short story

Part 2: Endtown (a short story)

/ Ajmorse / 1 Comment

Happy Thursday! If you haven’t read Part 1 of this story, you can read it here. I am temporarily calling it “Endtown.” Here goes, enjoy!

OVER pancakes, sausage, and bacon they talked about the master’s plan.

“So, you want to board a train?” said Genevieve as she forked pancake into her mouth. She chewed slowly and then swallowed. “After we were told strictly by the master to leave it alone? It’s clearly dark territory.”

“Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said her friend, mentor, and sometimes brother.

“He’s all-seeing, he’ll find out, Gaven.”

Gaven shrugged and started eating some bacon. “You know what I like about earth-food?”

“What’s that?” she said as she stared at the ice in the bottom of her empty glass.

“The grease.” He took another bite of bacon and crunched it loudly.

She just shook her head, but she couldn’t completely hide her smile. He kept her sane this friend, who looked like an older brother. Gaven was tan all over, with blue eyes and brown hair. He looked like the type of guys that girls her age would probably giggle over. But things weren’t always what they seemed. She wasn’t the little girl she appeared either.

She watched him as he set down his fork. “You didn’t tell me about the parents?” he said.

“They think I’m twelve,” she said with a grimace. “They treat me like I’m twelve.”

He sighed. “If you’d just repent…”

“I’ve said my sorrys, what more do you want from me?”

“This punishment won’t last forever, Gen.”

She stirred scrambled eggs around her plate. “That’s not what Harry said.”

“Harry is a wicked angel, Gen, you know that.” He gulped at his orange juice. “God, that’s good.”

“He said something about the master telling him it was true. How I was stuck like this. Forever.”

“Nothing is permanent in this world, you know that. It’s life and death and high calories.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“There,” he said as he saluted his empty juice glass at her. “Now you’re starting to act your age.”

 

An hour later, they shivered in the dark next to the train tracks. The place was lit by a single street light, and the usually brown-dirt looked a strange purple in the darkness. “What are we doing here?” she hissed, as she hugged herself against the early morning chill. “We are going to get ourselves killed.”

“You can’t get killed if you are already dead, and besides, we are invincible.” Gaven bounced up and down on his feet. He glanced at his watch. “It’s passed 3am, something’s wrong.”

Genvieve gazed down the tracks; it ran through trees and behind buildings, but the only thing she saw were the hills on the other side of town. She looked across the tracks at the tall, shadowy rundown factory. She could see the rust on the smoke stacks, the grime that spilled down their sides. Stretched out in front of the leftover rusty pipes and barrels were mounds of dirt, bulldozers and holes in the ground. Somebody was rebuilding something.

A train horn sounded in the darkness.

“So we are going to jump onto it as it comes by?” she said faintly as she waited for the front of it to appear.

“That’s the plan,” said Gaven.

Genevieve didn’t like this plan. She didn’t like anything about the dark just then, the way morning seemed so far away, the way the smell of the trees and dirt smelled sweet and heavy to her nose, like something was rotting.

She heard something snap. “Something’s here,” she hissed and turned around. But beyond the light that lit up the construction site and part of the tracks, she saw nothing. She heard the scuff of someone kicking a stone in the darkness, the sound of a muttered curse. A man’s voice.

“Who’s there?” she called out.

They saw the glow, first. Of eyes that snapped on, like someone had turned on a light switch. Glowing faint at first, and then closer, she gasped as two orange and fiery red eyes appeared. She thought she should be scared, but for some reason, Gen thought of campfires and felt like lying down and going to sleep.

“Knock it off, Gill,” said Gaven, “We know it’s you.”

“Oh, the master’s going to kill you,” said a deep voice, gleefully.

“Gillian!” cried Genevieve. She heard laughter and grunts as Gaven punched him in the gut. The glowing eyes disappeared. Not all of them knew how to use glamor.

