Monday 30 July 2012

Ash

The fire spread through my mind, faster than it was spreading through the house.  Neurons flared, pathways burned, and I watched the destruction wrought by my own hands.  I talked softly to myself; the plan was proceeding as - well, as planned.


In my hand was the crystal chalice she had given me for our fifteenth anniversary.  A cocktail of barbiturates, methadone, and absinthe glimmered softly, the liquid swirling lazily inside the glass as I rocked from side to side.  I hummed our song gently, and took another sip of my drink.  She looked so serene.


Flames danced in my eyes.  The fire had really taken hold now, floor and furniture ablaze.  I winced slightly as I heard the first crack of supporting beams but watched the ceiling fall in, bringing down the contents of the room above and showering me in sparks.  I took one last look at her face and left.


I took the back door, through the alley between houses, and began meandering along the road.  The night's darkness cradled me like a blanket while I stumbled forward.  At the end of my street I glanced back at the old house.  Flames danced in the windows, a sad ballet performed in tribute to the immolation of my home.  I continued onward, to the church.  Forgiveness awaited, perhaps.


I wandered through the graveyard and sat at the plot where her ashes lay.  From my pocket I pulled the now slightly charred photograph I'd held as I watched the fire, my fire, cremate the ghost of the life we once had.  The same photograph I'd held as her body was consigned to the flames eight years ago.


Before I lost the will, or the ability, I dispatched the contents of the chalice and lay my head on her grave.


[Original image by Davy Kelly http://www.davykelly.co.uk/2010/09/photographing-fire/]

Thursday 12 July 2012

Insecurity.



"Password."

Worst password ever.

"Welcome, Qwerty Monkey Jesus."  the security gate intoned.

I hate this place.  That is quite possibly the worst code name ever.

"Love money."  the gate again, testing my knowledge.

"Freedom, ninja writer!"  I replied.

Awful.  Just awful code phrases they use here.  Whatever happened to snow falling only in winter?  This is the worst intelligence agency ever.

As usual, I stepped through the metal detector with half a dozen knives concealed about my person, and as usual nothing happened.  I looked over at the security guard asleep in his chair, snoring through his hat.  As I passed I punched him, hard, in the stomach.  He awoke with a violent jolt, and fell forward to lie crumpled on the floor.  I made a mental note to do the same to the recruitment manager.

The elevator played terrible music as I stood in silence with various suited administration staff.  As the door opened I noticed the recruitment manager waiting to enter, and slugged him as I passed.  The various administrators stared in shock, but knew better than to confront me.  Probably somthing to do with the butterfly knife I was waving around absentmindedly.

I watched disorganised people running about as I strode between desks towards the operations managers office.  Apparently he had a new mission for me.  Great.

I looked him dead in the eye.

"What."  I'm terse.

"Your mission is to run surveilance on my wife.  I'm almost certain she's been cheating on me.  Probably because I fooled around with her sister, but she doesn't know that.  Anyway, I don't know where she is, so find her."

"She's behind you, Bob."

I'll admit, I smiled a little as I watched Mona abseil past the window and shoot him just as he turned around to see her.  Whoops.


[ This story was inspired, in part, by the top ten passwords leaked from Yahoo! Voice today, noted here: http://blog.eset.se/statistics-about-yahoo-leak-of-450-000-plain-text-accounts/ ]