Tweet of the Day: Tell Me A Story
Framlingham Castle, Suffolk, England, The twelfth of October in the Year of Our Lord Fourteen Twenty-Five
“But she hasn’t looked at the babe even once. She even refused to have her in her bed after it was bathed.”
“Hush girl, if the Lady hears you….”
“She hears nothing these days. She spends the wee hours passing the halls and praying in the chapel, but of her daughter, nothing, not even a question.”
“So, it’s not for you to question either.”
The maid looked down at the swaddled babe, wide crystal blue eyes fixed on the rays of moonlight that streamed through the window.
“But she is so beautiful. Those precious eyes…dear God who doesn’t love their own child?”
“Sshh! Speak of this no more, do you hear me, for our sakes and hers!”
Uptown, Star City, Propsperity Tower, September 5, 2025 21:00 hrs
Mr. Deckard approached his boss. Mr. Arhnam raised his hand that held a tumbler full of fine brandy. The ice clinkered as it melted into the liquor.
“A fine tune. Chopin,” he pointed at the skyline beyond the office large glass pane, “as beautiful as the skyline and as fine as this brandy. Tell me Deckard, what would have become of men like Chopin under the weight of rules and regulations?”
“It would have crushed their ability to prosper, Mr. Arhnam,” said Deckard.
“Indeed it would have. Funny how that is. Funny that it took an alien invasion to free us from the worse of the old world. Petulant peasants grasping at their master’s feet for want of riches they did not earn. Fools without any talent who cudgeled the gifted into place with the tyrannical powers of the State. At least the finner things survived, as did humanity.”
Mr. Deckard waited. His boss always made it a point to illustrate how much better the present was compared to the dark times before the War. Sometimes he had a mind to correct him, but he knew that Mr Arhnam would not tolerate such behavior from a subordinate.
Mr. Arhnam downed the last drops of brandy, “Enough reminiscing Mr. Deckard, did she agree to our proposal?”
“She did, Sir,” Deckard said with well trained neutrality in his voice. Only one man was allowed the luxury of contradicting Mr. Arhnam he was not him.
Mr. Arhnam poured brandy into a second tumbler and handed it to Mr. Deckard. Deckard swirled the brandy around and took a sip.
“Now, don’t be shy, Mr. Deckard. Enjoy it.” Deckard downed a finger of brandy. “Good. We are making great progress in this pale immitation of Utopia. And do you know why this place pales in comparison to our own nation?” Deckard knew. Arhnam loved his histrionic rants. “It was built on the bones of someone else greatness. That is no way build a nation. That is why Mr. Cadwell left this place and built a new nation in virgin lands.”
Yet here we are Mr. Arhnam, digging deep into the bones of this calgary.
“But for now Mr. Deckard, we work and we wait.”
“Yes, Sir.” Deckard finished his brandy and left the office. The meeting was over.
Uptown, Rave Masters Club, September 6, 02:49 hrs
She glided through the dancing throng on black stiletto boots. Her target sat in a corner booth on the second floor VIP lounge, in a corner dinmly lit by small red table lamps. She slid into the couch, displaced an annoyed girl who hung on the mans enourmous shoulders. He added insult to injury by dismissing her with a nod.
“Der Spinner, what brings you to this part of town? I hope you’re not hungry, because I am in no mood to serve as your main course,” said the man stroking his goatee.
“I did come for you, but not for me,” she leaned closed, her lips a millimeter away from his ear, “I want to put the band back together.”
His fingers hovered over his lips, as if he was about to pull a silk thread from them, “And who is paying for this? The government?”
“A government, yes.”
“Cadwell,” she pulled away. “Think about it, Oni. It will be like old times, but with a better boss.”
Oni closed his eyes, “Oh I will.” He patted the pocket on which Der Spinner had slipped a disposable phone. “If the price is right, of course.”