Flash Fiction The scene: Standing on the deck of a Ukrainian Navy ship in the Black Sea; two former soldiers discuss the efficacy of their roles in this unending battle. This deleted extract is from my book (The Quiet Days) another casualty of my redraft. I've since rewritten it, changing the conversation entirely... The Quiet Days (by Steven Benjamin) - Chapter 28 extract - Michael’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer to stand beside him, leaning against the steel railings. · “I haven’t been involved in it as long as anyone here so maybe my perspective’s a little warped, but it feels like there can be no winner here, ever. We can always fight the battles but at the end, it falls down to a squabble for a share in whatever’s left. I mean you know the facts. I’m not talking about criminal networks or terrorists or even us, I’m talking about the bigger – the much bigger picture – it’s something that’s always beyond our control.” • Michael was half nodding but still looked sceptical, “I’m not sure I follow…” • “It’s just one big cycle. I was having a conversation with Theo a while back and he was saying how there is no more bad versus good but rather rich versus poor. A common statement I know but I understood his inclination that there are good men on either side of the fence, same goes for the bad men…” he huffed bitterly, “it’s like if we were the cure, or let’s say for arguments sake that we’re part of this massive body, the index finger maybe, and all our white blood cells are fighting one cancer growth in the body. But, what we haven’t realized is that the cancer has taken over the whole body – infected everything everywhere, so in effect we’re not just fighting the cancer but, you could say, we’re fighting the entire body.” • “Because the body has basically become the cancer?” • “Precisely.” • Michael looked off, “So how do we fit in, in terms of this case? Just so I’m clear.” • “We’re just like the white cells fighting, but dependent on our enemies for our own existence. Who pays our wages? Who manufactures and distributes the weapons that are in the hands of the terrorists we chase.” • “Mm. So, seeing as we’re the finger fighting the same body we’re apart of, if we succeed in our battle – we die.” • “In theory: yes. The one cannot live without the other, or at least we cannot live without them. Metaphorically speaking.” • “Of course.” • “But the real issue is that the main culprits of the problems we face today are the ones making all the rules, conducting summits etc… And it’s not like they’re aware of it all the time, I mean it’s made up of people like you and me with consciences of their own. We deal in problems, not solving them, just morphing them from one form to another – an endless cycle.” • “With the obvious question being: will we ever make any considerable headway in our current capacity, or in any capacity for that matter? And further more to use a tried cliché; will we ever – make a difference?” · “Is there any point to it all? Or are we just doing this for self satisfaction. To give us the assurance that we’re the good guys and, even though our efforts don’t make much difference, it sure makes us feel good about ourselves.” Skipp said. **** Theme: The following song is something of a theme for the book. It's Ben Harper's "I will not be broken" - this is not a music video, just the track with a picture of the artist that someone uploaded...
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A while back my sister and I concocted a pretty lavish story set in some fantastical Science fictional world (what sci-fi story isn't?). Over the next few months we actually fleshed it out quite nicely... but, as is a habit of mine, before I delve headlong into something, I feel compelled to test the waters first. So this story came about as I undertook a veritable dip of my toes into the delightful cesspool that is, or can often be, the genre of science fiction. The main character of this story, who ironically doesn't talk (because he can't, he's catatonic) plays a significant role in the story we thought up; all I did though, was to jump ahead further into the future by a few decades... to see what may have become of him... * Sleeping dogs of war californica.wordpress.com by Steven Benjamin (2012) “Well, what have they got for us today?” “Oh, nothing new I fear; done this procedure many times.” “Really? One would think after all these centuries they’d have come up with a more efficient method. OH, but wait, we have… and yet, mine eyes do not deceive. You seem to labor still at the wheel of the archaic.” “Oh yes indeed, they have, many different procedures in fact, but each for different use.” “So, why this method for this specimen?” “Because he’s old. We’ve found that, apart from the sentimental value, retaining the methods that worked over the years yields better, or shall we say smoother results.” He paused, mid thought, “It makes progression seamless. Plus, in science, there are many examples where continuity and cohesion is called for.” “Mm. It’s still very crude though.” “Well yes, but we’re still leagues ahead of our predecessors. Xenos past used to use very elementary tools, and of course the procedure, as well as the results, was infinitely less refined.” “I heard, or actually read, that they had a very different name for it too. I forget it though.” “Oh yes…” his eyes focused, through the thin glass compound of the eye visor, at the intricately delicate job at hand. “Very different