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The Siren - 4Mike brought a pizza for lunch, and the crew piled into the back of his minivan to enjoy it. He disconnected the battery to keep the interior lights from eating up the juice and opened all of the doors to invite a breeze. Even so, the sun turned his car into an oven. At least the pizza was hot.

The sign on the Baptist church down the street flashed: "Pray for Rain."

"You feeling okay?" Mike asked. He had on a red plaid shirt that almost managed to hide the pizza-sauce stains. His collar was curled up in the cup holder in the front seat.

"Better," Sandie said. She bit off a string of cheese and helped herself to an orange soda from the cool

The Siren - 3It was only reluctantly that Sandie went to work on Friday morning, but she had to admit that her nails looked awesome. She had settled on neon blue, and Connie had loaned her an eye shadow to match. It gave her a tiny bit of extra confidence, just enough to face a steady stream of coffee-hungry commuters. She flitted between the espresso machine and the rows of syrup bottles, filling orders while she deflected curious sympathy from her co-workers.

Connie was the worst.

"So, he didn't take anything?" she verified for the twentieth time. She popped her gum and flipped her glossy black mohawk to the other side of her head.

"Nope. At least, I

The Siren - 2In the dream, Sandie was weightless. She had dreamed that sort of thing before, though, and understood that it would not last. When she dreamed that she was floating, it was only a matter of time before she dreamed that she fell.

It was an odd sensation, floating there in the dream. She could hear the world – cars and a dog and the rumble of a jet passing overhead – but there was nothing to see. She tried to raise her hand in front of her face, but she had no hand, either.

I'm a Presence, she decided. A Presence floating in space. That was comforting, because a Presence could not fall. She listened to the sound of the highway.

da

The Siren - 5All Sandie learned from her very expensive blood tests was that there was no reason for her to have paid for very expensive blood tests. She did not have leprosy, or hepatitis, or any of a number of different anemias. The news was a comfort, but the check was not.

Sandie bought a book of stamps and sent a stack of poems away to the offices of Lead Soldiers, thinking that a small royalty would at least begin to fill the dent that a new door and a medical bill had left in her bank account.

"Maybe you could take up a special collection for me," she told Mike as she got him a glass of water – root beer was an unnecessary expense.

"Meh," h

The SirenThere was a dead body on Sandie's back porch, and it was trying to get in.

She wrung the coffee out of the front of her shirt, made damn sure that all of her doors and windows were locked, and called Mike.

"Mike."

"Yeah? Sandie? That you?"

"You don't know anything about this, do you?"

"About what?"

"The zombie."

"Come again?"

"Mike, there's a zombie on my back porch. It's leaving smears on the glass door. Is it yours?"

"I... Could you repeat that?"

"Zombie, Mike. It's a dead body in a puddle of nasty, and it's leaving more nasty on my door. God, I can even smell it. This is one thorough job, man."

She edged away from the door, keep

The Siren - 6The rest of the night was quiet, and so was Sandie's morning. If the alarm went off, she never heard it, and she slept hard until nearly ten, when her phone rang.

"I think it's gone," she told Connie. "I mean, I don't want to jinx anything with optimism, but at least it's gone on vacation."

She drank her coffee black and supervised the installation of a new door. She picked up the phone to call Mike, but remembered belatedly that he had a noon Mass, and set it down again to wait until later.

Local news entertained her until the thump came from the new door.

A person's silhouette was visible through the frosted glass, standing still and da

The Siren - 8There was a dead body in the back seat, and it was staring at Mike.

"It's not staring at you," Sandie told him. "Actually, I'm not sure that it can see."

"It?"

"Well, it's not a he or a she. I… didn't exactly check, but it was kind of hard not to notice…"

"I don't think I needed to know that."

And still it stared.

Mike kept a firm hold on Sandie's hand until they got on the Loop and she needed both hands to drive. She looked grim and determined in the green glow of the dashboard lights. It talked to her, she said, talked to her in dreams the way angels were said to do sometimes. Whatever was riding in that weird, hairless body

The Siren - 7The thing sat still and silent on Sandie's couch, swathed in the oversized black shirt and faded jeans of some long-ago boyfriend. Its white hands rested, motionless, on Its denim-clad thighs while Its expressionless eyes stared through the wall into nothing. It had not moved in more than half an hour, not even to breathe – which only made sense, Sandie thought, since It had been dead and rotting the last time she had seen It.

