Tag Archives: sci-fi

The story of dirty Mari

10 Mar

Mari was was serving stale beer and cold food in a crummy pub when the Flying Spaghetti Monster walked in and ordered a Bloody Mary with extra tomato juice.

He sat at a small table in the back and sipped his drink through a yellowish straw. Funny. Mari couldn’t remember giving him a straw.

He looked handsome. Actually, he looked too good for the place; he just didn’t fit in the picture. His presence made the tables look dirtier and the floor beneath his feet stretched out greasy palms begging for a sweep.

She unbuttoned one more button on her shirt, but felt like slut right all the way to his table.

Oh God, everyone’s staring at my meatballs. Mari you’re so stupid. He’ll think I’m …

“Easy choice.”

His voice struck her. It was unctuous and deep, and no matter how uncomfortable the intercourse between his words and her thoughts made her feel, it also soothed her beyond anything she’d felt in a long time.

“Excuse  me?” she asked, barely squeezing the words past the lump of mince meat in her throat.

“Easy choice, with a menu like this. I’ll have some pizza. And some other drink, something finer than this cocktail. A glass of wine. Chateau something fancy.”

Saying ‘no’ to him, any kind of ‘no’, felt like the hardest thing in the world. She cursed herself for being a loser waitress in a losers’ bar instead of a smart waitress in a high class restaurant, where she could have spoiled his long, thin lips with the best selection in the world …

“ … Sorry, Sir. I’m afraid we only have the standard pill-brewed slipslop.”

Why on earth had she been so honest!?!

“Mari, get a hold of yourself”.

“Then get me a pitcher of Coke and I’ll make do.”

She wrote that down as if there was a goddamn chance she’d forget and was just about to leave when he said it.

“Since you will join me, make that a pizza for two. And two wine glasses with the Coke.”

It would have been impolite to say ‘no’, since this was her chance to atone for the redneck’s reply she’d just given.

It would have been impossible to say ‘no’ too, but Mari refused to let this realization into her consciousness.

“ What’s your name?” he asked pouring the Coke.
“Meatball Marinara. My friends call me Mari.”

He lifted the glass up in the air and examined it, swirling the Coke like an expert wine taster.

“Then history will remember you as Mari. Sweet, dry or any of the nuances inbetween?”

“S … sweet I guess …”

He placed the glass in front of her with an inviting look in his eyes and repeated the drill with his own glass as she tasted it.

It was wine. So fine, so expensive and good, it would have tasted of dollars had she sipped it in different company, but right there and then it was a cocktail of myrrh and frankincense and nectar and ambrosia. It tasted alive, frolicky, cleansing and diamond-sharp, it tasted of unrefundable lost time and great expectations and all the caressing hands of darkness, it tasted …

…  godly.

“Who are you?” she dared to mumble, squeezing into herself to brace for the answer.

“My name is Monster. Flying Spaghetti Monster, but you can also call me…’ and as he said this his head seemed to surround itself with a halo of starchy pure white”… God.”

Funny, it didn’t feel like he was joking. In fact, his olive eyes stared at Mari so intently, and the uncooked spaghetti rays around his head shimmered with such an unearthly glow that she could ask only one question.

“Why have you come to me, God?”

“Well, I had to meet the mother of my only son. So please, tell me all there is to know about you.”

Mari told him the stories of her entire life, the ones which register on the fabric of time under the weight of our actions, as well as the secret ones, of heart and soul, which pull happiness and sorrow into our life through the gravity of self-fulfilling prophecies. She told him about the marble she’d swallowed when she was eight, about the pup she’d drowned in the washing machine trying to show her mother he could be clean enough to keep, about the one exam she cheated on, the poetries she never wrote, and the days she just lay on the ground trying to feel if the growing grass was taking her closer to the sky. She told him about washing dishes in the kitchen, about Grandma and her foul smelling medicine, about the scare of her first menstruation and the relief of the following sixty-seven. She told him about her dreams, her hopes, her fears and insecurities.

She told him about everything, until, at some point in the ever winding story, he put a finger on her lips, then took her head between his thick fusili-fingered palms and drew her close to him. She closed her eyes. His breath smelled of basil, his hands held her with the firm kindness of velvet vise grips and everything else took a time-out from existence. There she was, table-scrubbing Mari, the uber-nun of Mortadella High, as virgin as an unopened can of peeled tomatoes, about to be kissed by a man so aweso…

No, by a god. About to be kissed by a god.

His lips touched her forehead, hot as pasta fresh from the microwave, and then he left, paying exactly what he owned, not a dime, not even a pence or a centime more.

It wasn’t until two weeks later, when she missed her period, that Mari realized she’d been over tipped.

~~~

My entry for the Chuck Wendig Irregular Creatures Challenge

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Futuristic Tales of Here and Now

7 Mar

Cory Doctorow, one of the most popular cyberpunk writers on this planet (I don’t have much information on other planets or dimensions), is offering his readers a treat.

The comic book version of his short-story collection Futuristic Tales of Here and Now is available for free. A place where you can find them is here.

For the best reading experience I recommend CDisplay, available right here: http://www.cdisplayex.com/

Enjoy!

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