quote:

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The gray falls like snow in New York, piles up in banks by the sidewalks. This city always has been, always will be the world’s center.

Adbits drop past my nose. Smells like I want a Big Mac. Like Chihiro’s is the place to be tonight. Like I can trust Citibank for fair and faithful service. Smells like Russell Walton should be the next mayor of New York City.

At least a month old, that one is. Walton was just sworn in.

I could spend a lifetime giving in to these little urges funneling through my nostrils. Many do. Or I could take a sniff of guard dust and block them off -- but I prefer to feel the feelings and resist them myself. There’s too much V-chipping in the world, too much self-censorship, and too little real willpower.

I shiver a bit at that thought. As if you, of all people, could trust your will.

The next intersection is busy; I step over the curb to evade the crowd. The Financial District is dead on its feet, dead without knowing it. People here still dress the way they did in 2000: wool coats with collars, solid-colored ties. They still act as if their money was worth something.

The next block is a long stretch, almost clear of people. Like a racer I hit a good cruising speed. It’s important to walk fast, saves me hours every week. But I halt here, by the mailbox. What I see on the sidewalk is too wild to pass by.

The gray goo piled here is hard at work. There’s something growing out of it -- a tiny arm with a human infant’s stubby fingers. A human infant’s arm.

High-heeled feet step up to the other end of the nano pile, a woman stopping to gape. I look up at her. One of these finance types, shocked at the sight of the baby-arm. She sees me, glances away, walks away with sudden purpose. A human life, forming out of the ground. Doesn’t compute for you, does it, bitch?

I can almost hear her own unspoken goodbye: Your culture, slushling. Your problem. She saw the hookups below my ears, knew roughly how I live. No one here is stupid.

My problem. I get down on my haunches beside the gray. The baby-fingers open and close. I see a shoulder now, the beginnings of a forehead. This is happening, a virgin birth on the sidewalk. Passersby pretend not to see. The whole head emerges and the newborn cries like any other, eyes squeezed shut. The process quickens.

It’s a boy.

“God damn,” I say. I pick him up, cradling his head. “God damn.”

At least you’ll have a childhood, kid. Something I never experienced.

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Originally posted by Sean Monahan:
This sounds like my kinda thing. I don't suppose there are plans for it being available in Kindle version?

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I don't believe PS does Kindle versions of their books. I could ask the editor, though, if you like.
 

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Posted by Scott R (Member # 567) on :
 
That's a great opening, Destineer. Congratulations.
 

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Posted by Destineer (Member # 821) on :
 
How's your own writing coming along these days, Scott?
 

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Posted by Scott R (Member # 567) on :
 


Fair to middling. I'm concentrating on getting the novel done, so I'm not producing much short work.
 

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Posted by Destineer (Member # 821) on :
 
Wow, the novel. You make me feel like a slacker (which I am).
 

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Posted by Unmaker (Member # 1641) on :
 
Awesome, buddy. Congrats!
 

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Posted by Destineer (Member # 821) on :
 
They just put the anthology out on Kindle for $6:

http://www.amazon.com/Catastrophia-ebook/dp/B005AVUCTS/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1315542393&sr=8-2
 

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Posted by rivka (Member # 4859) on :
 
you should really claim your Goodreads Author page.

Just sayin'.
 

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Posted by Sean Monahan (Member # 9334) on :
 
Thanks for the update. Bought it.
 

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Posted by Jake (Member # 206) on :
 
Destineer, I'm getting a 404 error when I try to follow your first link. [Edit - never mind; I didn't realize how old the first post was]
 

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Posted by Destineer (Member # 821) on :
 

quote:

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Originally posted by rivka:
you should really claim your Goodreads Author page.

Just sayin'.

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