The neighbourhood she grew up in was a harsh place, but she barely noticed. Maybe she was just lucky; maybe even the drug dealers and petty thugs recognised something of the magic in her and left her alone; maybe it was out of awe or respect for her sheer audacity or fearlessness that they let her walk down the street untouched, or dance across their front lawns in the rain. Hers was a charmed life. Not charmed like a princess in a storybook with a gilded cover, but charmed nonetheless. She had her share of troubles. More than her share; a fact so often missed by those whose own troubles she was wont to go to such lengths to lessen. Still, a stubbed toe was like as not to lead to the discovery of a shiny penny.

The world outside her back door was a magical place: the path down the back garden was a yellow brick road, the crawling space under the hedge led to the old forest, and it was a simple matter of pushing aside the loose palings in the back fence to find the great wide world – Oz, Neverland, Middle Earth, Camelot. The slow moving decay of suburban America. White paling fences, paint peeling in the relentless sun that beats down uniformly from a blue sky, featureless but for the power lines that sway in the breeze that teases the air above but does not reach the streets below; turf, once well kept, now ragged at the edges and patchy with brown spots and poorly tended weeds; cracked pavement lining cracked asphalt, and the faded yellow lines that reach to the horizon.

Clara came slowly to consciousness from what felt like a long way away. As her vision cleared and she found herself standing over the bed with bloodied hands still clasping the shard of mirror, her first instinct was to check the clock. Ten minutes had passed, which left her at least ten more before Dale might come knocking. Perhaps more. She looked back to the bed. The scene was horrific, that much was clear, but she did not feel horrified. She did not feel much of anything. The hard core of her being that had seen her through the worst of the last six years had been washed away. No, not washed. Burned. Incinerated by a fire that still burned within and left her feeling gutted, not warmed.

She could not think about the reason for that fire. Not now. If she stopped to think about it now she would fall to her knees and may never find the strength to stand again. Right now she had to decide what to do about the mess in the ten minutes she had left. The body she could probably dispose of. It was still mostly in one piece and could be tumbled out the window and dealt with when the night was deeper. Likely she could convince Dale that the man had left through the side door while he was busy at the bar. The blood was a problem. It had soaked the sheets and mattress, and was pooling on the floor.

There was nothing for it, really. She couldn’t stay here; didn’t want to, either. Luckily not all the clothes in the dresser were for the titillation of the clientele, and she was quickly dressed in trousers, a blouse and sturdy boots. She tore a strip from the one clean corner of the sheets to wrap the end of the shard of mirror that had until now been slicing into her fingers and the fleshy pad of her palm. and tucked it into her belt. The man’s wallet was in his pants on top of the dresser and she pocketed that too, before striding to the window and lowering herself into the night.

He understood about security blankets, and had never been surprised that they weren’t called security trucks or security dolls. He had a small stuffed toy with a ribbon around its neck that, for all intents and purposes, went everywhere he did. This is not to say that he took it with him when going to work or nipping down to the shops or heading out on the town; nor is it to say that the stuffed toy ever went anywhere outside the house. Still, whenever he slept in a bed that was not his own, the ribbon went with him.

“The base is under attack! Send the new recruits to the gate!”
“Sir?”
“There’s a spy in the outer compound. Some of the guard dogs have been found dead.”
“Just one spy, sir?”
“Yes, Colonel. Is that a problem?”
“No, sir, only… are we the bad guys, sir?”
“What insubordination is this?”
“No insubordination, sir. I’ll send the recruits as you’ve asked.”
“Good man. Get the rank and file on double patrols inside the base, post the elite guard around the lab, and then take up your position in the observation room. I’ll be in the lab itself.”
“Should we perhaps not post the elite guard on the gate? If the spy can kill them we’re all pretty screwed, and I’d rather not lose all our men to find that out.”
“Don’t be absurd, Colonel! Next you’ll be suggesting we all attack at once rather than hold back and take turns.”

Falling Blossom left the fluorescent strobe of U-Eat #2016 half an hour later. She had delivered the message. It had been an unpleasant task, but necessary. Who knew, maybe it would even be heeded. It was out of her hands, now.

