Fictional Derivations

Photography: Jaysspace.com

“So, how is Arcady doing?” asked Hestia.
They had retired to a corner table with a bottle of Crown Royal, the contents of which Zene was drinking with more cultured relish than the amateur wine-tasters hovering about.
He carefully considered his next words, which might make the difference between one Crown Royal or two.
“Chipper. [...]

Painting: Pieter Claesz

The raindrop notes of the first prelude of Bach’s Das Wohltemperierte Klavier played out like a spring shower, dancing between the clink of wineglasses and the murmur of voices. To his surprise, Zene was enjoying himself.
Don’t get too confident, he thought. It’s not like it’s Britten.
Under the warm light of the [...]

Photography: arquera

The first thought in Zene’s mind was the gun. The second was to deftly shift his cello so that its body rested firmly against his chair as he leaped straight for Arcady. His passage sent the music stand crashing.
The gun skittered out of Arcady’s hand and across the floor.
Zene lifted Arcady by [...]

Some sort of vile disease has struck me. I do miss Watson. I do not trust any of these modern doctors nor those in my own time. Quacks, all. 06:29 [...]

I lie abed, or rather, acouch, staring at the ceiling and, in modern parlance, “wishing for a fix.” Without Watson, there is no nagging…. 08:14 PM December 27, 2007

Ms. Joan Ascott’s appointment: her son is missing, a day ago. She comes to me for my price, not my name; not yet. A sobering first case. 08:09 PM December 26, 2007

England is still cold in winter; London today is yet more crowded. I long for a fireplace 120 years old. At least there is still ship’s. 07:13 AM December 21, 2007

Researching modern methods of clientele building. And yet, S.E.O. would promote ‘water pipes’ and ‘glass pipes’ over ‘tobacco pipes’. Pfah! 10:34 PM December 19, 2007

Photography: Orin Optiglot

On the gray morning of Christmas Eve, Phineas Zene sat on the horrible green couch in his dingy apartment, watching the constant Seattle winter rain cascade down his windows and trying not to be lonely. Empty Chinese takeout boxes littered the coffee table (one leg broken and supported by a fat block [...]

Photography: kankie

For the AW Flash Fiction Carnival the Third.
The Third Princess of the Second Imperial Court of Hang-sing shifted restlessly in the afternoon summer heat, sitting in a regal, if uncomfortable, lacquer chair. On her lap rested a small wooden pallet on which lay linen paper, and her pale hand, holding a graphite stick, [...]