- Dame Rinda
Readers on Deadline is a new Deadline Dame monthly feature. Each month, we’ll post an intriguing image and invite readers to be inspired and share the results in up to 250 words right here in the comments. The Dames will pick the one that most intrigues us, post that entry in the next ROD day along with a link to that writer/reader’s site. And you get a prize!
Meghan Strain
Katee Robert
Christina Gullickson
Natalie
Silver James
And the winner of ROD #2 is Katee Robert. Congrats Katee! (Email your snail mail to us–address in right sidebar–and let me know which style hat you liked.) Here’s her entry.
I wasn’t supposed to be able to feel. Or think. But I could. Even as the madman that created me moved me around like his macabre little doll, I was aware and screaming inside my head.I knew I wasn’t human, not really. I hadn’t been born; I’d been created. But that didn’t change that I was self-aware.
When he maneuvered me into the ally, I knew that there would be trouble. Like a good little marionette I walked through the darkness and crouched in front of the skull. It was too small, too perfect to have been human, probably one of the lesser species then. Even they had more free will than I.
The sheer power that hit me the moment I touched the skull knocked me back off my feet and I sat there a moment before my puppeteer got me under control again. Reaching out, I created a frame around the skull, channeling the power into my body since he couldn’t hold it himself.
As more and more energy flowed into me, an idea sparked – a beautiful, impossible idea. It might be enough to sustain me, at least for a little while, so that I would no longer be dependant on him. But I would have to severe our link swiftly – if it could be done at all.
Balling the energy around my center where his control panel resided, I focused until I felt something snap and heard a strangled scream behind me. And then …
Freedom.
And here is the image for ROD #3. (I had to post it big for the full impact because…well, just look at it!) Again, we were thrilled to get permission from the artist, Pierre-Etienne Travers. You can check out more of his art at his website. I’m a big science fiction art fan and there’s a lot to check out in that genre.
Deadline to enter is next Wednesday, May 13th and we’ll post the winner, their website and the next ROD image in four weeks. The prize is a copy of Devon Monk’s Magic in the Blood! Released this week!
Related posts:
Absolutely stunning artwork – pure and utter muse-crack…which means that I will be forced to write in!
Muse-crack. I like that.
Whoah! Top six. That’s awesome. Thanks, Dames!
I agree with Liz. This pic is muse-crack! Mine took one look, dropped the scissors she’d been running with and is now sitting in the corner plotting. We’ll get back to you.
Hi! Thought I might take a crack at this, if I can find time between chasing after my kids this weekend! Where are we supposed to submit – here? Or is there a different comment area where we submit? Thanks!
Write up to 250 words and submit them right here in the comments. Have fun!
My mother would be ashamed of me. Hunting down rogues was never her idea of a respectable occupation, but it’s not the same set of nuts and bolts that gets a cyborg through the month, anymore. The meatsacks who put the bounty out on this poor cobbler are going to be pissed that I fried him, but it was that or get my own wiring shorted out. I’ll tell them he got hit by a stray bullet on our way out of the city; there’s no one here to contradict me but the outdated, abandoned exoskeleton someone staked to the wall. Some idiot’s idea of an insult, or maybe a sarcastic donation to a cyborg in need. We’re always looking for new parts, the corrosive fumes of city filth eating away our protective shells—meatsacks can’t even come outside anymore, the air’s so poisoned. That’s why we’re here. Cyborgs ready for service, willing to strike out into the great rotting warren of the streets and work until we’re falling apart.
There are times when I’m tempted to use this smoking gun in my hand on the meatsacks who think they control me, wiring their commands into my master chip, but I’m no fool. They’d have other cyborgs on me before I could take out more than a few of them, and I’d be reduced to a pile of broken circuits, just like this rogue I ended. I’m no fool. I’ll play their games. But someday…well, we’ll see.
The dark alley stank will the bile of thousands of humans. In the corners lay dead rats, none of the living dared enter this place. Hundreds of wild rumours circulated around, telling of ghosts and un-dead. That was where I came in.
The un-dead are my speciality.
My silver fist glowed with the presence of thousand of dead souls, lurking in the corners, hiding just out of sight. I took a deep draft from the fag hanging out the corner of my mouth – you start to pick up bad habits in my line of work. I pulled out the gun and walked firmly into the alley.
