Writing

1997: The Hand of God

Kovack came into existence with a scream. His charred left side and its missing arm had not magically stopped hurting during his escape. In front of him was the Mediterranean with a brilliant sunset blazing across the water. He stood in the centre of what remained of a small Roman amphitheatre. As he turned around he saw the Crusader castle, still impressive despite its abandoned state. “Computer, please state time and location.” “We are fifteen…

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Writing

1996: Three Last Chances

Jaw set, knuckles edging into the white, and nostrils flared, it was clear (even to Gerry) that he was driving in the wrong mood. The MR2, a fast red sports car, hurtled up the wet surface of Granville Street.  The dashboard clock told him it was 8:35 p.m.  It was December 23. Nothing but trouble.  Bugs in the software.  Contracts being cancelled.  And Christmas.  For Gerry it always brought painful memories. The middle lane was…

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Writing

1995: The Final Revision

Pacific Northwest Enclave – 2305 Kevin struggled for breath as he entered the environmentally controlled foyer of his building. He didn’t want to believe that the air outside had deteriorated. It implied that Kevin’s years of sacrifice had bought, at best, time and not a solution. His breathing had returned to normal by the time he had taken the elevator to his fortieth floor apartment. The door scanned his eye and accepted his password. “Lights,…

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Writing

1994: The Eve of the Best Man

Only complete lunatics would get married on Christmas Eve. The church was old, very old for North America, and was decked out with more poinsettias and evergreen boughs than I’d ever seen collected in one place. Candles were the primary source of light for the event and the main source of raw fear for the Sexton. I admit, this old stone church near Picton affected me by chilling my feet and warming my heart. The…

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Writing

1993: Twice, Two Nights before Christmas

The “Night Danger” signs for moose were getting on his nerves. The pictogram of a large herbivore plunging onto the road appeared too often. How was he supposed to identify a dark moose against a black background? The posted speed limit was ninety kilometres per hour, but he maintained a hundred. Joel estimated he’d be just as dead if a moose made a suicide run in front of his car. Three hours more to Thunder…

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Writing

1992: Christmas Story

December 24th, 1998 Vancouver General Hospital Raymond Kroll was damned if he was going to die in bed. His wasted claw-hand swept the sheet off and he sat up, a significant effort. Raymond hadn’t stood on his own power nor been this lucid in weeks. His roommate, another AIDS patient, was asleep and took her breaths in sharp snorts. Painfully Ray stood and made his way to the window. He could see the moonlit snow-covered…

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Writing

1991: Christmas Times

December 24, 2456: Tol watched the distant star explode. It was beautiful. He gazed listlessly out the starship’s observation deck. Tol was exhausted from a double shift — even the synthetic parts of his body hurt. The star, now a super-nova, was a deadly vista but only because the ship’s radiation screens had failed. Normally there was little danger during the repair period, as the ship’s hull provided modest protection. An exploding star released more…

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Writing

1990: Christmas Story

One Hour AD Two spaceships were locked in combat. The smugglers did not intend to surrender despite being at a disadvantage. When the police vessel moved in to enclose the smugglers’ ship in a force field, the criminals activated their own shields, setting them to overload. The result was a fusion of energy fields. The police could not lower their shields as the smugglers’ would attack. To leave the shields up would lead to the…

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Writing

1989: Salzburg

Dennis was obsessed. He went to the travel agent and, when they asked him what they could do, he blurted out: “I’ve got to get to Salzburg.” “When?” “Now.” He couldn’t believe his own words. The idea of Christmas away had been brewing for a while, but the insistence on Salzburg was coming from a part of his mind over which he obviously had no control. For an outrageous sum of money he purchased a…

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Writing

1988: TIme for Christmas

We were in bed, a very nice place to be. It was December twenty-second and glancing out the window showed the snow swirling about our warm house. I carefully worked my fingers down her back, lightly massaging her spine. “Mmm,” she said. “I think so too,” I replied. Megan rolled on her side and gave me a kiss and touched my ear in that way she had. “Did I ever tell you why Christmas is…

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