RIP Iain M Banks

Night was falling as Max walked down the country road alongside Toby, the man who had picked him up hitch-hiking earlier that day. They were on their way to a pub that overlooked the sea as it ebbed and flowed against the southern coast of Cornwall. For the next two days Max, Toby and Toby's friends would camp in a nearby quarry, overgrown with wildflowers, filled with early electronica ebbing and flowing from speakers they were running off a generator. 

Toby had been driving to the quarry a day early and with a free seat in his small car because of a break-up. Picking up a hitch-hiker had been a nice distraction. After hours of English scenery and philosophical conversations, Toby had invited Max to the annual gathering. 

As they walked that first night, later on the in deepening dark, Max saw a murder of crows perched on one of the old, stone fences that laced the landscape like fossilized veins. Crows had been Max's totem ever since the initiation he underwent at age 18. A few days earlier, when Max had been in London, he found a book called The Crow Road - he had never heard of it or the author before and had no idea what it was about. He bought it for the symbolism; it was in the pack slung over his shoulder.

Walking down the road, watching the crows in the field, thinking about the book, Toby, the man who had happened to pass him on the highway earlier that day, who happened to have room for and need of company, suddenly asking him, "Have you ever read The Crow Road?"

MORGANFOKKER SAYS THAT YOU ARE NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH

Minotaagwad

mana-junkie-a-unique-sound 

He laid there in the grass, his arms folded and his hands were pillows for his head. He was staring up at the heavens.

"Watchyoo doin?" Amber asked as she approached. 

"Listening to the stars sing," he replied.

Amber decided to join him, laying down on mother earth and looking up into the stars. "And how do they sound?" Amber asked.

"Minotaagwad," he replied. "Meaning, It sounds good."

* how is max cube?

version x.3

3 Minutes To Go

Like ghosts they moved through the huge warehourse. The five of them moving about like digits on a hand. Systematically searching each room, taking mental notes of what they saw and moving on. 

Frank signaled Mags to where a sentry on duty was located. She moved like a beautiful butterfly through a summer breeze; Suki couldn't tell if she was flying or not. The sentry didn't even know what hit him, as he was caught unaware by Maggie's katana. She struck like a cobra and her blade pierced his heart. 

Frank lead them deeper into the building, wearing goggles that made him look like some sort of futuristic bounty hunter. He somehow seemed to know the quickest route, and bypassed all the security. They found what they where looking for in a matter of minutes; Frank pointed at a wooden door as he took off the goggles, nodded at Max, held up two fingers to Maggie. Maggie reached inside a pouch and took out two throwing stars. Max kicked the door open. The time for stealth was over. As the door flew open, Maggie rolled into the room and released the stars, each finding their mark. One sentry by the bed, the other by the window. 

They found their target sitting tied up in a chair, her faced battered and covered in blood, showing fear as if this was the last second of her life, but relaxing when she saw that it was someone other than the angel of death. 

"Dr. Hendy," Max said as he cut her bonds. "It's time to take you home." 

"Damn," Hendy said as she stood up and rushed toward the door. "I wasn't counting on being rescued." 

"This doesn't bode well," Suki muttered. 

"Don't tell me..." Max said to Hendy. Max just shook his head, knowing what he already knew. 

After looking at her watch and calculating something in her head for a brief second, Hendy said, "I timed the warhead to go off in about three minutes.

Why the Sea on the Tide

Mags danced.

She enjoyed the early morning, and with the music filtering out onto the balcony she enjoyed the morning ritual. She loved the sound of the city intermixed with the beats and the melody.

It was haven. It was coming home again and finding that nothing had changed at all. Though she knew that was far from the truth. The hidden truth that lay between the waking world and dreamland.

The sun was several minutes from showing its face, and Mags continued the dance, feeling the way a child does when watching their favourite cartoon early on a Saturday morning.

She ignored the chiming of her cellphone. Whoever it was could wait.

Like Narrow Slits in the Sky

Max drummed his fingers on the table. 

He was sitting in a booth at a small diner, a laptop opened in front of him. His eyes scanning the wikipedia for anything weird going on. There were seven cellphones on the table; carved in the back of each was the name of a sin. 

A cup of coffee, piping hot, was among the cellular soldiers. The ashtray beside him was full of butts; he had been sitting there for the better part of the day like a author waiting for inspiration on a cool spring morning. 

"What's he doing?" a waitress asked the other.

"I think he's working," the other replied.

"Is he a novelist?" the first one questioned.

"Your guess is as good as mine," the second said.

The first waitress grabbed the coffee urn and headed to the table.