Never show them you’re afraid, it’s a death sentence otherwise.
Dead human remains were scattered along the sides, torso’s hanging from the walls, skulls leering at me from all sides.
A hissing sounded from somewhere on my right. I didn’t even think, letting my arm swirl round and basting a bullet into the dead body of a woman. The evil inside screamed with rage, fire burning where the bullet had struck. White smoke slithered away, running out of the alley.
A fumer-spirit. Pathetic servants of hell.
I was searching for something much larger, and more deadly. Something that would hopefully save my soul from hell. As that was where I was going, where humans who made bargains with the devil ended up. I was as damned as the devils servants, if I didn’t do something. And my time was running up, fast…
Death was his name and death was his game. Laughter pressed against my chapped lips, gurgling out of my mouth into the rancid air. Memories of strewn monopoly boards and ripped Hasbro money flashed through my mind as I looked up at the ender to my game, smiling. Even when facing Death I could still rely upon my absurd humor to cheer me up. Death paused, taking a long draw from his stumpy cigar, and stared down at me. His eyes were unreadable behind the dark sunglasses, a twisted smile lifting his shredded lips. I laughed, he smiled. What a relationship Death and I had.
“ So, Wolverine,” I wheezed weakly. Death shook his head, oily thin hair slapping against his grimy face, laughing silently.
“ Where’s your fellow X-men ?” I gurgled pushing past the pain of broken ribs. Death grinned, taking a long breath of his cigar before prying it from his bloody lips . A slow roll of white smoke whispered from his lips and lifted into the air, his mouth widening into a dangerous smile.
“ You and I Chelly. Only you and I .” His gravelly voice breathed into the silent ally. I laughed and shook my head wishing I could stand and look into my Deaths godless eyes.
“ Always and forever London.” I laughed the words coming out automatically.
“ I loved you once.” Death breathed.
“ I know.”
Ignoring the steaming corpses littering the alley, he felt like freaking Hansel—only the birdies coming to obliterate this trail of breadcrumbs were vultures and he wasn’t hunting the old witch. He smelled blood, tasted the coppery sharpness of it around the shallow drags he puffed on his cigarette. His Gretel waited at the entrance. She had his back and he had to trust her. Sade Marquis. FBI agent. Sex on a stick. She racked a new clip in her automatic, the metallic sound echoing in the silence. He’d already reloaded his specially modified .44 Mag. If the six rounds of HE didn’t take down the target, they were dog food anyway. He laughed mirthlessly. “Roman, you owe me big time, brother!” His blood debt to Roman was the only reason he was here. Hunting rogue gargoyles was a pain in the neck. Literally. He rolled his head on his neck, the vertebrae grinding like the ancient granite they were made of. This whole fiasco had been the Fed’s idea. Hers and Roman’s. A grating sound brought his head up. The fool thought reverting to his real form would help. He raised the Mag, squeezed. Acrid smoke from his cigarette danced with the fog crawling in from the docks as powdered granite swirled and settled, just so much dust in the wind.
“Alle, alle auch sind frei!” He whispered the all’s clear phrase from the children’s game. “Ally, ally, oxen free,” he repeated in English.
A man walks down a dark and dingy ally. Matching curls of smoke drift upwards, one from the cigarette in his mouth, one from the gun in his hand. Behind him white light shines, a dead man lies, not a hint of regret in his step as he walks away. What is he leaving? Where is he going? Does he seek revenge? Or has he just distributed it?
Hard to believe I have a two-year-old kid that I watch Teletubbies with by looking at me, huh? But then I guess it would be easy to guess I’m a bounty-hunter. If only all jobs were easy as a knowing look.
Nah. These bastards had to go and steal my kid. After all the trouble I’d went to hide him, to get out of the biz. I’d even gone and gotten myself a damn white-collar gig! Between you and me, a cozy desk job didn’t sound too bad. Not when you’ve normally got demons on your tail.
Now, in my reliable leathers, freshly blessed by my hoodoo mama… it’s time to be a daddy and save my kid. My little boy can even spill cereal all over my jacket if it means he’s alive and human to do so.
If they’ve made him into one of those damned haunts like the pitiful one they had guarding this back-alley entrance…well, it won’t be pg.
Taking a much-welcome drag on my cigar before tossing it, I let the nicotine energize me. I slam the door open and blink.
