A fantasy short story about war and regret by David Tombale: The Timekeeper's Story

The Timekeeper’s Story

The Timekeeper slowly stroked the boy’s blue black hair from his face and felt the slick sweat on his brow. The boy’s face was smudged with white ash, probably from the fires that still burned on.

The Timekeeper withdrew from the body on the table, noting sadly the holes in the boy’s sackcloth shoes and the rags that still covered his small frame. He walked to the window allowing the searing heat of the flames that were consuming the refugees’ newly made huts to scorch his skin. The guard on the tower turned his head to see the old master standing on the balcony, his short white hair blowing in a breeze that did little more than feed the inferno.

The Timekeeper sighed as he looked down on the battle. The trolls they’d grown in their labs so long ago were massed like a huge tidal wave breaking against the fortress’s massive stone walls but it would only be matter of time before they came in. All up and down the wall the human defenders ran barely keeping a hold of their large blasters while the trolls’ tank shells fell between them flinging some onto the cobbles or over the side into the waiting arms of their enemies.

The Timekeeper glanced down at his hands and thought sadly of a time when they’d held the first of the troll children. It had been such a wonderful time then, when humanity had stood at the peak of its powers, creating new life out of the myths of their fathers and now hearing those creatures howling their fury at the walls of the last human city in the world he realized all his work had been for nothing.

Unfortunately he could not stop. The defenders on the wall needed reinforcements and they needed what he could do for them. The Timekeeper turned his back on the war that had been raging on for over seventy years and when the guard on the tower turned his head to watch the old man return inside he could only wonder at how frail he appeared.

The Timekeeper returned to the boy’s side and laid his hands over his body allowing the white energy that still kept his aged heart beating to emerge. Its glow spread over the boy’s arms and legs seeking out his wounds and sealing them closed. Lastly the white energy restarted his heart and refilled the air in his lungs causing his eyes to spring open. The Timekeeper stood back as the boy rolled off the table and cast his eyes over the room. He soon found his blaster and ignoring the Timekeeper walked over to the corner and picked it up as carefully as another man would pick up a child.

There was an eagerness in the boy’s features as he looked over his weapon that pained the Timekeeper greatly but he reflected that it was far too late for regrets. The boy turned around stiffly and stood to attention his blaster on his right shoulder.

‘What are your orders sir?’ the boy asked him.

The Timekeeper glanced at him looking for any sign of recognition in the boy’s eyes but there was nothing in them, nothing at all. The Timekeeper felt all of his one hundred years in that moment but he placed a hand on the table behind him to steady himself and said, ‘Engage the enemy. Push them back from our walls.’

‘Yes sir!’ the boy responded.

He turned on his heel and left the Timekeeper staring after him. The Timekeeper went to the window and watched until he saw the boy run out in the courtyard and over to the stairs that led to the wall. In his lifetime the Timekeeper had raised over three hundred boys from the dead, one bloody battle after another until they couldn’t even remember their own names or the faces of their families and observing now as his own great grandson fired on the trolls that kept trying to rush onto the wall he couldn’t shake the feeling that the trolls might be right, maybe humanity didn’t deserve to exist anymore.

A science fiction story about genetic modification by David Tombale: Strays

Strays

Dogs may never disobey the masters; that is the first law. Smasher remembered when they’d taught it to him after he’d endured the gene splicing procedure; it hadn’t seemed like such a hard rule to follow at the time. Dashing across the street while avoiding the yellow pools of light created by the cast iron streetlights he remembered a time when everything seemed so much simpler. He leapt at the wall using his enhanced strength to get one sneaker on it then somersaulted over the electric fence and onto the grounds.

Smasher landed noisily in the mud around the wall but was up and moving before the nearest dog warrior could respond. He ran at full speed over the wet lawn, the water soaking his jean legs to the ankle. He made it onto the stairs fronting the pool before he encountered the first guard. The dog warrior only had time enough to turn his yellow eyes on a dark blur that struck him on the side of the head before losing consciousness.

Smasher grabbed the dog warrior before he could make a sound, wrinkling his nose at his pungent scent and dragged him some distance until he could find a store room to toss him in. He got a handhold on a pipe connected to the rain gutters and climbed up the walls until he reached the roof. After that he padded silently over the tiles until he found the right balcony. He dropped down onto it hearing soft moans coming from inside.

