Flash-fic, read by Selena Taylor. Life finds a way.
She scooped the transparent fish out of the water, expecting it to gasp in desperation, but it seemed completely tranquil, suspended between her hands as content as it had seemed in the tide pool where she’d found it.
This episode is SUPER RAMBLY! In a departure from her usual offering of stories, the Bathtub Mermaid discusses her first adventure with CSA.
CSA – Community Sustained Agriculture. I received my first farmbox today. I was going to do a live unboxing, but it was too noisy – dogs were barking, a squall was forming. So I’m talking about it instead. Well, rambling, really.
Mandy stopped using pencils when she was six, except for math. She moved beyond wide-ruled paper when she was seven, and they sent her to Special Education to learn cursive because the Advanced Reading workbook had bits of cursive in it. She likes writing in cursive, but some things have to be printed.
Inspiration comes from odd places… and sometimes things get creepy.
As I was looking for art to help me write the story, I stumbled across an article from a few months earlier about a homeowner in the Lone Mountain neighborhood of San Francisco – that’s the neighborhood around University of San Francisco, where I went to school – finding a sealed coffin under the garage floor during a remodel.
These doors don’t have the kind of locks that rattle, but if we’re sitting in the living room, just reading by the fire or maybe watching television (I admit, we watch far too much television) we sometimes feel a faint breeze, as if the seal between the two doors has been tested and found to be slightly lacking.
They stare up at me, waiting, their luminous eyes large, and tracking my every move. Every flash of my knife makes their heads twitch a little bit. Every time they hear the blade contact the wooden block they flinch slightly, moving one foot just a little bit, then easing it back into its starting position.
Once I’d managed to walk between raindrops, I decided it was time to dive into puddles. That took a bit longer to master. I mean, flying may be as simple as – how did Douglas Adams put it? – throwing yourself at the ground and missing, but puddle diving requires a bit more… nuance.
When there’s an itch that really needs to be scratched.
She’d roast him first, of course. Dragon fire killed the pain and added a crispy outer shell that was just so… She was distracted from her search for the perfect word by another infernal itch. This time it was right above her left ear-slit.