March 2023
The Glass Battlefield
04/03/23 13:09
Microcosms 181
The Glass Battlefield
It was proving to be Shelly’s most difficult assignment yet, but she was determined to succeed for her most ambitious art glass project yet. The problematic local mafia groups was something she’d seen during earlier expeditions in rather sketchy areas of the world. Here though she was being escorted at distance - spied on - by the more problematic government “security,’ who probably suspected she’d try to get to the Restricted Zone.
She sipped on a vodka, turned off her room light and pulling back the curtain. Two agents were stood beneath a streetlight, completely happy to be seen by her; another two were in a long black car. Everyone was spied on in this country - and everyone was a spy. She laughed.
Her laptop resolutely refused to send or receive any data, effectively stopped by the amount of spyware attacking her old school ethernet port. It felt like she was truly back in the Cold War. Her excitement was growing though as she thought about getting out to the periphery of the area affected by infamous The Little Bomb. She’d be many miles from the centre of that most miserable of old battlefields. The area impacted by the radiation was now restricted, but the glass it had created from its heat and pressure had been flung out great distances, like a meteorite impact, and she was confident she’d find colourful ejecta at areas not too badly radioactive. She’d be picking up pieces with abandon in hours: the raw material for her priceless glass art made with these worthless spoils of war. By the time she’d blown her magic into the sad glass it would be eerily beautiful.
She opened the curtains again and saw her security entourage had disappeared; her in-country coconspirator had evidently done his stuff. The game was on.
_______________
300 words
Elements: Glass blower / Battlefield / Action
The Glass Battlefield
It was proving to be Shelly’s most difficult assignment yet, but she was determined to succeed for her most ambitious art glass project yet. The problematic local mafia groups was something she’d seen during earlier expeditions in rather sketchy areas of the world. Here though she was being escorted at distance - spied on - by the more problematic government “security,’ who probably suspected she’d try to get to the Restricted Zone.
She sipped on a vodka, turned off her room light and pulling back the curtain. Two agents were stood beneath a streetlight, completely happy to be seen by her; another two were in a long black car. Everyone was spied on in this country - and everyone was a spy. She laughed.
Her laptop resolutely refused to send or receive any data, effectively stopped by the amount of spyware attacking her old school ethernet port. It felt like she was truly back in the Cold War. Her excitement was growing though as she thought about getting out to the periphery of the area affected by infamous The Little Bomb. She’d be many miles from the centre of that most miserable of old battlefields. The area impacted by the radiation was now restricted, but the glass it had created from its heat and pressure had been flung out great distances, like a meteorite impact, and she was confident she’d find colourful ejecta at areas not too badly radioactive. She’d be picking up pieces with abandon in hours: the raw material for her priceless glass art made with these worthless spoils of war. By the time she’d blown her magic into the sad glass it would be eerily beautiful.
She opened the curtains again and saw her security entourage had disappeared; her in-country coconspirator had evidently done his stuff. The game was on.
_______________
300 words
Elements: Glass blower / Battlefield / Action
Ageless Beauty
04/03/23 13:06
Microcosms - 180
Ageless Beauty
Reginald Royale was an ebullient man of indeterminate age, with one of those faces that never aged and a coy smile that would make people feel protective about him. He’d looked about twenty to me for the last thirty years. We’d always meet up when his circus was in town. He could truly get away with murder with that smile. Last week I found out the truth about him - he was no baby faced assassin: he was getting away with grand art thefts in the towns the circus visited.
I looked again at the Monet on my bathroom wall. I dare say hanging it in the wet room was not the most sensible call. But I’ve not been tarred with the sensible brush. He’d gifted it to me when we were in the Grand Gin Palace last Tuesday.
He told me such a story over a night of countless spirits; it was over a week ago and I still haven’t recovered. It was such a blur I became sure the things he told me I’d dreamt. I mean how could the man be three hundred years old? He didn’t say what he was, other than different. Said he’d been with the circus ninety years; occasionally dipping out to ‘recharge his batteries’ on an idyllic tropical island, his house stuffed with stolen treasures. Said he loved ageless beauty, but he had so much that he’d decided for every new item he’d have to throw out one. Hence my gift.
In the mirror I saw my pallid features looking old and tired. The Monet and me in the mirror. Beauty and the beast. I wondered if I’d grow to love or hate it. To be surrounded by ageless beauty may not be a good thing when compared with your ever deteriorating self.
____________
300 words
Elements: Art Thief / Circus / Fantasy
Ageless Beauty
Reginald Royale was an ebullient man of indeterminate age, with one of those faces that never aged and a coy smile that would make people feel protective about him. He’d looked about twenty to me for the last thirty years. We’d always meet up when his circus was in town. He could truly get away with murder with that smile. Last week I found out the truth about him - he was no baby faced assassin: he was getting away with grand art thefts in the towns the circus visited.
I looked again at the Monet on my bathroom wall. I dare say hanging it in the wet room was not the most sensible call. But I’ve not been tarred with the sensible brush. He’d gifted it to me when we were in the Grand Gin Palace last Tuesday.
He told me such a story over a night of countless spirits; it was over a week ago and I still haven’t recovered. It was such a blur I became sure the things he told me I’d dreamt. I mean how could the man be three hundred years old? He didn’t say what he was, other than different. Said he’d been with the circus ninety years; occasionally dipping out to ‘recharge his batteries’ on an idyllic tropical island, his house stuffed with stolen treasures. Said he loved ageless beauty, but he had so much that he’d decided for every new item he’d have to throw out one. Hence my gift.
In the mirror I saw my pallid features looking old and tired. The Monet and me in the mirror. Beauty and the beast. I wondered if I’d grow to love or hate it. To be surrounded by ageless beauty may not be a good thing when compared with your ever deteriorating self.
____________
300 words
Elements: Art Thief / Circus / Fantasy