“Daddy!” My son yelled. He was blood-spattered in his formerly-missing crib. He held a gun, one of my special ones, easily.
“Put down the pistol,” I ordered calmly, ignoring every screaming paternal instinct to get him and run. I checked the room. All demons, no survivors. Since when did demons go down easy? Never.
They had never been alive, shuddering skeletons of metal, plastic and glass. The bullets tore through their delicate wiring, shattering the connections that made them act alive, if only until the batteries ran out. Sparks flew through the air around the head and the bullet hole. He ignored it. Some kid would hoist the thing up soon and claim it as their own kill. He didn’t care.
Water and slime ran down between the leather and his skin, gluing them together. He didn’t care.
He carried crosses and stakes, and holy water, but there weren’t any vampires or vampire slayers around anymore. The robots had gotten them like they were supposed to before they turned on live people. He didn’t care.
The central computer knew his name, and he could hear robots the size of spiders crawling around his bed at night. They’d catch up with him and everyone like him who blasted their metal pets apart. He hoped they didn’t think he cared.
the one directly above is mine
Quick question: do we need to include ‘a’, ‘and’ and ‘the’ in our word count? I’ve got mine blocked out, but need to dump a lot of words (big surprise!). I want to make certain I have the word count accurate when I dump. Not reading what anyone else has submitted until I get my own completed.
Thanks!
Never really thought about it. I use a the word count function in Word, but honestly, if it’s close to 250, we won’t be picky.
The sharp rapport of the gun echoed off the walls of the alleyway as the body hit the wall with a dull thud, sliding down until it hit the ground. The skull was disintegrating, red glowing eyes the last to die as black ichor slowly rolled down the wall. Dirty rain fell but was no aid in cleaning up the mess. Nothing about the city was clean anymore, not since the plague. Brand inhaled, the phosphorus smoke from his gun wafting up and burning his nostrils along with the smoke of his cigar. He ignored the body staked up on the opposing wall. Someone else had done the same job he had not long ago. It was a dangerous job but it paid well.
His boots thudded against the garbage strewn alleyway, eyes scanning the darkness through the infrared glasses. There were still two other marks to catch and one of them had a girl with them. It had been stressed that the girl needed to be rescued alive. Good luck with that. She would be lucky if she lasted an hour. Leather creaked as he flexed his fingers, pulling the cigar out of his mouth and tossing it aside to die against the cold and slick wall. He paused and tilted his head before looking up, eyes running up the wall until it stopped on the fire red eyes staring back at him. A shark’s mouth turned into a deranged grin as the thing stepped back, the terrified girl standing next to him giving a choked scream that cut off abruptly.
I couldn’t help myself. This looked like too much fun.
Smoke lingered in the putrid air that never seemed to fade. The band of fluorescent light above barely made a dent in the darkness of the alley. Behind him a fresh corpse was just beginning to add to the stench. He knew no one would retrieve him. He knew no one would care. Not in this part of the city. The weeks old corpse with the flesh dried and shriveled, hanging on the wall was a reassurance of that.
It was his own damned fault for following. He should have known better. No matter how bad you think you are, somebody out there is tougher, less caring and more ruthless than you are. And somebody wanted him dead.
He reached down and picked up his piece. The gun was worthless in his eyes. It was in poor repair and bullets of that caliber were hard to come by. No, the gun itself was useless but the dead guy treasured it like it was his last meal. Perhaps it was his last meal, his means to stay alive. It didn’t save his life tonight. It did add a considerable sum to the pockets of the hit man who tempted him into a dark alley.
He walked away; just another day on the job.
The neon light gives off an eerie glow, highlighting the vamperic robot someone staked to the wall. Not the nicest thing I’ve seen lately, but not the worst either. He couldn’t have been staked there very long, I can still see a steady stream of hydraulic fluid leaking out of him, maybe a week.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I cringe at the thought of dying that slowly, watching the world go on around me knowing that help will never come because no one travels the alleys anymore, well no one smart that is.
Shaking my head to dispel the bleak thought I take another drag on my last cigarette. Damn thing, that’s what brought me out here in the first place. I should be home kicked back with a beer but instead I’m out here on my night off dealing with a demon, and now all the paperwork that goes with dispatching one. Extra paperwork for me since I use a gun rather than the new fan dangled lasers that the pencil pushers are trying to get us to use; if I’m going to kill something then I want to do it the old fashioned way, a bullet right between the eyes.
