Newfangled Death
By Derek Achoy
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About this ebook
A volume of sad/strange/silly stories featuring weirdos and sweethearts, immobile birds and neglectful planets, all flavoured with a loving dash of death.
Derek Achoy
Derek is a human being from Mississauga, Canada. He escaped York University with a BA in English and has been writing in circles ever since.
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Newfangled Death - Derek Achoy
Newfangled Death
By Derek Achoy
Copyright 2012 Derek Achoy
Smashwords Edition
http://www.derekachoy.com
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
Bad Mother
Bunkbird
Lighthouse
Gemini
The New Angel
Bookworms
Autobiography of a Mayfly
The Statuary
Bad Mother
Beneath her thick sheets of rock and her mantle blanket, Mother Earth was sleeping. Every now and then, she unleashed a hot, phlegmy breath through her volcanoes. Or shook her whole body with a violent snore. But for the most part, she merely sleepwalked, spinning and dreaming around the sun.
She’d been napping like this for billions of years. It was almost time to wake up.
Her internal alarm clock was set for January 1, 2015, and in the last months before the day, her tossing and turning built into a steady rhythm. Natural disasters started coming like a weekly holiday.
Then every other day.
Then daily.
The tempo of seismic activity pumped faster and faster until it seemed the world was falling apart to a heartbeat. Life was crushed, drowned, blasted and buffeted by an Armageddon that almost sounded alive itself.
Mother Earth’s children cried out for mercy, uniting in a worldwide blubber. But it wasn’t until New Year’s Day that it seemed as if she finally heard, and the destruction came to a sudden halt.
The nap was over.
A split tore across the equator, and the planet opened up like a clam. Earth’s head, the pearly grey core, sputtered and yawned, coming to a stop. She then shook herself off like a wet dog, catapulting all remaining life into space and completing the apocalypse as if part of her morning routine.
Meanwhile, Mars and a bitchy asteroid were snickering about her chronic parasites. She told them to fuck off, said how she lived was her business, and thrust her head back into a spin.
Once she got into a good roll, Mother Earth shut herself up again. Wiggling in her orbit to get comfortable, she went right back to sleep, like an old woman after a midnight pee.
Bunkbird
Bib was a dead end. As soon as he was born, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.
Neither was anyone else.
It’s because they were bunkbirds: a species as obscure and bizarre as it was useless. They couldn’t fly. Or walk. They could hardly even see, hear, or squawk, living almost like misshapen rocks on the shore of their tropical island. But they looked interesting at least.
Bunkbird bodies were about the size and shape of a soup can. They were tawny, wingless, and covered with a green stubble of pinfeathers. A serpentine neck sprouted from their chests like a worm in an apple, culminating with an ostrich-egg sized head. These heads were quite