The Former Online Journal of Eric T. Marin
This is my former online journal. To read current entries, please visit my LiveJournal blog here.
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Photo copyright 2004 Eric Marin
Unfulfilled Expectations
I thought I might as well post one of my flash stories that is no longer up at AlienSkin Magazine in honor of my new story, "The Rearguard," which will appear in the February issue of AlienSkin in a few days. I may post more, depending on my mood.
Enjoy!
Unfulfilled Expectations
Copyright 2003-2004 Eric Marin
(originally appeared in the November 2003 issue of AlienSkin Magazine)
A man slouched in a chair, facing a window, as thunder drummed miles away.
The not-quite Platonic ideal of a window felt pride in its near perfection. But, cracking the window's self-image, the man did not react to its quality.
The man remained seated in front of the nearly ideal window, while the thunder harrumphed in the distance.
The chair supporting the man squatted as far from its ideal as possible. The chair would have preferred to stay in its musty closet, its retirement home these last few years, but instead it now struggled with the man’s weight. The chair protested its imminent termination, but its groans and creaks fell upon deaf ears.
The man continued to sit, unmoving, in the expiring chair in front of the almost perfect window, as thunder reverberated through the evening.
After wriggling through a chewed gap in a nearby wall, a rat entered the room. It began a search for tidbits, cracker crumbs and smears of chocolate, to gather for its larder. It paused and sniffed the air for a moment, froze as it recognized the man’s scent, and scuttled back into its passageway.
The man still sat in the failing chair across from the almost-divine window, not acknowledging the rat's entrance or exit, while the thunder crumped in an intermittent pattern.
The wall through which the rodent had entered suffered low self esteem, and the existence of the rat hole had plunged it into a spiral of depression. It wished that the man in the chair would repair its wound.
The man, unmoved by the wall's condition, stayed in the despairing chair with the preening window in the foreground and the rat huddling in the background, as the thunder pounded out a drum roll.
Twitching nose first, the rat reappeared and watched the man's back. Hunger and lack of reaction caused its fear to ebb away. An enticing odor now lured the rat into a cautious entry into the room. The rat looked about, attempting to discover the location of the appetizing scent, then sidled closer to the man, the smell growing stronger with each step. Realization hit the rat like an empty tuna can, and it scurried forward.
With a final groan, the decrepit chair collapsed under the burden of the man as the prideful window and depressed wall looked on, sending the rat sprinting back to its hole once again, while the thunder boomed echoes of the fall.
Sprawled, stiff and awkward, the body of the man lay amidst the wreckage of the chair, vacant eyes staring at the uneven ceiling, which vomited a sprinkling of dust at the sight of the corpse.
A few moments later the rat reappeared and crept up to the dead man to sit in contentment beneath the sickened window, near the queasy wall, beneath the gagging ceiling, among the splintered remains of the chair, as the thunder rumbled its disgust.
Enjoy!
Unfulfilled Expectations
Copyright 2003-2004 Eric Marin
(originally appeared in the November 2003 issue of AlienSkin Magazine)
A man slouched in a chair, facing a window, as thunder drummed miles away.
The not-quite Platonic ideal of a window felt pride in its near perfection. But, cracking the window's self-image, the man did not react to its quality.
The man remained seated in front of the nearly ideal window, while the thunder harrumphed in the distance.
The chair supporting the man squatted as far from its ideal as possible. The chair would have preferred to stay in its musty closet, its retirement home these last few years, but instead it now struggled with the man’s weight. The chair protested its imminent termination, but its groans and creaks fell upon deaf ears.
The man continued to sit, unmoving, in the expiring chair in front of the almost perfect window, as thunder reverberated through the evening.
After wriggling through a chewed gap in a nearby wall, a rat entered the room. It began a search for tidbits, cracker crumbs and smears of chocolate, to gather for its larder. It paused and sniffed the air for a moment, froze as it recognized the man’s scent, and scuttled back into its passageway.
The man still sat in the failing chair across from the almost-divine window, not acknowledging the rat's entrance or exit, while the thunder crumped in an intermittent pattern.
The wall through which the rodent had entered suffered low self esteem, and the existence of the rat hole had plunged it into a spiral of depression. It wished that the man in the chair would repair its wound.
The man, unmoved by the wall's condition, stayed in the despairing chair with the preening window in the foreground and the rat huddling in the background, as the thunder pounded out a drum roll.
Twitching nose first, the rat reappeared and watched the man's back. Hunger and lack of reaction caused its fear to ebb away. An enticing odor now lured the rat into a cautious entry into the room. The rat looked about, attempting to discover the location of the appetizing scent, then sidled closer to the man, the smell growing stronger with each step. Realization hit the rat like an empty tuna can, and it scurried forward.
With a final groan, the decrepit chair collapsed under the burden of the man as the prideful window and depressed wall looked on, sending the rat sprinting back to its hole once again, while the thunder boomed echoes of the fall.
Sprawled, stiff and awkward, the body of the man lay amidst the wreckage of the chair, vacant eyes staring at the uneven ceiling, which vomited a sprinkling of dust at the sight of the corpse.
A few moments later the rat reappeared and crept up to the dead man to sit in contentment beneath the sickened window, near the queasy wall, beneath the gagging ceiling, among the splintered remains of the chair, as the thunder rumbled its disgust.
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