Archive for the ‘Jason Fischer’ Category
Contributor Bios
Thursday, August 14th, 2008
Contributor Bios:
Matthew Locke: Matthew Locke is an out-of-sequence merchant seaman from the late 1700s. He has adapted to life in the 22C, and enjoys flushing toilets and the VR-net. His story has been chronicled in the novel A Wrong Turn.
Preston Thomas: Preston is on death-row for the violent assassination of Jebediah Clinton. In a rare plea bargain he faces full acquittal if he can win either a Hugo or a Nebula within two years. This is his first published piece.
Rebekah Ladd: Rebekah is the brain-damaged host to a group-mind based on Titan. In the Ladd vs Dept of Creativity decision, it was deemed that:
i) after her near-fatal accident, the gestalt had increased her quality of life from a vegetative state to that of a promising young author
ii) that proceeds from Ladd’s works would not leave Earth and not contribute to the Titan Civil War
iii) that, while she was fit to be a high-profile writer, she was no longer fit to be a single mother. Custody of her children was awarded to the State.
Rebekah is a winner of the Writers of the Future contest and graduated from the 2109 Clarion West class.
Irwin Calloway: Irwin is a sentient Macaw, with glorious blue and green plumage.
His hind-brain was crafted of genetic material sourced from the legendary 20C singer Cab Calloway. He has on occasion successfully channelled his famous ancestor for private parties, séances, and once on the nationally syndicated Top Of The Day! variety show. This is his first published work.
Paeonia Obovata: A reference on the now defunct and archived Wikipedia, it was a page originally dedicated to a herbaceous plant. Paeonia Obovata appears to have evolved into an artificial intelligence, and the page updates itself daily, typically in the form of a serialised novel, a short story or an editorial piece. The Friends of Wikipedia submit these stories on its behalf, and these works have appeared in Future Strange #19, Strange Horizons (neuro-link here) and in Antarctica Fantastica #7
Sweet Baby Honey
Thursday, July 31st, 2008
Is that a rustling among the cobwebs at Cabal central? Unfamiliar footfalls in our dusty corridors? It is, in fact, a new Cabalist approaching, the first of several who’ll be joining us in coming weeks.
Please welcome Jason Fischer, who debuts today with something a bit on the dark side. You can learn a bit more about him from the members link above. (One quick errata, Jason’s blurb link at left didn’t come out quite right, so please find information about a forthcoming anthology appearance for him here.)
And now, over to Jason…
Shen wants to eat me.
He’s feeding me again, and this time he’s spooning the honey all over me, all over us. A month ago he started serving me a thick mead, but it’s just honey now, it’s all that I eat and drink.
When I die, he’s going to put me in a box. He’s shown it to me, it’s even got my name on a metal plate and a blank spot where that final date will be engraved. There’s a row of wax-lined clay coffins in his cellar, kept under temperature control. I was jealous of these others at first, but Shen convinced me that I was different, special.
We’re going to have a baby.
He’s careful as we make love, rolling around in the sweet sticky goop. I’m somewhere in my second trimester, but trust me when I say it’s easy to lose time in this house.
Honey. It’s all I can taste, all I can smell. I never used to like the stuff, but now I suck greedily at the spoon, lick it from his skin, stuff my hands into the jar like Winnie the Pooh.
He let me taste one of the others once, a girl called Gwendoline. She died with a smile on her face in 1908. He cracked open the wax seal, pushed the lid to one side. She was suspended in three feet of honey, her flesh withered and crystallised. The smell was something between honey and a strong fortified wine.
‘Try,’ he said gently, and I snapped off her little toe. Without hesitation I put it into my mouth, and there it rested like the Host itself, melting and suffusing my mouth with immortality and joy.
‘Enough,’ Shen told me. ‘Any more and you’ll hurt the baby.’
One day soon I will stop moving, and as my organs all begin to shut down he will gently place me into my coffin. Shen will kiss my forehead, rub my bulging tummy, and begin to pour in the honey. I’m torn that I’ll never get to hold our baby, but when he eats his way out of my womb in a hundred years time, he will have the same golden-brown skin that his daddy has, and the same prospects.
Then father and son will eat me together, our first and only meal as a family.
THE END