The train appeared on the track, rushing closer, growing bigger. Just as Genvieve was about to open her mouth to let Gaven know, there was a rush of heat, and white light and the front of the train exploded in the darkness.

To be continued… (next Thursday!)

Author’s note:

These story posts have minimal edits; I thought I’d let the story take me where it wants to go, so the next words are as much of a surprise to me as it is to you, the reader. I do have a vague idea of what I thought I wanted this story to be, or want it to go, but I think I’m going to continue on like this and let the words take me.

I’ve read that some authors do that, they let the story take them where it needs to be and I think this will help me work on plot-building too, (which is something that I struggle with.)

So the result might be a big win or a big disaster. I can already see some things I need to work on, meh. 😉 Thanks for reading, and for the support!

Tune in next Thursday for more!

Happy writing everyone!

A Short Story: Endtown

/ Ajmorse / 2 Comments

I decided what I am going to do for my a continuing post…and that would be, a story! Originally I was going to post the story on Fridays, but upon observation, I think Thursday is the best night to do so. A lot of people are busy Friday nights, (myself included,) so instead, I’ll leave Friday night to the miscellaneous posts, the randomness that is me, etc. 🙂

This is a story that I started several weekends ago, inspired by the street lights I can see from my office window. For some reason, the town we live in has this sort of grugdyness feel…as if it has lived its heyday, and has let itself go. There are still a lot of nooks, and sweet spots to find, but they are like the diamond in the rough, difficult to see against all that grey.

Anyway, here goes. It has no name yet, for now…we will call it…

“Endtown”

            The train rattled, a rata-tat-tat, a rata-tat-tat, ending with a drawn out horn as it whooshed past. The girl standing under the street light turned towards the sound. She could see the train’s cars flying past in between the distant buildings, a blur of colors, grey and blue and a burnt red all blending together. One minute there and the next gone. She tossed a ball up and down in her hands, up towards the street light, which turned everything in the darkness a pale sort of yellow.

She leaned down and squinted at some writing that someone had chalked onto the sidewalk: a hand with the middle finger sticking up all done up in orange and pink. Underneath the drawing someone had written in white chalk in capital letters: UP YOURS.

“Ridiculous,” she said as she paced back and forth. “So angry,” she muttered. “So…undisciplined.”

“You of all people should know,” said a hissing voice next to her elbow, with a faint laugh.

The girl jumped. “God! You scared the shit out of me!”

She looked down at a green and white striped snake who was stretched out on a blue garbage can. “Of all the forms you could choose, and you come to me like that.”

“Oh, forgive me your great worshipfulness,” hissed the snake. “Next time I’ll come as a chipmunk…or a kumquat.”

“A kumquat? What the hell is that? Anyway, it feels like I’m talking to the garbage can. I’m sure it looks like it, too.”

“Hey, if cans could talk,” said the snake, with a slither of his tongue and a wink. “I wonder what they would say?”

She looked across the street at a run down convenience store. It was a white square building, with a faded coco cola sign out front. “Probably something like it stinks in here.”  She noticed that the neon sign was supposed to say Jerry’s, but an R was missing. “Have you heard from the master tonight?”

“Not a thing. I thought that is why you called this meeting?”

“My job was to watch this small town. Watch the train, watch the exports, watch the people, and yet…nothing. I haven’t heard from anybody in weeks.”

“Have a little faith Gen,” said the snake. “That’s what we are here for.”

She folded her arms across her chest, as the wind rustled a chunk of brown hair by her face. Freckled, blue-eyed and dressed in a red t-shirt and shorts, she felt trapped by her boyish figure, by the fact that she never could grow up, no matter how much she wanted to. She scratched at the sweat that had gathered at the back of her neck.

“It must be on the train,” she said as she swatted at a fly that flew in front of her face. She watched with wide eyes as it buzzed in front of the snake who swallowed it down with a big gulp.

