Don’t
cast me
in a role
that I can’t, for
ever.
Category: Random Thoughts
Gille, The Bard of Falutia
A penny for your thoughts…
Between the treacherous forest where only foul spirits dared to tread and the wide waters of the Alamanthanine Sea, there stood the small kingdom of Falutia. And in Falutia, there lived a bard of such renown that his name was spoken in hushed whispers from the sandy shores to the peaks of the snowy mountains. The mere mention of his arts upon the lute strings sent a shiver through even the most brutal mercenary, for he was, without a doubt, the worst singer ever heard in those fair lands.
His name was Gille.
His singing brought to mind the scratch of dead branches against gravestones, and his lute playing stirred even the most war-hardened soldier to tears of despair. Wherever he went, always in cheerful song, the road cleared before him. Thief, trader, brave wanderer, or stalwart servant of the king, it made no difference. All fled at the first…
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The Mountain Road
The car glides on the smooth mountain road,
making the turn barely in time
to watch a herd of deer
run through the grassy meadow
that rises up on the far side.
The air is filled with the sweet fragrance
of fresh grass and pine.
I’ve been here too many times
on this mountain road
to watch this herd of deer
and smell the air
that fills me of longing for more.
Yet I don’t know where…
I’ve never been here…
Not even today…
Photo by Murat Gün on Unsplash
Phone Call at 3a.m.
Beware, don’t pick up unknown international calls at late night. They’ll cost you in ISD rates.
I get a phone call at 3a.m.
Who calls at 3a.m?
You think the worst.
I glance across at the screen.
The call’s from Algeria.
I don’t pick up.
I don’t know anyone from Algeria.
I used to get phone calls from ‘my mate’
in Mogadishu asking me how my bank account’s going
but since I told him I’m a pisspot he’s stopped calling.
But Algeria?
I don’t even know where the fuck it is.
Africa somewhere?
But here’s the funny thing.
It rings three times then silence.
What’s the point of that?
Is it a scam?
How can you scam someone unless you speak to them first?
Perhaps he’s inordinately shy.
Perhaps he’s a mute.
Perhaps he only speaks Martian.
I knew a young man once, Simon whose father was the Lord Mayor of Mars but that’s another story.
I look up Algeria on the map.
No clues there.
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Aloof
In all relations, I keep myself slightly aloof. I try not to talk very often or discuss pain because I can’t sympathize…
I empathize.
With people I really care about, once I begin to feel their pain, I feel it as my own…until I cannot separate the borrowed pain from my own feelings. Gradually, it begins to push me under and I struggle to keep floating and breathing. Eventually, I drown in a pain not my own and am unable to resurface until I open the floodgates or someone fishes me out.
I prefer to not drown.
So, if you find me impassive and aloof, now you know why.
Tiny Tales Podcast Ep. 38: The Honest Half
Got to hear it to believe it. Left me shivering
Tiny Tales is a weekly podcast of short stories spanning horror, fantasy, comedy, and everything in between. Written and narrated by R. E. Rule. Music and production by Frank Nawrot (www.franknawrot.com).
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~ R. E. Rule
Tweedle Dee Tweedle Dum
‘Twiddling your thumbs’ has a new name. It is called ‘texting’.
Haunted
Have you ever felt ‘it’?
Like the ancient curses of the pharaohs, the multitude of explanations for the hysteria and hallucinations of those who have spent extended time in old houses far outweighs the possibility of the paranormal. Drafts and cold spots from wind finding its way through rotting walls, illness caused by mold or gases caught in rusty pipes, strange noises triggered by the introduction of a foreign body into a delicately balanced ecosystem, or simply the habitation of a stray cat or nesting pigeon: I had yet to find a symptom without a cause. Still, each new investigation began with the hope that this time I would find the exception to the rule. As I gazed up at the house, perched on its tree-covered hill like a vulture eyeing its prey, the familiar tingle of possibility crept up my spine.
A century of abandonment had clawed the flesh from it until only bare…
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Speak up!
I was new.
He made me sit close. I avoided him.
Next party, he cracked an indecent joke at my expense. I stayed quiet.
He became my boss. I wouldn’t laugh at his jokes in meetings. He killed my appraisal several times.
An year later, a girl reported the same plight. He was kicked out.
I wish that girl was me.
Speak up!
June 23rd, 2006
This is worth a read!
The following was transcribed from an audio file discovered by the Tucumcari Highway Patrol on June 23rd, 2006.
Unknown Speaker, female (US):
It’s a long drive back, so I thought I’d get this down while it’s still fresh in my mind. Honestly, it was a huge waste of time. What is it with whackos and trailer parks?
[sighs]
Alright, I’ll try to keep this official for the archives. The date is, uh, June 16th, 2003. We received a call three days ago on the hotline about some unusual activity in New Mexico. The caller wouldn’t go into specifics, one of those “won’t talk on the phone, you never know who might be listening” types. So, I drove down from Chicago.
Turns out the town was a dustbowl: trailer park, convenience store with a fifty-year-old gas pump, and one stop sign which was apparently optional.
I met…
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Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 