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isabeledmiston · 3 years

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Letters from Dystopia

It was a cold blue night in the city of angels. Street lights cracked on like bursting camera bulbs, casting shadows over starlets and drifters in the pin-thin scraggles of apartment buildings that lined our 37th circle of hell.

It was one of those joints by the water. I took the long way to skirt around the short-edge of south central, a forty-mile block of table-cloth tents, where the old snowy court buildings were covered with cheap art like painted sores.

I’d gotten a call from some dame the day before last. Said her husband was killed, suspected suicide, asked if I could I come talk to her. Normally, if it were a case like this, I didn’t touch it. But something in her voice got to me.

The Crystal City Lounge was a black-painted walkdown in the hangnail of a boardwalk intersection, where two rows of jagged fire escapes overlapped traffic, scraping the tops off of trucks, and two lanes became one in a meter-long stretch. It took me an hour to park. When I finally found it, sirens were already wailing in the distance. It was a quarter to nine.

I left the car windows down, so they wouldn’t get smashed, and walked to the lounge. There was a curtain in place of a door. No line, but nowhere to sit either.

It was the sort of place with live palm trees under a glass roof. A crowd of tables faced the stage. I put my hat on the bar and ordered my usual.

Garnet Hayes had told me to meet her after the show, but I’d figured I’d make the drive worth my while. Hers was the nine o’clock set, and I wanted to see if the papers had painted the ‘grief-stricken songbird’ in a fair light. The papers had a knack for making dames ‘stunners’ after tragedy struck.

I took my drink to an un-bussed table along the wall and took stock of the crowd. A nice mix, mostly, suit-jackets and velvet caps, some cops, even a few kids. I pulled out my book and jotted a few notes.

On the phone, the dame had explained that her late husband’s partner, a man named Allen, had been managing the business since his death. It was at this club that the victim had last been seen, going into the office of a jazz club on 37th—his jazz club. His wife was a featured act—the featured act.

Her call cut out quick. But lucky for the widow Hayes, I had a record of tracing staged suicides back to gang violence. It was a gimmick around this part of town. A cliche of the genre. It was why I didn’t take cases like this anymore.

Some rocks are best left unturned.

#noire #writing #sample #writers of tumblr

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isabeledmiston · 3 years

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Teenage Career World Savers

Hi June,

When will you be back on base? I think the gen. and lt. are planning an assassination on Chancellor Markham. Holocomm when you get this, I go on patrol soon but I’ll be back in our room after dinner.

What you said reminded me— I wrote Markham when I was ten, right after my parents’ execution. I told him I was going to kill him someday. Maybe now I’ll get my chance.

Safe travels,

Catherine

hey kenny,

we’re coming back to base. raid didn’t go well. lost a few guys, no one you know. right before we pulled back I recognized one of the cadets on theother side. we went to the academy together. he saw me and fired right at me.

strategy not working. May

be during solstice enemy will be diverted and well have a shot.I’m not hit but Catherines friend with the curly hair hurt her leg scaling the wall. in the mountains now making our way back to base. should reach ragtag ridge by tomorrow.

Derek

Hi Catherine,

June here, hope you’re okay, miss you lots!!! Heading home now.

I saw over the wall before I fell. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. White uniforms, white uniforms, white uniforms.

The market district is gone. They’ve ripped up the boardwalk and the ground-lit star projection around the fountains and the booths with gauze canopies. It’s just a pane of dead glass. Like it’s been hit with a bomb.

Don’t tell anyone, but I actually forgot I was supposed to be sieging anything. I just kind of dangled there from my arms with my carabiners cutting into my hips. And then I got hit in the face and fell three stories. My harness almost snapped my leg off.

We’re camped out with the lake between the resistance camp and the Citadel, where the trees give us cover. If you stand on the edge, you can see the whole castle. The fortress is surrounded by bolts of glass folded together like swan wings. Redge and I think it’s so people can’t climb over it. It’s hard to get a foothold on glass, and when you shoot it, the shrapnel is worse than a ricochet bullet.

Not that I would know, luckily.