“You’re disgusting,” she said as she turned away. “I can’t believe I spend time with you.”

“You love me,” said the snake. “I just know it. Anyway, tell me about this town. Any diamonds in the rough?”

“Some. There was a baker who gave me an extra doughnut in my box yesterday, but he thought it was for my mother.”

The snake gave her a side-long glance. “How are the live-in parents doing?”

“Fine.”

He wasn’t stupid, he knew what she wasn’t saying.

Genevieve scratched at an itch on her nose. She wriggled her shoulders. The itch was spreading. It felt like the time she had gotten poison ivy when she was at summer camp.

“Can we go get a coffee or something?” she said as she scratched at the freckles on her arms. “I can’t stand under this street light anymore. I feel like a hooker.”

The snake snorted. “You’re breaking out in hives again, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

“You worry too much.” He flicked his tail toward her and managed to poke her in the side. She glared at him.

“Stop that,” she said.

“I don’t think snakes drink coffee.”

“Change then,” she said and she was already walking down the street. She heard a grunt, and then there was the sound of footsteps behind her.

She looked down at her mentor’s blue tennis shoes, jeans and then up to his blonde-silver hair. His brown eyes twinkled with mischief. “So, where are we going?”

The only thing open was a 24-hour diner that promised the best fried chicken this town has to offer! “That’s promising,” muttered the girl as they walked inside. “And there’s a KFC next door.”

“They are hardly the best,” said their hostess, as she grabbed their menus. She had long, silky brown hair and smooth skin. “Will you guys be having dinner? We have a separate dinner, dessert and breakfast menu. ”

The man standing next to Genevieve scratched at his head. “Haven’t decided yet. Why don’t you give us all three.”

Over pancakes, sausage, and bacon they talked about the master’s plan.

To Be Continued…

Special Friday Post: What would you guys like to see?

/ Ajmorse / 6 Comments

Last night, I was thinking about making Friday a special post day. In which you guys would look forward to something recurring – either a continuing story, or a movie review, or a book review, or…something. I’m a big foodie, maybe I’ll post a picture of my lunch or something. (You think I jest? Just wait. 😉 )

canstock4658567So, what would you like to see every Friday?

Here’s some ideas…feel free to chime in with your own of course:

  • A recurring story, each Friday we will see a new chapter, or new piece of that story. (I’m thinking short story length when it is done, not novel length. Maybe 20 pages or so.)
  • A poem.
  • Book review.
  • Movie review.
  • TV Show review
  • Pictures…of something pretty?
  • Writing prompts/ story inspiration
  • Food; either something new I’ve tried, or some of my favorites
  •  A list of anything; probably in article format. Like 10 favorite places in the world, etc…

**Did you know: Charles Dickens Great Expectations was published first in serial form in Dickens’s weekly periodical All Year Round, from December 1860 to August 1861. (Wikipedia).

Well what do you guys think? Here’s your chance to weigh in!

I do like the idea of a continuing story…but let me know what you want to see, though, and I hope everyone has a great weekend!

Happy Writing!

 

 

Character Files: “The Conductor”

/ Ajmorse / Leave a comment

I’d like to try something new to add on here – I call it “Character Files.” In my struggle to find some kind of story inspiration some time ago, I purchased a book called Writerific II: Creativity Training for writers by Eva Shaw, which offers encouragement, but most importantly, writing prompts for the creative writer.

One such prompt, has a page full of groups of words. Each group of three words is meant to inspire a story, by using each word in a story or situation that you may create. I decided to take it a step further, and as such created – Character Files.

spy8Each group of words inspired me to create a character, someone who may or may not have a story – a character that I could store away in a file with other characters I created, that I could return to and use that character for story inspiration if need be.

