These very short stories were written for the April SFF Chronicle forums writing challenges. God of Loam was written for the 300 word challenge, for which the cue is an inspiration image, in this case the ram’s skull photograph above. Rabbit and Respawn were both written for the 75 word challenge, for which the theme was “resurrection”. I
wrote all three of these near the beginning of the month, intending to return to them, polish or rewrite, then submit nearer the deadline. Being me, I missed the deadline entirely. Oops. Maybe next month!
God of Loam
Warm earth. Moist. Nutrient-rich. Life, decay, the cycle.
I stretch and give form to long bones that knit themselves into being, leeching minerals from dirt and building them to complex structures.
Seedlings tremble as I am born, a child of my own making. The ground shifts as if by the passage of a thousand earthworms. Organisms sensitive to vibrations freeze and huddle, whiskers and pedipalps and fine hairs trembling. They feel the fear of any who know the footfall of giants.
Feet. They form around the too-bright new bones I have made, the flesh flowing together. It is a flesh built of protein and amino acids, silt and sand. I am a being of clay, in a sense, of improbable myofibres that stretch and contract not by crude evolutionary purpose but by cold will.
Claws and talons stretch and contract, grasping wet earth as I grow my feet and hands. These differ in form and size, each pulled into place from the long-decayed remains of woodland fauna. The talons of harrier-hawks, and those of owls, eared long- and short. My teeth, too, are taken from lesser beasts: foxes and a badger, for the most part, but also rows of needle-like muscelid fangs.
I cast my mind outwards and find the focus I am looking for: an intact skull, that of the first among flocks. It lies atop sodden ground, and my new form slithers upward to make contact, displacing roots and small cowering mammals. I whisper soothing words as I forcibly relocate them. They are my first subjects, even now, so far into the age of the second.
Man. Of course, humanity. As I force my chosen teeth into place within a jaw they were never meant to fit, as I rise into the sharp air of morning, as plant matter tears and hangs from my new form, I am confronted with their artefacts. A thing, like me, not truly of nature, but born of will. And unlike me, composed and unafraid of nature’s bounty, it is a thing that hurts to look upon: straight lines, hard angles, uniformity. Most offensively, it resists the decay that should come naturally to it, a thing of dead things.
I reach out and rest one long talon on the wall of the human construct, and whisper to its cells. They relax, released, and the building sags. I watch from empty eye sockets as it sinks into itself.
They will always build more, I know. But I will always be here, to remind those with eyes to see, that all return to earth.
Rabbit
Long ears crest the rise. When I see the head, I take the shot. The rabbit jerks and falls out of sight.
Been here an hour now. Good shooting. Lotta rabbits.
Another appears. I rack and squeeze. Bang! Another falls.
More hours pass. Rabbits rise and fall. Always one at a time.
I start to recognise details. A nick in the ear. A strip of white on brown fur.
I swear it’s the same rabbit.
Respawn
Run, slide, leap, wall run. I reach the objective, reach out for the flag–
All explodes into static. Kill cam reveals the camping guard I never saw.
I coalesce into being. Go again: run, slide, leap, wall run, pivot and fire. The hidden guard dies histrionically.
I die too. Kill cam: a freshly spawned enemy shoots me in the back.
Coalesce again. A friendly with me this time. Run, slide– die.
Team kill. Fucker.