From here, the Citadel looks like upside-down icicles, with panels of quartz on the temple spires flashing blue and pink in the sun. When the elevators run down the towers, they catch the light, like drops of melted ice dripping into the lake.

It made me miss the Solstice celebration. I hope it rains this year. I love the look of the light coming in through the chandeliers in the ceilings when there’s rain.

Kenny says the party leaders are making this year’s Solstice a celebration of the Chancellor, and that the women aren’t allowed to paint the sky or draw constellations on themselves because it’s heresy.

Isn’t that sad? Let’s find some paint and do the whole cosmos on our backs when I get home.

See you soon,

June

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isabeledmiston · 3 years

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Pajaros del Amor

The sun was setting, casting marbled shadows over the spiked red rocks that ringed a gob of runoff from a long-ago rainstorm. The earth glowed like a poker.

Del glanced up in time to catch Paloma mid-leap between the high points of two stones. Her hands scrabbled and she kicked for a foothold.

“Get down.” he snapped at her. “Hey! Quit fooling around.”

She dragged herself up and stood on the ledge, spinning her arms for balance.

Del saw the nameless girl in Louisiana who jumped from the window. He could still see little bones snapped flat and her skirts rucked up, red rills pouring from under the lace in her hair.

“Hey!”

Paloma dipped her chin towards him and blinked, as if she didn’t understand.

Since he first met her, when she’d shown up with Beck at the station with her little purse for the stolen gold, he’d known she was clever. There was no glint in the eyes that gave her away. He just felt her having thoughts, like quicksilver fish in still water.

She didn’t speak any English, but he knew she understood him.

Devil.

She sprung up onto her toes and climbed higher.

“Hey. Jenny.” Del put his hands on his belt and looked up at her. “Quit wasting time. We gotta get moving.”

He wasn’t partial to leaving her here, not all the way, but she was wearing him down. He was tired and sick of her. And if she fell and broke her neck, that was her problem.

But she didn’t fall and break her neck. She floated down from stone to stone like she was caught on the wind, skidding down the last slope and stopping at the edge of the water, nestled in her puffed-up petticoats like a kid in a pile of leaves.

The girl who killed herself in Louisiana had a brown dress, too. Only velvet, instead of dull cotton. She’d been made to do it. And it shouldn’t bother him to see Paloma jumping around like that.

He applauded her slowly, and she pretended to preen.

“Hey. Jenny.”

She didn’t look up. Her small brown feet poked out from beneath her dress and kicked up the edge of the water.

He sat back on his heels and dropped his rucksack in the dust. “Fine. Fine. Paloma.”

She looked up.

“We have to go.” he jerked his head toward the horse, who was dozing at the other edge of the pool.

She held his gaze, slowly inching one leg into the water.

It was his fault for taking her swimming the first time. They’d come across a lake along the New Mexico border, and he’d let her hold onto his shoulders while he swam laps.

“No.” he pointed at the horse. “We have to find somewhere to camp.”

She raised her eyebrows, mimicking him. He mimed eating, and that got her moving. She sprung up and helped him saddle Elk.

Del put her up on the horse and they walked toward the sun, where orange clouds spilled from windswept slashes in the endless blue like loose stuffing.

They came up on the edge of the valley. Del felt along her hip for the gold sewn into the bulk of her crinoline.

She slapped his hand and glared for a moment before she realized what he was doing. She rolled her eyes and suffered his grubby hands as he checked for the three gold blocks, then seven in the saddle bag.

They had everything in that saddle bag— tooth powder, coffee, soap cakes with Paloma’s 25/75 score—and she made plain without words the bigger half was for him— two tin forks, cups, shallow bowls, tonic, flint, and a comb. Gold. What they didn’t have was clean water.

But they’d reach town by tomorrow, and the important thing was Elk got a nice long drink at the pool back there. Poor horse was having more trouble carrying Paloma than Del would have.

He’d been so spritely only a few weeks ago, when they’d found him tied up to a nice stage coach— Paloma had given him hell for that one, even after he’d let her name him, “Elkabayo.”

