Douglas P. Marx
Bio
Artist, Author, Damn Good Cook. I write mostly Sci-Fi, and some fantasy. I have several novels kicking around and a pile of short stories always in some state of revision. I'll post what I can here and see what happens.
IG: DouglasPMarx
Stories (5/0)
Sweet Release
Abigale Applegate Buttersmith stood in the fairgrounds landing strip, which was really just a cleared area of genetically cloned lawn planted to look like a field on Old Earth. It had what they called the “Fresh Mown Scent” which almost made her gag, but it had a nice intense verdant color rarely seen on the Planet Bradbury. The object of her focus, the reason she was not with the others at the party having a good time, flopped before her: Trebby. Trebby, also known as Bartholomew Bertram Buttersmith, her on again and off again ex husband, sat encased in forty-five kilos of augmented baby blue sugar floss. Currently, they were on their first date since their last divorce. Their status could change again, though, depending on the night and if he kept his mouth shut.
By Douglas P. Marx3 years ago in Humans
TimeMixRs
“George, are you going to pull yourself together soon?” George heard Teri’s voice but his head was lying on the ground looking at one of his feet. Somewhere he’d also lost his shoe. Great, he thought. As if it wasn’t bad enough, he was a shambles again. The time dilation kept his parts whole, but the integration once stepping through the wormhole… He was still alive, but in chunks. A pile of parts on the floor was not the impression he wanted to give for their first date. Everything would snap back together like magnetic poles aligning once they got close, but getting them in the right place was the trick.
By Douglas P. Marx3 years ago in Futurism
Prelude to a Snowcone
Ten can be a pivotal age. You’re not an adult yet, not even a teen, but the idea that you know best is starting to gel, small little jabs at pressing your luck begin without the benefit of experience or common sense to ward off certain courses of action. Darwin, Murphy’s Law, and just dumb luck are always waiting to do battle. It can make for an interesting time learning about your mortality. If you survive.
By Douglas P. Marx3 years ago in Humans
Deluxe Accommodations
"There's nothing here, not even plumbing." Janet stood with her arms folded in front of her, waves of disapproval billowed off her. The five-hour drive up to the cabin had been a little tense. The deeper they went into the woods, and the narrower the roads became, the darker Janet's mood seemed to grow. Now her posture and pinched expression left nothing to the imagination regarding her displeasure. Brian tried to think of something positive to say.
By Douglas P. Marx3 years ago in Wander
Play Money
PLAY MONEY by Douglas P. Marx "That's your great grandfather, Charlie. Charles Alexander Frankel," Uncle Marty said. "It's who you're named after. He built this house, died just before the Great Depression." Charlie gazed at the portrait of the old man in the dark suit and tie. The man looked scary with the bristly beard and thin white hair up top. His eyes looked kind, though. He held a small black book in one hand and a fountain pen in the other. Charlie would have liked him, he bet.
By Douglas P. Marx3 years ago in Families
