The Summoning

"The Summoning"

a short story

Gary Baker, July 2013

I know this is mute, and I hate that I have said as much before.

Delicious ecstatic throes of awe drown out all but the remainder of what exists inside, a drilling, pounding surreal glob of what cannot be understood. It sits there, wondering what might be out and about if it could cease and be deceased, always out of reach of those in the vicinity.

See I was running when it came to me, when this bitch of an idea hit me square in the chest like rocket fire from a blaring trumpet of vinyl hell. I staggered like a drunk, suddenly void of air within my lungs, hands reaching for throats that eclipsed my grasping, groping fingers; my nails burned for blood, my eyes yearning for endless red, and my teeth longing for an ever-more violent form of red.

First Contact, the conclusion

"First Contact"

a short story

Gary Baker, June 2013

(the conclusive end to a 2 part sci-fi)

Acier arrived on the floor of the Tear bridge with a soft shush. His feet first hit the smooth metal alloy meant to feel more like the ground cover foliage back home. The sensation was as pleasing as reaching his home world once again with the intent to stay.

It would never happen, he knew, especially since his kind had long since expired in this desolate universe. Only the ability to preserve their remnants had saved the entirety of Acier’s race as such individuals had been slingshotted themselves into deep space using the large gravitational pull of the nearing sun. Acier had been awoken years ago, by the queen herself, sole survivor of the Elders, a lone soul in the universe dedicating the rest of her existence to seeking out others like her; others with the physical inability to expire without some severe exorbitant force that could push them from this realm.

Miss Ashura

"Miss Ashura"

an excerpt

Gary Baker, early 2010

(a piece from Losing Grip)

Hard air poured deep into Raspora's lungs, again causing her to arch her back in shock - yet
this time without a scream nor horrific pain. In short, she could think straight this time around. Not to mention how her eyes worked as well as they ever had, without the grey haze over everything over ten feet away. 

Looking around with her back still arched, she could see white lamps high above her and nurses watching closely, clearing any doubt in her mind about having dreamed the last encounter with this place. She sighed deeply once her heart returned to a normal pace, and sat up onto her left elbow to look about her surroundings with a more dignified posture.

Its still the same old room, she told herself, with the same old nurses and the same old
doctors from years ago. And it dawned on her just how likely it was that the nurses and doctors were annoyed with her consistent convulsions upon reentering the realm of reality. The realm of ruins, after all, was just a dream - “not even real” many doctors had claimed when she was still new to the experience. So why, then, did she feel so much pain while in that realm and upon waking up?