Smasher pulled a gun from his jeans’ waistband and screwed on a silencer he took from his pocket. As quietly as possible he slid the balcony doors open and walked through pushing aside the thin white curtains that hid the interior room. Smasher raised his gun taking in the sight of the woman weakly trying to crawl across the carpet with a man standing shirtless above her a bloody whip in his hands.

The man in front of Smasher had been on the cover of Time magazine three times and was one of the most recognizable figures in the whole country. He was a man Smasher had learnt to see for the monster he was and looking at him now with his face crazed and drool dripping from his lips he wondered if his beloved constituents could accept this hidden side of Senator Cal Rodham.

Cal turned when a breeze that blew past the open balcony doors brushed across his naked chest. His eyes widened when he saw Smasher, his mouth working to form the words to deny the phantom that stood fearlessly in his room.

‘You…’ Cal finally managed to say.

Smasher considered all the things he’d imagined he’d say to this man, the years he’d spent relearning to walk and talk and function. He touched a finger to the long scar that ran over his missing eye and realized that no words would ever change what had happened. The price he’d already paid for getting in this man’s way, for trying to prevent the torture of a warrior he’d respected had been high. Cal had had him beaten to within an inch of his life and Roper had still died anyway.

‘What are you planning to do with that gun you dumb mutt?’ Cal asked regaining his composure.

He knew the law as well as Smasher; no dog could ever disobey their master. ‘Go on, put it down dog. Right now.’

Smasher regarded his old master and then glanced down at the woman on the carpet, her black hair falling over her sweat soaked brow, and bloody wounds crisscrossing her back. Smasher lifted his head, his vision narrowing to a spot right between Cal’s ribs and pulled the trigger. The gun spat out two bullets that spun the Cal around and dropped him to the floor where he lay still and quite dead.

‘I have no masters,’ Smasher said to the room.

He knew he should leave but then he saw the tears sparkling in the woman’s eyes. Smasher put away his gun and reached down, picking the woman up in his arms. Walking out on the balcony he could see dark clouds converging around the white crescent moon and took it as a good omen.

‘You’re going to have to be quiet if I’m going to get us out of here,’ he told the woman.

Her back was on fire but she stuck her hand in her mouth to stifle any further cries of pain.

A dog may never disobey its master but not every dog has a master to call his own, we call such dogs strays.

A short story about class warfare by David Tombale: The Rooters

The Rooters

Leo could see the tears welling in the boy’s eyes even at a distance and felt the rage build inside him. Here was another weed that needed plucking and with all eyes on the athletic trials he couldn’t believe the boy wasn’t at least trying to hide his unseemly display. Leo tugged on the red badge on his arm and started walking across the grass field studiously ignoring the approaching runners. He was confident that they all knew the penalty for crossing a Rooter, even a junior one.

The runners at the front of the pack saw the seventeen year old walk right across the track and recognizing him by his blonde hair and tall build, quickly drew to a halt, not wanting to draw his attention. The object of his rage was leaning against the lower bench of an empty audience stand while keeping his hand on a bloody abrasion on his knee.

‘Is there a problem student?’ Leo inquired.

The boy lifted his head and his heart nearly stopped in his chest. Looking down at him with pure disdain was a pair of cold gray eyes, eyes that he’d often seen scanning the students at New England Prep for weakness. Junior Rooter First Class Leo Grant was the most feared person at their school; even the Headmaster stepped lightly around him.

‘No Junior Rooter Grant,’ the boy replied, his voice quaking.

Leo nodded his head, ‘I see, then you wouldn’t mind getting on your feet.’

The boy was beginning to sweat and glanced down at his knee then back into the rooter’s face and found no mercy there. He struggled to his feet then tried to stand up straight. He lasted for almost a full ten seconds before falling back on his haunches, a soft cry escaping his lips.

‘I see,’ Leo said. He turned his head and called over two second year rooters who had been observing their senior with interest. They came running over and took in the boy shuddering on the ground.

‘Sir?’ the first of them spoke up.

‘I want you to take this student to the nurse’s office, and inform her that I’ll need her notes for my report,’ Leo ordered them.

What little color remained in the boy’s face completely melted away and took on the expression of a condemned man. The two second years each got an arm under him and lifted him bodily to his feet. They marched him away with his toes scraping against the dirt, helplessly dangling between them.