On the other hand, it was hard to be sure that this visitor was the same one that had shattered her window. The faces were so different, and this one was not dripping, but the voice in her head was the same. It fe

The Siren - 13A half-step behind Sandie, Mike heard it, too.
And it was mind-blowing. It sounded like angels, he thought, but he knew better than that. There was a far more down-to-earth explanation sitting on the couch – or at least, a more tangible one, he corrected himself. There were goosebumps on his arms and a shiver deep inside his spine, a sense of something not quite right. Still, he let himself stop in the doorway to listen, and for a moment, just a moment, he let himself fly.
Then the sound stopped, and that thing was standing at the end of the hall, its bald head cocked to one side, staring at them through impassive black eyes. The elation began to ebb, and Mike shook himself, entertaining a sneaking suspicion that John Doe was sucking up his happiness like a sponge. That was fair enough, he supposed; it was not really his in the first place.
“Shit,” Sandie whispered with a kind of dazed reverence.
Mike looked over to see tears in her eyes. She wiped them away hastil

The Siren - 10Sandie made an effort to swallow her shock before Brandon could see. Connie was not as subtle.

"Holy crap," said Connie.

"Holy crap," said John Doe.

"What kind of problems are we talking about?" said Brandon, backing a step away.

"What kind of problems are we talking about?" said John Doe, recoiling from the sudden rush of mistrust.

Please, please stop, Sandie begged silently. The thing met her gaze expressionlessly and set the napkin down on the table. It touched one white forefinger to the sugar shaker, and Sandie could feel a question rising in the mind behind those flat, black eyes.

Later, she whispered. Not now, later. Please, just

Chemical Attractions, Part IWe can learn a lot from salt.

The chlorine atom is fundamentally lacking, longing to fill that gaping hole in its valence shell, and those bright bits of energy dancing in amorphous clouds around a sodium atom are just too tempting for the poor chlorine to resist. Chlorine probably knows that it has no claim to those electrons. It might lie awake at night for days or weeks in a fit of conscience, seeking alternatives before sending out tentative feelers and inviting Sodium to join it for coffee... It's a romantic comedy in minature, and I think that we can skip over the montage of dates and dinners and late nights on the couch in front of a

The Siren - 12"Good morning, San Antonio."

It was like no voice Sandie had ever heard before, bizarrely tonal, as though the speaker could not decide whether he was talking or singing. The sounds came slowly, laboriously, elongated by effort and intense concentration.

She rolled over to find the creature standing in the doorway. The voices of morning newscasters drifted up the stairs and down the hall, but those voices were generic and familiar, drained of dialect and character, just like the voice of every other newscaster in America. The one that had woken her was different.

"Lane closures down San Pedro between the Anderson Loop and Sandau Road will

The Siren - 11Connie gnawed pieces out of the end of a ballpoint pen while Sandie tried to explain the situation.

"I mean, I just don't know what to do with him. He seems to have a thing for music, so I figure if he can figure out that guitar, I could maybe set him up with playing it somewhere, but I just can't afford to support a... someone else..."

"So it's a him, now?" Connie interjected, spitting a bit of plastic delicately into her hand. She shoved lavender fingernails through her mohawk and flipped the mass of blue-black hair to the other side of her head, making her earrings jingle.

Sandie made a face. "Well, once I tagged him with 'John Doe,' he

Chemical Attractions, Pt IIWe can learn a lot from hydrochloric acid.

Not the whole dangerously-corrosive part, of course, though I admit that a lot of people probably find us two a bit hard to stomach. A dynamic duo we are not.

What I mean is that dance they do - shy glances across a crowded room (beaker?) as Hydrogen and Chlorine each quietly regret their incompleteness, feeling that hole where another electron ought to be, but never willing to resort to online dating... They were probably lab partners in high school, and then a couple of years later found themselves across the table from one another in that sophomore Shakespeare class, then side-by-side in Differe

The Siren - 9The creature slumped in a corner of the kitchen. Sandie had told it to sit, and it could not seem to distinguish any practical difference between sitting in a chair and sitting on the floor, so it sat on the floor.

Mike kept an eye on it while Sandie paced. Somehow, it seemed even creepier now that he knew it was both a dead body and a vaguely person-shaped amp. Dead things should not be that loud.