There are a lot of word groups in the writing prompt, and I’ve only created a few different characters already. But I was pleased with the different results. This particular example took me to a place and genre that I don’t normally write, but it allowed for some nice practice of sensory images. Here goes…

The words are:  pigeon   voltage   train

“The Conductor”

He is a nobody, tall and willowy with a pale face, and dark brown hair. His back is straight as he sits on the park bench in his navy blue conductor’s uniform, his long legs bunched up in front of him as he reads the newspaper.

            Looking at him, no one would know that he’s killed someone and framed somebody else for it, although, he twitches occasionally at every other sentence he reads. His brown eyes squint, his face bunches and then goes straight. Two-thousand volts of electricity frying their way through his veins. It could have been him. The memories eat at him, peck at his brain like a flock of crows.

            The sight of the butchered man he killed in the alley late that night. The rain pouring in his ears and over the curve of disgust on his lips. The bastard he caught sleeping with his wife…maybe he should have killed her too.

 

He smelled the rain that night, and he never smelled anything more visceral. Felt his thoughts mix with the sewage and the blood water that swirled around the man’s body, the man that he killed, a milkman, another nobody. What was so important about this stranger that made his wife take her pants off?

He thought, just once – it was a fleeting thought really – that maybe he should be down in the sludge and the darkness of the alley, too. Let the smell of something putrid, the river of feces, blood and rain water pour over him. Feel the fear of something cold and slimy creep its way across his bare skin. Let it feed off of him for a moment and taste the sponginess of his brain, the holes there, the parts that were missing that tasted brown, like something sweet and rotting. Let blood pour out of his nose and his eyeballs bounce down his face. Let him feel hell just once.

Instead, he swiped at the water on his chin, shook his head like a dog, shivered once, pulled his coat around his shoulders and walked home. The knife he used on the stranger who was defiling his wife, he hid in his cousin’s apartment, still wet, the blood dripping.

The next day, while drinking his morning coffee, he placed a call to his local police department to let them know that his cousin, an alcoholic and a man who occasionally liked to feel up little girls, was in town and that he came around the other day begging for money. His cousin had threatened him with a knife, which the conductor described to the police in great detail. A butcher’s knife, he said and then shuddered with a slight catch in his throat. There were groves and barbs on the blade, the kind that shreds through skin when you use it. Mostly likely cut a man in two. Or remove somebody’s head.

The next day he read the front headline of the newspaper while he sat on a park bench on his lunch break: Child Molester Arrested for Murder. He folded the newspaper carefully and tucked it under his arm. The sun felt warm and soft on his navy blue uniform and he looked down at his shiny, black shoes and smiled to himself. It was going to be an excellent day.

In Medias Res Part 2 – Chicken and Rice Soup

/ Ajmorse / 2 Comments

Picture taken by my cousin, Mark. Watch out Mr. chicken…that’s a bull!

So, as emphasized in my last post, my creative writing teacher was big on the phrase “In medias res,” which means in the middle of things. She encouraged us with various prompts to start out our stories in the middle of the action and let the exposition flow through in the narrative.

I loved those prompts, so I thought I’d share one of my stories from that 15 minute exercise. I wrote all of it in that 15 minute journal session, and very little is changed from the original with the exception of added commas, and a few extra adjectives here and there. I’ve always meant to add more to the story, but it always seemed so neat leaving it the way it is.

I believe the prompt was something along the lines of “write a prompt of a family situation, made up or real and include a body part or some catastrophe. Start the narrative in the middle of the drama. Go!”

***(FYI, this is completely made up. Although I do have an uncle named Donald.)

Chicken and Rice Soup

So Uncle Donald dropped his teeth in the chicken and rice soup, and there they were grinning stupidly up at us, like they were about to start yammering about how maybe too salty the soup was or start shivering – chattering back and forth – yak, yak, yak, yak, yak.

We all stood around the pot of soup in silence, staring down at it. Me, Aunt Josie, Uncle Donald and Daryl, my brother. Uncle Donald’s toothless mouth wore a grim expression.