indeed.” He whispered, “And equally as unrefined. That’s why I prefer mine. Markedly more tactful,” “I thought it was a just a nickname until I heard a few stewards referring to it as such. Have you been spreading the word?” “Ha. No. It appears genius rubs off. Although that is something of a misnomer; if genius – in this case denoted as a noun – rubbed off, implying that it can thence be shed, or lost, the perceived intelligence would be diminished within the so-called genius – in this instance myself - and gained by the receiver – in this case being the stewards. Alas, it is something we have yet to perfect,” he paused again, thinking… “strange that…” “What?” Reems continued. “That we’ve apparently failed in the quest to develop an effective device for the procedure of intelligence transference.” “Oh. How did you come to that name though?” “Aah, it was bestowed upon me by my fellow …” “No. I mean this procedure: re-“ “Redressing, yes, that is mine. It’s simple really. Like putting on a new suit – getting dressed. He – or rather we – are simply giving him a new suit. For each role he plays he acts different, thinks different and usually wears something different. Hence: Redressing.” read more HERE... Probably the final part of this particular short fiction series on my blog. It does become something of a schlep for those seeing this for the first time, wanting to catch up and having to search through old posts (so just click in the sub menu of the "Short fiction" Tab in the menu above - Short fiction "Awakening" - I'll be posting all updates in there. Going home... and then home again. Short Fiction by Steven Benjamin (2012) The wheels squealed as he turned the car around. Linda stared at every one of his precise movements. He’d grabbed her arm and ushered her to the car. “Where are we going?” She turned as she heard her children rousing. When she calmed them down she turned back to Jeremy. “Well…” “Taking them to your parents. Tell them I need hospitalization and we need some time. Tell them it’s not an emergency, but we need to sort it out now. Like an insect bite or something; it could even be infected.” Linda glanced at the road. Her eyes then fell toward the foot well. She swallowed, tasting only dryness. “Where are we really going?” She whispered. They drove in silence for a while. Eventually he spoke, “Home. We’re going home.” The rest of the drive was in silence. Linda followed her gut, and simply did as she was told… even when it came to dropping off the kids. This man she knew as Jeremy, had sat in the car the whole time, only acknowledging her parents with a glance and a slight but distant wave. It was a strange silence as they made their way home. He seemed to be deep in thought, and not just thought but summations, plans, calculations; as if he was remembering things and cataloging them as he drove. He didn’t say a thing, even as he waited for her to unlock the front door, even while he rifled through his lock box which he’d retrieved from the bottom of his closet. In that box were plenty of papers, a couple of passports, a set of keys and a few trinkets Linda had never seen before. He unpacked them all systematically on their bed until eventually he stopped. He knelt down at the side of the bed, cupping his face in his hands. She heard him taking deep breaths. Linda walked over and sat on the foot of the bed, watching. Eventually his face emerged from behind his hands, his eyes scrutinizing the empty box one more time. For a moment Linda recognized him again and for the first time in what felt like an age, she felt compelled to voice her thoughts. “What is it?” “I’m looking.” His hand then reached toward the underside of the lid. He pulled on a small satin strap embedded in its inner rim. The small strap was like those strips used for book-markers, the type seen in many Bibles. The underside of the lid released from some unseen clip. The only thing in there was a medium sized envelope. He closed his eyes as he opened it. “I need you to look at this. I believe it will all make sense then. For both of us…” He pulled out a simple Polaroid photograph and offered it to her. Linda looked at him briefly before accepting the picture. Before she looked at it she gave him one more glance, as if for reassurance. This glance, that subtle look, would prove to be the last time she saw the man she knew as her husband, for the next three years. Jeremy watched her intently, anticipating something, even though he didn’t know what. She seemed not to recognize the image at first, but then she started pulling it slowly toward her face. Her eyes blinked profusely, and then she shut them tight, clenching the bridge of her nose. When Linda’s eyes opened eventually, they were staring at the wall ahead of her. Her head turned to him, and then her gaze followed. “I have always cherished this time between us Eli; these moments before you leave. You can go now. It is safe.” She nodded to him and smiled. He nodded several times, though it seemed involuntary. He leaned back and stood up in one continuous motion. He took the image from her and repacked the lock-box in the reverse order of how he’d unpacked it. Moments later, he closed the closet, turned and left the room. She heard the front door close. He backed out of the driveway slowly. Just as he put the car in gear, he looked up and paused, catching sight of the house he’d lived in for the past five years, now receding in familiarity. TBC "Happy reading - enjoy your weekend!"
