Last year, Thog over on Substack asked me if I would be interested in writing a bit of short fiction for a free gaming book that they were making for their table. I am not sure why I decided to write something up for him.
I don't typically do work for others. Over the years I have done some illustration work for hire, and even when for friends, I hated it. My creative urges are very self directed, so I naturally don't care what the client thinks. In my mind they are paying for me to make what I want to make, not to answer some brief.
That is probably why the only work for hire piece I ever did that I enjoyed was for Jared and his Parsely western game, Six Gun Showdown. In that case, Jared gave me no direction other than what game it was for and let me go nuts. I decided to make an actual wanted poster, print it, affix it to my fence with wheat paste, let is sit for a week or more, and photograph it.
This was of course after I tried some other conventional ideas that were fine but boring.
Thog gave me a similar assignment, so that I likely why I chose to give it a shot. What follows is that short story. I am curious if anyone picks up the structure I am playing with. It is definitely from a pretty famous short story.
Beginnings & Endings
The hills across the valley were long and languorous. They were yellow like old bones and had no trees to give shade in the heavy heat. Heavy like a comfortable blanket, nothing moved in it, not even the dogs. Everything and everyone was sleepily waiting for either the cool evening breeze or sudden hot, wet violence.
“You should drink something,” said the woman wiping her brow with a well used piece of lace.
“You think?” said the man who was short like her, but a bit older in the face.
“Heat isn’t going anywhere.”
“No it is not.”
“Neither are we. Not until we know for sure.”
“True.”
He pulled out a brown leather canteen, drawing deep the warm musty water into his throat. The woman looked off at the yellow hills. Looking but not searching. A cloud had darkened one briefly and then was gone like a flitting memory.
“Do you think they will come?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one. Not alive at least.”
“You wouldn’t have.”
“I could have. How would you know what I have seen?”
“I don’t have to know. If you did, I wouldn’t be here, would I? No I wouldn’t.”
“Still.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
The man looked away at the hills, his hand slowly scratching his napping dog.
“You’re right,” he said, “It is my fault.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
“Yes you were. It’s why we are here.”
“You could have let it be. Could have walked away. Could have kept your mouth shut.”
“Could you?”
“Of course not, but that is my Calling. I would have to.”
“So did I.”
“But you didn’t. You could have wa-“
“Dogshit. I don’t need a Calling to tell me what’s right.”
A too hot breeze rode down from the hills and washed over them. One of the dogs whined then returned to panting. She stared at him and he refused to look at anything but the hills for a long time. Then she looked at the silent hills too.
“The hills are actually lovely,” he finally said.
“Yeah, they can be.”
“When they are empty at least.”
“True. Maybe today they will stay that way. Maybe we get lucky.”
“You don’t believe that,” he said looking at her only with his eyes.
“No. No I don’t. But it’s a nice thought.”
“Yeah. It is a nice thought.”
They continued like that as the sun moved from above down towards the right. Both staring. Neither talking. The dogs panting and napping.
“What is it going be like?” he asked.
“What is what going to be like?”
“When they… When they come.”
“Oh… Well not good.”
“Not good?”
“No. Not good.”
“You are something. You know that?”
“What?” she said, turning to look at him for the first time in hours.
“Three day old stew is not good. A tear in the tent is not good. Using the last of the salt is not good.”
“So?”
“So… how is running into them,” he asked waving his hand vaguely at the hills and looking at her for the first time in hours, “Not good?”
“Well, it isn’t. It’s not good.”
He laughed then, softly, for the first time in days. She smiled watching him with warm eyes. Then the hot breeze washed over them again, smothering the moment.
“It is going to be soon,” she said as she got up to give water to the dogs.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Can’t you smell it? On the wind just now?”
“No.”
“It was there. Any cook worth their salt can smell rotting meat.”
“But you’re not a cook anymore, are you?”
“Yes I am. They can’t take away what you are, just what you do.”
“With time they can. With time they will.”
“The time they took away from me? From us?”
“I suppose that is true,” she said from the side of her mouth at him as she looked through her bags.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for something.”
“I can see that.”
“I’m sure that you can.”
“Really. What are you doing?”
“Again. Looking for some- ah. For this.”
She held up a small glass flask with a red-brown liquid sloshing about inside. Her eyes smiled if the rest of her face did not. He smiled back. Then the breeze came over the hills again and his face fell. The dogs stirred and growled in their throats. She sniffed and looked at the hills again, frowning.
“That’s them, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, her shoulders slumping with the weight of it all.
They sat there still and quiet, hands tense but flat on the necks of the dogs. All they heard was the light breeze and the occasional buzz of an errant bug.
“Why did you ask me if they would come?” he asked, not looking away from the hills.
“Who?”
“Them? Earlier. Why would you ask me?”
“Oh. I don’t know. Hope?”
“Hope? Hope for what?”
“I don’t know. It was just a thought.”
“It was a nice thought.”
“I said it because I don’t care about all this.”
“What does that mean?”
“This is my thing,” she said gesturing to the hills, “I do this. I do this and said that because then everything will be fine.”
“I don’t want you to do this if you feel that way.”
He stopped looking at the hills and looked at her until she felt him. He was tan and serious and his eyes carried a weight that held her steady.
“This,” he said, touching his chest then hers and back again, “Is everything. We can have everything. We do have everything.”
“No. We don’t”
“We do. We can just go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
“Home?”
“Well, no. But everywhere else. They can’t take that away.”
“But they already have.”
On the wind they heard it for the first time. A laugh, high and clear, but slow moving in the heat. The hills were still clear, nothing moving the thick grass with purpose. Only the hot breeze rippled the thick grass in waves like the surface of a pond.
“Not close yet, but soon,” she said softly, looking at him with concerned eyes.
“I better string my bow.”
“All right. Then we can finish the flask.”
He reassured his dog as he rummaged in his saddlebag for the catgut. They heard laughter on the breeze, closer this time. He saw nothing on the hills when he looked up as he strung the bow. A dog whined softly and he took a draw from the flask she handed him when he returned.
“Do you feel better?” she asked with a sad smile and a gentle hand on his forearm.
He smiled back warmly, holding her with his eyes. Even when the dogs began to growl. Even after the smell got stronger. Even when they both knew it was about to begin...
And end.