Comments Posted By Anthony StClair

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“But who is he?”

“He’s just himself.”

“Come on, a man like that, he must have known command, leadership. Colonel, general, admiral, boss, mayor, king, come on, what?”

“He has no title. None who he leads know that he leads. That is why he is so effective.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.12.2013 @ 7:16 am


“You may have to improv,” she said, trying not to look down.

“Surely it’s not that strange a situation,” he replied.

“I’ll grant you that you’re probably not the first person to try to cross a border while not wearing pants,” she said. “But completely naked? I’m pretty sure that’s a new one.”

“You don’t think they’ll give me a visa?”

“I don’t think you’ll like where they stamp you.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.11.2013 @ 7:18 am


The little hollow cube shouldn’t have been so heavy. There was no mechanism to open it, no crack or seam to suggest that it had been assembled. The cube was as natural as the sun, not made but there. It was hollow, but something was inside.

And it wanted out.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.10.2013 @ 7:18 am


The motorcycle stood at the edge of the cliff.

Meanwhile, the guru looked up from his desk in his high tower in London.

The woman took off her helmet and stared north.

The guru shuddered.

The woman started the engine. It’s a long way from Tibet to England, she thought, but I’m coming for you.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.09.2013 @ 7:06 am


She stood on the peaty ground, staring out over the dim, misty morning. It should have been silent. It should have been a peaceful morning, full of tea and a crossword puzzle.

But she stared harder, waited, and at last, she saw it. Plumes rose from the worn dirt track leading to the hostel. The motorcycle sped up.

Great, she thought. So much for peaceful.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.06.2013 @ 7:13 am


He was smiling as he did it, she thought, anger and disgust flooding her. Through the camera she looked, twisting a dial to change the aperture.

“Bet you never thought anyone would see you doing this,” she said softly, then snapped the picture.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.13.2013 @ 7:24 am


There was no sense to it, at least, not after ten pints of black, black stout. The geometric gentleness of the lacy foam fell, clinging to the insides of the glass, but it never went away.

The foam slid down the glass, and across the glass, even up the glass, and finally, at last, it made sense.

The foam had formed letters, and he realized there was a message in his beer. “Help me,” it said.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.05.2013 @ 7:18 am

The shape always baffled her. Cut yet pure, the edges both precise yet so organic they only could have happened over millions of years. The light shone through the blue-green stone, and geometric patterns twinkled on her hand.

“Do you know what it is?” she asked.

He smiled. “Imagine compressing the sun into something so small you could hold it in your hand.” He closed her fingers around the stone. “This is a million times more powerful.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.04.2013 @ 7:23 am


“I’ll have a typhoon,” she said.

He looked up from the glasses and bottles, and smiled.

“What could a woman like you possibly want with a drink like that?”

“It has nothing to do with the drink. It has everything to do with the effect.”

“You know you have to sign a waiver first, right?”

She smiled back. “You may want to sign one too.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.03.2013 @ 7:13 am

It wasn’t a kitchen. It was the aftermath of a typhoon. Milk pooled on the floor from beneath the toppled fridge. The kettle was stuck on a blade of the ceiling fan. A slice of bread had broken the window.

She shook her head. “No more free kegs,” she said.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 12.02.2013 @ 7:44 am


I don’t normally buy much. There’s so much to buy, that I could wind up moneyless in a day. But when this bloke came around selling, well, I shouldn’t even tell you what he was selling. Not here, like this. But when he came around, and he showed me what he had, I had a reaction I never expected to have. After I bought everything he had, I paid him more—to show me where he got it all.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.25.2013 @ 7:47 am


The strangest thing has been the new television. They were unheard of here until a couple of years ago, but now I see them more and more. The people seem listless now, instead of the vibrancy I saw on my first trip here. I don’t yet understand the allure of watching someone else’s life instead of living your own, but I can’t bear to let myself watch, a, a telly, for fear of getting just as sucked in, as if surrendering my life for the sake of being still.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.22.2013 @ 9:14 am


This city was once a village that was nearly destroyed. Long ago, it’s said. Something that could have ruined the world, all life as we know it, all life at all. The place was barely defended. But they fought it back. They must have, anyway, because we’re all here.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.21.2013 @ 8:51 am


The temples shine in the sun as if they were suns themselves. Though the rest of the place is dirty, and smells like an outhouse that hasn’t been mucked out in centuries. Which in some ways it is. I don’t mean to sound irreverent, this city is everything I thought it would be and more. It’s just that I didn’t come here with my eyes shining. I guess I just get to see that it isn’t all beautiful. The misery here is as thick as the shite. Makes me wonder why it’s only the temples that get to shine.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.20.2013 @ 8:45 am


“When was the last time you were at the beach?” he said.

“I was nine,” she replied. “My dad and I built a sandcastle.”

“You haven’t been back to the beach in twenty-five years?”

She shook her head. “After the sandcastle, he had a heart attack and fell on it. He died. I can’t stand beaches now.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.19.2013 @ 7:17 am


“My employees are devoted,” he said.

