Author: kirabug

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Day 104: Fishing and rest

One Among the Dead

Sometimes you need a project that’s just for, y’know, goofing around. This is the ongoing saga of my Minecraft character. For lack of a better title, we’re going with “One Among the Dead”. 

Day 104:

Did some sand “mining” for a bit this morning, then went fishing the rest of the day. Pulled up a glass bottle full of liquid. I know you’re thinking “of course it’s full of liquid, you found it while fishing,” but the thing is that there was a stopper in the top of the bottle (cork maybe? Could there be cork here somewhere?) and the liquid in the bottle was a bright cerulean blue, unlike the darker blues of the river and lake nearby. (And ocean, I tend to forget to mention the ocean.)

I have set it on a shelf and I am hoping it doesn’t explode. I have no intention of opening it.

Well, not right now anyway.

An arm (bent unnaturally) holding a small bright blue bottle of liquid. In the background, the grass, the sea, and the sky.
something seriously wrong with my ability to drawn hands.
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What I wrote in 2017

Publications

It’s yes, I should write an eligibility post season again.

Short stories published in 2017

“Rudy’s Revenge”, published by Alliteration, Ink in No Shit, There I Was. This anthology is a collection of stories all beginning with the phrase, “No shit, there I was…”

No shit, there I was, trying to get one of the new clowns—guy who called himself Rudy—to back down from an ace-high straight. “Dude, don’t bet a witch doctor your immortal soul,” I warned. Most of the new guys would have listened. Most of the guys in the room were shaking their heads in disbelief.

Rudy scoffed. “What kind of witch doctor goes by Donald?” he said, waving his hand in the middle-aged man’s direction. “This guy’s a joke.”

“The Smell of Home”,  published by Dreaming Robot Press in 2018 Young Explorer’s Adventure Guide. This anthology is the fourth in its series. Each year the publishers collect science fiction stories appropriate to middle-grade readers regarding exploring. They emphasize diversity in characters and situations.

I knelt on the porch, the bare pads of my toes cooling on the cement. The late summer sun hadn’t made it around to this side of the house yet, and the roof kept the porch a good ten degrees cooler than the grass, except where the shadow of the cable bisected the field.

Caroline said our house needed guarding because of the cable. It was slate grey, wider than an oak, and it soared through our roof into the sky and out of sight. Caroline said thousands of lives depended on it.

Other stuff

If you’re more of the User Experience or Design wonk, you may be interested in:

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Day 103: More and more duckens

One Among the Dead

Sometimes you need a project that’s just for, y’know, goofing around. This is the ongoing saga of my Minecraft character. For lack of a better title, we’re going with “One Among the Dead”. 

Day 103:

I have so many birds that I can’t open a door without birds moving in or out.

We will not discuss the droppings.

A red background representing red granite, covered with off-white splotches representing ducken poo.
They’re. On. Everything.
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Day 102: More ducken tales

One Among the Dead

Sometimes you need a project that’s just for, y’know, goofing around. This is the ongoing saga of my Minecraft character. For lack of a better title, we’re going with “One Among the Dead”. 

Day 102:

Once upon a time there were twin ducken babies (chicklings? chicklets?) named Move and Get Out Of The Way who lived deep in the tunnels of Serendipity Plains.

One day the two babies decided to stand in the way of absolutely everything their nearby human did, until she accidentally tapped one of them with a shovel. Not hard enough to bruise, even, just hard enough to get their attention.

Then the creatures let up a wail that would set even the sternest and most uncaring heart ablaze with pain and sorrow of their tiny fluffy broken hearts.

And the human ended up serving the tiny chicklets the end of her bread off her sandwich.

And they were best friends again for at least ten minutes at which point the human started yelling at them by name all over again.

The end.

Sketch of two duckens so close o the artist that you can't see the feet of one of them because it's out of the frame. They stare with beady eyes. Labelled "always as close as possible."
Like having sentient slippers.