Leo looked around and noticed how careful everyone was to avoid his eye, including the adults who’d come out to cheer on their kids. He eventually spotted a woman in one of the stands being supported by a white haired man, mascara dripping down her face in a torrent of tears and guessed that they were the boy’s parents. From the cut of her clothes and the uneven mess that was her hair she must have been a cleaner or working some other dead end job, which was probably why the senior rooters hadn’t bothered with her. It was a wonder they’d even gotten their boy into a school like New England Prep. Leo felt it when the man’s gaze focused in on him and the heat of his anger couldn’t have been more obvious. He stiffly gave the man his back and walked away from the practice fields.

The sun was just beginning to set when Leo brought his bike up to their building’s third floor and turned the key to let himself in to their apartment. Something rushed out at him from under a couch, and quickly setting his bike aside he bent down to let his pet Scottish terrier Byron leap into his arms. Byron started licking at his face while Leo laughed and tried to hold him at a distance.

‘How’re you doing boy?’ Leo asked the little dog, rubbing his nose against its cold one. Leo usually set Byron loose when his parents were out so he could get some exercise, but knew the apartment could get pretty lonely. ‘Come on let’s get to my room.’

Leo carried Byron under his arm and into his bedroom kicking the door closed. Placing Byron down he locked the door and watched the dog run excitedly around the room. Leo was grateful for the soundproofed walls that were the only reason his parents hadn’t figured out he was keeping a dog in the apartment. He sat on his bed and smiled at Byron who stopped playing long enough to sit down and look at his master.

Byron panted softly and gave Leo a huge doggy grin that almost rid him of the sight of that injured boy staring at him like he was the devil. He might as well be because his report was going to get that boy expelled and once his weakness was noted and put on file it would be nothing but public schools for him for the rest of his life. After that would be community college and if he was lucky he might get a job driving cabs for a living.

‘Come here Byron,’ Leo coaxed. Byron came running and Leo lifted him up and fell back against his bed while suspending the black furred terrier in the air. Leo knew that those were the rules and there wasn’t anything he could do to change them, if he hadn’t cited the boy someone else would have. It was so damn frustrating and even more so when he considered that if his parents ever discovered Byron he’d probably face far worse.

Byron started barking and let his tongue hang out of his mouth, completely oblivious to the world his master lived in, but happy that he was home. Leo placed the dog beside him on the bed and laid his ear next to its chest and allowed the sound of its heart to drown out his thoughts.

A short story about insomnia by David Tombale: Demons

Demons

There are those rare moments at night, when you lie awake and somehow your whole life unfolds in front of you and there’s simply nowhere to hide. Scott had turned over on his side, then on his back until he realized that there’d be no sleep for him. It wasn’t the rain slapping against the windows or the cool air that blew in through an open shutter, it turned out to be the demons that had been plaguing him for a little over a month.

He rolled out of bed and using the flashlight on his phone he found the album he’d hidden among the books on his shelf. It was small and had a red cover and when he pulled it open a photo immediately fell to the floor. He got to his knees and picked it up and wasn’t surprised to find that it was a picture of the two of them on that same bed. In it he was bent over and wearing an old Metallica shirt and she had her arms around his neck with her auburn hair falling over his shoulder.

Scott sat at his desk and smiled down at the picture. He put it beside the album as he opened it in front of him. He flipped through the pages not really focusing on any of them but just scanning through the memories they’d made. In almost every picture he’d find her smiling back at him, usually in a pair of jeans that showed off her athletic body. There she was in a baseball cap, with long hair, with short hair, at the beach wearing a long skirt and kicking sand at the lens, or leaning back against a wooden horse on a carousel.

Scott put down the album and stared out the window at the sun shyly peeking over the horizon. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting there, but the aches in his body hinted that it had been far longer than he would have liked to admit. The covers moved and a head poked out from under them. Her black hair was frizzy and looked like static had got to it and she quickly noticed him at his table. She met his eyes blearily, confusion all over her face.

‘Scott? How long have you been up?’ she asked.

‘Not long,’ he replied closing the album and placing his French Dictionary on top of it. He got up and eased into bed beside her.

She put her arm over him and smiled. ‘Good morning.’

‘Morning,’ he smiled back at her.

She moved closer and laid her head on his lap. Scott glanced down at the top of her head then up at the ceiling and hated himself for the pain he must be causing her. He hated that another woman still owned his heart and if she asked he’d have to tell her that April was all he could think about.

