Predator of Flame

Good news everyone, I will have two blog posts this week! Because I will not skip on my promise to continue the series on game writing on Wednesday, yet Chuck Wendig has a challenge out to which I actually want to post a response. So you get both. Lucky you. (edit: I failed you, I’m sorry)
Short note: I consider this sort of a companion piece to last year’s Master of Man, hence the similar title.smoke

Predator of Flame

Laura awoke to heat and light and red and yellow eating up the walls around her. To thick dark smoke spreading in the place of clean air. The house was on fire!
Recalling her training from school, she let herself fall out of the bed instead of standing up, to crawl underneath the poisonous smoke toward the door of the bedroom. The handle was warm, but not hot, so she opened the door and got out. The flames were everywhere already. Burning carpets blocked the way to the stairs, so she crawled the other way.
There was a window just above a garage the other way. Low enough to get out and let herself fall down on the garage’s roof safely.
She crawled ahead, passing a room with no fire but filled with a column of smoke that seemed to come in through a hole in the floor. Around a corner and – parts of the roof had already collapsed, blocking her way in this direction, too.
What she needed now was time to think. The room from before. There was smoke, but she could keep her head down. At least there was no fire yet, this could give her precious time. So she went there, careful not to close the door behind her.
Think. Somebody must’ve seen the fire yet. The firefighters had to be on their way. Was waiting for them an option? No, too risky. Maybe if she could find another way to the first floor. Where did that smoke come from, anyway? A hole in the floor was all she needed to get down and hopefully out.
That smoke column. What was that? It just stood there in the middle of the room. But it did not seem to dissipate or fill the room, quite the opposite. It looked like smoke from around the room flowed toward the column to be absorbed.
There was something in the smoke. Not really a form, more like a recurring pattern in the vague shape of a human fading in and out of the dark layers of thick smoke. A face there, an arm here, flickering in and out of existence as if the fire wanted to mock her.
More a form of modulated wind then a voice, words reached her ears: “Hello there.”
“Who’s there? Help! I’m here!”
“So am I.”
Needles filled her chest, but she managed to cough out the pain in her lungs.
“Where? Who?”
The smoke formed a more pronounced form now. A featureless human shape emerged, fading from solidified ash into thin air at its edges.
“What the hell are you?”
Snickering from nowhere. “I am me. One of my meals called me the Predator of Flame. One of the few who could still talk for a while, like you. A wannabe poet, I think. So few of you manage to stay conversational as I prepare to nourish. But I like those that do. It is a special quality of some to become even calmer than usual when meeting things like me.”
“Nourish? D’you wanna eat me?”
“In a way.”
“And you think I’ll be okay with that?”
The smoke snickered again. “Even if you would ask a pig before eating bacon, would you accept its answer? It is not like you could fight me.”
“Then why are you talking to me? Why bother? Entertainment?”
“Yes, entertainment while I wait for you to burn. But I would not know the concept had I not learned from your lot. I saw your struggles and through instinctual emulation I found consciousness. Then language. The sense of enjoying my life. Some of your most beautiful traits. I am quite fond of arrogance, for example. What a terrific notion.”
“What about guilt?”
“What about it? I do not do anything. I do not kill you I consume the exhaust of fire’s kills. This is how I became, this is how I persist, this is my nature. I am smoke. This is the most solid I’ll ever be. I could not kill if I wanted to.”
“You’re clearing your conscience, then?”
“I chose not to have one. No, I entertain myself. After all, you cannot change your fate anymore. Already, I taste your burning flesh and hair nourish me.”
“I’m not even on fire yet.”
“Do not lie, I can taste it. You started burning, it cannot be anybody else. There is nobody here. You are alone. You burn.”
At the edge of her sight, something dark snuck through the fire. Were there two of these smoke creatures? Another one to mock her? The dark figure appeared again, barking at her. The dog wore a fire department jacket, but it had caught some fire on its tail. Acting like that was not an issue, the dog barked again, to then start trying to pull Laura out of the room. She jumped up, and her lifesaver immediately starting walking out, showing her a clear path through the debris and the flames. It was way easier than before. Laura had not thought the carpets would burn up as fast as they did, and now the path to the stairs down was clear.
In the kitchen, she managed to grab hold of the dog and extinguished the flames gnawing at its tail by squeezing it in between her arms and belly. Pain advised her not to ever put out a fire this way again, reason likewise advised her not to do this right then. But depriving the smoke creature of some food seemed worth it.
She did not see it again until well after she had finally reached the back door of the house and fled into the garden. If she saw it after that, she was not sure. There was that particularly dark huff of smoke bursting out from a window and drifting away just before the firefighters closing in from the front of the house got the flames under control. Off to taunt its next meal.