"Okay," Sandie was saying – very loudly, since two thirds of those present were still half-deaf. "Okay, weird is not necessarily bad, but within limits, you know? That was bad. No, trust me. Attracting attention for being weird is a recipe f

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The Siren - 18John played Mag’s Bar and Grill on Wednesdays and Fridays; on Tuesdays, he provided ambience for The Staghorn, a fine-dining establishment that specialized in farm-raised venison; Thursday saw him at Three Rivers Wine Lounge. Saturday night, though, at five-thirty, Mike took over.
“I really kind of don’t like this,” he told Sandie uncertainly, poking his head out of the vestry with a flash of Ordinary Time green. “We’re worshiping. That’s not to be used for whatever he’s using it for. I mean, it’s great if he wants to sing in church, but the whole point is to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, and I’m not really sure he gets that concept.”
Sandie shrugged and looked at John for help, but John was more interested in the large church calendar pinned to the wall.
“I think he wants a demonstration,” she said, raising her voice as Mike disappeared back into the glorified closet to look for a st

The Siren - 17Bird wings, Sandie scribbled on a yellow legal pad.
Something like flying
Something like burning
When the sky slips away and leaves
Only blue stars.
Each one has a voice. Nebula magic.
John twanged quietly on his guitar, but Sandie could feel him listening in on her creative process. He could have talked if he wanted to, but he did not. inefficient, he told her. He talked to Mike, and he talked to Connie, and he talked to Nacho, but talking aloud to Sandie was pointless when she could know/sense/understand/hear him just fine.
words make feelings, he observed. same-different like music. how?
Sandie tucked her pen behind her ear. “They just do,” she said. “They make you think about things that make you feel. How do you do it?”
dots little dots moving combining moving. tiny song everything song.
“Chemistry?”
He took a moment to think about the meaning he felt in her mind,

Six-word ShenanigansThorny throws great parties; arrests followed.

The Siren - 16The smile had surprised him, but Mike got over it. He was starting to get an inkling of something, something that would explain a lot. He hesitated to think too hard on it, though; it is a capital mistake to theorize without data.
He looked around. Connie had found herself a drink somewhere and was chatting up the nongendered beatnik, who had ditched the fake glasses and picked up a small fedora. Sandie and the Nacho person had moved off to talk business with a woman whose shirt urged readers to “Eat At Mag’s.” A low murmur had sprung up in the Zone, but still, everyone remained mostly seated. It looked as though no one could work out an appropriate reaction to what they had just heard.
John, meanwhile, had been forgotten. He stood still on the dais, bathed in a halo of dull, yellow light, the microphone still dangling from his fingers. No one had told him to move.
This time, Mike could see the confusion on the creature’s face, even though it was little more

The Siren - 15Connie hooked one arm around Mike’s shoulders. If it had been anyone else, he would have had to object, but Connie was the sort to brook no objection. Her mohawk was gelled upright for the occasion, stained red and saturated with glitter to complement her sparkling nose ring, brow rings, and two dozen earrings. Her blue leather jacket creaked and crackled against the black leather sofa. Her fingernails were the same red as her hair, and they tapped out a pattern on Mike’s shoulder.
Mike put up with it. He had ironed his pants and his shirt and polished his shoes, but that was about it. His pasty face and blonde hair showed up in the low, yellow light, but the rest of him vanished into the couch. He edged an inch or two away from Connie, partly because San Antonio was not big enough to ensure that he would not run into a parishioner and partly because the spikes on her belt were digging into his hip.
“Ow,” he said.
“Oh, man up,” Connie returned.

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Miss Russell at Homeby =QuiEstInLiteris

Photography / People & Portraits / Cosplay

My Mary Russell, LOCK era. Short hair is ever so convenient.
I'm afraid that the violin is not a Stradivarius, and in point of fact is actually a viola.

Transferred from my old account.

love 2 2

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~mmcfang Aug 11, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

i noticed that it wasnt a violin i own a violin and thats a bit big

~rainbowrat25 Jun 3, 2012 Student General Artist

Viola's for the win!
I like how you gave the photo a kind of antiquish look.

=QuiEstInLiteris Jun 4, 2012 Professional Writer

Seriously! I love my viola. It has a much more mellow, dignified sound than a violin.
Thanks! Gimp is my friend. ;D

~mmcfang Aug 11, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

NO VIOLINS ARE WAY BETTER AND ARE AMAZING SHERLOCK WOULD AGREE AND HE WOULD FIDDLE YOUR VIOLA INTO THE GROUND!!!!!!

~rainbowrat25 Jun 4, 2012 Student General Artist

I love my viola too! I named her Rosalee.

That's what I liked. I also feel that it has a bit more resonant of a sound.

=QuiEstInLiteris Jun 4, 2012 Professional Writer

I need to name mine...

~rainbowrat25 Jun 4, 2012 Student General Artist

Hmmmmmmm. How about Luna. It just seems fitting somehow.

=QuiEstInLiteris Jun 5, 2012 Professional Writer

Hmm. Not sure. For some reason, I've always thought of it as male.

~rainbowrat25 Jun 5, 2012 Student General Artist

XD Don't worry, I know what you mean. I always thought of my ukulele as a male, so I named him Christopher.
Perhaps...
something latin?

=QuiEstInLiteris Jun 6, 2012 Professional Writer

Esteban.

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