Read Online Clockwork Dolls - FF by R. W. Whitefield - FF - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. W. Whitefield - FF
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water glass from the table and smashed it against the wall. “Back at the dinner party. I wasn’t angry when I wrote to the Cosmos. I was angry when I banged the table. Remember?”
* * *
You stole my life, you bastards. And I want it back. I want what I deserve!
Glasses fly, tumble and break as he bangs his fist on the table.
Blood pools.
* * *
The noise of the engine howled through the room. Ice ran across the windows. The headlights washed around the room, faster and faster.
Dave dropped a large piece of glass on the table.
“It was my years of self-pity, blaming the people around the table, the police, anybody but myself. All that despair, focused into a moment’s rage. That is what we have to undo…what I have to undo.”
He raised his fist.
“No!” Maggie shouted, and put a hand on his arm before he could bring it down on the table.
“You don’t understand, Maggie,” Dave said. “I blamed everybody around the table…including you. You have to let me do this.”
He pushed her away and raised his fist again.
“No, Dave. Don’t!”
Dave banged his fist down on the table.
“It was all my fault. I want what I deserve.”
A shard of glass went deep into the old wound. He pulled the glass out, and blood pooled on the table.
“It was all my fault,” Dave shouted.
The wind rose to a wailing gale, an engine revved. Something struck Dave so hard that he flew across the room, hitting the wall. Maggie ran to his side. He was barely conscious. She knelt beside him and took his head in her lap.
Dave coughed, bubbles of blood at his mouth.
“Looks like the Cosmos was listening this time.”
Maggie tried to smile.
“It always is.”
Dave looked up at her, straining to focus.
“You never told me what you asked for.”
“Do I have to?”
She kissed him, lightly. The wind died down. The headlights went out. The engine revved, once, then fell silent. When she looked up again he was dead, eyes staring blankly from a smiling face. She closed his eyes, tenderly.
About the Author
William Meikle is a Scottish writer now living in Canada.
He has fifteen novels published in the genre press and over 250 short story credits in thirteen countries. His work appears in many professional anthologies and his ebook The Invasion has been as high as #2 in the Kindle SF charts.
He lives in a remote corner of Newfoundland with icebergs, whales and bald eagles for company. In the winters he gets warm vicariously through the lives of others in cyberspace, so please check him out at www.williammeikle.com .
* * *
You stole my life, you bastards. And I want it back. I want what I deserve!
Glasses fly, tumble and break as he bangs his fist on the table.
Blood pools.
* * *
The noise of the engine howled through the room. Ice ran across the windows. The headlights washed around the room, faster and faster.
Dave dropped a large piece of glass on the table.
“It was my years of self-pity, blaming the people around the table, the police, anybody but myself. All that despair, focused into a moment’s rage. That is what we have to undo…what I have to undo.”
He raised his fist.
“No!” Maggie shouted, and put a hand on his arm before he could bring it down on the table.
“You don’t understand, Maggie,” Dave said. “I blamed everybody around the table…including you. You have to let me do this.”
He pushed her away and raised his fist again.
“No, Dave. Don’t!”
Dave banged his fist down on the table.
“It was all my fault. I want what I deserve.”
A shard of glass went deep into the old wound. He pulled the glass out, and blood pooled on the table.
“It was all my fault,” Dave shouted.
The wind rose to a wailing gale, an engine revved. Something struck Dave so hard that he flew across the room, hitting the wall. Maggie ran to his side. He was barely conscious. She knelt beside him and took his head in her lap.
Dave coughed, bubbles of blood at his mouth.
“Looks like the Cosmos was listening this time.”
Maggie tried to smile.
“It always is.”
Dave looked up at her, straining to focus.
“You never told me what you asked for.”
“Do I have to?”
She kissed him, lightly. The wind died down. The headlights went out. The engine revved, once, then fell silent. When she looked up again he was dead, eyes staring blankly from a smiling face. She closed his eyes, tenderly.
About the Author
William Meikle is a Scottish writer now living in Canada.
He has fifteen novels published in the genre press and over 250 short story credits in thirteen countries. His work appears in many professional anthologies and his ebook The Invasion has been as high as #2 in the Kindle SF charts.
He lives in a remote corner of Newfoundland with icebergs, whales and bald eagles for company. In the winters he gets warm vicariously through the lives of others in cyberspace, so please check him out at www.williammeikle.com .
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