Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

She entered the office with a swagger, chocolate gams on full display despite the comparatively bitter cold outside. She wore sunglasses against the glare of Alaska’s winter.

The detective looked up from his newspaper, pale and delicate behind dark glasses. “I’m closed,” he said, taking the full measure of his prospective client’s dark smooth skin and sweet smell.

But clients were hard to come by in Fairbanks, so he made no further attempts to eject her.

“I need your help,” she said. “I’m being stalked.”

“Stalked by who?” the detective said. “An ex?”

“Cadbury. Nestlé. Mars. All the major candymakers have a man in town looking for me.”

“Hmph,” snorted the detective. “You’re not that sweet, I can tell.”

The woman swept off her glasses. Eyes, eyelids, eyelashes…everything was the same chocolate shade as her long legs. She was a woman literally made of milky chocolate, and only cool temperatures and strategic clothing made it possible for her to walk about unchallenged. “They want the secret of my creation,” she said. “To make chocolates that dance, chocolate pets, a whole world of enslaved sentient treats. I don’t suppose you understand that, or believe me.”

The detecttive swept off his own glasses, revealing marshmallow peepers of his own. “Try me,” he said.

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I’ll be gone a sec, my rhymes on pause
Sneaking like quiet cats with claws
Now I’m back, my needs fulfilled
By a slice of meat that’s grilled

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[swipe]

Smoker? Ew no.

[swipe]

That tattoo looks like it was done in prison. By a blind man. And he misspelled the “little” in “My Little Pony.”

[swipe]

Oh God, not another goblin.

[swipe]

Nicely built elf, love those ears…could do without the duckface but whatever. Wait, what’s that on his shirt? Kinky Boots?

Gay.

[swipe]

Ugh, no sword pics.

[swipe]

God, another goblin.

[swipe]

Oh, what’s this? Well-built, handsome, half-orc but with style. Might be something there! But than again…those teeth…

[swipe]

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This is the story of the island of the sparrows.

In the middle of the Greatest Water, over which only the greatest of the great fliers can soar, a land once arose. Completely new to the World Beneath, it was not connected to any other land, and it was too far for any strider or any llew, any predator, to reach. And it was a bountiful land, full of food and good nesting.

Only those with wings could make the trip. So came the segmented scuttlers, the insects; so came the furry gliders, the night-mice; and so too came the sparrows. Though the scuttlers and the night-mice were clever and grew large, the sparrows were far cleverer and grew far larger.

In fact, the nesting and the food was so good that the sparrows grew powerful, almost as large and powerful as the ones who had once upset the Great One. But, knowing as they did the story, they did not make the same mistakes. Instead, they made different ones.

With so many years having passed since llew had feasted upon them, the sparrows grew fat and complacent. They lost their ability to spot llew, to run from llew, to hide from llew, and in direst need to fight llew. So when the striders learned of the great island of birds and swum to it…there was nothing the sparrows there could do.

The striders and the llew they brought killed all but the smallest sparrows on the island of birds and wore their feathers upon their bodies as trophies.

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I think that ours is a society meant for 25-year-olds.

Everyone who is younger than 25 races to get there as fast as they can, impatiently tapping their foot as the clock crawls forward.

Everyone who is older than 25 looks back at it with regret, grasping with greedy fingers at the treasure they once posessed.

And the 25-year-olds themselves? The blissful ignorant, unaware of how golden is their hour even as it slips through their grasp.

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This is the story of the Age of Sparrows.

In ages past, before time was time and the world was the world, sparrows ruled all. They were great and all and proud and took what they would. They were the striders, and the striders were the sparrows: weak, scattered, prey.

Sparrows took llew rather than llew taking sparrows.

But in their hubris, the sparrows decided that they must be bigger still. So they grew larger an more fierce until they were larger and fiercer than any creature which has ever walked the earth. So much so that they could only eat other sparrows, who they slew in great battles.

