Like the Sun

“His smile is like the sun.”

Everything froze at those words and I looked about the crowded ballroom, trying to find him. The man who smiled the sun.

He wasn’t here. It was foolish to think that he was, that he could be here and I wouldn’t have known. Still, I looked about the ballroom full of bright gowns and tailored jackets one last time.

“It’s nothing at all like the sun,” I muttered as my gaze fell on the man across the room who was smiling our way. Smiling at me. And it was blasphemous to even suggest it.


February Stories at the Confabulator Cafe

February has arrived. A month where winter still holds on to our hearts, and we fight the chill by celebrating our loved ones on Valentine’s Day. And then hurry the month along by only giving it 28 days.

Hopefully a couple of stories from the Cafe will help warm your days this month.

The prompt: “Dance with me and pretend the world doesn’t exist,” he pleaded. And after that, there was no going back.

Please join us on the following days to see what the Confabulators had to say about that.

Monday, February 11: “Like the Sun” by Eliza Jaquays
Monday, February 25: “At the Edge of the World” by Dianne Williams


The Myth of the Venerable Trauer Klouse

by Cigan Cuk

This is the Myth of the Venerable Trauer Klouse
How his fame and story came to be
Of his origin and acclaim
And the fragments that are always left to see

The year was two thousand and eighteen
Winter holidays were selling in every store
A jolly red clothed man was famous
But behind this image there was something more

Trauer Klouse lived alone
He watched the world go slowly by
His brother got all the attention
Trauer was just like a piece of leftover pie

Every year his brother was so famous
And Trauer sat forgotten
No one really cared about him
His holidays and soul were often rotten

Trauer had long white hair and a beard
He looked like a mountain dweller that lived inside
His appearance was derided by the judging masses
And his eyes were dried from tears he had cried


In a Better World

“Calling it. 7:38 AM for model AI-287B-017 – fatal error. Initiating shutdown procedures.”

“No way,” Carter said, rolling his chair across the room, peering close at the shiny screen. Jones was always little too trigger-happy when it came to Shutdown. “Where?”

“There,” Jones said, gesturing to a pulsating red frequency bar. “Inevitable resource overload.”

The readout was admittedly complex, and the graphs never made as much sense to Carter as they did to the other Proctor. Jones lived for this stuff. They all did, really. Time was a finite resource just like all the other ones Earth was rapidly depleting, but unlike money or resources, it was not one the Firm could replenish. Still, a critical error was serious business. The boss was very picky about this stuff. (more…)

The Stylist

“Nice costume!” The words flung themselves at me, punctuated with mocking laughter.

This was not a costume party. I was not in costume.

It was these children in their colorful suits and paisley prints and patterns stacked on top of patterns who were in costume.

“How do you do it?” I asked the only person in the room even near my age, though she had at least another century on me. Probably quite a few more if her stories about helping Cleopatra smuggle herself into Caesar’s boudoir in a carpet were true. Still, even if it were true, she was closer to me in age than these children.

“Do what?” Her voice was sultry and low and I knew she had to be high to resist all of this temptation.

“Keep up with all of the latest fashions?”

“It’s easy, sweetheart.” She pointed out a girl a few feet away from her that had a similar build to her. “Tomorrow, I’ll be wearing that.” She left me to approach the girl and with a single brush of her hand the girl acted as if they were bosom friends. In the morning she would turn up naked and dead and my friend would have her new outfit.