A short story about obsession by David Tombale: Stalker

Stalker

She had to be in her late twenties and Win observed that she’d stopped crying these past few days he’d been studying her. Watching her from across the street he could see the careful way she handled the clothes she’d put on the mannequin. The store was a high end one and marketed solely to women, which explained the elegant ladies who glided in and out with their designer hand bags balanced on their arms.

Win had considered going in but he hadn’t been able to come up with a proper explanation for why he’d be wandering in a women’s clothing store. His mother had raised him to be honest so creating a fake girlfriend to buy lingerie for was out of the question. The woman stopped suddenly and slowly turned around. He observed her pass her eyes over the crowds across the street but wasn’t worried, seated behind a bearded gentleman in one of the busiest cafes in the area ensured she’d never see him. Then why did her eyes linger in his direction, why did she nervously raise a hand to her strawberry blond hair? Without warning she stepped off the platform and disappeared inside the store.

Win got to his feet, surprised and uncertain. Should he leave? The woman appeared at the doorway to the store still looking across the street at the café. Win decided to fall back in his chair and play innocent. He picked up the newspaper he’d left in his lap and leafed through to a random page. She was crossing the street now and passed right below where he was sitting on the café’s balcony as she went inside. Win was sweating through his Burberry shirt but was trying to play cool as he touched his black framed glasses and pretended to read some story about a philandering local politician.

The woman came through the balcony doors and now that Win could see her up close, he could see that her nostrils were flaring and that she looked quite upset. She walked in his direction and Win couldn’t help putting the paper down as she came closer. She went right past him and up to the bearded man seated in front of Win.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she demanded.

The bearded man raised his head to look at her and smiled in amusement, ‘Is there some crime in being here?’

‘You know that I work right over there, so how dare you act like you didn’t come here to harass me?’

‘Harass you? Dream on babe, I’m just here to get some coffee,’ he said pointing at the cup in front of him.

Win expected her tirade to start up again but was surprised when he saw tears in her eyes.

‘Can’t you just leave me alone? Please, let me just get on with my life,’ she pleaded.

The bearded man got to his feet and took up his cup. He took a small sip then poured it in her face. The woman flinched and drew back while everyone stared. The bearded man stepped in front of her, then leaned in close to her ear and whispered something that drained the color from her face. As he drew back and gave her a wide grin Win punched him between the eyes. The bearded man fell back toppling over the table he’d been occupying.

A dark bruise began to spread on his forehead as he stared in disbelief at Win. Win ignored him looking over the woman whose eyes were wide and confused.

‘Are you okay?’ Win asked her.

She numbly nodded her head still embarrassed and covered in coffee. Win reached in his shirt pocket and handed her a handkerchief. She resisted for a moment then took it, slowly wiping her face clean.

‘Come on,’ Win said taking her by the shoulders. ‘Let’s go get you cleaned up.’

Win waited outside the ladies’ toilets for her until she came out twenty minutes later. She smiled hesitantly and handed him back his handkerchief. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem,’ Win assured her. ‘So you ready to tell me what that was all about?’

‘Not really, let’s just say it’s complicated.’

Win tried out a smile and was relieved that he wasn’t standing in front of a mirror because it must have looked awful, but the woman didn’t seem to mind it all that much. In fact she smiled back at him.

‘I don’t mind complicated and you look like you could use someone to talk to.’

‘Alright,’ she said nodding her head, ‘but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

They found a table as far away from the balcony as they could get. Win had even suggested they find another place but she’d convinced him that she was fine with staying where they were. The woman, Camilla was her name told him about her relationship with Logan, the bearded man. How he’d seemed so sweet at first and then how he’d become possessive. How he’d taken to following her everywhere and Win had coughed delicately remembering how he’d come to be at the café but he’d let her continue. She’d confessed about how she’d stayed with him because she was new to the city and had had no one at all.

Somehow during all of it she got Win to tell her about his job as an illustrator, about how lonely moving out to the city had been for him. In the end that solitude was something they shared in common and pretty soon she was laughing so hard that little tears came out at stories of him getting lost on the subway and ending up at a cabaret. The entire time he could only marvel at the way her whole being radiated joy and beauty. 

A short story about a long distance relationship by David Tombale: The distance between

The distance between

Jerome had grown to love watching the sun come over the Boston skyline. Its mix of yellows and reds reminded him of autumn, and made him grateful for the view. His office was on the eight floor of their Boston branch and was suitably large, almost large enough to have space for his ego as Laura would say.

