Of Tigers and Lambs

Simon, sweat-drenched and all of five feet high, was perched high on the bough of a tree and gripping onto its green parasite, those hanging, creeping tentacles - a decade long death. He peered into the gloomy, moonlit night and jewels of light were winking at him; dew droplets scattered on the jungle canopy. Simon wondered at their beauty, that a million gems could form in this harsh, unforgiving place.

He looked down, seeking the base of the trunk that promised him safety, wondering if he would see those flashing eyes again. Oh, those eyes! They tormented him so, hunted him in mind and body, mocked him from afar in some deep recess of imagination before springing, leaping, pouncing to grip his heart with all the ferocious terror of that whiskered beast, that orange beast.

He groaned and clutched at his head and felt the warm, sticky breath against his cheek. His head snapped right, then left. Nothing. She could not catch him up here. No... a Tiger cannot climb this high.

Short Story: Final Draft

A World Apart

It was in the evening that the great garbage haulers slowed, their stream-engines whinnying down in unison and the last tugging influence of inertia pulling them in a silent drift. The garbage men and women of those gargantuan, whale-shaped ships all tuned in to a transmission, nervous.

It would be the most important message they would ever hear.

The sets crackled to life and a fuzzy face slowly sharpened into clarity. It was a familiar face to those garbage men and women watching, grizzled and tired with deep lines dug like trenches, marks of the working man. Nodding heads and murmurs rippled in approval throughout the attending people.

'Good evening,' it said, with a chilling finality and the hairs of the collective pricked to attention. 'My name is John Bishop and I am here to tell you: that time has come.' The hearts of every garbage man and woman skipped, for every garbage man and woman was watching.

Short Story: Full Draft

It was in the evening that the great garbage haulers slowed, their stream-engines whinnying down in unison. The last tugging influence of inertia pulled them in a silent, slow drift. The garbage men and women of those gargantuan, whale-shaped ships all tuned in to a transmission, nervous.

It would be the most important message they would ever hear.

The sets crackled to life and a fuzzy face slowly sharpened into clarity. It was a familiar face to those garbage men and women watching, grizzled and tired with deep lines dug like trenches, marks of the working man. Nodding heads and murmurs rippled in approval throughout the attending people.

'Good evening,' it said, with a chilling finality and the hairs of the collective pricked to attention. 'My name is John Bishop and I am here to tell you: that time has come.' The hearts of every garbage man and woman skipped, for every garbage man and woman was watching.

Short Story: Draft #1, Part #1 (885 words)

It was in the evening that the great garbage haulers slowed, their stream-engines whinnying down in unison to come to a crawl before entering the slight drift of silence, the last tugging influence of inertia. The garbage men and women of those gargantuan, whale-shaped ships all tuned in to a transmission with nervous anticipation and tentative fear.

It would be the most important message they would ever hear.

The sets crackled to life and a fuzzy face slowly sharpened into clarity. It was a familiar face to those garbage men and women watching, grizzled and tired with deep lines dug like trenches, marks of the working man. Nodding heads and murmurs rippled in approval throughout the attending people, all on their respective garbage ships, watching the transmission as garbage men and women, listening to the leader of the Garbage People's Union.

'Good evening,' it said, with a chilling finality and the hairs of the collective pricked to attention. ' My name is John Bishop and I am here to tell you: that time has come.' He stared deep into the hearts and minds of every garbage man and woman, for every garbage man and woman was watching, their children at their sides. Husbands and wives clasped hands. Parents and children shared touch. Friends and loved ones exchanged comforting glances.