K.A. Ashcomb's Blog, page 40

Short Story: Cup of Tea

The tea swirled in the cup as she made it to spin. A translucent blue flower made loops around the liquid. It was the most sensible influence she had had in years. Somehow she had slipped into the cracks and got lost. She never meant such a thing to happen. Her life had started with a strong beat and a clear inclination to what she came here to do. Now she had been on Earth ten years, and the only action she could be proud of was to make a flower petal follow the laws of gravity and motion. She ...

Short Story: Inside the Philosopher’s Town

The trick for disappearing thoughts isn’t shushing. That is only to invite more ideas, the pestering kind, which will cause another agonizing loop over inadequacies and lack of will. The trick is to keep in motion, or so I have come to believe. The celebrated philosophers and brilliant talkers make us think knowledge should be sought in quiet rooms and inside the tomes, and that might be. But inner peace comes when this hand of mine flows upward, and I follow its path. Or I let my feet decide wh...

Short Story: Night Terrors

He glanced behind him, hearing a branch snap. What a fool, he said to himself when he turned his attention back to the narrow pathway through the small forest patch. He had stepped on a fallen twig, which snapped half in the middle. He shook his head and continued his way home. The street lights of his street shone behind the dark trees. It was just that the forest felt bigger and darker at this time of night. Sometimes he was sure he would stop taking the night shifts just because of not having...

Short Story: In the Stillness

There is this story I have never told anyone. I have kept it to myself because I can. It’s not a horrible story. It’s quite beautiful. But sometimes, when I am about to say it aloud, I wonder will it lose its magic if I let you tear it apart. You see, I’m not quite sure if it happened. And you would convince me it was just my neurons playing tricks on me, as you do with everything else. Render my being to the chemical reactions, and all I want is to be more than my hormones and DNA.

You rathe...

Short Story: The Listener

He sat on his chair, waiting for another client to come. His metallic body was welded into the spot. He could move his hands and head to portray empathy when the talker wanted him to, but nothing else. He couldn’t walk away. Not that he was sure why he should. It seemed like the whole world came to him at one time or another. Mostly a slight tilt to the right side ensured people kept talking, and he heard the most amazing stories and thoughts never said aloud to any living being. Sometimes he wo...

Short Story: I Lost My Spider

I lost my spider as suddenly as she had come. It had to be her from the way she behaved. She had made a web into my bathroom, and one day I found myself staring at her to all her six eyes. Not eight, as was more common. Six, I counted through my lens. She was the smallest little spider I had ever seen, but I saw how big and complicated and clever she was through my lens. Her intricate web had a hole for her to act. There she stayed for weeks, waiting for prey to land.

At first, I thought I sh...

Short Story: The Universe to Be Had

They say to seize the moment, but what if you have had no moments to seize? Is it your perception playing tricks on you, or can you be so utterly miserable creature not to have anything worthy to take? She watched the night sky, feeling clouded by the questions. Thus far in life, she felt nothing had ever been hers, nor was she even given a choice where everything might lead—drifting from one event to another as soon as her eyes opened. And for why? To do her part? Be what was expected of her? T...

Short Story: Function Reserved for A Beating Heart

The flower twirled between his fingers. He had stopped working and watched as the organic fibers glistened in the sun. There was a smell; he could quite differentiate it. Flowers were good at scents. You could say it was their survival mechanism—his was doing what was asked of him efficiently and precisely. For the past ten years, it had been handpicking flowers and preparing them to be sold onwards.

When he wasn’t working, he read everything he could find about flowers. The evolution to attr...

Short Story: Knife in The Hands of A Pacifist

He took a huge swig of the bottle and swiped his mouth to his sleeve, watching the grocery store. It was now or never. The winter was already coming, and he needed to get indoors. He rarely drank, but he needed this to get on with it. He lowered the bottle on the ground and took the first hesitant step towards the store. Everything in him screamed he was going against all he believed in, but hunger and coldness made anyone understand humans were made of flesh and bones. Sometimes he entertained ...

Short Story: They Were Gone

The six legs, not eight as that would mean an arachnid nor more than eight as of this way it would be Myriapoda, crawled onward in perfect unison. He watched it go. His cheek pressed on the ground. Even if he wanted, he couldn’t move. He tried to whisper to the bug, Anoplotrupes Stercorosus to be precise, not to leave him there. Beg it to help a fellow up, but that would mean speaking and speaking was a strenuous act. And he would have to address the issue that the bug was a long way from home, ...