Tidbits from Gary

Hello and welcome to Stories by Baker!

This just in: you can now find me on facebook under an official fanpage name!! YAY!

Anyways, and as always, enjoy if you will or don't if you won't!

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Vasher, Savior of Children

“Vasher, Savior of Children”
a short story 
Gary Baker, April 2012
[final revision: December, 2012]

The glass was empty. It was fucking empty and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Not even a single drop of anything could have deemed this container "x-percent" full. No, every last person who viewed it had to look at it as being one-hundred percent empty, and no one would be able to disagree.

Why the hell was this piece of glass shaped into a skinny skyward-arcing dome, and not then filled with something? It wasn't so much the need of a substance within the confines of this object but, rather, the prospect that no matter how he were to describe this scene he would be forced to look at it negatively. But why the hell must he, anyways? Could he not claim that it was more than one-hundred percent full of nothing? or maybe that it was full of air?

Sighing, Vasher set down the multi-dimensional mug with a loud clunk as the thick base contacted the brass countertop.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

The Ploy

"The Ploy"
a short story
Gary Baker, October 2012

Jeffy looked up, staring cross-eyed at his companion, Kher, on the other side of the stone table. The sun was bright, lending a warm glow to most of the urban park around them as the morning dew evaporated into nine-a.m. fog. Kher just watched the table, longingly, as if in deep thought.

"You want some Skittles?" Jeffy shook a king-size red bag in his hands loudly. The small flattened spheres of fluorescent sugar inside tacked around and against one another, echoing across the desolate morning scene.

Kher finally reached his annoyed glare up to Jeffy. "No, I don't want some Skittles." The young Turkish man tightened his black P-coat around his chest and dipped his scruffy chin back into the high collar.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

The Great Return

"The Great Return"
an epilogue
Gary Baker, November 2012
(part of a much larger project, book 1 of Blood to Dust)

Elias stepped out of the waygate and into his living room as if leaving the archway from the kitchen. He then paused just inches from the portal and scowled at his surroundings.

Nanna wasn’t home, much like he had expected, and the garbage had been taken out to avoid becoming a breeding ground for pests, but what was off was the lack of any other changes. On the wall to his right stood his miniature library, where books both crazy rare and brand new were organized by size, then genre, and then author with an LED ceiling light mounted in the corner above it all. Further along that same wall was the entertainment system with basic speakers and a small series of games and other gadgetry that he only used on the rare occasions when he had nothing better to do than to watch movies streamed from his primary gaming console.

Across from that, along the opposite wall, was the plush thrift-store sofa and the crocheted blanket laid over it by Nanna not long after he had bought it. On a side table nearest Elias, sat a small vase with small clear marbles in the bottom. Somehow the water was still clear of algae growth and the flowers were still

Sunday, December 9, 2012

The Seer

"The Seer"
character working
Gary Baker, October 2010

A strong, burly arm thrust into the air to hoist a rather large sword, point-first, high above all the mans companions. “War is beautiful, young lass!” Boomed the warrior, decked in velvet red and black armor with silver engravings of a lion and a broad cape that reached his knees. He looked to the frail girl beside him to emphasize his point to her soft, loving face with a smile while nudging her nose with his own. “But you are fairer than any war to exist a’tall!” Slowly, and almost romantically, his left arm wrapped around her waist just above her buttocks to pull her so close that her breasts pushed around his chest plate easily.

She blushed. As usual.

Viggo Herena wasn’t a virgin priestess for nothing, and every time Farrow touched her sexually she showed just what she was. Out of the many priestesses Farrow had met, Viggo had yet to learn restraint over herself and that gave him hope for converting her. When he was done, at least. For now, she would service him with mystic healing prowess beyond anything he had ever seen.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Just Beyond

"Just Beyond"
character working
Gary Baker, March 2012

Drel watched the tall rectangular box strapped to the altar across from his dark form with thick coils of rope and metal. In the dim candlelight almost no one could tell just what, exactly, the box was, much less what it might contain.

All they see, he thought grimly, is white marble and planks. It took serious concentration to not react to what he saw, however, with the obvious reverberations of panic exuding from within the planks like oozing sewage. Adding in the incessant smells of horror of the same origin, Drel came closer and closer to insanity by the minute.

Tall candles stood like stalagmites in the cavernous nightfall cathedral built deep into the mountains of Morrah, with flickering shadows of loyal cult members awaiting their prize that Nahuum would soon reveal. The man of the hour stepped up from the eclipse of shadow beyond the altar revealing an abnormally tall man with gruff biceps and ripped jeans from ages passed as a lowly farmer. His unblemished sand-toned skin seemed to reflect just enough light to make the appearance all the more startling, and he traced a finger along the outer edge of the planks while he walked around.

It was all a show, Drel knew, and soon Nahuum would have his cronies -- initiates the cultists would call them -- upend the box and remove the lid. But the proprietor would give the moment time to climax, allowing the crowd to frenzy and the contents to give in on one easy act of stalling.