"In Spite of Himself" at Journey Into...

So a while back, Marshal Latham (who does a lot of volunteer work around the Escape Artists podcasts and the Drabblecast, and whom I thus encounter on a daily basis) decided to start up his own podcast, featuring a mix of old radio serials and new flash fiction. He asked me for what I had lying around, and I sent him some flash bits. He decided to run "In Spite of Himself," which was a humorous superhero bit I originally tossed up here on Mirrorshards.

If you remember it fondly, go hear it reimagined in full sensory surround sound! (Not really.) If you don't remember it, I don't blame you. Go listen to Marshal's podcast! He's got the Shadow, he's got Ray Bradbury, he's got Dave Thompson, inimitable editor of Podcastle with the friendliest NPR-esque voice I know. It's good times.

Tiny Plastic People, Melting

"Tyson, dinner."

Tyson ignored her. He added a dab of glue to the plastic fuselage in his hands.

"Tyson!"

"I am working on my model, Mom!" he shouted. He pressed the piece into place and held it there. It would soon be time for the painting.

"Your model can wait. Come downstairs now."

"'Model' means more than one thing." Tyson muttered. "It can also be a projection. A model is the shape of the future." He held the tiny jet and its miniature weaponry tightly. On his desk, his toothpick building was taking on the first resemblance to his house.

Playing Video Games in the Basement

"I hate how in comics, the villains never did anything interesting with elemental control powers? Like, you have a guy who can control water or light or sound, and so he makes big monsters out of whatever and sends them to attack people."

"I guess you can punch monsters, and it's not like most superheroes have anything else in their repertoires. How else are they going to win?"

"I'm just saying. There's a lot of untapped potential. I have to think about this stuff."

There was a splash and a scream from upstairs. They ignored it.

"Monsters are kinda fun."

I Will Write Our Names in Fire on the Sky

Never fret. The Wisest Stone is later today; this is *yesterday's* flitterfic.

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The view from up here is terrifying in its beauty. I can see the curvature of the Earth, a soft rounding of the horizon. Cities speckle the nightside with pinpricks of light, like holes punched in the planet to let the sun's fire show through.

Outside, it is silent. Still. The seas here are unmoving dust, showing the marks of impacts millenia old. The seas of Earth don't hold imprints. They wash away the memory of you in the space of a breath.

That is why I will boil them away.

They will remember me then.

That's what's important.