Posts Tagged ‘Mining’

PseudoPod 531: Gleed


Gleed

by Jason Rush


The first thing I notice is that goddamn old-timey music, Suwanee River or some shit.

I smell stale peanuts and beer. Also coal and dirt, but that’s always there. As much my fault as anyone’s.

I’m already seated. My head sags, and my hands rest on a small, oak table. Car keys and cell phone in front of me.

My head pounds.

“Guys?” Danny says across from me. My brow creases as I look up. He, Johnson and Huck sit around the table. My crew. Why are their hardhats still on? Dirty work clothes. Smudges of grime on their faces. And how the fuck did we get here? (Continue Reading…)

Pseudopod 429: Flash On The Borderlands XXIV: Femmes Fatales

Show Notes

“I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.”
La Belle Dame sans Merci, John Keats


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“The Lady With The Lantern” by Charlotte Nash

The lady with the lantern is a nautical folktale. This borrows the name, but re-imagines a very different spectre.

“The mine called Callum in his tenth year. One morning, he was walking to school with the other boys; a pair of new shoes, a boiled sweet in his cheek. The next, he found a pick in his soft hand, and his feet followed his father’s to the cold, dark portal.”

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“The Bleeding Game” by Natalia Theodoridou.

Your reader – Sean Sorrentino – makes his first appearance on PSEUDOPOD with this tale.

“She died two weeks ago. I found her again yesterday. She must have been around twenty when I first saw her again.

It’s not that I wanted to die–I didn’t, not really. I just needed to feel something, anything. I grabbed the x-acto knife and sliced. It was little more than a deep scratch really, just below the elbow. The sound of ripping flesh surprised me–I didn’t know we did that when you cut us open, wasn’t expecting to hear anything–but otherwise it felt good. A little pain, to make sure I was alive. Then a rush of adrenaline on seeing the blood well up, hot and red and mine. And then a flash of neon and that sound, like a record skipping, something being ripped apart, and she was there, or rather I was then.”

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“Making Paint As A Means Of Impermanence” by Jeff Bowles.

“Remember the first time you painted me all over your dead wife? Remember how we danced and danced, on into the night, under the leaves of the tall, ghostly aspen trees? Remember how you made love to her just as the sun rose, and though it was autumn, and though she’d been dead hours already, you somehow thought things could stay that way forever?

I think knowing you is just like knowing God.”

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PseudoPod 312: Feeding The Machine


Feeding The Machine

by Hunter James Martin


The moment I laid eyes on the new start I knew he wasn’t going to last. Half of it was the look on his eyes, the other half was the look on everyone else’s eyes when they watched him. A lot of people don’t make it in this line of work. Not many minds can cope with being planted deep into the ground for so long. The average new start does five days a week, while the average worker does seven. I have been doing entire weeks for longer than I remember, devoid of fresh air and sunlight. It has been a long time since I have seen my reflection, but I imagine I am not a pretty sight.

The atmosphere doesn’t help things either, the horrid gloom we work within. Even in my apathy I can taste it: the darkness that nestles within the oily depths of the shadows, the dull throb that resonates through the caverns, and the dreadful machine, always rumbling like an empty stomach. The heat too, emitted from its insides, made worse after twelve hours of working in the same suit collecting sweat and oil and dirt and sometimes piss. Then wearing it again the next day. Then for another year.

My suit smells terrible. Everyone’s does. The tough leather is falling apart and there is a tear behind my left shoulder. But we are used to it. Used to recycled uniforms and moribund tools. Used to safety equipment that is a hazard in itself. Used to the smell of ancient piss and shit. Hardly even notice it really. Only made aware of it when a new start comes down the cargo elevator twitching his nose and pretending the reek doesn’t bother them. They all do that, then they either get used to it or lose their job. Back up the cargo elevator, or worse.’