michaeljasper.net
I had the hardest time with this story, and I'm not sure why. Maybe I felt extra pressure, knowing it was going to be in an anthology with some of the best young writers, poets, and artists working in speculative fiction today. So I knew I wanted to do something big and different from anything before.
Or maybe it's just because this story draws from a lot of true-life experiences and has a lot of sadness in it. In any case, I'm happy with the end result.
"A Game of Contact" will be published in The Exquisite Corpuscle from Fairwood Press in June 2008.
| A Game of Contact June 1982 Andy was DM again, and the stupid spaz couldn't stop using the word to describe everything. Exquisite this, exquisite that. It was getting to the point where Mark wanted to blast him with a Magic Missile for a massive hit-point loss until he had no choice but to curl up behind his folded cardboard screen. Even the two Chrises, one on each side of Mark, were getting restless, waiting for Andy to finish his endless descriptions and get to the combat. But of course, Dungeon Masters were impervious -- see, Mark wanted to say, I know fancy words too! -- to any form of damage. They were untouchable, separate from both worlds, the real and the imagined. "The first painting you come across in the ancient gallery on the other side of the secret door is also the largest, and it is exquisite." Andy continued reading from his notebook as Mark rolled his eyes. "The fifteen-by-twelve-foot painting is painted in gilt, um, paint, with exquisite lapis lazuli borders. It's a map of the island continent of Darcovia, with Castle Deepmoat at its center." Three sets of eleven-year-old eyes scrunched up in concentration as they listened to the description. The air of the cramped dining room was filled with the plastic-cheese smell of cooling Tombstone pizzas, the last few triangles forgotten on the Formica counter. Kennedy pushed Play on the stereo next to the kitchen table. Tinny, familiar music began pouring from the speakers suspended from macramé hangers on either side of the dining room table. "Turn it up!" Lucas shouted, getting to his feet to dance, knocking over the pair of tiny, two-inch-high pewter figures in front of him in the process. "I love this damn song. 'Do ya come from-a Land-a Down-a Undah?'" "Come on!" Andy said, freezing Lucas in mid-shimmy. Mark almost laughed out loud as Andy gave his round, thick glasses an authoritative tweak. "There's no freakin' music in Dungeons and Dragons, and if there was, it wouldn't be that crap." "Okay, so what else is on the map?" Mark said, trying to focus on the task at hand. Kennedy was losing interest, gazing over at the TV, probably thinking about the start of "The Incredible Hulk" at eight. Mark didn't want the party to be over so soon, because could mean he'd end up back home. With Mom's nagging and Dad's drinking, it was like a war zone there, and he'd end up hiding out in his room again, alone. Continued... |
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