They found a roll of soft, sunbaked Earth to set up camp. Del swung Paloma down from the saddle. Elk laid down and flopped onto his side like a dog under a porch. The first time he did it, Del thought he was lame. He’d almost shot him.

“Fool horse.” he scratched the brown spot on his muzzle.

They shook out the bedrolls and scrapped together a fire from brush. By the time they had it going, the desert was dark and cold again.

They had what was leftover from their breakfast at the inn, and some bread and jerky.

When Del was done, Paloma’s hand inched into his line of sight, offering a handful of bread, so soft it held fingerprints. He took it and ate it crumb by crumb.

She asked him a question. He took a guess at what it could be— not that it mattered how he answered.

“I figure we’ll hit town by sundown tomorrow.” he leaned back onto his bedroll and tugged his hat down over his eyes. “We’ll meet with Sidney, give him his cut, and then we can go on to California. I have a cousin who might want you, if he’s not already married. How’s that sound, Jenny?”

After a few moments she responded with bright, scathing nonsense.

He only called her Jenny anymore to get on her nerves. She was nothing like little Jenny, except for when she talked like that. Nagging sounded the same in every language.

“Well what do you want me to do about it?” said Del. “Town’s another eight miles at least. We can finish off the trip tonight if you want.”

She sized him up and shoved their saddle bag between them, handing off the rest of the food and crowding him out of her space.

“Alright, alright.” He rolled clear of the fire, where the blue dark ebbed at the edge of their campsite like a pool of cool water. “You don’t want to go there in the dark, anyway.”

Elk made a nagging noise, echoing Paloma, and Del pulled his hat down over his face.

#western #anthology #writing

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isabeledmiston · 3 years

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Easiest pie crust in the world— my Grammy Edmiston’s recipe, comes out every time 🥧💕Just don’t burn it. This is key.

#baking #thanksgiving #bakingtherapy

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isabeledmiston · 3 years

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“All I’m saying is, you should go to the dentist.”

“I’m not going to go to the dentist.” Daniel took the gun Ezra had passed him and pulled off the scope. “Why would I go to the dentist? Why would I pay someone to tell me I’m brushing my teeth correctly?”

“You don’t pay.” Ezra took a shot in the dark and the bullet ricocheted, singing through the shattered windowpane. “The insurance company pays. Tell me you have insurance.”

“Not dental.”

Every time the door opened, they fired at the long shapes illuminated in the hall light. Metal pinged off doorknobs and brittle plaster. “Jesus, man.” Ezra looked over at him. “You’re going to get… like heart disease or something.”

“I floss.” said Daniel. “Do you floss?”

“Mm.”

There was a flash of light from the end of Ezra’s gun, and the air turned gristly and soft with gun smoke. In the glass shatterbox on the fortieth floor of the building across the street, one of the shadows crumpled and fell. Daniel could almost hear their feet scuffing the carpet. They were making so much noise.

“You’ve got to have insurance.” Ezra was already packing up. He always started late and finished early.

“Amara’s got insurance. I’m probably on her plan, or something. That how that works?”

“I’ll ask her.”

There was a lull. Through a veil of smoke and starlight, they saw a flicker of movement and twin gunshots cracked through the darkness. One struck glass.

“Did you get him?”

“Don’t think either of us did.” Daniel squinted. “Door hasn’t opened. There’s no light.”

For a moment they stood frozen, breathing in city smog and gun smoke. Across the way, a desk lamp spat out a crackle of sparks.

“Yeah, we’re done.” Ezra went back to packing up. “Does she at least go to the dentist?”

“She does. And an allergist, and a rheumatologist, and an endocrinologist and a regular doctor. Why do you think I took this job?”

“Quality time?” He had run out of room, so he started stuffing his gear into Daniel’s bag. Goggles, switchblades, gloves, scopes. A bunch of other stuff he always packed and never used. “Where are the girls, anyway?”

“My place.” Daniel saw a shadow twitch. He took aim and fired one last time. The recoil was always a little worse on the kill shot. “Wonder what they’re up to.”

#short fiction #writing #crime fiction

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isabeledmiston · 3 years

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