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Elliott Dunstan

  • Home
  • Contact
  • About Me
    • Publications
    • Books
  • Bell, Clock and Candle (Elessa)
    • The Nowhere Bird (Bell, Clock and Candle #1)
  • ALKIMIA FABLES
  • Ghosts in Quicksilver: Chapter Seventeen: Strangers Like Me

    November 6th, 2018

    chapter 17 graphic

    TW: death, referenced violence, trauma, casual ableist/sexist language

    “Alright,” I said after a moment, trying to hide the lump in my throat. “You’re one of the bosses, you want to help people, you’re offering me protection from the crazy lady who wants to eat my soul.” I crossed my arms. “What if I say no?”

    Cassandra frowned. “Why on earth would you say no?”

    I still liked her. But god, she was pretentious. I got up, brushing the dust off my jeans. “I don’t take charity. And I can take care of myself.”

    She stared at me with a gobsmacked sort of horror. “…I saved your life.”

    “And then gave me the multilevel marketing pitch. How’s it work, convert two kids, get paid more?” I was being bitter, I knew I was being bitter-

    “Jamal.”

    I froze, turned my head – then drew my hands into my chest and tried to look a little less embarrassed. Jo drifted the rest of the way through the wall, looking like she’d kill me herself if she’d had any way to do it.

    “…Yeah?” I replied, trying to sound unconcerned.

    “Apologize to Cass,” she said, biting off the ends of her words.

    “You’re not my babysitter,” I grumbled, still trying to work off the humiliation of being told off by my little sister. The fact that Cass could only hear half the conversation only somewhat helped.

    “No, I’m not.” Suddenly, Jo was very close to me, hair rising around her face like a furious, awe-inspiring halo. “If I was your babysitter, I would ground you until you were thirty. I would be able to physically STOP you from picking fights with everybody, including – apparently – some eldritch hallucinogenic with a god complex! I would actually be able to PUNISH you for stealing somebody’s phone, trying to impersonate her and NEARLY! DYING!”

    “…Oh, so you’re caught up.”

    “I hate you! SO MUCH!”

    “No, you don’t.”

    “How can you be so flippant?” There were tears in the corners of her eyes, and she scrubbed at them. I stared at my feet, not quite acknowledging the guilt twisting in my stomach. I hadn’t planned for any of this. But when it came to anything supernatural, if it didn’t involve the recently dead, I knew jack-shit.

    “…Sorry,” I mumbled. “For worrying you.” Then before Jo could say anything, I nudged my head at Cass at well. “Sorry for calling your secret society a pyramid scheme.”

    “It’s neither of those. But I appreciate the effort.” She picked up the eraser and cleaned off the mandala and notes. “But I do think you should consider allowing yourself to be protected.”

    “Because I’m an asset.”

    “Because you’re one of us, whether you admit it or not.”

    I didn’t know how that made me feel, not really. I didn’t like that the decision had been made for me – but she wasn’t wrong, was she? We’re all a little fucked up. God, that had to be the one phrase that wouldn’t leave me alone.

    “…One question before I go.”

    “Mm?”

    “How old are you?”

    Cassandra blinked, then smiled ruefully. “Seventeen.”

    “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

    “Aren’t you?”

    I could have brushed it off or blustered my way out of it like usual. Instead I just shrugged wearily, tucking my hands into my pockets. “…Yeah. I should be. I’ll catch you later.” Then I headed out of the room.

    I must not have been paying atten- scratch that. I’d definitely been distracted, that, and the classroom wall was thicker than I thought. Once I opened the door and stepped into the beige hallway, I could hear raised voices having some sort of argument.

    “You STABBED me!”

    “Only a little!”

    “Er…” I glanced uncertainly up at Jo, who was rubbing her temples with a small smile.

    “You’re not the only idiot I’ve had to deal with today.”

    “…Will?”

    “Among others. Go ahead. You’ll enjoy this,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

    “And this wouldn’t be revenge in any way?”

    “Not in the slightest.”

    I didn’t believe her at all. I went to look anyway. I rounded the corner – and came to a halt, blinking.

