Robin Laurinec
Stories (37/0)
The Hotdog Heist of '09
I have to move slow to make sure my human doesn't see me. They're sitting there on the couch, but what I am concerned with is the lovely plate with the hotdog sitting on the table in front of them. I wish I could stop my tail from wagging so fast. It's drawing too much attention. Luckily my human seems occupied with the loud box with the pictures, so I should be able to pull this off. Okay, I can do this. Slowly inch forward. I am stealth. I am speed. I am...
By Robin Laurinec11 months ago in Fiction
It Came in the Night
It came in the night for the youngest first; creeping and crawling its way through the village like a rolling bank of fog. The morning was filled with the simultaneous wailing of mother's cries as they clutched their children to their chest, coated in their blood as it soaked through the mattress.
By Robin Laurinec12 months ago in Fiction
It's Dangerous to Go Alone
It's dangerous to go alone, don't you know? You can never tell who is a monster in the guise of a man. A calm night can turn deadly in an instance. Yes, you should never go alone. Besides, it's much more fun with friends. Friends keep you safe, they keep you tethered to reality. I can see a lone figure walking by themselves past me, head down and headphones in. Perhaps I should walk with them, so they aren't so lonely.
By Robin Laurinec12 months ago in Fiction
Trapped
It's cold. So cold. I can feel the weight crushing my legs. Are they pinned? I know I should try and free them, but I'm so tired. I can hear shouting, but it sounds so far away, like an echo caught in the wind. I want to close my eyes. Just for a minute. Maybe then the throbbing in my head will go away. I'm aware of the blood pooling out from the body beside me, but I can't recall his name for some reason. I should fight, but I'm just so cold, so I close my eyes instead.
By Robin Laurinec12 months ago in Fiction
Skittering in the Underbelly
It's dark in the deep hold that you find yourself nestled in. The cold metal of the plane is pressed up against you, your belly to its in a way that that feels almost too intimate to describe. Though you cannot see outside, the pressure you can feel all around you lets you know that you are in the air. The domain of the gods, pierced by mortals. Perhaps that is why you exist: as a reckoning for mankind’s sins. The hairs on your body stand up almost as though responding to this pressure. Though you have become so attuned to the air, every time you ascend fills you with joy. There is a sense of thrill that comes from sneaking aboard: darting in and up the ramp right underneath the exhausted gazes of the men stacking the luggage underneath the floorboards of the plane’s cabin, but nothing compares to the rush you get when the wheels finally depart and the ground becomes just a patchwork quilt of green, brown, and gray.
By Robin Laurinecabout a year ago in Fiction
Nothing Says “American Independence” Like Almost Lighting Your House on Fire
Whiting, Indiana, where my extended family lives, is a lawless land when it comes to the Fourth of July. Unlike the vast majority of the United States, there are very few laws related to regulating these explosive rockets, and the few that there were were promptly ignored when July rolled around. Tents went up in the parking lots of abandoned and derelict stores, with crotchety old men who most certainly did not have permits to be selling explosives offering you cherry bombs and whipper snappers by the pound. Roman candles and other large fireworks meant to be set off in the sky high above the reach of children were shot off in backyards and out the windows of apartment buildings. If you drove through Whiting after the sun set on the Fourth, you would be convinced you were in a warzone, with all of the loud booms and the large, colorful explosions lighting up the sky. As a child, it was exhilarating. As an adult, it’s sort of terrifying. But I guess when your town is on the verge of collapse and decay daily, a little fire now and then isn’t much to worry about.
By Robin Laurinecabout a year ago in Humans
Artificial Tides
The pillars of glass rise out of the ground like glacial formations, teeming with miniaturized ecosystems. Fish of the brightest blues, yellows, and greens swirl among the coral and the seaweed, darting to and fro in bursts of speeds that catch the attention of the wide-eyed children that dash from tank to tank. At the top, beautiful black tipped reef sharks circle. Lavinia can't help but imagine them as a nervous lover, pacing back and forth, waiting for their date to arrive. Around and around they go in circles, yet never get anywhere.
By Robin Laurinecabout a year ago in Fiction
Oracles are Sometimes Wrong
To say that Athantaleus was perturbed would be a great understatement. Generally cantankerous in his daily life, the presence of the screaming, crying human toddler sitting in front of him was particularly grating on his delicate ears. With the break in the cold weather they had been experiencing this early autumn, he had been looking forward to doing some more hunting to stock up for the cold times. However, he doubted that any animal was around for miles with the racket the child was making. Athantaleus flexed his wings in annoyance, which only caused the crying to increase in volume.
By Robin Laurinec2 years ago in Fiction
Manipukou
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The villagers knew that the time of the summoning had come. A posse of some of the leading members of the village were sent to the ramshackle structure early in the morning. The mayor, a short, stout woman strode up to the window.
By Robin Laurinec2 years ago in Fiction
Daggers and Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Okay, well this time it was dragons, but it wasn’t always. Sometimes it was boggarts, or demons, or any other manner of creepy crawlies and unabashedly absurd monstrosities which were fit for the slaying, as Sir Reginald often said. Old man Kerna even swore that he saw a hairy beast with the face of a pig and the ass of a goddess somewhere up in the mountains, but Kerna was known to fancy a drink, so it was anybody’s guess as to what he really saw. No matter what manner of beast decided to stop over in the valleys however, all of the townsfolk rested assured that Sir Reginald and Sir Camdryn, the heroes of the land, would slay them. Excellent knights in their own right, together they were unstoppable. People across the land whispered stories of the Knights of Destiny, the two greatest men to ever live.
By Robin Laurinec2 years ago in Fiction