The blue glow from the towering sign poured down over her as she climbed astride her bike: a sleek black thing, low to the ground. There was no seat as such; her weight rested mostly on her abdomen, the thrum of the engine echoing through her as she thumbed the ignition and pulled out of the lot. Soon she was headed west, towards the ocean and home, the freeway a blur scant inches below her knees and thrum of the engine risen to a steady whine.

The clouds hung low over the mountain, clutching at leaves and thickening in hollows. The sun had dipped below the tree-line and, although light still bloomed across the sky, the darkness too was starting to gather in the hidden spaces. It seemed to seep up out of cracks and roots and spread in pools.

Aiko sat, cross-legged, looking out at the mountain where it loomed beyond the edge of the village. The moon would soon rise, and she would pick up her sword and stalk the ways of the forest. She was out of time. The dragon must die. Tonight.

“It’s just unsettling, is all.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like there’s any alternative.”
“I know,” said Lucas, “but that’s the point, isn’t it? All the major governments and religions have signed off on it being morally sound, but if the only other option was the extinction of the human race what the hell else were they going to do?”
“You don’t believe it?” asked Sarah.
“Of course I don’t believe it. I don’t even believe that they believe it. Even discounting all that, I’m still uncomfortable with the fact that my refrigerator is excited when I come home.”
“Oh you’re such a prude, Lucas. They do good work. Besides, I’ve seen the appliance reserves: herds of exercise bikes roaming the plains, water coolers gathering around drinking holes, flocks of mobile phones texting in trees. They have a good life when they’re out of service.”
“Fine, fine,” Lucas sighed. “Just don’t come crying to me when your alarm clock starts watching you sleep.”

It had started to snow again, and the boat was soon lost to their view. They climbed in a snow-globe, just the two of them and a short stretch of ladder fading out above and below. The ladder had black rungs and white rungs, arranged seemingly at random, and Peter accepted unquestioningly the fact that he couldn’t grasp the black rungs with his hands nor stand on the white rungs with his feet. Half of his attention was on this problem, and most of what was left was trying to distract him so he didn’t accidentally (or purposely) look up and catch a glimpse under Alice’s skirt.
“So why didn’t I remember you yesterday?” he asked. The question had been on his mind for a while.
“I’m no expert, you know.”
“You just seem… I don’t know… more comfortable with all this, I suppose.”
“Well,” she said, “what did you dream about the night before last? The night before that?”
“Fair point. Did you remember me?”
“Not really. I remembered dreaming you, but not what the dream was about.”
At this, he did look up. “That didn’t seem weird to you?”
“No, not particularly,” replied Alice, looking down at him. “I noticed you in class a few times last week.”
“Oh,” said Peter, blushing.

“Have you heard about this new ‘red’ they came out with t’other week?”
“‘Redd’? No, what’s that then?”
“Our Karen’s new man bought a car on Friday, and it’s ‘red’!”
“Oh, it’s a car, then? I don’t hold with cars me’self. I’m all walkin’, me.”
“No, no, it’s not a car.”
“I thought you said it was a car.”
“No, I… Oh, I know how you’ll get it! You know how Sharon down the way’s husband David ‘as a car an’ it’s black?”
“Aye.”
“And you know the doctor from over Bimsbury…”
“Simon?”
“Aye, Simon.”
“He’s a lovely young man, he is.”
“Aye, he is, he is. Anyway, he has that van he does housecalls in, and it’s white.”
“Aye, it is. I saw him just last week for me corns. It’s all that walkin’.”
“Right, so Our Karen’s new man’s new car isn’t black, and it isn’t white! It’s ‘red’!”
“Oh I see what you mean now. You mean grey.”

At first, there was the drought. The first animals were arrayed over the vast plain, silent and still clay moulded and baking in the relentless sun. One day, before there even were days, Gecko opened its eyes to find itself alone amongst the lifeless masses. Nothing else stirred.

Lonely as only the first or last could be, it went on a great trek beyond the horizon and came back leading the first winds, but still nothing stirred.

It crawled many many miles into a crevice into the earth and came back leading the first fire and in an instant all the clay animals were hard as stone, but still nothing stirred.

Finally, it crawled into the sky and came falling back with the first rains. The other animals began to stir.