forgotten where the light-switches are. Which, now I come to think of it, could be exactly what happened.
I think these are some kind of animal rights terrorists, mused a third. Wow, I bet that makeup they're using to hide their features has only been tested on the ugly, naughty bunny-rabbits. We should be honored that people of such high moral standing are taking time from their precious schedules to open a cage.
It would be very bad manners if we mauled them for their troubles.
Very bad manners. On the other hand, they didn't bring us pizza.
Good point. Let's waste these suckas.
Moments later the lab was full of screams and blood as the infected monkeys went amok. Slashed, scratched and bitten, one of the intruders managed to escape into the street outside. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, there was froth at the corner of his mouth.
He spared no thought for his fallen comrades. What a bunch of deluded, self-centred idiots. Probably doing the cause more harm than good. And he'd seen three of them eating hamburgers before the raid. He was better off without them. He felt like going home, lying on the bed and staring at the ceiling. But first pizza. Pizza was good.
The infected human, patient zero, stumbled off into the Lawndale night...
NEXT: TWENTY-EIGHT DARIAS LATER...
Thursday 10 January 2019
Oh Crap It's 2019...
It's a time of pointless desolation and echoing loneliness when death's simple finality appeals to a great degree.
So why not show off JodieDoc with the theme music to Daria?
No, I didn't think you could argue that point either.
So why not show off JodieDoc with the theme music to Daria?
No, I didn't think you could argue that point either.
Tuesday 1 January 2019
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