"Et vitam venturi saeculi," a Latin phrase at the end of the profession of faith. But do we believe in "a life in the world to come"? Do we have faith? They believed. They devised a resurrection and then they died in the apocalypse. This is the story of their life and the world to come.
Published in "Adventures in Other Worlds" an anthology edited by Chris Bartholomew.
Available at Static Movement's Bookstore
And for slightly more at Amazon: Adventures in Other Worlds
The original title: Detective Stuff and the story started out life as a writing exercise for Evil Editors Blog in 2007. It was a biography of EE and it was biting, wicked satire. I wrote a flash fiction from it called it "Inspector Weannous of the Detective Squad" and had the basic plot of an old detective trains a rookie.
In December 2010, I used Willie Weannous as a character in an erotic story. But I didn't use any other part of this story. I changed the character's name for this story.
In March of 2011, I wrote "Et Exspecto Resurrectionem Mortuorum (WT 90)" and that theme had more story to it. So this is the story I wrote from that phrase.
4 comments:
~chortle, cough~
This is so good, Dave!
Thanks so much. I'm going to write out all the stuff I had to edit out of it. I'll use it somewhere.
The clock radio blasted a noise that sounded like a submarine Klaxon. Troy wanted to stand up and yell - Dive, Dive, Dive! But Nick, his lover, still lay sleeping. They had celebrated their second anniversary last night and not only did the Tequila Sunrises flow, something called a Prancing Fairy concocted of wine, bourbon and malt whiskey left a minty aftertaste when he puked it all over the bar. Troy grimaced with his eyes wide open as he remembered -- everything.
This was the original post.
>>>I just thought y'all might enjoy this.
>It's an exercise from the Evil Editor's blog linked on the right hand side.
"Inspector Weannous reporting for duty, Sir." An eager young soldier decked out in human clothing snapped to attention and saluted. The stench of human aftershave made my noses twitch. He wore a garish kilt with spats, hose tops, red doublet, patterned cape and pith helmet. He looked about as ready for inconspicuous surveillance and skullduggery as my Aunt Fanny's gay Uncle Ugo.
"Weannous, Weannous, Weannous, Weannous, what is that?"
"Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy... I'm hunting down THE criminal mastermind of the galaxy, a nefarious purveyor of wanton lewdness, cacophonous calamity and persimmonous perdition, the worm in the apple, the profligate offspring, the ill wind of..."
"Are you going to deliver speech like that when you walk among the humans?"
"I've read everything that has come through the quantum fire, Sir. Ever since we placed that device in his fireplace, the evil one has been feeding it regularly and I've read it all. From Amanda Pissedherpants, through mindless zombie cows, around the prickly phallus of continuations, beyond the splattered kumquats of queries to the vile and pestilential weredingo."
"My cup of patience just curdled. Go take that off and wear the filthy hobo outfit that you wore last week."
"I don't want to lay on a brownstone stoop in a puddle of urine, stinking of wine vomit."
"That's what detectives do, Weanous."
"But I so wanted to be a novel deviation. Now all I'll be is a drunken doofus on a damp doorstep."
"You whine like a good Weannous, boy."
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