Some Background

I’ve had this idea of a creature living off the ashes in the smoke from great fires for some time, yet never employed it so far. I have the plot for a complete fantasy novel revolving around them ready, but other stuff takes top priority before I come to that.
In the meantime, I took that concept and ran with it for this short. The being is now smoke itself instead of being a normal solid creature filter feeding from smoke much like large whales filter feed from the oceans. Feeding off the victims of fire makes it the malevolent counterpiece to the more neutral or even benevolent (if manipulative) fire elemantal encountered in Master of Man.
The Master of Man is a symbiont. The Predator of Flame is a parasite or, well, a predator. I like this creature and the more ethereal quality it grew to assume for this short.

Khamel, Calmrill, and Gladbach

Last night, I finished a short story titled Khamel. I recently found the idea in a note written in 2012. It just said “Khamel”, but the idea behind it resonated well enough with me that it immediately came to mind again when I just saw that one word. Can’t believe I forgot it for long enough to need a note to remind me.
The story is based on the biblical metaphor that a camel passes the ear of a needle sooner than a rich man goes to heaven. And on the quip by some American comedian (Bill Maher? I don’t recall) that creationists apparantly don’t know about metaphor, imagining an event involving a sewing tool and a very unfortunate ungulate.
So, of course I got the idea of a story depicting that. But instead of a camel, I soon came up with using a man named Khamel, an actual Arabic name. Because why not?

The whole thing had an air of medieval european fantasy setting around it, so I put it there, into a semi-fictional medium-sized town called Calmrill. More on that later. Once set up, the story wrote itself within less than two hours.

I will not publish Khamel as an ebooks, at least not yet and not separately. Instead, I will go a different route with it. And if that works, you will be able to read it for free in a couple of places.
The problem with Khamel is that it is only about 1,300 words long, barely even a short story. Although in terms of structure and plot it is far more of a short story than Introduction was.

The plan

I opted to try and sell Khamel to the market, preferably a professional one. Daily Science Fiction is the way to go here, they’re specifically looking for stories of less than 1,500 words.
Paying 8 Cents per word and reaching about 10,000 readers is more than any of my sold stories can say for themselves, both in readership and short-term money. Not to mention it would give me a new status as a professionally published author. Now that’s be awesome.
Following that, I will try to get it into the reprint market, though I have not yet done a thorough research on that area. Payment seems to be around 5 cents/word. At this point, I will also put it up for free on this here site.
One other thing I will do is get my SFF writing kickstarted. So far I have very little published in that area and when I get exposure, I want to be ready by offering any new visitors here at least one actual book. At the moment, that boils down to my two zombie projects: and Boy. It’s probably going to be Desert King, which in itself will be doing something new.
So, if that works it means a free story for you (and I really think my best short piece so far), about US$150, and more exposure for me. What’s not to like?
Seems I try something new with every single new project. So, let’s see how that one works out, then.


No, no, you can like Calmrill. In fact, do like Calmrill!
Calmrill, like Pacifica, forms the first piece in a fictional universe. While the floating town of Pacifica formed the basis of my science fiction, Calmrill does so for my fantasy fiction. Both worlds are incompatible by nature, but most of my fiction from now on will fall into one of those categories, unless one comes along that fits into neither (the only one I can see this happenign with so far is Boy, because neither world has a place for a major zombie apocalypse).

You might wonder where Calmrill came from. If not, well, tough luck, because I want to talk about it.
Calmrill, called Kalmrill in German, is my hometown. Or rather, a fictionalized version of it. My hometown is called Mönchengladbach, translating litterally into Monk’s Smooth Creek for being founded by monks next to a small, quiet creek. It’s usually shortened to Gladbach (Smooth Creek).
I made smooth into calm and used a thesaurus to find rill as another word for creek. I decided Calmrill sounded nice, it had a sort of tolkienesque ring to it. A town might actually be called that.
So, there we go, Calmrill is basically my hometown, transplanted into a fantasy world and shrunken to its old borders as marked by the town’s wall, making it one densely populated, well guarded walled hill with a central marketplace on top, surrounded by a landscape that looks a lot like Tolkien’s description of the Shire in Lord of the Rings, dotted with villages.
The idea in the Calmrill universe is that it’s mostly our universe, but almost all legends are true, especially local urban legends, hoaxes, and canards. And it’s not limited to Calmrill/Gladbach, of course. It’s gonna be fun.