    Lila raised her eyes to me over Will’s shoulder, and huffed. “Oh, now two against one! That’s just bullying.”

    “It was already two against one,” said the man leaning against the far wall. He was watching the whole scene with an entertained, unbothered expression, which was what gave me the confidence that nothing truly bad was happening.

    Still.

    “You’re not, er, here to kidnap me again, are you?” I asked in a peculiar high-pitched voice. My nerves were a little shot.

    “Not unless you’d like me to,” she smirked at me, putting a hand on her hip, and I glanced down at her fishnet-clad legs for a moment before tearing my eyes back up to her face. Stupid sexy Lila.

    Will smacked her hand against her forehead with a loud, long-suffering groan. “You can be a violent creep or a helpful, friendly member of the community. Not both!”

    “Says you. How much money did you steal again?”

    “That was years ago! You stabbed me yesterday!”

    I decided to sidestep them entirely, and found myself drawn to the man leaning against the wall. He was taller than me by a head or so, with a thatch of dark ringlets falling into his brown face. I guessed he was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, much more put-together than me. No ragged denim jackets for him.

    “Hey,” he said with a smile. I could feel – something. I couldn’t place it, or recognize it. “I’m Isaiah. You must be Jamal.”

    I opened my mouth to ask how he’d known that. Instead, what came out was – “You’re a Salt. Aren’t you?”

    He didn’t seem surprised that I knew, certainly not as surprised as I was. I’d never been near another Salt before. I hadn’t even known there was anybody else like me – anywhere. And in all the times I’d imagined that there was, I had… well, I’d imagined – I’d imagined white people. I don’t know why. Not somebody with more melanin than me, with thick and curly hair and a broad nose and –

    “Yes, I am,” he interrupted my reverie. “It’s lovely to meet you. I was really hoping I wasn’t the only one.”

    Right. Stop staring.

    “Th-this is my sister, Jo,” I pointed down the hallway.

    “We’ve met! She’s very polite and grown-up. You’ve raised her well.”

    My voice stuck in my throat again. “Th-thank you,” I managed to rasp out. “Um -” I leant on the wall next to him, and lowered my voice a bit. “Is Lila supposed to be here?”

    “Don’t worry, she’s fine,” he laughed. “She has her moments.”

    “…Is everybody like this?”

    “Everybody in the community?” He shook his head, laughing quietly. Not at me, I realized. “Your luck is just bad.”

    “Oh, great,” I huffed. “So where are all the normal people hiding?”

    “We have jobs, careers, kids. These two just like getting into trouble.”

    That just made me think about Gurjas again. Kiera had hired me to solve his murder, and find the girl that’d been with him. Screw her. But – “Did you know Gurjas?”

    “Yeah,” Isaiah breathed. “Yeah, he was…” He shifted, and for the first time in a while, I felt the impact of Gurjas’s death. He hadn’t just been somebody’s husband, somebody’s father, a missing piece of a nuclear family that needed fixing. Talking to him was one thing. He didn’t talk about himself, ever. “He was a good guy. Quiet, sweet – paid a lot of attention to the kids that usually fall through the cracks.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “He worked in a psych ward. Lots of traumatized kids there – the ones who are over eighteen but still need the kind of help adults don’t get. We’ve actually found a lot of us that way.”

    I shivered. I didn’t like psych wards, but I couldn’t imagine being in one with a bunch of adults. Teenagers were bad enough.

    “Listen,” Isaiah cleared his throat, changing the subject, “I heard your friend ended up in the hospital. Do you want to go check on him?”

    “I don’t know. Cass kind of made it sound like I wasn’t supposed to leave.”

    Johara snorted from behind me, and Isaiah gave her a slightly withering stare. “Be nice to your sister. Cass is a little… intimidating.”

    I glanced between Isaiah and Jo, trying to figure out how I felt about Jo locking eyes with, being seen by, somebody else. Somebody who wasn’t me. God, how lonely had she been? A lurch of jealousy rose up in my chest, and I pushed it away.

    “Nathan isn’t my friend really, but I wanna make sure he’s okay. It’s kind of my fault he got hurt.”

