Seth Croston Barber's blog

A Giant's Solace

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 06 May 2006 22:06:41 -0700

Birds whistled, chirped, and sang. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees bringing forth soft, soothing, whisperings. The usually placid lake churned and rippled causing the morning's light to wobble and bob as another rock was hurled into a watery grave. The lone figure of a giant-sized man stood at the shore, a pile of stones sitting in one of his oversized hands. In a careless and lazy manner the man would pick up one of the stones and give it a light toss. Hulgar brooded.

Finding the Freeway

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 29 Apr 2006 19:36:00 -0700

"Excuse me ma'am, can you tell me how to get to the freeway?"

The woman eyed the man who accosted her. He was disheveled, ragged, and a little dirty. He looked like one of the panhandlers who hung out at the exit ramps. She was visibly discomfited by his presence. "I'm sorry. I'm still rather new here and don't quite know myself," she lied.

The man moved down the parking lot and approached a woman pushing a cart of groceries. "Excuse me ma'am, can you tell me how to get to the freeway?"

No Longer a Hunter

Seth Croston Barber — Fri, 17 Mar 2006 23:23:47 -0800

I'm a Hunter. I can't bring myself to say, "I used to be a Hunter." I've been a hunter for so long it's a part of who I am; I was the first Hunter for the love of Pete! It's in my blood, literally, and that's the problem. That's the whole reason why I'm warming this barstool trying my damnedest to give myself a crapulous stomach. Strong drink and the sick feeling of overindulgence seems to be the only thing I can do to suppress these accursed urges.

The Abanonded Inn

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 19 Nov 2005 14:55:59 -0800

I don't know when it started; I have lost my concept of time. That hasn't been all I have lost, though I struggle to remember those things I have lost, and even this I am losing, having only a vague memory that I was once something much more than I am today, a mere shell of a man. I can assure you, whoever you are, that the one thing I have not yet lost is my sanity, and I beg and plead that you do not dismiss me. Despite what you are about to read I have not lost my mind, not that, not yet.

Terror on the Sea

Seth Croston Barber — Fri, 23 Sep 2005 22:59:23 -0700

I was a fool to set foot on that vile ship of doom. The legend of Captain Cavendish was so compelling as to drive all thought of caution from my mind. When word found me that some of his crew would come to port I readied my things. It was my stupid hope that they would be in need of crewmen, for such were the tales, and failing that I would stow aboard one of their longboats and plead my case to that great pirate known only by reputation.

When Strangers Invade

Seth Croston Barber — Thu, 15 Sep 2005 14:05:16 -0700

Miss Nivley Hockerbock let out a squeal of delight as soon as she saw the furnishings of her new best friend Miss Yolanda Peppernick. The squeals didn't stop so much as change pitch, volume, tone, and orientation. Like a school girl on an international vacation Nivley made incoherent noises; nonetheless, if the attitude of the squeals didn't convey her meaning the look of rapturous delight upon Nivley's face did. Miss Yolanda Peppernick's home was proudly furnished with the most lavish decorations; medieval tapestries hung about the walls while burnished mahogany and brass tables and chests peppered the room. Miss Yolanda Peppernick was a sybarite of the highest degree, singularly devoted to her comfort and pleasure. Miss Yolanda Peppernick was a spoiled snob with few who dared to darken her door, and fewer still who were allowed to enter.

Eugene's Warning

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 20 Aug 2005 23:33:10 -0700

“It's true! I saw it. You've got to believe me; please, listen to me. I'm not crazy; I'm not. He really is a vampire, or a werewolf, or a goblin, even an ogre maybe. I saw him . . . I saw him change. He's not what you think!” Eugene struggled against his bonds, his eyes wild with pleading. Constance had no choice but to bring him down to the psych ward; he had shown no sign of mental breakdown. His last routine evaluation came back normal, and in all the years they had been together Constance had known him to be faithful, reliable, and quite sane. Eugene had planned a surprise candlelight dinner for the two of them; she could tell something was bothering him as he poured the wine, and the uncharacteristic shake in his hand as he gave the toast caught her attention, but she was not prepared for the violent outburst when he cut into the duck.

Memories

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 06 Aug 2005 11:17:14 -0700

I remember. I remember, but it's spotty. Little things here and there come to me; little things evade my scouring searches. I remember scenes from my childhood. There were swings, lots of swings, and sandboxes. There was a large golden dog who always licked my face, doubly so when I had ice cream. I remember college. I skipped classes quite often to catch up on some sleep, or catch up to some leggy blonde. I had a thing for blondes, I remember that too. I have a vague recollection of a tall, slender, tanned blonde beauty in a white veil, but try as I might nothing else comes to me.

