Kevin Lawver's Stories

That Vampire Poem Saved My Life

2008-06-05T00:15:39Z

I sat behind her in Chemistry. I had just moved, and was none to happy to be there.

She was quiet, with large round glasses, big blue eyes. when she was thinking about something, she twirled her hair and cocked an eyebrow like Mr. Spock. I liked her immediately. After tests on Fridays, she wrote poetry about vampires, and I drew pictures of dragons. I once found one of her poems on the floor after class, and knew I had my opening. What? Of course I’d never talked to her. I was the new kid, chubby and weird, from up north with a weird accent and oh so unhappy about being there. No one talked to me.

The next day in class, I made sure I was there before her. When she came in and sat down, I smiled and said, “I found your poem the other day… I thought you’d want it back. It’s really good,” and handed it to her. She blushed (it was high-school-never-been-kissed erotic), then smiled as she looked at the floor. Her hair fell from behind her ear and covered half her face.

I drew vampires, roses and was in love.

The Horror of Waking Up

2008-05-31T13:21:59Z

I woke with a start, unable to see and uncomfortable (the not seeing being the more dire of the two). I was confined, a strap across my waist even though I was laying mostly flat. There was a horrible mechanical drone, constant and unwavering. I panicked, unsure of my location, destination or future. That was the first second…

I clumsily sat up and felt my face, and removed the mask. Of course I was on a plane. I felt ridiculous and looked around to see if anyone else had seen my flailing. They were thankfully all sleeping as well, most lubricated into slumber by the copious amounts of alcohol they provide in business class. My seat mate was snoring loudly with his mouth open.

I never sleep on planes. I usually watch movies, read books, listen to my iPod or play Brain Age on my DS Lite. Mostly, it’s because I can’t get to sleep confined in an uncomfortable chair with engines screaming in my ears. But, it’s also partly waking up surrounded by strangers, covered in sleepsweat and not being able to see.

Our Acceptance Speech

2008-02-26T18:00:02Z

Because ficlets is all about storytelling, I let the community come up with the bulk of this little acceptance speech, but before that, there are some people I have to thank, because without them, there would be no ficlets to write.

First, Kerry Parkins and Bert Arians for letting us do the experiment that became ficlets. Then, the awesome team that actually built the thing: Jason Garber, Ari Kushimoto, Cindy Li and Jenna Marino, Dan Bradley for being our awesome operations guy, John Scalzi for giving the site a voice and writing the ficlets blog. And lastly, my wife for putting up with me and being my greatest inspiration.

But my biggest thanks has to go to the thousands of writers who make ficlets what it is. Here’s what they have to tell you…

(this is where you’d write a sequel with the message you want me to read to the world about ficlets and the community)

On The Road, I Miss Home

2008-02-14T06:00:05Z

32 travel days. It’s only February.

(true story… By the time I go home on Friday, I will have spent 32 days in California this year already).

Six Word Monster

2008-02-08T16:55:56Z

(I’m going to do several because I have the room)

Monster back there? Oh crap! RUN !

Born in Arizona, Grew up everywhere.

Lots of fat around my middle.

Lives the web, breathes the web.

I love bacon. It’s a vegetable!

I love music piping through headphones.

I hide the sadness with laughter.

Food smells good when I’m hungry.

The Cat in the Pack

2008-02-05T15:27:45Z

Howard took the teen’s stunned silence and kicked as hard as he could, launching the teen assassin and her feline master into the children’s section. She landed in the story circle, unconscious, the cat trapped beneath her, mewling for a rescue that wouldn’t come.

Howard wasn’t dead. He swore under his breath and picked himself up, wincing at the knot in his back caused by the fall over the cart.

What now? He’d told Kristin his secret. Well, this was a night of firsts, and if he was going to be a superhero (with a codename, even), he’d have to face many hard truths.

“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed as he started towards the back door.

“Howard! You made it!”, screamed the mousy law librarian (her name is Cheryl) from the open door of the Bookmobile. “Come on, we have to get out of here! We found Tinker Creek on the map, and can make it there by morning.”

Howard climbed into the door and up the steps to face the future. He was a super secret agent, after all, and they don’t run away from a challenge.

Clarence, Faster Than Sparrows

2008-02-02T23:06:03Z

“I am not like the wind; I am the wind. I am faster than a team of horses, more fleet than a sparrow. I can go anywhere, be anything. I am flight.”

“You’re on a bicycle, Clarence, and you can’t ride that contraption in the mud or anywhere but around the track. And that hat is downright silly. What is that thing supposed to do anyway?”, Thomas wiped the grease off his hands and snickered as he looked at his younger brother on the bike held firmly in place on the rack, “In addition, you’re not even moving.”

“Oh, but I will. I will be the greatest bicycle racer the world has ever seen. Then, I’ll go over to France and do that Tour thing they started up a few years ago. And I’m not just going to race, I’m going to win.” Clarence proceeded to make wooshing noises and ducked his head to make himself more aerodynamic.

“Well, you’re going to have to, you know, ride it first.”

“I’m getting to that. Give me a push?”

Bellow, the Hero

2008-02-02T21:19:20Z

She was one of the Kitteh Armai. Howard knew what he had to do. He turned to Kristin for a moment and fumbled, “I love you.” Before she could say anything, he turned towards the running teen with the kitty and yelled to the others, “Run! If I’m not a there in two minutes, leave without me! Go!”

No one questioned him. They turned and ran. They knew if one Volunteer knew about them, more would follow.

Howard face down the oncoming adolescent. He was no fighter, but he had told Kristin his secret: he may as well die here because he was damned sure he couldn’t face her.

The teen leaped at him, all fingernails and elbows. Howard had never been in a fight before, and started slapping at her, trying to keep her sharp bits away from his face.

They ran into a book cart and fell over it, Howard landed awkwardly on his back on a pile of historical fiction. The girl landed on him and start clawing. Howard covered his face with one hand, and with the other, grabbed a copy of Ulysses and swung with all his might.

The Dillard Legacy

2008-02-01T01:50:01Z

The librarians huddled around the appendix as Kristin read their mission in a reverent whisper, “Like Thoreau and Dillard, it is time to go to the wilderness. Go to Tinker Creek and find the sycamore that casts a shadow over the creek. At the base of that sycamore, you will find the symbol of the sign of the librarian.”

“What the hell?”

“Howard!” whispered the entire team.

“If you want a codename, we’ll call you Bellow. How would you like that, Howard?”, squeaked the little law librarian who seemed to shrink inside of her smart blue business suit even as she snapped at the tweed-covered giant.

“If I can continue… Dig at the base of the tree until you find the box. In the box, you will find the tools you need to conquer the feline horde.”, Kristin finished and slowly closed the book.

“Well, that’s not too far. To the Bookmobile!”

No one yelled at Howard. They all grabbed their comfortable sweaters, turned off the lights, gathered their books, glasses and PBS pledge bags and headed out.

The Protectors of Literacy

2008-02-01T00:27:53Z

“I think you know why we’re all here…”

“To kick some kitty ass!”, bellowed the large man in the frayed tweed jacket

“Please, Howard, this is serious. The felines have gone too far. It’s time for the Protectors of Literacy to strike back.”

Kristin pushed her glasses back in place and surveyed the small collection of librarians assembled around the returns desk. She had two research librarians from the local university, a law librarian from a small firm, and two younger kids just out of their Masters programs who worked in this library with her.

“First, we need a plan. I pulled copies of The Art of War, Ancient Siege Warfare, Your Talking Cat and Archy and Mehitabel for research. If you find other books we should be studying, please add them to the list.”

She surveyed her small army and knew they were hopelessly outnumbered. She knew there was little hope of success. None of that mattered. She was the head librarian, and she was ready to kick some ass.

“I think we need codenames!”

“Howard!”

The Insurgenceez Haz Beginned

2008-01-24T15:58:16Z

“I can haz bottlez, mommee?”

“What, sweetie?”

“I can haz bottlez?”

“Who taught you to say that?”

“Kitteh!”

“Dammit… Oscar, I told you not to teach the baby any of your stupid cat talk!”, mother yelled as the baby toddled off, attracted by some other bauble on the floor.

The cat slunk away, giggling to himself, thinking “I haz wordz nau. You no moar put kitteh in bukkit! Kitteh put you in bukkit!”

The humans never knew what hit them. Their children all learned to speak horrible pidgin English, failed miserably at school, and human civilization collapsed. By the time they realized it was the cats, the damage had already been done.

The kittehs inherited the earth. Not because they were meek, but because they were so damn cute.

Wine With Dinner

2008-01-17T19:41:27Z

She was more valuable than she knew. She could reach the little blossoms on the bottom that the grown-ups would leave. She followed along behind them with her sack, picking up stray blossoms here and there, often leaving little bloody fingerprints on their perfect white fluff. The foreman wouldn’t give her gloves – they wouldn’t fit even if he did.

She was five. She was my mother.

We’d sit around after family dinners and listen to her stories about growing up poor in the South. We were always amazed how normal she seemed. Living without indoor plumbing, moving around with the crops that needed picking, it all seemed so… so… agrarian and ancient.

We didn’t realize how quickly the world had changed. For us it had always been cars, convenience and comfort. We’d never known hardship, bitter cold, hunger or an ache we knew would never go away.

We always forgot those lessons until the next family dinner, and mom had had a glass of wine or two and started telling stories.

We made sure we always had wine.

Pouring Out What's Left

2007-12-01T03:25:00Z

She died like many people die these days – a tiny shell on a hospital bed in a converted room on the first floor of the house they shared for thirty years. She wasted away slowly over two years – from that first dark spot on the x-ray, through the treatments, the difficult discussions, somber preparations and finally, the talks about who she wanted to speak at the funeral and what flowers she wanted.

He’d always loved the way her eyes sparkled with mischief. As she got older, the laugh lines only made them shine brighter. He knew the end was near when the spark faded and she stopped smiling. She tried so hard to maintain appearances – was so brave in the face of the inevitable end.

When she finally faded away, he poured what was left of himself into his work. He had a small futon put in his office and spent many nights there, because it was easier than facing an empty house and the memories. The equations, documentation and experiments kept his mind off his grief. That was all he could hope for.

Ficlets Challenge #11: The Cavalry Arrives

2007-09-18T18:18:21Z

We picked through the rubble of the destroyed Wal-Mart, finding no survivors, just melted clothes, electronics and household goods. Thankfully, it was early in the morning, and the seniors hadn’t shown up for the free coffee, and most of the employees had heard the commotion and ran for cover next door at Lowe’s.

“A mighty struggle here, there was.”

“What?”, I hadn’t noticed the small green guy with the cane, or his tall bearded friend.

“Son, you’ve served your country well, but in four score and twenty minutes, there’s going to be another round of whoop-ass, and I bet you’d rather be far, far away from here. Gather the laborers from the establishment next door, and beat a hasty retreat.”

“A tremor in the force I feel.” The little green guy with the bad hair scampered over the still-smoldering wreckage of low cost melted plastic. “Mr. President, alive this one still is!”

“Mr. President? Holy cow, man, you’re Lincoln!”

“Almost, son, almost. Now, collect your people and depart – battle is coming.”

The Week After the Burn

2007-09-13T00:44:52Z

“Dude, you know what was last weekend?”

“What?”

“Burning Man. I’ve always wanted to go. Weren’t we going to go this year?”

“Ummm, yeah, but we’ve said that every September since 1995 the week after they burn that thing down. We look at the pictures on the interweb and say we’re going to build an art car that spits fire, looks like the Yellow Submarine and has a real working periscope and dress like pirates. But, then, two weeks later, we forget until the week after labor day the next year.”

“Well, next year, we’re definitely going.”

“Yeah, sure we are.”

“We are!”