I head out of the alley toward the office and away from the convenience store that has my cigarettes. It’s my night off I keep thinking, my frickin night off and what am I doing, working. All because I needed a damn pack of cigs.
Hunter watched from the shadows as the two Gor viciously fought under the flickering light. Their high screeching cries raked harshly across his ears. The fight quickly climaxed when one of the Gor raised the other over his head, breaking its back, then threw it. Quicker than lightening it snatched wooden stakes from the floor, impaling its opponent high on the wall.
The Gor shifted with a blur of speed to face Hunter, sliding into a defensive crouch. “Hunter,” it hissed, eyes cold and bright.
“Geod,” Hunter replied in a gruff voice as he shrugged away from the wall and moved slowly towards the Gor.
Geod hissed again. “You shouldn’t be here, Hunter.” Geod drew in a rattling breath that pulled at Hunter’s soul. Another pull, and Geod leered evilly as Hunter’s step faltered. “How many of us have you hunted, Hunter, to come so far in losing your humanity?” Another pull. “You are almost not worth tasting, you have so little human left. Will you destroy yourself, to destroy us?”
“I’ve paid my price,” Hunter said harshly. “Now I’ll collect yours.” He lifted his gun and blasted the Gor, knocking it to the floor. Hunter reached into its chest, took the soul crystal, turned and collected the crystal from the Gor pinned to the wall.
Hunter didn’t look at the thin image of his own face on the wall, another layer of his humanity peeled away, payment for the dead Gor. He felt colder, harder as he walked away, thoughts on his lost Maria. Holding the crystals in his hand, he thought soon, soon she would be free.
Wow. I didn’t read the other submissions before posting my own. That is some a-m-a-z-i-n-g writing. I love seeing the different styles, all inspired by the same picture. Way cool. Can’t wait to see what else is submitted in the next few days.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
“Come in central,” I said as I walked away from the carnage. “Clean up in aisle three.”
“Roger. Mission Status.”
“All that’s left is the clean up.”
“Is there any collateral damage?”
Such a strange question. “Yes, one.” If you don’t count the poor soul who had his body stolen and then was possessed by a demon. I would count him as collateral, since I killed him instead of rescuing him, but rescuing is not my job and central doesn’t want to count them.
I glanced over my shoulder as I walked. He still had the demon’s glow in his eyes, it was fading, but not quickly enough, so I put a quick shot into each.
It’s a sad commentary on how low we’ve sunk. Evil creatures running around in broad day light killing innocent citizens, and people like me hunting them down. What ever happened to world peace, streets of gold and no one crying anymore?
“Details man.”
“I found the target and eliminated it, but not before he staked some poor soul to a wall. Looks like it was trying to rub it in our faces. It staked him up like it was crucifying him, but then it got carriers away. Put a stake through his chest instead of his side and then decided to rip off the pour guys legs.”
What I didn’t tell central was that I had gotten an amulet off of the creature before I killed it, and I was headed for the summoner.
I wasn’t meant to be here…I kept telling myself this.
I’d given up hunting…well…sort of. Kali knew better than anyone if I located the last of the Rodents I’d have to come back. The last time I faced them I’d nearly died. It had taken almost 11 months to recover, even with my preternatural abilities.
I was back in the city, to the stinking filth and disease. Every where you go all you can smell illness and death. What I wouldn’t give to be back at home, but no, I’m back where it all started, hunting down the last of them. Kali, told me to forget it…but, really, how do you forget what they did to me? I was arrogant and over confident four years ago.
My boots squelched as I moved slowly through another alley, God knows what I was traipsing through. The noise from the nearby Bars and Strip Joints floated across the air. My gun smoked in my hand, as a result of my most recent kill. I could still sense him behind slumped by a dumpster. I’d questioned him first, but I would have had more luck finding gold in my boots than getting any kind of information out of that one. Just a foot soldier, ugly and stupid, he’d tried to escape; I gave him a bullet to the head for his troubles.
I halted in mid step. I could feel her she was somewhere near…and she wasn’t alone. I stared up at the rooftops above me. I’d walked into her trap, and she’d come with reinforcements.
