Fan Fiction
August 02, 2006
She walks up right up to the sand pausing briefly to take off her sandals. Taking it all in, it has been years since she took a trip to this beach. Loving the sight of the houses by the sea, most people do not know of this strand of beach unless you lived here. It is not a private beach; you just have to know how to get there. Her family could never have afforded a place here, even twenty years ago when times were better and the housing situation was not as horrific as it is now. She had a friend how had a relative who lived here and they would house sit every now and then. She cherished the thought of that lost past, wondering, just wondering. The seagulls squawked overhead. There are less of them nowadays as well.
The sun would be setting in less than half an hour from now. This has to be done quickly. The sand is as soft as it has always been. Not course or stiff as it is in the other coast. Here, it sinks a bit, enveloping your feet accompanied by the warmth of the day. It’s about a couple hundred yards or so to the water. You cannot see the water as small sand dunes obstruct the view. There is more trash around the beach as there was back in the days. She guesses that as the neighbourhood gets older, it gets more run down and less money goes in to the housekeeping in of the beach. Kinda sad really. She walks over the dunes, the slight breeze waving though her short ebony locks and finally gets a clear view of the Pacific. The halls of her mind remind her that she used to see dolphins in the distance and she remembers tales of whales being not more that two hundred feet off the shore. Cetacean sightings waned off in the last days when she would frequent here. Now, no one sees them anymore. Some of the weirder theories include the evolution of their gills or they had ventured (and remained) towards the irradiated southern hemisphere where no one would be able to document their existence. She does not know what to think. She is not even sure what whales looked like anyway. Four legged fish or something.
Twenty minutes until the sun sets. She sits in the sand, pondering what to do next and then just plops completely. Lying down, a cool breeze and the warm sand. She thinks she hears a dog barks but wonders if anyone could even afford the license to own such an endangered creature even out here. She wanders her sights to the sky above her. An angry red in the setting sun littered with evening stars glittering through the ever thinning atmospheres and the hundred million satellites that do a hundred million things ranging from delivering the manufactured images that we see when we sleep to the most simple operation of preventing the aforementioned thinned atmosphere from escaping completely allowing the embrace to the vacuum to envelope us. Thank the Old Ones for little favors.
She stares at the sky and wonders what keeps her anchored to the ground. Is it really gravity? Is it because that is what she was taught? If she decides not to believe that will she suddenly fall into the sky? Better not try that. Yet.
She just realizes that now she has sand in hair, sand in her shirt, sand in her everywhere else. She is just happy that that this part of town has a Rumsfeld radiation reading of four point five. Any reading above five means you would need to spend an hour in a decontamination tube for every minute you were in that zone. A reading six point sixty six meant instant death or execution, depending on who caught you. She just noticed if that reading had any other significance or it was just pure coincidence.
Whatever. She was just happy that she gets to stay there and take her sweet time. She remembers what it was like in the old days, swimming in the waters. Her grandfather told her that in his time, the waters came flowed from up north, that it could be as hot as a hundred degrees and if you did not have a wet suit on, your lips would turn blue after fifteen minutes. In her memory, the water was warm. These days, apparently the water flowed from a different direction.
The sun is starting to set and she gets up, switching on her BrainNetâ„¢ implant to tuning to a classical music station to help set the mood. Huh, Disintegration is one of her favourites of the classicals. She was hoping for Burning Empires, but this would do. She walks right up to the waterline and lets the water get to her. It is warm as she remembers. At least something is. A slight smile forms and a tear is choked back, she does not come out here enough. Stretching out her arms, her memories must now return to their vaults as she prepares to face the present and the smile is removed by a small sigh. She does not have a lot with her, but it should be enough. A small piece of wood and a hardened soul. Sometimes, that is all it takes. She turns down the tunes on her implant. But not all the way down. She likes to work with a soundtrack. Burning Empires would have been great but Disintegration seems appropriate for now. It is appropriate that the title track begins as the sand start to shift and the first of the resting vampires explode out of hiding towards the first living, breathing thing they see.
Her.
The job of a Slayer is never done.
