Shadow Intercepted

From It’s Complicated-Sonic Fan Fiction-December 2024

“Doctor—who is that?!” Stone typed frantically while shutting down his Robotnik Cosplay Device 2.0, now with an added Sims 4 component.

“I have no idea, Stone,” Robotnik typed back while facing Shadow. “Let’s play nice for now and see where it gets us. You know my order by now, baby.” He smiled even wider at the scowling creature.

“Latte—with steamed Austrian goat milk!” Robotnik heard Stone say, and the lab was now a storefront once again, with warm lighting, a fireplace in one corner, and coffee grinders revving up, crunching down the beans that sat within them loudly.

Shadow sniffed the air. A memory hit him—one where he found a container of Professor Gerald’s prized Arabica coffee beans while he and Maria were playing hide and seek aboard the space colony ARK. He recalled popping open Gerald’s glass coffee container and eating the beans with his hands, soiling his gloves, struggling to chew them. The smell of coffee, more than the flavor, was what made his head spin more than when he performed a homing attack—the rich, heavy, earthy smell that reminded him of home, of the love of his beloved friend Maria and her comfort. He let the memory stay, the cold mountainous town drifting away into a sea of starlight below his air shoe clad feet. Robotnik marveled as he levitated, watching the fire from the boosters instantly melt the snow on the ground.

“Oh ho! Where did you get those? I haven’t seen air shoes since…since…!” Robotnik was about to sink into his own reverie when he broke Shadow’s.

“I must get inside,” Shadow gruffed, and pushed past Robotnik toward the doors. Robotnik’s jaw dropped and he whirled about with a sound mimicking one of his badniks turning on its chassis.

Musical Reveries

From my personal blog-Iara’s Chronicles-March 2024

My brain has a tendency to get stuck on music, musicians and artists for months at a time. I blame the fact that many moons ago, I was a musician. I played the violin–I was second violin in orchestra–from grade school until college. I put away my want to pursue a music career in favor of a science based career, but as I’ve aged, I’m wistful about that path I didn’t take. I’m terribly out of practice–I’m probably about as squeaky as Bruno’s rats from the earworm laden Disney musical Encanto…

I’ve been excited about my upcoming visit to Australia, and in thinking about it, I’ve recalled an Australian artist I listened to non-stop in junior high, high school and college–Darren Hayes, the former lead singer of Savage Garden.

The CD Affirmation and the hit songs “To The Moon and Back,” “Truly, Madly, Deeply” and “I Want You” were constantly on my Walkman CD player and cassette deck. I was absolutely enamored with Darren’s appearance from the beginning–sure, Daniel Jones was the standard blonde man I liked looks-wise, but it was Darren’s big smile and the sadness in his beautiful eyes that drew me in. And the lyrics were stunning to me–they deeply resonated, and I wasn’t quite sure why back then.

When I heard Darren’s personal story–about his difficult childhood (in particular with an abusive father), struggles in accepting himself as a gay man, and ongoing survival of anxiety and depression–I felt a bizarre resonance. I know how he felt all too well, on several levels…Darren’s glow up the past decade is incredible. What an amazing man, to keep going and to be who he is, through his music, images, symbols and soul. 🙂

Entering the Apothecary

From Cait Gordon’s Flash Fiction Challenge-April 2020

I stepped inside the doorway, the chime of a bell sending a small clockwork contraption whirring and tinging. It was the only cheerful sound in the stifling silence of the shop, which had become nearly overgrown with all kinds of foliage, most tropical in origin. My heels clattered against the smooth slate floor, echoing and then fading into the eerie quiet.

“Hello?” I called into the back of the store, my voice loud and bold despite my trepidation. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the walls, netting across various plants. I continued walking forward, my heart in my throat.

The druggist was seated in a darkened corner of the room, goggles on for safety as he fiddled with a mechanical contraption—it was supposed to grind leaves and dried herbs into a fine powder much better than any mortar and pestle, then insert the powder into dissolvable capsules.

I felt something soft brush against my ankles as I walked toward him. I paused and stooped down, expecting to pet a cat.

I nearly fell backward in shock and shrieked as an immense tarantula skittered across the floor and hurried under a miniature canopy of ferns and mosses.