    “Don’t believe that for a second,” interrupted Lila. I wasn’t sure when she and Will had stopped bickering, but my hackles rose instinctively. “Kiera’s a crazy bitch. If it wasn’t him, it’d be somebody else.”

    “Says the queen of the crazy bitches.”

    “I haven’t killed anybody!”

    “Yet.”

    “Leave them to it,” Isaiah mumbled with a despairing upwards glance. “God knows they’ll be doing this for the next two hours. Come on, my car’s out this way.”

    I followed him, then took a quick glance back at Will and Lila. Cass had reappeared at the end of the hallway, and I pretended not to see her watching me – even though, in its way, it was strangely comforting. It was weird. I didn’t know these people, and they didn’t know me – but we had something in common, something more than just where we lived and what we ate.

    Hell. Maybe I would stick around after all.

    <–Chapter Sixteen                                                                                            Chapter Eighteen –>

  • synesthesia/amnesia – a flash fiction

    November 3rd, 2018

    TW: mental illness, unreality, blood, implied murder/death

     

    It’s easy to forget —

    (the world likes to shift, when she isn’t looking, although it’s true that nothing has really changed)

    –that things haven’t always been this way. Once upon a time, everything wasn’t so loud. She heard the gorgeous images along with the cruel ones, she shaped herself here-there to the flute notes and the drums and all the other things that rushed at her. It wasn’t so hard to keep up.

    But then it got so much. And she hid. She hid in her amulet, afraid, afraid of not measuring up, afraid of the hollow empty spaces afraid of breaking and shattering like the vessel she was –

    (see what you get when you get what you wished for)

    He might have been there in the beginning. She doesn’t know. All she knows is that they are here together, and others too, but mostly him with his silver hair and his mouth of fangs.

    “You can just ask,” he whispers to her. He doesn’t like being in control. He only does it when she’s not there, or when she needs him. He doesn’t know how to move her body right. He only knows how to be sharp and jagged, quicksilver-turned-to-steel, changing and shifting their liquid bones into whatever will hit back at the things hurting them the most.

    She hid.

    It’s her fault.

    “You can just ask for the body back,” he says again, with a note of pleading.

    It’s easy to forget-

    (that what? that there’s memories drifting around in the undertow of somewhere and sometime when things were different?)

    -that he is meant to be her good luck charm.

    She drifts ghostlike beside him, watches the blood (could be real, maybe not) pooling under his feet.

    “I don’t want it,” she lies.

    There’s only cruel thoughts, jagged, around them now. And he shifts their body in response, taking the cue, being the vessel, quicksilver flowing into the empty spaces inside.

  • Wires & Ribbons /// a flash fiction

    November 1st, 2018

    TW: hospitals, AIDS crisis, death, grief.

    Tongues tangling into teeth. Lips wavering, trembling, hands unsteady and working with a language they don’t know. I can hear your thoughts, frantic with misery, you just missed him, you just missed him.

    It’s been two hours since time of death.

    I’m nobody. Not really. I’m a medical coder, not even somebody who belongs on a hospital floor or talking to patients or patients’ families.

    But I can’t not feel it. Your thoughts are open like a book, silent face an involuntary cloak over the tangle of threads below. I should have called him sooner, says the regret. He can’t be dead, there must be some mistake, says the denial. So many of us have died, says the bleak and bitter acceptance, the numbing white frost that starts to spread.

    I sit down next to you. Hands on your shoulders, an attempt at comfort. He voices something, and I can’t hear it, but I see the impression of it on his lips even before the thoughts reach me, the sudden fear. Fear on top of everything else.

    You haven’t been tested yet, hovering in the ambiguity in some attempt to save yourself. Ignorance is bliss, but that fear is still there. So I breathe in, and exhale a spark that drifts between all the ribbons and wires interlacing and constricting around your heart. A suggestion, quiet and unobtrusive, that this is not the end. That he will never leave you, and that’s okay. That memorializing a name instead of a statistic is the greatest honour you can give.

    Two hours.