I thought that if we broke the silence that would be it, and the teeth would start talking back up at us. I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, felt it want to yank up to one side and let out a large gurgley sort of laugh. Daryl caught my expression and coughed into his rough callused hand. He wore a black t-shirt, his jeans baggy like always. Aunt Josie went and got the tongs.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” she fretted and scooped the teeth out and set them down on a paper towel.

Uncle Donald cleared his throat. “Might want to want to wash them off, Josephine,” He said. He only used her full name when he was being real serious.

She had wandered into the kitchen and set the tongs in the sink. “The tongs?” she asked him.

“Not just the tongs,” coughed Daryl into his hand. Aunt Josie returned to the Dining room.

“Now, now,” she chided, although she wasn’t scolding. “These things happen.”

Uncle Donald got up with a grunt and took his teeth into the bathroom.

“Yeah, only in our family,” I said when Uncle Donald’s back had disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Daryl and I started laughing.

(In which it ends, and I’ve tried to add more but just can’t seem to get the same innocent frankness of the narrator. Who is a young girl about twelve or so named Charlie. Leave some thoughts below if you want to!)

The Writer Brain: Seeing the Extraordinary in the Ordinary

/ Ajmorse / Leave a comment

Well, went to bed last night and I had a total of 10 views on my blog. Just checked my stats here at about 5 o’clock and I have 109 views! And from different countries, too! (I love that. That you can connect with someone halfway across the world. Oh, the power of words…thank you Mr. Internet!)

So, thank you, Joss Whedon fan out there, who shared my post: A bit of Joss Whedon, Firefly, Dialogue, and Great Writing. It is interesting the traffic change that just one “share” can do…amazing!

More Myrtle Beach…but I love the blue color here – looks so otherworldly! If only it was in better focus…

So, as I was sitting in church this morning I had a thought about what I was going to write about today, I guiltily recorded it in my phone’s notebook as some old lady looked on – no ma’am, I am not texting in church, honest!

I was thinking about this:  How as writers we always try to get the better story.

We twist and we turn things to suit our fancy. (Well, I do sometimes!)

For example, say you are presented with this situation: Your co-worker shows up late for work and then acts awkwardly around the boss.

My thoughts: What is she wearing? She looks sloppy. Okay, there’s a wrinkle in the blouse, her lipstick is smeared…is that cover-up or some kind of bluish-bruise on her cheek? Wait, no, it’s just a freckle. Perhaps the boss took her out for dinner. Maybe he hit on her. Oh, I know! Perhaps they went out to eat, got drunk, hooked up and now they are late because they had to get the morning after pill, but the car ran out of gas and maybe they had a flat tire…oh, and now she’s looking at me funny because I’ve been staring too long at the wrinkle on her blouse. Look away! Look away!

Well, you get the point. As writers we are always looking for the better story. We are always striving for that little bit of detail that will tip our readers off to the fact that hey, something important is about to happen here, pay attention!

In truth: The co-worker was probably late because her kid was sick and she acted uncomfortable around the boss, because he said something to irritate her the day before. That darn boss!

But, the other story was much, much more fun. I stumbled upon an episode of Castle the other day. It was a rerun of the first episode in the whole series, where Castle more or less accidentally helps Beckett solve a case. She gets irritated because he pushes and he prods: Why do people do the things they do? What’s their motive? What makes the better story? But he ends up helping her solve the case. Again, now, who doesn’t love Nathan Fillion?

For me, I am always seeing writing opportunities in normal situations.

For example: The old lady sitting next to me in church. She is wearing brown shoes. She’s got a hat on. White curly hair and sun spots on her legs. She is wearing a green skirt, a forest green in color, but her blouse that she wears is a turquoise green, patterned with flowered embroidery. Her clothing is old, but so is she. But the smile and sparkle in her eyes says that she is in excellent health. She acts nervous though; she told me during the greeting and welcoming portion of the service, it is because she is new, she doesn’t know anyone. But she is so kind to me, with a warm smile. She asks me about my interests. She smiles and pats my shoulder. She encourages me. This perfect stranger, who I only met five minutes ago.

