short story – Kimichee

April 21, 2024 0 comments

SHORT FIC: Through Her Window disturbing, stalking

THROUGH HER WINDOW
by Harper Kingsley

He’d found her through the Internet in a remarkably easy way.

It was almost as though she wanted him to find her.

He didn’t mention the leaks in her security. Just quietly followed the gingerbread trail until here he was.

Standing outside her house.

Peeking in through her windows and seeing her there. In her house. Her safe place. Her home where she and her family lived.

He watched her for a long time. Standing there in the dark. Huddling in his jacket to deal with the night chill.

He saw all her secrets. The her she was when she was alone.

The strange, beautiful her. The awkward, disgusting, slovenly, vulgar, lovely her.

He watched her and there was no part of him that wanted to look away. Even though he felt guilty. Even though he knew that what he was doing was wrong.

Wrong on a fundamental level.

The level of "Thou shalt not secretly follow people home" badness.

He’d done things when he was younger. Things that had disturbed his mother enough that she’d enacted several awkwardly horrible "discussions" that basically amounted to "Don’t be a rapist."

It had upset him when he was younger. There were several instances where he had wanted to scream at her to "Stop! Stop! STOP!" But now… He kind of understood where she had been coming from.

The very thought of sexual assault disgusted him. He had NO interest in being That Guy. He’d always been careful in his everyday life to not share certain jokes and to not touch without permission. Even as a kid, he’d had a clear awareness of "Personal Bubble."

It was just that as a kid he’d been very obvious about what he was thinking about. It had set adults … Read the rest “SHORT FIC: Through Her Window disturbing, stalking”

October 26, 2020

Bryan At the End of the World: Rookery Cookery

"Rookery cookery crock, the food goes in the pot," he sing-songed to himself as he finished chopping the gigantic zucchini and scraped the pieces into the cast iron pan.

Bryan had found the garden and the rundown house attached to it and he felt decidedly blessed. Huge zucchini sprawling everywhere, crowding against large white onions, tufts of green onion, and sunflowers that were still tender enough to be plucked whole and chopped up to be added to his makeshift stir fry.

There was water to wash in. Both body and gear. Sunlight to warm his skin as his clothes hung out to dry, his backpack flopped inside out in the hope that the weird smell would finally be gone. And the pantry had been untouched, the occupants long since gone (though the dried bloodstains said not by choice), so he’d felt no shame in helping himself.

Shame had left him long ago.

He was cooking outside in a spot he’d cleared and circled with stones. There’d been no cooking oil in the trashed kitchen, but he’d been pleased to find the rectangular can of smoked oysters.

He wasn’t sure what most of the info on the can meant–his mom and dad had done all the grocery shopping, and it wasn’t like the Internet existed anymore–but he figured the oil was safe enough to use. He was hungry and he was going to eat.

Peeling the lid of the can back, he drizzled the oil over the vegetables, using the spoon to squish as much oil out of the oysters as he could. Then he shrugged and scooped the oysters into the pan too.

Fighting down the urge to chew on his lower lip, Bryan poked one of the oysters experimentally. Then he shrugged and used the spoon to pop it … Read the rest “Bryan At the End of the World: Rookery Cookery”