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A week later, Marco was in touch again. What he wanted would normally be out of the question: represent his company at an expo, check out all the exhibits, assess technology, talk to key people, attend a conference, write a report, and help their company decide which of three or four possible directions to take. Scott didn't usually have time for any of that, especially as this wasn't local. In fact it was far from local. It was in Italy, near Marco's parent company in Bologna. “At least it would be warmer than home,” thought Scott. He'd often considered moving way south, somewhere with a hotter climate like Arizona, but Mom was just down the road in Minneapolis. She was getting on now and he'd been reluctant to leave her, though recently she'd remarried. And he was happy being introverted. This was a big expo. Noisy. Thousands of people. Ouch. Then he saw what Marco was offering: the equivalent of three months' consultancy fees, all expenses paid, for just one week's work plus travel, and maybe some tidy-up when he got back. Hard to pass up.

The first leg to Amsterdam was uneventful. He'd wondered whether he would be excited by his first trans-Atlantic flight. No. He slept fitfully. Schiphol was fun and that surprised him; he hadn't expected any airport could be fun. “Too much flying in and out of LaGuardia has left me jaundiced,” he thought. Flying KLM was new to him, and he liked it. Over the Alps. Chocolate box mountains and valleys like seashore foam. And then Italy. On approach to Bologna, he felt there was a richness to the landscape he hadn't expected. Open. Welcoming. He shook his head. “I must be tired.” When he checked into his hotel, whether it was the journey or the deliciously hot weather, he lay down on the bed in his small but comfortable room, and slept for ten hours.

He'd planned everything out, got his timetable fully sorted, but there was no getting around it: the expo was grueling. So much walking. So much to see. He rented simultaneous translation headphones for talks, but he was glad of the accident of history that made English the international business language. Within three days he had narrowed down his client's options and he spent the fourth day confirming what his recommendation was going to be. And though he'd checked in with Marco's parent company on the first day, only on the last day did he spend much time at their exhibition stand. That may have been partly because, on that day, it was being staffed by the boss's daughter, Francesca. Francesca turned out to be very knowledgeable technically. She must have been almost his age, and she was stereotypically Italian, or so Scott thought. She was medium height with sparkling brown eyes and long dark, slightly curly hair, and she spoke excellent English with a lilting accent. She was also irrepressibly bubbly and moved her slender hands animatedly when she talked – and although Scott would normally have found that off-putting, for some reason Francesca could get away with it. When she smiled, she made him smile. “What are you doing this weekend?” she asked. “I was going to take the flight back,” Scott said. “Hmm, Marco told me you liked cars. So do I. It would seem a shame to come all this way and not visit our nearby treasures.” “Oh?” “Ferrari and Lamborghini in Modena, just thirty kilometers away,” said Francesca. “And I have contacts at Imola, thirty the other way, and if we're lucky, you never know…” Scott rearranged his flights and spent the weekend with Francesca in a heady haze of shared passions.

Two weeks later, back in the milder weather of Saint Paul, Minnesota, Scott had sent his preliminary report to Marco's people, who had received it enthusiastically. Scott's final report had gone to the printers and had just come back, glossy and bound. He called Marco. “It's all ready for your big board meeting next week,” said Scott. “Shall I bring it round?” “No, that's OK,” said Marco. “I've got someone new working with me here. They could be round at your place in half an hour or so to pick it up. That OK?” “Sure.” A little over thirty minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. Scott opened it. “Hi!” said Francesca.

#prose #story #longstory 2018-10-22

Remember when you thought rain was romantic, nestling together, sharing a single coat, listening to raindrops rattle on fabric and flagstones, scarcely feeling the wet?

Now you’re huddled on a bench, swathed in dripping gaberdine, hands clenched tight stuffed in pockets, forcing the rain away. Somehow.

But it falls. And keeps falling. And slowly washes and cleans your memory.

It wasn’t so important after all. No need for penance. You rise, walk home, and forget to make that call. Frozen pizza for dinner, a can of beer, and a sitcom. And all gone.

#prose #story 2018-08-29

You get used to the noise. You welcome it. It’s the silence you fear. When the air grows stale and chokes.

I wonder what it’s like outside. It can’t be safe. No one comes back. Not sane anyway.

I’ll raise my kids down here. And watch the humans walk. And rot, and decay. Time to grind my teeth a little.

#prose #horror 2018-08-22

Perhaps dawn is similar, when dewed grass soaks your feet and light froths into the air. I don't know. I'm asleep then.

#prose 2018-08-01

I do get to see the galaxy, from the observation deck, but the wonder wears off.

The bots are kind, but I’m not needed as crew. I’m cargo, a life sample, a bibelot and bargaining chip, in case we meet life and the AI space pilot needs to negotiate.

#prose #story #humor #horror 2018-07-29

“Yes I’ve seen her reviews. Yes they were pretty good. Not like yours at that age though.

Darling, you’re just standing back a little, passing on the baton for a while, letting them have their chance. Your public still loves you. And if anything, they see you as more gracious than ever. There’s no way you’ve been eclipsed.

Talk to you again soon darling. Ciao!”

#prose #story #humor 2018-07-28

In those last days, I want to be alone, here in the mountains of Sutherland. Merge my bones back with my mother’s. Where the last thing I will hear is the call of ravens on the wind.

#prose 2018-07-26

No. He’d prayed for this. If not now, when?

Heart pounding, he went to his locker and changed. He was alone, it was radio, no one could see, but he felt more relaxed.

The ON AIR sign flashed red, the signature sax solo played, and a sultry feminine voice said, “This is WIJZ, and you have Simone riding with you through the night.”

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

“Some of our advertisers have pulled out.” Big Boss man was speaking. It was the morning after. “But I’ve seen how our social media lit up, and I’ve already got new advertisers in place. Sure, there’ll be a hiccup in cash flow, but I can read trends and long-term it could be better.”

He paused, and looked at the ratings again. “Simone, right?”

I nodded.

“How’d you like to quit your tech job, and do that night slot full-time?”

#prose #story #transform 2018-07-23/24 / 2018-08-01

They thought me one of them, but I changed. And I got out before they realized, before I became sport, prey, kill, to prop up their insecurities. They don't like different.

I'm a coward, please forgive me. I didn't fight. I just thought of myself and ran. But I promise I will return to help others. To escape. Or fight. What else is there?

#prose #story #horror #transform 2018-07-20