My writer brain is thinking: Holy crap! This woman is a guardian angel. She’s one of God’s own. Oh, and she smells nice. Angels are supposed to smell nice, right? Perhaps she’s on a mission. I haven’t been feeling well…maybe she’s here to heal me, oohh, hallelujah!

(Laughs). Well, you get the point. Again. And I actually did think that today! What a nice elderly woman! I hope I see her again next time. And if I don’t…*cue creepy music*

I guess she was there for a reason. To inspire me to write this post to say: Hey, we writer’s do think differently sometimes…we prod and we poke and we stretch. We look for the detail that no one else sees. We look for the extraordinary in everyday situations. There is art in life. Just like we can create art. And going above and beyond the usual…

Well, that just makes everything much more fun!

Found a short story while I was cleaning!

/ Ajmorse / Leave a comment

My mother got these roses for me the other day, ’cause I was feeling so miserable this week. I think it’s safe to say, that I have the best mother ever! 🙂

Felt better today than I have in about a week and I managed to actually get some things done! Was cleaning out my desk and I found this surprise of a short story. I must have written it when I worked at my old job. (It was a customer service position that used to get really boring on week nights, so sometimes I would sit at the desk and work on some of my stories.) I used to joke that it was the first time I could say that technically I was getting paid to write, hehe…

Anyway, I love finding things when you clean! It’s like, I didn’t know I had that…I love the play on words here, too. I think this clever story came from the prompt:

“Before the end of dinner…”    

Before the end of dinner, Earth told everyone he had an announcement. “It is very important everyone and I want you to listen,” he said loudly. Jupiter cleared his throat and moved his chair closer to the table. Saturn pulled out a mirror and started reapplying her lipstick. The other planets exchanged glances with each other and then looked on. Some rolled their eyes; others picked up forks and continued eating. “Pluto, you too, I want you to listen, even if you are just a cold, little bastard…”

Pluto just glared.

“Now,” continued Earth, “I know I’ve mentioned this trouble with global warming…”

“Only about a thousand times,” cut in Mercury. She wore her long, red hair in waves down her back, and flickered gorgeous blue eyes at Earth.

At the long, rectangular table that the planets all sat at, Mercury was the most beautiful. In the past ten years or so, however, Earth only seemed to be getting a little grayer and fatter. He sat at the very end of the table and his black hair drooped over his forehead and into his eyes. And he licked his lips constantly, as if he were thirsty.

Venus had even gone as far to ask if he was sick. Was it Acid? Chemical Wastes? And Uranus told him he looked a bit tipsy and then asked if he’d brought anything to share.

Earth always thanked them when it came to inquiries about his health and pointed out that it was just the same old problem: pollution and global warming.

Ceres, their newest and budding member and perhaps a little nervous, (he’d only been at a few meetings and so far didn’t understand the other planets great importance,) suggested that perhaps a Meteor had struck Earth; he was certain that he had seen some of their cousins floating dangerously close in the outer limits.

Earth took this comment with a dry laugh, a grimace and then took a swig of his coffee. “Anyway…now, my fellow planets,” he continued. “There is something new happening in the outer hemisphere. Some kind of new development. My earthlings inform me that it is Aliens, but to me it is quite a dark matter.”

“What is it?” asked Mars, impatient. He fidgeted in his chair and asked for more coffee. He wore dark rimmed glasses, had an ash colored face and coal-black hair. It was rumored that Earth was his distant father, but Mars was rebellious and in denial.

“I’m not sure,” said Earth. He cleared his throat and ran a hand down an invisible wrinkle in his gray suit. “They won’t tell me much.”

“Is that why you’ve called this meeting?” said Saturn as she flicked her blond hair away from her face. “To tell us something is happening but you don’t know what? What kind of use are you?”

