Spawn of Mars
Don't worry. If you like your religion, you can keep your religion.
Noah, Penny
A Novel About Youth, Romance, and Ancient Wisdom
Penny is thirteen and something of a frantic girl. She has had her eye on Noah for a while. About a week ago, at the Valentine's Day dance, she and Noah danced for the first time; and ever since, Penny has been more impatient than usual. Her romance with Noah is not developing quickly enough to put her at ease.

Then an odd creature appears. This creature, whom Penny names "Fyfe," is ancient and immortal, but does little other than spy on people. He has decided he wants to spy on Penny and Noah. He has also, on a whim, revealed his existence to Penny. And so, on top of her troubles with Noah, Penny finds herself shadowed by a three-inch-tall something-or-other...

Fyfe says he's not a guy, not a gal, not a person, just a thing.

So he says.

He still has arms and legs and hair and teeth and fingers and a nose. He talks and he hears. I've pinched his arm, he didn't like it but he let me, and I know he's no hallucination. Oh, sure, at first I thought I'd gone totally nuts. I was nuts enough, you know, not insane but nuts enough (because of Noah), so why shouldn't I start hallucinating? I get myself all twisted up and everything disconnects and I start seeing things. I fuss about Noah until my head pops, enough to spill my wits on the ground, and my eyes go witless and do what they want and start showing me this three-inch guy.

Guy. Gal. Person. Thing. Fyfe. Whatever.

Whatever he is, he's real. I'm not crazy. Everything in the world is the same as always, same colors, same smells, same stupid stuff I have to live. Now, added to that, there's Fyfe, too, in some ways no worse than an unexpected crack in your window; and to tell the truth maybe I am crazy, because I'm already getting used to him.

More or less.

You know what he said to me today? This:

"Once I am dead I'm content to be dead. I never mean to be born again. Wherever I fall down to die I prefer to stay — by then I've always had my fill of living; but no matter how dusty my bones become I always stand again. I have been born so many times. I have had so many lives. I have sat with Adam and Eve, watching as they ate in their Father's Garden. I am so very old. I don't look it, however. Call me handsome, if you like; I won't object. At the very least I'm youthful. If I weren't three inches tall I'm sure I'd be mistaken for an angel. If I do say so myself."

You're right. That's not something you get used to, not easily anyhow. What can I do, though, but take him at his word? I never mistook him for an angel, he doesn't have wings and he doesn't shine, but, you know, he is three inches tall, and if he says he snacked with Adam and Eve, who am I to argue?

Amazon Link
My Twitter
Spawn of Mars
Magazines
StoryHack #6
Stupefying Stories #22
Cirsova #4 (Summer)
Categories
Art
Catholic Faith
Catholic Life
Family
Fantasy
Games
Language
Literature
Men & Women
Metaphysics
Movies
Music
People & Society
Personal
Publishing
Science
Science Fiction
Television
Trifles
Writing