She stared down from the high windows, so far above the streets of London. The people stood so still, staring up, waiting, hoping. Waiting for him.

“They’re not employees, they’re disciples,” she said.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.18.2013 @ 7:12 am


She flung the blackened squares into the trash and twiddled the dial of the toaster. “Surely one will do it,” she said. “It’ll barely toast.” She popped two slices of bread and the rest of her hope into the slots.

The nutty, warm scent of toasting bread filled her nose. Then it transformed into black, acrid burning. The smoke alarm rang.

This time, she threw the toaster in the trash too.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.15.2013 @ 9:07 am


The thing about the backpack was the ever-present sense of wearing a house. The straps cinched around him, so tight that breathing was difficult. His shoulders sagged under the weight. And his left knee, that he had popped out of joint when he was thirteen, beckoned to him with a dull, constant ache.

This was a horrible idea, he thought. But then he looked at the ticket in his hand. “Agamuskara, India,” it said, and he smiled.

That was a great idea. The rest was just details.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.14.2013 @ 8:55 am


The burning sun blazed at the canopy, angry at not being able to redden the skin of the people beneath. In front of them, the white sand stretched to the deep blue of the sea, where gentle waves approached the shore, gently, quietly, as if approaching a king.

“Bloody tropics,” he said. “Why is it that this place is supposed to be heaven on earth, but it’s hotter than hell?”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.13.2013 @ 8:46 am


A barricade blocked the border. Beyond it, he saw the rolling hills and lush fields of the country beyond. They were identical to the rolling hills and lush fields he now left behind—and yet each was not the same as the other.

All it takes to make two different worlds, he thought, is an imaginary line.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.12.2013 @ 8:21 am


He tossed the noodles into the vegetables and pork, then drizzled sesame oil over the final dish.

“Just like your mama used to make?” she asked.

He chuckled. “I don’t think my mom even knew sesame seeds could be oil,” he replied.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.11.2013 @ 7:32 am


Every country was in his face, Asian and European, American and Australian. In the sun he seemed darker; in the dim lights of the pub at evening, darker. For all the years they had wandered together, not once had he ever looked the same.

And not once had he ever, ever, looked so happy or so hopeful.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.07.2013 @ 8:41 am


“How many borders have you crossed?” she asked.

“Back and forth, one time only… probably around seventy-five,” he said. “Give or take. There was one I think I just kept walking beside, instead of ever really crossing. But that mountain moonshine is also pretty potent stuff, so I also could’ve been in a completely different country from what I thought.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.06.2013 @ 7:20 am


There was no light like eastern light, no haze like the sun through the thin air over the Tibetan Plateau as it shone over the endless brown ridges stretching out below them. She stood next to the motorcycle and set her helmet on the front of the sidecar.

“You look like you could live here,” he said.

“If I ever could stay in one place,” she replied, “This is what I wish I could call my home.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.05.2013 @ 8:46 am


The pints were lined up like a squad, ready for whatever the night would bring. Behind them, she set up another row, bringing the total number of pints to twelve.

“How many people are you expecting tonight?” he asked.

She chuckled, and nodded to the man in black at the far side of the pub. “These are just for him,” she replied.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.04.2013 @ 8:56 am


“Don’t think of it as a grubby old warehouse down by the waterfront,” he said, unlocking the heavy steel door and swinging it open.

Inside, bright white lights covered the ceiling in light. People bustled around the vast space, and everywhere was the hum of new ideas taking form in the world outside of people’s dreams.

“Think of it as an incubator.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 11.01.2013 @ 7:15 am


The city stretched out beneath the tall building, and not for the first or last time, he wondered if where he stood was the center of London. The cinematic spread of the city still impressed him, as he wandered the circumference of the round, windowed room at the top of the building. So much world. So much to do.

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 10.31.2013 @ 7:09 am


They had been ever unfaithful to the seasons. The way they grew and bloomed, defiant of the snow and the chill, defiant of the weak sun. They never had the right, but they had taken it anyway. And now he moved, free at last from the ground and the roots. The blossoms were so delicate. How quickly could they fall?

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 10.30.2013 @ 8:38 am


“Ah, the brisk Irish morning air,” he said. “Why do you have a country where the beer is warm but the fires are cold?”

She put more peat on the fire. “Because we have our priorities straight. Make a cuppa tea and quit whining.”

“Don’t get me started on tea.”

“Actually, that’s a good idea. You Americans can’t be trusted with a kettle. I’ll make the tea. You go find a sweater. Maybe you’ll find some balls too.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 10.29.2013 @ 7:07 am


“Did he ever seem suicidal?”

She laughed. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “But what you ask isn’t tragic, it’s so far removed from who he is—”


“Is, that it’s ridiculous.”

“But he’s dead.”

“I don’t recall you showing me a body. Unless I see a body, I wouldn’t believe that man is dead. Even then, I’d have my doubts.”

» Posted By Anthony StClair On 10.28.2013 @ 9:14 am

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