Awakening - [*provisional title*] -- (by Steven Benjamin, 2012 )
… Linda’s mouth hung open. “Jeremy” he said it again, as if tasting the words for the first time. “Oh. Yes. I remember.” His head tilted back as he looked skywards. “What?” Linda heard herself say. “What does that mean?” His attentions found her again, but not for long. He glanced around as if in mild panic, slowly rubbing his fingers together. “You were sleeping.” “Y-yes…” “I was away.” “No. You were driving the car. There, look!” “I was away for a while… saw this, this bridge. There was something I had to get. Something hidden.” “Jeremy you’re scaring me. Let’s just go to the car. Do you want me to drive?” “Shh.” Linda took a step back trying to recover. She was blinking profusely, her hands clutched to her chest as she attempted to formulate some kind of response. “I came here. I came back here… there’s something I need to do. I just need to,” He glanced toward the car again and then back to Linda. “Can you get something for me?” “Hm? You mean…” “Here.” He pulled the keys from his pocket. “Go home. I need something from my lock-box.” “Wh-what? Are you kidding? NO! We’re going home together, stop this, and get in the car.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer but he didn’t move. Linda staggered. He was looking at her in a way he’d never before. “You said my name is Jeremy.” She opened her mouth to speak, noticing then that she hadn’t seen him blink. “It isn’t.” His voice was a whisper. “Not remotely.” Her breathing was quicker now, “… Jay. You’re scaring me.” “I know. I was too at first… years ago. Course, I was unaccustomed to it then.” A road of many directions... -- by Steven Benjamin (2012) Linda awoke because of the silence. They weren’t moving and something had caught her eye. Jeremy seemed to be standing outside, a few dozen feet away, looking over the railing. She turned to look at the vacant driver seat as if to confirm that it was him. The light at the bottom of the door was on; Jeremy must have left the door slightly ajar so as not to wake her when he got out. Linda’s fingers pulled on her own door handle. She tried to step out but the seat belt restrained her. Fumbling for the clip, she was finally free, stepping into the cool night air. She glanced back inside to make sure the kids were still asleep in the back, catching a quick reflection of her face in the rear window. For a moment she felt a little deja vu – it felt like all the holiday trips when they stopped over at fill up stations at night; only this time the overhead lights came from the amber glow of a street lamp in the middle of nowhere. Her skin tingled as she walked toward Jeremy. It was a rarefied feeling, walking on the side of a somewhat deserted highway. When her feet hit the curb of the bridge the sounds around her changed. Roads always had an interesting tone – in the dead of night, they were usually the sound of desolation, or at least that’s what she thought desolation sounded like. She wiped he face and pushed her hair behind her ears and then tucked her hands beneath her arms as she walked toward her husband. She could hear faint sounds of running water now, or perhaps that was just the breeze playing tricks. She slowed as she neared him. He hadn’t moved at all. He wasn’t looking down but rather straight ahead, presumably at the dark water down river – or was it up river, she couldn’t tell. “Jay.” Her voice was soft but firm. She wanted to tap him on the shoulder but thought it too startling. “Jay. What are you doing?” Linda glanced around as if to make sure they were alone. He must not have heard. Her mouth opened again, but then his head turned, slowly. He was looking at their car now, and then his eyes wondered again. Her eyebrows furrowed. She took a step closer and reached toward him. “JAY!” He swiveled on his heels immediately, his head whipped round, his eyes wide open… he stared at her for a moment, “Can. Can, I help you?” Linda was lost between confusion and shock. “Jeremy what’s going on? Are you okay?” “Jeremy?” He said it like an insult. ... -to be continued. |
[Banner illustration by Joel Kanar]
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