________________________________________________________________________
http://www.myspace.com/catterpillarboy
http://catterpillarboy.blogspot.com/
She walks up right up to the sand pausing briefly to take off her sandals. Taking it all in, it has been years since she took a trip to this beach. Loving the sight of the houses by the sea, most people do not know of this strand of beach unless you lived here. It is not a private beach; you just have to know how to get there. Her family could never have afforded a place here, even twenty years ago when times were better and the housing situation was not as horrific as it is now. She had a friend how had a relative who lived here and they would house sit every now and then. She cherished the thought of that lost past, wondering, just wondering. The seagulls squawked overhead. There are less of them nowadays as well.
The sun would be setting in less than half an hour from now. This has to be done quickly. The sand is as soft as it has always been. Not course or stiff as it is in the other coast. Here, it sinks a bit, enveloping your feet accompanied by the warmth of the day. It’s about a couple hundred yards or so to the water. You cannot see the water as small sand dunes obstruct the view. There is more trash around the beach as there was back in the days. She guesses that as the neighbourhood gets older, it gets more run down and less money goes in to the housekeeping in of the beach. Kinda sad really. She walks over the dunes, the slight breeze waving though her short ebony locks and finally gets a clear view of the Pacific. The halls of her mind remind her that she used to see dolphins in the distance and she remembers tales of whales being not more that two hundred feet off the shore. Cetacean sightings waned off in the last days when she would frequent here. Now, no one sees them anymore. Some of the weirder theories include the evolution of their gills or they had ventured (and remained) towards the irradiated southern hemisphere where no one would be able to document their existence. She does not know what to think. She is not even sure what whales looked like anyway. Four legged fish or something.
Twenty minutes until the sun sets. She sits in the sand, pondering what to do next and then just plops completely. Lying down, a cool breeze and the warm sand. She thinks she hears a dog barks but wonders if anyone could even afford the license to own such an endangered creature even out here. She wanders her sights to the sky above her. An angry red in the setting sun littered with evening stars glittering through the ever thinning atmospheres and the hundred million satellites that do a hundred million things ranging from delivering the manufactured images that we see when we sleep to the most simple operation of preventing the aforementioned thinned atmosphere from escaping completely allowing the embrace to the vacuum to envelope us. Thank the Old Ones for little favors.
She stares at the sky and wonders what keeps her anchored to the ground. Is it really gravity? Is it because that is what she was taught? If she decides not to believe that will she suddenly fall into the sky? Better not try that. Yet.
She just realizes that now she has sand in hair, sand in her shirt, sand in her everywhere else. She is just happy that that this part of town has a Rumsfeld radiation reading of four point five. Any reading above five means you would need to spend an hour in a decontamination tube for every minute you were in that zone. A reading six point sixty six meant instant death or execution, depending on who caught you. She just noticed if that reading had any other significance or it was just pure coincidence.
Whatever. She was just happy that she gets to stay there and take her sweet time. She remembers what it was like in the old days, swimming in the waters. Her grandfather told her that in his time, the waters came flowed from up north, that it could be as hot as a hundred degrees and if you did not have a wet suit on, your lips would turn blue after fifteen minutes. In her memory, the water was warm. These days, apparently the water flowed from a different direction.
The sun is starting to set and she gets up, switching on her BrainNetâ„¢ implant to tuning to a classical music station to help set the mood. Huh, Disintegration is one of her favourites of the classicals. She was hoping for Burning Empires, but this would do. She walks right up to the waterline and lets the water get to her. It is warm as she remembers. At least something is. A slight smile forms and a tear is choked back, she does not come out here enough. Stretching out her arms, her memories must now return to their vaults as she prepares to face the present and the smile is removed by a small sigh. She does not have a lot with her, but it should be enough. A small piece of wood and a hardened soul. Sometimes, that is all it takes. She turns down the tunes on her implant. But not all the way down. She likes to work with a soundtrack. Burning Empires would have been great but Disintegration seems appropriate for now. It is appropriate that the title track begins as the sand start to shift and the first of the resting vampires explode out of hiding towards the first living, breathing thing they see.
Her.
The job of a Slayer is never done.
________________________________________________________________________
http://www.myspace.com/catterpillarboy
http://catterpillarboy.blogspot.com/
posted by Catterpillarboy at 1:06 PM
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