Patrick Clancy-Geske
Stories (9/0)
Flying Low
Once I settle in my seat I’ll take one more. Push and turn the cap and wedge it between palm and bottle, tilt the bottle and give it a jiggle until one falls out in the flat palm which tosses it into the back of my mouth where it releases its last line of defense, a bitter chalkiness, before I tip my head back and send it through the entryway into my inner digestion labyrinth.
By Patrick Clancy-Geskeabout a year ago in Fiction
In Between
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The event was a timestamp that indicated life, continuous existence albeit in an earthly purgatory, stuck in between, monitored by lazily beeping machines and indifferent nurses and doctors – people who got to go home at night, people who got to experience humanity at their leisure, people who felt, but, she reminded herself, people who didn’t get to see the purple clouds.
By Patrick Clancy-Geskeabout a year ago in Humans
Family Legacy
Chief Scientist Tom Handy sat at his desk, the silver frames of his bifocals resting on the tip of his nose, allowing him to look over the tops of them. His brow furrowed as he read the report. He gave no hint of emotion as he scanned the words while his top generals looked on anxiously. His great oak desk gleamed in the sunlight that sifted through the shades, its presence a natural fortress separating him from his inferiors. A pedestal whose feet were anchored no higher than his generals’.
By Patrick Clancy-Geskeabout a year ago in Futurism
Tamarri
“The yellow fog burns hot in the back of his throat and sears his eyes shut. His bare hands scramble in the mud beside him, searching frantically for his protective mask. His left hand dips into a pool of liquid, and a chilled sensation creeps through his glove to his skin. It’s a burning chill, as if he spent a night sleeping on the snow-capped peaks of these very mountains, woke up, drew a warm bath, and submerged his body in the scalding water. You know the feeling. Where you can’t tell if the water is hot or cold. It’s a temperate burn. He's lucky he can neither see nor sense the pain, for he’d surely cry out as his hand melts in the molten hot spring in front of him. But most of all, he’s lucky it’s just his hand.
By Patrick Clancy-Geskeabout a year ago in Fiction
Glowing Night
The first thing that struck him was the night. The night was blacker than black. It was so dark that he couldn’t sleep for the first week that he was in the jungle. He wouldn’t have called it black in fact. When he looked up from his foxhole, it was an unimaginable vastness that engulfed him. He must’ve felt what those Soviets had felt when they landed on the moon in ’60. Or was it ’59?
By Patrick Clancy-Geske3 years ago in Humans
Evelyn
He lay on his back. His eyes opened, fixed on the revolving fan whirling overhead. The dull thud that came from outside was familiar. He silently swung the covers over his legs, being sure not to wake the woman next to him. Sliding into his slippers, he tiptoed towards the bedroom door. The windowless hallway was nearly pitch black, so he placed his hands on either side of him, using the walls for guidance. At the end of the long hallway, he opened the wooden baby blue door to reveal soft rain falling on the brick walkway in front of him. He picked up the paper from the stoop, holding it out in front of his face, allowing droplets of water to fall from the translucent orange plastic cover.
By Patrick Clancy-Geske3 years ago in Humans
Rocky Mountain Locusts
“I command you, my dear Ida, to almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator. May you rest in the arms of the Lord who formed you from the dust of the Earth. May Holy Mary, the Angels and all the Saints welcome you now that you have gone forth from this life. Amen.”
By Patrick Clancy-Geske3 years ago in Horror
Commitment
Jordie sat at the kitchen table, gazing blankly at the television screen in front of him. Behind the television, the sun’s rays glimmered through the floor-to-ceiling window, lighting up the white linoleum floor. He watched as his seven-year-old twin neighbors, Chris and Ava ran through the sprinkler in his yard. He looked nostalgically at the siblings. Had it really been seven years since Chris and Ava were born?
By Patrick Clancy-Geske3 years ago in Humans