A Random Scene That I May Come Back To Later...

Somber knelt beside the body and extended a hand. This one was fresher than the others: last night, maybe just before dawn this morning. The flesh was loose, the muscles were limp, and the blood beneath it was still wet. Somber noted a couple of stab wounds without really looking at them, and sat back with a sigh. The corpse was... clean, for lack of a better word... and that meant he could use it.

He had placed a hand on the body when a voice behind him gasped, "Mother?"

Somber turned his head. The girl in the doorway was still a child, of maybe nine or ten years. Of course, he thought. It shouldn't have surprised him. Everyone who had died must have had friends and family: brothers and sisters, parents and children, spouses and friends, whole constellations of acquaintances... "What's your name?" he asked quietly.

"Saril," she answered, looking at him defiantly.

"This was your mother?"

She nodded once, decisively, still completely focused on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't help her. Your mother is gone -- dead, you understand?"

She nodded, and Somber continued: "I'm going to do something with her body. You may not want to watch." He turned his head slightly, but she was still watching him intently. "You know that people can get sick from being around dead bodies?"

"You're sitting next to a dead body, and you're not sick."

Her answer startled a chuckle out of him; he hadn't expected her to argue. "You're right. It isn't immediate. It takes time for disease to set in." He paused, swallowed, and continued: "I'm going to use an Art on her body. It will keep the body from making people sick. It will also make the body get up and move around, so I can use it to help clean things up and protect people... but it won't be your mother. It will just be a dead body that looks like her."

There was a long, long pause. Then the girl said, "I don't want you to do that." Then, a long moment later, she continued: "...But Mother would. If it would help people, she would want you to do it, even if it meant doing bad things to her body."

Somber closed his eyes. He was tired -- tired of fighting, tired of finding bodies, tired of hiding out when darkness came and people died or disappeared. "Are you going to watch?" he asked. "If you aren't, step outside. If you are... it won't hurt her. She isn't here."

"Because she's dead."

"Yes."

"I'll watch."

Somber extended his awareness into the corpse, speaking the guide words almost by reflex. His breath washed over the dead woman's face, and the newly-formed death-spirit inside her stirred. He sat back and then climbed to his feet as she twitched, and a ripple of movement went through her muscles.

She rose to her feet even more slowly than he had.

Somber glanced back at the girl, but she had turned away. Though she remained in the doorway, she didn't look at him, or at the reanimated corpse that had once been her mother. Somber expelled another breath, this one laden with instructions, and the dead body lurched forward and shuffled out the doorway and away down the corridor.

"Saril," he said quietly. "Do you have somewhere to go? Family? Friends?"

Silently, still turned away and facing the wall, she shook her head. The gesture was fierce.

"Then maybe you should come with me," Somber heard himself say.

For a long moment, Saril didn't move. Then, just as Somber concluded that she wasn't going to answer, she asked: "What will happen to my brother?"

Somber frowned. "How old is you brother?"

"He was born this year. He can't even walk yet."

"...Then we'd better bring him, too."

Readings on Writing

I have nothing for this morning, so here are some writing references that I've accumulated:

Some Writing Advice That's Mostly Useless (And Why)

Efficient Adventure Design

Writing Fight Scenes - What An Editor Wants To See

Real Work Conversations: Scanners

My boss: "...Then we'll need to upgrade the software for the scanners, and..."

Me: "Wait. Did you mean scanners, or scanners? Or scanners?"

My boss: "What?"

Me: "Well, one lets us know that a patron has a valid ticket, one converts paper documents into electronic format, and one... makes your head explode."

My boss: "Oh, right. That would be the first one."

Last Call For Cookies

Me: "Boys... it's now Last Call For Food. However, your mother is baking cookies. So if you want to wait until their done, I'm prepared to offer you a cookie-based extension."

Secondborn: "I want a cookie!"

Firstborn: "What kind of cookies are they?"

Me: "Delicious."

Firstborn: "But what kind are they?"

Me: "Garlic and onion sugar cookies with bacon frosting."

On a related note, Firstborn has a remarkably eloquent and well-practiced face-palm gesture.

And So It Begins...

The time has come. The boys are in school. Firstborn is entering fourth grade (and, I ask again, how is that even possible?) whilst Secondborn is beginning Kindergarten (ditto). The sequence with Firstborn has, so far, been progressively less stressful for the beginning of each school year. This year, even with the addition of Secondborn, we made it through fairly efficiently: we got out the door on time, and the only thing we forgot was Secondborn's water bottle.

There was, of course, the obligatory Nobody Wants To Wake Up response:

Firstborn:

Secondborn:

Then there was breakfast:

Then we got everybody ready and out the door. We dropped Firstborn off first, but unfortunately those pictures are on the Beautiful Woman's camera. I'll try to add them later, once I get copies.

Then we went to Secondborn's school. We'd hoped to have both boys in the same school, but it didn't quite work out; and it may be better this way, as Secondborn will not be in his brother's shadow.

Big boy, bigger hallway.
That's a stuffed hammerhead shark that he's holding.

Sitting in the Kindergarten line:

Cultural Referents from my Children

So... a couple of weeks back, the boys and I attended a swim party for a small boy. (Beautiful Wife was too busy to attend.) So we went, swam, ate pizza and snacks, and generally had a good time.

The pool was large but not deep; I don't think it ever got deeper than four feet. It was also out in the open and completely free of shade. In Texas. In August. And while we had brought sunscreen, I'd forgotten to grab the Ugly Green Hat that protects my head from catching fire in direct sunlight.

So, after a few minutes of swimming, I got out and draped one of the towels over my head to create an impromptu cowl.

Firstborn was the first to notice. He swam over to the edge and said: "Assassin's daddy!" Then he reconsidered: "No, Daddy's Creed."

Secondborn came by a few minutes later. "You wook wike Guardians of the Galaxy."

I said, "What?"

"The bad guy from Guardians of the Galaxy. What is he called?"

"Ronan," I said. "His name is Ronan."

"You wook wike Ronan."

So, there you go: Daddy in his impromptu sunburn protection, as interpreted by his two boys.

A letter to my nasal cavities...

Dear sinuses,

You do realize that if you actually manage to kill me, I'm taking you down with me? I mean, you know this, right? My death will not free you rule over the rest of humankind. It will only result in your own inevitable demise. You don't want that, do you? Of course not. So why don't you do us both a huge favor...

...And STOP TRYING TO KILL ME.