Cedric Jones

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 30 Jul 2005 17:53:21 -0700

It was the only cafe in the county that still had a juke box, and to Cedric's knowledge it was the only juke box in the world that had his favorite band, Spike Jones. As soon as he discovered this little gem the cafe quickly became his second home; the proprietors were like kin to him, an older couple who shared the same strange fascination and childlike admiration for the silly music. In an odd twist of ironic fate Cedric became that which he looked down upon, a Regular, but somehow it didn't matter so long as he could sip on a frosty strawberry malt and sing along with the music.

For the Love of Art

Seth Croston Barber — Thu, 21 Jul 2005 22:59:57 -0700

Arthur sighed, “Can I move yet? I'm getting tired.”

“Just a little bit more,” Sophie called from behind her canvas.

“You've been saying that for the last forty-five minutes. Hurry it up will you? I'm cold, tired, and my body is beginning to cramp up on me.”

“You can't rush art,” Sophie protestingly pouted. “I'll treat you to a massage when you are done, okay?”

The Boolean Brotherhood

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 25 Jun 2005 20:46:56 -0700

“You want me to what?” cried an indignant young white man.

“We want you to dissemble yourself as one of their group; we want you to disguise yourself,” responded a stern looking black man.

“I know what it means, thank you very much,” he spat. “What I want to know is why. I thought the Order stood for truth and clarity, and now you want me to pretend to be somebody I'm not just to infiltrate their little organization? What about our ideals? What about our constant preaching against the grey areas of life and our single-minded pursuit of black and white clarity? Has that all been a lie?”

Anachronistic Proxy

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 18 Jun 2005 19:39:25 -0700

Mitch inwardly cursed himself. He swore he would never again sit as proxy for the chairman at the last quorum meeting, and yet here he was again, filling in for his philandering boss. He sat in wonderment at how his boss managed to consistently get him to represent him at these bombastic meetings of the First Anachronistic Society of the Greater Lakes of the Eighth District of Archduke Smythe. It was not that his boss was a particularly forceful individual, yet it seemed to Mitch that his boss would consistently get anything he wanted, especially the string of women he collected like so many trophies.

The Great Kite Festival

Seth Croston Barber — Wed, 01 Jun 2005 21:35:55 -0700

“He will so totally ruin it! Why did they have to pick a loser like him anyway?”

“Suzie, give him a chance. He will not ruin it.”

“But Principal Needler, he's a total loser. All he wants to do is play with his silly models. He doesn't know how to lead; he's got no vision. One time, he was made the leader of a group project in my English class. We gave this totally lame presentation, without music, or videos, or nothing. Because of him our group got the lowest grade in the class! He's a totally unfit loser!” Suzie pouted.

A Surprising Evening

Seth Croston Barber — Sat, 28 May 2005 17:16:38 -0700

The stone plate rattled melodiously as cutlery were placed upon it; the diner took up his goblet, traced his finger around the entangled dragon expertly embossed upon its pewter surface; wiping the sweat of the vessle upon his chin, he quaffed the remains of his chilled wine and sighed. He looked up at the moon, his secret mistress, and raised an eyebrow at finding her dishabille. He leaned back and drunk in her beauty and her teasing flirtations as the clouds she robed herself in slowly began to fall away from the fullness of her form. The heat of the afternoon had been so fierce as to drive all but a few into the depths of the castle; now, in the quiet of the secluded courtyard, lit only by lanterns and the glory of his Love, he and a few intimate friends finished their anticipated repast.

Custom of Honor

Seth Croston Barber — Fri, 20 May 2005 23:30:03 -0700

The door slammed shut with a loud bang. The room was near empty, only a lone figure, draped in a piecemeal leather trenchcoat decorated the bar. The room, lit with the garish neon lights advertising sexual drugs, mood altering beverages, and reminding people to floss, was simultaneously depressing and welcoming. The handbills on the wall were faded and curling, and nearing an inch deep. The floor was scuffed and stained to the point where no one could tell what it was actually made of. Even the figure at the bar seemed run down and unkempt, a lonely figure too broke to afford the drugs that whispered promises of harems full of satisfied women. The only thing in the entire room that looked cared for was the bar, a shiny hunk of sculpted metal, smooth, polished, sleek, and cold and forbearing.