The Areson Stories

Dance of the Trees By E. M. Areson The trees crowded around weighting for the storm. They could feel it coming. Birds nestled in their branches huddled together. They could feel it too. The rabbits, gophers, foxes, and mice hid in their holes. They could feel it almost at hand.  Every insect, every rodent, every lizard, and frog were safely tucked away. No living thing in that belonged in the Wild was about. They knew better. They knew what was coming. The old tree near the center of the forest had a good view of anything going on. Not that the tree had eyes, mind you, but a small sparrow lived in its branches near the heart of the tree. Not an actual heart, of course, but the place where the sleeping dryad lay unwilling to be moved. The sparrow would whisper, in its native voice, humans call its song, to the sleeping dryad the things of the forest. So when the sparrow saw the human girl wandering in the Wild when any creature with sense would be hidden he whispered of it to

The Young Man By E. M. Areson Sitting in the library I wasn’t really paying attention to the rest of the world. The book I was reading was a world all its own. How could the real world compare? I would rather be in a world of dragons, knights, wizards, and monsters than one of the cars, smog, and metal music. The portal opened up and Jalmo fell deep into the Well of Eternity. His skin tingled and he lost all sense of equilibrium. The breath left his lungs and hair flew in his face. Where and when he was going was a mystery. He could end up a hundred years in the future or a thousand years in the past. Or worst, he could end up in another world altogether. My heart was racing. Jalmo couldn’t die, I know no one comes back from the Well of Eternity when and where they left but he couldn’t die. Or what if he ended up in the past, he could start a time paradox. Or in the future where he wouldn’t have anyone to help him adjust. Jalmo landed hard on his back. He set up trying t

Wash Your Hands By E. M. Areson Yàn ate his dumplings in silence. His two room apartment was small, with only a table and one chair to furnish his combined dining room and kitchen. His bed was shoved in the corner underneath it all his clothes set folded. The only non-essential possession he had was a wooden box about the size of a shoe box. It was rather plain and set in the middle of the table next to his dumplings. A loud knock at the door made Yàn sit up. He knew what this meant. It happened so often he could nearly predict it. He walked over to the sink washed his hands then opened the door. Mr. Wang, the newest local Triad leader. He had a thug behind him, in his belt the thug had a rather large handgun. “Come in,” Yàn said in Chinese. “Please wash your hands.” Yàn himself went over and re-washed his hands but Mr. Wang and his thug merely walked by into his small house. “You are a hard man to find Yàn. I’ve been hearing about you though,” Mr. Wang said, also in Chin

Painless By E. M. Areson This is boring, Algos thought. Can’t they do something else? “Excuse me.” He tried to yell but his mouth was nearly swollen shut. “For the hundredth time. I don’t feel pain. You're accomplishing nothing.” The A.P.P.S. officer scowled, “Don’t run away again.” The man climbed out of the back of the semi and shut the door. Why don’t they have windows in these things? I climbed out of one once, but it was a lot cooler in that semi. Algos twisted his hands in the shackles suspended above his head. I wonder what they do for handless. He smirked or tried to. His face didn’t want to work. He tried to feel as much of his face as he could with his tongue. Blood. Why do they bother? You know one of these days an A.P.P.S. semi or van is going to get pulled over by the cops and the cops will find someone back here and A.P.P.S. will get it. Semi started again and for a while, Algos tried to sleep. Thoughts of the home he couldn’t go back to both h