“Now there,” said Venus, who was motherly by nature and couldn’t really help herself. By all appearances, she looked young, but something like unrest swirled behind her dark, purple eyes. “He is trying. Why don’t you be quiet so the rest of us can listen?”

“I, for one, want to know about these Aliens, if that is really what these mysterious creatures are,” said Jupiter with great importance and a voice that boomed and resonated across the room. He was handsome, this Jupiter, with his dark, smooth face and tall, strong stature.

“What are Aliens doing in the upper hemisphere?” asked Uranus, dumbly. He had wide, blue bat-like eyes.

“My God, why can’t you pay attention?” said Saturn.

“Lay off, Sat,” said Neptune as she patted Uranus’s shaky hand. She had dark, brown eyes, and dull brown hair. “Where’s your rings, Sat? Huh?”

“Now, if we can call this meeting to order,” put in Jupiter.

“Did you try the veal?” said Mars to his neighbor, the young Ceres.

“I don’t eat that dirty stuff,” said Earth instead.

Uranus stared rocking back and forth in his chair. He chewed on the ends of his fingernails. “The stars are too loud,” he murmured. “The stars are too loud! Make them stop! Neptune!”

“Now, look what you’ve gone and done!” said Neptune and she grabbed Uranus’s hand and pulled him gently away from the table. “You’ve all frightened him! I hope you’re proud!”

“I don’t see what there’s to be proud of,” said Venus as she glanced about the room.

“Something about the Veal,” said Mars, thoughtfully.

“I thought it was all about that dark matter,” said Saturn. Her perfect tan forehead crinkled, uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what you are all talking about,” said Jupiter. And he looked uncomfortable, like he was too important for such conversation. “Earth,” he said loudly in his deep voice. “You called this meeting. You bring order.”

A glass was rapped harshly on the table until its pieces shattered into Earth’s lap.

“Nicely done,” said Mars smartly.

“Quiet!” said Earth. “I am sorry everyone. I did not mean to cause you all worry, nor was it my intention to cause chaos. I just wanted to take a toll to see how everyone will all be effected by this alien business.”

“Not effected at all on my end,” said Mars and for once he looked happy as he sipped his fifth cup of coffee.

Venus gave mars another glance, the coffee was making his dark hair stand on end. “There will be no troubles here,” she said. She smoothed a hand over her gray-brown hair which was pulled back in a French braid. “Although…it is getting harder for me to see.”

“I talked to you about that,” said Jupiter. “Red dots are not good for the sight…”

“Please,” said Saturn. “She can handle anything.”

Mercury cleared her throat. “The sun informed me that the Aliens don’t like heat.”

“Where is he this time?” said Venus.

Earth shrugged, but it was Mercury who answered. “On vacation in Oahu. He informs me that there will be extra sun-burns there. He was almost giddy.”

Saturn snorted.

“If we’re done here,” said Neptune. “I’d like to take Uranus home now.”

Earth nodded and the two friends left.

“Close friends, those two are,” observed Jupiter.

“Yes,” said Earth.

“Why can’t we all just get along?” sighed Pluto.

Ceres glanced uncomfortably around the table. He wasn’t sure if that was a question that he was supposed to answer.

“It’s fine,” said Earth. “Meeting adjourned. Until next time.”

“Next time?” said Saturn.

“Yes, the earthlings inform me that there’s going to be a war soon.”

“Interplanetary?” asked Jupiter.

“Possibly,” said Earth.

“That should make life more interesting then.”

“Perhaps it will. I’ll see you all in another thousand years. Meeting adjourned. Oh, and Mars, would you please take care of your coffee cups? They’re littering up my trash.” He glanced pointedly at the waste bin next to the table, which was spilling over with plastic cups and plates from the dinner that they just had. Mars gave him a sullen look.

“Thank you,” said Earth, smartly, and he left the table with everyone else.