He hadn’t seen her in a while, almost a full month if he remembered right. The distance had been hard on her, hell it had been hard on him and he wondered how she filled the hours in-between. He could imagine, and the writhing images of her tangled in their bed sheets with another man had been enough to cause a cold sweat to break out all over his body.

He was thinking of calling her but it was around six and she’d probably still be at the hospital. He’d been so proud of her when she finally finished her residency and became Dr. Laura Roberts; he could picture her smiling in her white doctor’s coat causing the male patients’ heartbeats to spiral into insanity. She had that effect on the male gender and he was living proof of it.

Jerome loosened his tie and pulled off his blazer placing it on the shoulders of his chair. He couldn’t wait for the trial to end so that he could go back to his Laura, if she was still waiting. The trek back and forth between Boston and Chicago had only shown them how much they’d come to rely on each other, how a separation could wreak havoc on even the best relationships. Maybe he should call; she could be in the apartment right now wearing his Lakers’ jersey and nothing else desperate for the sound of his voice.

What would he do if he did and some other guy answered? Would it be over? Would that be how she told him that she’d grown too tired of missing him? That their busy schedules were no excuse for leaving her in the dark silence of an apartment they’d rented together. It was silly but he’d hoped Big Humphrey, the large brown furred teddy bear he’d bought her on Valentines’ might have helped ease the ache but teddy bear arms could never replace the warmth of real ones.

So maybe it was over or damn it should he call? He kept glancing down at the dark blue telephone on his desk agonizing over it. He needed to hear her voice but he’d probably end up sounding lonely over the phone. He couldn’t afford that. He sighed and looked back out the window as the sun slowly died and darkness began to rise like a wave over the city. Ring, ring, ring. The phone was vibrating and he reached out his hand and answered it.

‘Hello,’ he said softly.

‘Hey G,’ Laura said huskily, ‘are you busy?’

A funny science fiction story by David Tombale: Interruption

Interruption

Sam had decided that he was never leaving the house again, and the robot butler had fully agreed with him. Not that it had a lot of choice, but Sam wouldn’t let a little thing like a lack of free will deprive it of an opinion. That only made the pounding at his door that much more annoying.

‘What?!’ he yelled yanking the door open.

Standing there with his hand still poised to knock again was the landlord. He lowered his hand, his face flushing red with embarrassment before he drew himself up, ‘Mr. Weiss I do not allow robots in my building, not that I know why someone like you needs one.’

‘Someone like me?’ Sam quirked an eyebrow.

‘You know someone who clearly just sits on his butt all day. You probably get all your money from your parents or the government. Look at you still in your boxers.’

Sam quite openly reached under his white vest and scratched his stomach. ‘You’re boring me here Mr. Samuels, and there’s nothing in the lease that mentions robots.’

‘Forget the lease. I make the rules here you little punk,’ he shot back.

‘Goodbye Mr. Samuels,” Sam said slamming the door in the landlord’s face.

He was just sitting down in front of his computer, when the door startled rattling again under someone’s knuckles.

‘Unbelievable,’ he muttered under his breath.

He opened the door again, and this time found himself looking down the barrel of a sawed off shotgun. He raised his head and met a crazy pair of eyes; they were red with huge pupils like they couldn’t get enough light but the hallway outside was well lit.

‘Where… is.. it?’ the face behind those eyes stuttered.

‘Where..is..what?’

‘The merch….the drugs….the rock.’

Sam ran a hand through his hair and yawned, ‘Oh, you want the apartment down the hall, 305.’

The man holding the gun looked confused for a second, then nodded his head, ‘Th..anks.’

‘No problem,’ Sam said closing the door again.

He returned to his chair, and began loading a single player war game, when his door started vibrating again. He turned to look at it, then at his computer screen then back at the door before sighing and getting to his feet.

‘What?’ he asked, opening the door.

A middle aged man with a salt and pepper beard and wearing a blue suit waited outside. ‘Hey Sam get dressed we got a case. Apparently there’s some junkie running around offing dealers for their drugs.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, the boss wants us on it,’ the man answered trying to peek past Sam into his dark apartment.

‘Give me a second, I’ll be right out,’ Sam told him before closing the door. ‘Giles get my clothes out,’ he called out to his butler.