Archive | September 29, 2020

The Last Prison

This started out thinking about the concept of an immortal in prison but it sort of went… I’m not actually sure where it went.  Enjoy?

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“How long has she been in here?”

The District Head of Corrections and the Warden of the only old-style prison remaining in the Consortium stood studying the case file of Dolores Colchinny. 

“A hundred and ten years.”  The Warden tapped the holo-display.  “Every twenty-five years, her law firm tries to get her released.  Every twenty-five years, a judge turns them down.  You can see where they did that ten years ago.” Continue reading

Straw Man

Straw Man

For the sake of continuity and the fact that I did say the pandemic existed in this universe, this story is set the year before this.

Summer has been in a relationship with Bishop and Melinda for several years.  This story comes after “Graduation… or not” on Patreon (opened for all to read); this is where they were first introduced as a trio. 

This was prompted in my Bisexual Visibility Day prompt call.

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“Just one party?” Summer coaxed.  “I know you’re both busy, I know everything is a little nuts, but one party?”  

Her partners shared a glance.  Melinda looked over at the pile of books on the coffee table.  Bishop glanced over at his laptop.  They looked back at Summer, raised eyebrows at her, and then, as one, sighed.

“Matched costumes?” Bishop started. 

“-and not the frat parties?” Melinda added. 

“Oh, yeah.  I have some ideas, but you had a couple great ones last year, Bish, and I thought maybe we could try one of those?  I’m taking advanced costuming this semester…”  Summer’s smile was infectious, but the slight uncertainty was heartbreaking. 

Bishop wrapped her in a hug seconds before Melinda did, both of them kissing the top of her head.  “Sum,” he whispered.  “Sum, I promise.  It’s Halloween.  You never have to beg us to go.  No matter how busy I am-“

“-no matter what we’re doing,” Melinda  put in.  “We’ll always be with you for the holidays.  Always.”

“-but I am not being the Scarecrow ever again,” Bishop joked.  “That straw itched.”

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