She stood on the balcony smiling down at me…my sister, the devil.
Well, might as well go for it! This one’s a shade over 250, so take it for what it’s worth:
Don’t look back. Pay no attention to what covers the ground. Stay alive.
The advice grips my mind as I steal a glance over my shoulder, then back into the darkness engulfing me. The alley isn’t the typical straight fare, but curved, mocking my fear of the unknown. Several minutes in and I still can’t see what I’ve come for. Doesn’t matter. The clans need help and no one’s in much shape to do anything but me. I’m the only one who’s escaped the virus sweeping the human barrios. So far.
I flinch as something grinds at my feet. My guess is human’s bones, brittle from chemical waste, now pureed to dust beneath my grav boots. No attention indeed. I swallow bile on the back of my tongue and force my eyes up.
I search for a rumor, a twist of legend I don’t believe exists…and then there it is. A cybernetic machine capable of free will, will that would either crush me or liberate us all. No time like the present.
“On behalf of the Alliance, I come in peace to strike an accord with you, for your services.” Words tremble as much as my hand hovering over my ineffectual, hip level neutralizer. My breathing becomes this choking noise as its charred, half human, half robotic features slide to me with something akin to understanding. Shock numbs me when it lights a cigarette, so blasé for a born killer.
Exactly what it thinks it understands about me, I don’t want to find out.
The job was done, justice was found and it was time to move on.
Pity it didn’t take longer, but anything other than a quick kill would have been a waste of ammunition.
Considering what that thing had done, even pity was wasted.
He almost smiled right then. Many would have been surprised to see him smile.
One who wouldn’t was his sister. Then again, it was for her that he did this freely.
For what that filth did to her, the payment he had received for the job was nothing more than a bonus to put away for a rainy day.
He inhaled the smoke from the cheroot and let it calm the rage that wanted to start boiling.
Having planned to go see the shadow that was left of his sister, to let her know justice was brought to bear, he wondered if he should wait until he was sure to be calm. He could not let the rage boil. She was sure to pick up on that, even if she still hid from the world.
For now, though, the job was done, justice was served, and it was time to move on.
The next job was around the corner and time would – in a few days – be of the essence.
Heroes? Sure, I believe in heroes. They’re the ones in white lab coats, mending broken bodies; the ones in full fire gear rescuing kittens from rooftops and pulling people from the hungry jaws and licking tongues of flame.
Heroes are the gleaming-bright buttons on the coat of society…
…me? I’m more like the concealed weapon tucked deep inside a pocket, the one that ain’t supposed to be there.
I’m the guy they call to clean up the nastiest messes, the problems you don’t want to know about. I deal with the dark things from your worst dreams: gangs of ghouls, vamp dens and shadow stalkers. Things like these stinkin’, pus-filled gaunts.
The nightmares know my name, but they never see me coming.
There are those who say I’m as much a monster as the creatures I hunt, but I reckon it depends on which stories you believe…
…’cause I ain’t ashamed to admit they’re all true.
Oh, this looks like fun! And this pic is so freakin’ cool. So, here I go…
I had the demon pinned to the grimy, crumbling alley wall, eyes glowing like the fires of the hell he came from.
“Trespassing into my city, huh? Guess you demon scum can’t take a hint.” Without taking my eyes off the demon I jerked my head to the side. The demon followed the motion and stiffened when he saw the demon corpse hanging, pinned to the opposite wall of the alley with large spikes, half its body missing.
The demon looked back at me defiantly. “This is our city now. You hunters can’t stop–”
I cut off his next words by shoving my gun into his mouth. If there’s one thing I hate more than demons, it’s their rambling speeches of superiority. After all, who had who shaking from fear with a gun in his mouth?
“Really?” I said mockingly, rolling my unlit cigarette between my lips. I never got a chance to light the damn thing. I leaned toward the demon, voice low I said, “Watch us.”
I pulled the trigger.
The sound of thunder echoed through the alley as the demons dead weight slid down the wall. Before the low crackling flames that licked through the cracks in the demons skull dyed out I leaned toward the demons hanging head, placing the tip of my cigarette against the skull of hot coals. I leaned back on my heels and filled my lungs up with delicious nicotine filled smoke as I stood.
