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| Image by congerdesign from Pixabay |
Dearthart Justice was in the kitchen, scapular smeared with flour.
“Hot in here,” Dearthart Eden pulled lir tunic away from lir chest.
“You don’t have to be in here,” Justice worked the rolling pin, muscles bunching in lir arms.
“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you about something that has been troubling me,” Eden leaned against the wooden counter.
“Oh, not you too,” Justice swiped a sleeve across lir forehead, leaving a streak of white, “If one more person leaves the Deharthood to marry, I shall be forced to use miniature bread pans.”
Eden laughed, “No, it’s not that. It all started with my desk. You know how it faces the window? I get so distracted watching the squirrels swirl around the tree like dancers, or sometimes there’d be a bird with a twig in its mouth . . .”
“Not to mention that fool of a Dearthart that always waves at you from the path,” Justice eased the rectangle of dough off the counter.
“Yes, well I decided to move it to face a blank wall.”
“Let me know if you next need a hair shirt,” Justice grinned as le laid the dough on a stone.
Eden absently picked up a square of cloth, “When I was moving it, I found an old copy of The Book.”
“How old?” Justice took the cloth from lir, covering the dough.
“There wasn’t a date, but it was different from any other copy of The Book I’ve seen. It used the words,” Eden pulled a scrap of paper out of lir cincture, “‘Women and men.’ Could The Book have been written for another species?”
Justice lost lir tray with a clatter. As the two Deartharts bent to salvage the dough, Justice whispered, “They were humans, like us. Long ago people were women and men.”
You know I love neologisms, and this tiny story is chock-a-block with them. The Deartharts are priests, who live on a post-apocalyptic earth. Someone asked me if they were a different species, but I actually intended them to be human. Regardless, they only have one gender, and use the pronouns lir and le.
I realize I haven't been blogging very much, so to all y'all who still check on this site or visit periodically - - hello! Thank you for your patience and persistence during the summer. At some point remind me to tell you about the bees. Not the birds and the bees, just the bees. I know I can be a little inappropriate sometimes, but I mean, you know, the flying insects with wings and yellow pin-stripes. The very fashionably dressed pollinators of flowers and makers of honey. Those bees.
Anyhow, if you haven't yet checked it out, I have a new cozy mystery novella up on Smashwords:
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Cross-posted to 12 Short Stories
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You know I love neologisms, and this tiny story is chock-a-block with them. The Deartharts are priests, who live on a post-apocalyptic earth. Someone asked me if they were a different species, but I actually intended them to be human. Regardless, they only have one gender, and use the pronouns lir and le.
I realize I haven't been blogging very much, so to all y'all who still check on this site or visit periodically - - hello! Thank you for your patience and persistence during the summer. At some point remind me to tell you about the bees. Not the birds and the bees, just the bees. I know I can be a little inappropriate sometimes, but I mean, you know, the flying insects with wings and yellow pin-stripes. The very fashionably dressed pollinators of flowers and makers of honey. Those bees.
Anyhow, if you haven't yet checked it out, I have a new cozy mystery novella up on Smashwords:
