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
"The Deadline"
For those of you who missed it in the July 2004 issue of Nocturnal Ooze, I am posting my flash story, "Deadline," below. Enjoy!
The DEADLINE
Copyright © 2004 Eric Marin
"You missed it," said a voice like grinding rocks.
Betty jumped in her rocking chair but refused to look behind her at the speaker.
She knew who stood there and why.
"I just need one more day," she said with a soft stutter, as her gnarled hands continued embroidering. "It's almost done."
"No extensions," said the voice. "The year deadline has passed."
Betty knew her gamble had not paid off, and she tried to drop her aching hands into her lap to rest them, but the needle and crimson thread still blurred in her hands.
"I can't stop," Betty said with alarm. "Why can't I stop?"
"You wagered your life for youth if you could complete the tapestry. Did you think that a life with so little left in it would serve as satisfaction for rejuvenation?"
Betty pulled her age-twisted body around to stare at her unwelcome visitor.
A figure of wavering lines and shadowy form leaned against the wall of her living room wall. Its face alone held to a visible set of features. If not for the bilious yellow skin, dagger-long tusks and radioactive green eyes, it could have passed for human. "What do you mean?" she asked with a rising voice.
Betty could feel her hands stitching, stitching, stitching with no conscious intent on her part, and she felt a fear that ran deeper than fear for her life.
"You should have examined my autobiography with more care before agreeing to make a tapestry chronicling the major events of my existence," said the creature, indirect and smirking.
"You gave me the book. I read it all," Betty said.
"Ah, yes. I am impressed that you completed it. It is rather difficult reading for a mortal. So much pain and suffering. You missed something other than the deadline, however."
"What did I miss?" Betty asked, her stomach knotted.
"That the book is different every time you read it. If you had looked at it again, you would have seen that it contained a whole new collection of events. In fact, every time you read it, new additions to the chronicle appear."
Betty shook her head, as if she could shake off the truth.
"You tricked me," she said in a dead voice. "I should have known."
"Yes, you should have. I am called the Father of Lies for a reason, dear Betty. Now your life is mine, and you will not be killed, as you once thought. Instead, you will continue to embroider for me. As I am immortal, you can guess how long it will take complete your work."
Betty gaped at him, unable to muster a response.
"You look horrified, Betty. You should feel honored. A woman of your skill is exactly what I need to complete the tapestry. But I am what I am, and I think I will add an amusing element to your task."
The being smiled, and the light of a million suns filled the room.
Betty screamed in agony as the light burned out her eyes.
Grating laughter assaulted Betty's ears, and she began to weep.
All the while, her hands continued their work.
The DEADLINE
Copyright © 2004 Eric Marin
"You missed it," said a voice like grinding rocks.
Betty jumped in her rocking chair but refused to look behind her at the speaker.
She knew who stood there and why.
"I just need one more day," she said with a soft stutter, as her gnarled hands continued embroidering. "It's almost done."
"No extensions," said the voice. "The year deadline has passed."
Betty knew her gamble had not paid off, and she tried to drop her aching hands into her lap to rest them, but the needle and crimson thread still blurred in her hands.
"I can't stop," Betty said with alarm. "Why can't I stop?"
"You wagered your life for youth if you could complete the tapestry. Did you think that a life with so little left in it would serve as satisfaction for rejuvenation?"
Betty pulled her age-twisted body around to stare at her unwelcome visitor.
A figure of wavering lines and shadowy form leaned against the wall of her living room wall. Its face alone held to a visible set of features. If not for the bilious yellow skin, dagger-long tusks and radioactive green eyes, it could have passed for human. "What do you mean?" she asked with a rising voice.
Betty could feel her hands stitching, stitching, stitching with no conscious intent on her part, and she felt a fear that ran deeper than fear for her life.
"You should have examined my autobiography with more care before agreeing to make a tapestry chronicling the major events of my existence," said the creature, indirect and smirking.
"You gave me the book. I read it all," Betty said.
"Ah, yes. I am impressed that you completed it. It is rather difficult reading for a mortal. So much pain and suffering. You missed something other than the deadline, however."
"What did I miss?" Betty asked, her stomach knotted.
"That the book is different every time you read it. If you had looked at it again, you would have seen that it contained a whole new collection of events. In fact, every time you read it, new additions to the chronicle appear."
Betty shook her head, as if she could shake off the truth.
"You tricked me," she said in a dead voice. "I should have known."
"Yes, you should have. I am called the Father of Lies for a reason, dear Betty. Now your life is mine, and you will not be killed, as you once thought. Instead, you will continue to embroider for me. As I am immortal, you can guess how long it will take complete your work."
Betty gaped at him, unable to muster a response.
"You look horrified, Betty. You should feel honored. A woman of your skill is exactly what I need to complete the tapestry. But I am what I am, and I think I will add an amusing element to your task."
The being smiled, and the light of a million suns filled the room.
Betty screamed in agony as the light burned out her eyes.
Grating laughter assaulted Betty's ears, and she began to weep.
All the while, her hands continued their work.
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