I looked down at the dead demon and said simply, “Thanks for the light.” And with smoke snaking from my lips and swirling from the gun in my hand I turned, and walked deeper down the dark alley. Why not? The night was still young.
The end of all that I know happened on Dec. 22nd 2012. No one was ready. All of them laughed at all the talk, the warnings. Hell, I was one of them. Look at me now. “You’re all a bunch of losers.” is what I said. I remember the parties, the gatherings. The God chasers, the atheists arguing about the end of the world. Heh! None of them were right. We all should have listened, not that it would have helped.
They came on what looked like a cloud. It was so beautiful. We all stopped in our tracks and just watched. It was the last thing in memory as beautiful. Let me tell you, that truly sucks.
It was so shiny as it glided down silently. Reflecting our colors: red, blue, yellow, green. We were mesmerized. Then they landed. I heard later through the underground that every major city had one land. Imagine that? The door opened. They came out. First just one and let me tell you one would have been enough. Vampire, human robots. Scariest m**** f*****s I’ve ever seen!. Hundreds followed.
They proceeded to exterminate us.
Somehow I managed to find the underground, abandoned subway tunnels L.A. built back in the early days. I watched. I learned. Then I killed. Now they are on the watch for me. And I show no mercy. My name is Ryder and death is my vengeance.
The alley stank of death and rot I looked around at the club on the other side of the street, it was stupid for it to go there hunting there was no way it would have been allowed to leave not when I was there. I touched the cross around my neck smiling as I blew smoke into the already rancid air and looked at the carcases hanging off the wall, the thing had led me straight to its lair. I laughed and it echoed down the alley bouncing off the walls in a way that made it sound crazy, the gruff added to my voice from smoking from an early age contributed to the scare factor of it. I smelt the fear rising in my prey and looked down at the Castem I had just shot, the gold was already seeping through its veins and it was immobile though not dead, that would be too easy, instead it was dying slowly as the poison broke down its body bit by bit- like its victims. I took my time studying the ventilation shaft that ran along the side of the building to my right as I walked slowly down the alley holding my gun in my left hand.
I hope it’s OK to enter twice…here’s my first entry:
Raphe walked away from the latest scene of carnage, smoking a cigarette to steady his nerves. No matter how many times he did this, it never got easier. He didn’t get why the aliens responded to the Christ thing, but he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the religious elements were powerful deterrents to them. He was just sick of crucifying them. That acid in their veins burned everything it touched; it’s why he always wore leather: protection from claws and blood. It might look good, but it sucked to fight in. He inhaled the smoke deeply into his lungs and started to feel steadier. The cloud of smoke he exhaled enveloped the wisp of smoke from the barrel of his gun. He’d shot both aliens, but the one hadn’t died right away. They were stubborn that way. So he’d had to haul it up against the building and pound the titanium spikes through its body. Titanium was the only thing their blood wouldn’t eat through, so he had a stockpile of spikes and bullets made from the metal. It wasn’t cheap, but with the money he earned exterminating them, he could afford it. Not like he had a choice, anyway. It was kill or be killed, and he kind of liked living.
…and, the second:
His soft-soled boots made no sound as he stalked down the dank alley, away from his most recent hits. His instructions had been specific: “Make it look like a religious attack.”
There were several religious groups who had issue with the aliens now living here; aliens who didn’t fit in so neatly with the well-ordered scheme of things as laid out by the major Earth religions; some of them quite radical. There had been attacks before, and there would be again. The fact that this one had nothing to do with religion wouldn’t change that.
He took a deep drag on the cigarette to steady himself against the adrenaline sizzling in his veins. He’d used his gun on both of them, but to reinforce the religious element, he’d been forced to crucify one. It hadn’t been easy lifting that dead weight and driving the spikes in. He knew that tomorrow he’d feel the ache in his back and arms. But he also knew that on confirmation of the hit later tonight, an electronic transfer would gush money into his already brimming off-shore account, and he would finally be a free man: he’d have the money he needed to buy himself a new identity and a shuttle ride off this hell-hole and to a small new colony with a more promising future. A place that was still green and growing, still untamed enough for a man like him to lose himself in.
Wow, thanks so much for the mention last month!
This month’s picture looks so intriguing… i’m sorry i missed the deadline (Honeymoon in South America, sorry). I will be looking forward to see who wins.