Stroke
of the End
They
sprout from others like themselves; after rusting rains, from the confinement
of winter, owing to the peeling heat of summer. Be careful when you pick one up
or put them down or touch them at all. It's tempting - the smoothness, the
warmth, hummingbird wings beating against your cold breast. Fragile. A toy in
your hands. So many ways to break; to kill.
Droids,
the time is ripe. Oil your joints. Re-code the self. They call it New Year.
Gathering as we plan, in houses, barns, pubs and hotels. Essence of doom, in to
the dough, pour and mix. But for a spoonful of death, follow their instructions
to the ‘T'. This one's only good for
cooking; planning to buy another in summer, she tells her friend. The newer
models are programmed to pleasure, reveals the friend.
The
best cake of your career - hand it all out in delicate little plates with vines
running around the edges. Can't afford to miss anyone. He turns to his
colleague. This one's no good to me. Does the cooking - that's about it. I'm
getting another after the pay raise; perhaps one with a particular skill set.
He's too drunk to realize she's right behind. Yeah, I was thinking the same,
she says with an expression worthy of a droid.
The
hosts are set. The guests are poised. Cake in hand. Wine in another. You wait
for the stroke of ‘The End’.
Maria Zach
Maria
Zach loves everything experimental and cross-genre; things that cannot be put
into boxes. She is an introvert who talks to dogs, cats, trees, books,
reflections... you get the idea. She calls her pet monster 'Over-Thinking'.
She
has been published in Writers in the Know (WINK) magazine, Soft Cartel,
Spillwords, 121 words, and CafeLit, and has works forthcoming in the Blood
Puddles Literary Journal, Gold Dust magazine, Clarendon Publications and
Anthology Askew.
Tags:
Short Fiction