    In your mind, he lived for two hours longer. Those two hours are yours, forever. Even if you forget about them, I won’t. I remember every single one of us, and I remember your names written in stone. I remember. I remember.

    //

    This was originally written for Inktober for the prompt ‘Tangled’ and posted on my Patreon. For more information on the Alkimiaverse, check out http://alkimiafables.wordpress.com.

  • Zine Review: ‘Greek Goddesses: A Beginner’s Guide’ by Sarah Julian

    October 17th, 2018

    I was at CanZine Ottawa over the weekend and picked up some fabulous independent zines! For those unfamiliar, zines are small, handmade or independently-made magazines; kind of like pocketbooks or broadsides, usually no more than 10 pages. Sometimes they’re photocopied, other times (especially in the last decade) they’re made on the computer and then printed out.

    Greek Goddesses: A Beginner’s Guide by Sarah Julian is one of the latter – a collection of colour-printed art with hilarious, only-somewhat-accurate captions about the Ancient Greek Goddesses. With cleaner lines and brighter colours than many zines, it’s only 10 quarter-size pages but well worth the $5.

    20181016_234600.jpg

    Without spoiling the surprise, the captions have a distinctly feminist slant to them. Also, Aphrodite’s tits are out, quite unashamedly.

    I’m also extremely fond of Sarah Julian’s art style, especially after looking at some more of their gallery on their Instagram at juliansarah24. I’ll be keeping my eyes open for more!

  • Review: A History of Glitter and Blood by Hannah Moskowitz

    October 6th, 2018

    Anybody who’s reading my reviews knows that I adore unconventional books. Literature is not a fixed medium; it’s fluid, changeable, always evolving. For that reason, I adored reading A History of Glitter and Blood. Set in the fae city of Ferrum during a three-way war that claims to be a liberation when it’s really an occupation, History follows a pack of young faeries who stayed behind.

    The first thing to know about History going in is that it’s not a happy book. It’s not the gloom-and-doom of grimdark literature, and it has an unwavering belief that good things are possible – but at the same time, it is about war, and not the glorious or simple wars that usually fill fantasy literature. There are guns in this Faerieland, and child prostitutes, and prisoners of war. There’s also racism, present enough to be a moral or a message, woven in deftly enough to avoid being a hamhanded allegory for the Real World.

    The second, too, is that History is gloriously, gloriously queer. Every character is de-facto bisexual, and while the term never comes up in the book, it’s because it doesn’t need to; love and sex in Ferrum really do know no gender. The most present queer relationship is Joshua and his lost love Cricket, but it shows up in a lot of ways. Even better, History takes the concept of a found family and embraces it with a powerful enthusiasm. ‘Love’ as in friendship and ‘love’ as in romance are used pretty much interchangeably, neither of them ranked above the other.

    Finally, History is a glorious exercise in metafiction. The author stumbles, starts over, gets sidetracked. They paste parts of other books into their work. They slip in and out of third person, swearing at the page. It’s jarring at first, and then by the end, it’s such a fundamental part of the novel’s structure that it’s hard to say goodbye to the writer.

    If there’s anything I didn’t like about the novel, it would be the way it moves back and forth in the timeline. I probably would have been fine with it if there was more indication of where in the timeline we were at any given point, but sometimes it takes a few sentences to realize where you are. However, I appreciate how it’s meant to add to the disorientation and heaviness of the novel.

    I don’t do starred reviews, but I can say that reading History was like discovering something new. It’s horrifying, it’s bleak, it’s beautiful, and it’s a masterpiece.

    Trigger warnings for this book include: rape/sexual assault, character death, cannibalism/flesh consumption, body horror and mutilation, (fantasy) racism, misogyny and underage sex/sex work.

    PS: If like me, you liked A History of Glitter and Blood and its unconventional take on war, you may also enjoy An Inheritance of Ashes by Leah Bobet! Both books look at war from another perspective, and put it into a fantasy/speculative fiction setting to explore its consequences on everyday, normal people who are forced into new roles by conflict. Inheritance has different (and fewer) trigger warnings, including pregnancy and abuse, but I think the two make very good companion novels to each other.

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