The Great One saw this and was much saddened. He implored the sparrows to change their ways, but they regarded him not–they were the great ones now, and needed no counsel. So, in his sadness, the Great One hid himself from the world for a whole year. The sparrows, deprived of light and warmth, had to shrink in order to survive. In turn, the striders–free of the sparrows’ predation–grew and they themselves took on the role of llew, predators.

And that is why things are as they are today, why sparrows pay for the transgressions of our ancestors even unto this day, and why even the few of our brothers who are llew, like the hawk or the owl, feed upon us even now.

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We are the Hummingbirds
If brought to battle, we are defeated
But first we must be brought to battle
If deprived of supply, we are defeated
But first we must be deprived of supply
We move swiftly and with purpose
Against slow enemies who have none
We strike with precision and speed
Against enemies who can’t see us coming
We are the first line of attack
And the last line of defense
We are the Hummingbirds
Pray you are ready for us

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On the one side, a wide open field, urban parkland, filled with wildblossoms like unto a snowstorm of beauty, of fragrance, of joy.

On the other, the rear-engine mower, hydrocarbon haze, churning in lines because Tuesdays are scything-days, petals or no.

Between them, me, hand on wheel over idling engine, stoplight brilliant in plexiglass ahead.

It will all be gone by the time I return.

I am moved to silent tears, rolling oily down cheeks still sunburned from the last walk, sopping across nostrils aching for an iota of fragrance.

The light changes, and I see no more. A scene for my dreams thereafter, then, waking or resting, blissful or nightmare.

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“These crystals are…they’re…they’re astonishing,” said Bates, her awe audible even over the scratchy commlink in her environment suit.

Rowe scanned them with an indifferent gesture. “Quartz with impurities,” he said. “Worthless. All they tell us is how long this place has been without an earthquake or a meteor strike.”

“How can you say that?” Bates laid a hand on one of the shimmering giants, twice again as tall as she was. Her suit left an ugly handprint on the surface. Rowe grabbed her by the rear handle of her suit and hauled her away as the weakened crystal, its delicate structure compromised by Bates’s alien grime, collapsed.

“I can say that because I’ve seen bigger ones and more colorful one,” he huffed. “You can’t let yourself get hypnotized by every little thing, kid. You’ve got to grow a thicker skin. Me scraping jelly off a rock doesn’t do anybody but the underwriters any good.”

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” said Bates, crestfallen. “Maybe you don’t let yourself get hypnotized nearly enough.”

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“The Gob Legion, all ten thousand of them, deserted their posts and sailed south to Naix. We have come on behalf of the Most Serene Republic of Pexate to learn why.”

The orcish bashamalur stroked his chin. “We have seen your legion,” he said. “They helped us spread the truth of the Hamurabash to the yoxia, the men, in the city of Gaiza. You have heard of it?”

“Heard of it?” said Myn. “I can’t even pronounce it.”

“Mind your tongue,” the bashamalur said. “Hamur has set our nation forth to spread the Hamurabash, the only code for living a truthful life, free of false gods and idols. For too long have the men of the coast and the trade routes defiled these our lands with their nonsense.”

“Yes, yes, but the gobs, what about the gobs,” said Myn. “They helped you?”

“Their leader, a gob named Lodii, promised to help us take the city and to lead her men in taking up the Hamurabash among her people. Long have we sought to capture Gaiza, and longer still have we sought to break the vty, the goblins, out of their superstitions. If they would only come to the Hamurabash, you see, they would be welcomed as equals. This was an opportunity we could not turn down.”

“What happened?” said Myn. “I’m guessing Lodii didn’t keep her word.”

“The vty helped us storm the walls with their dishonorable weapons, and then marched south into the desert, following the great Intermittent River. We hold Gaiza even now, but must now seek the vty and hold them accountable for their betrayal.”

“Yeah,” said Myn. “Good luck with that.”

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