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  Fallen Stardust: A boy, an outcast and an alien must find salvation in a world of ruin. Samuel must find a medicine to cure the fever ravaging his village. Markus must find the motive that murdered those he loved. And an angel must find a future in a city crumbled into debris. But something lurks beneath the wasted world, and waking it may doom what little of humanity survives.

  The Sisters Will Dance: Blaine Woosely claws his way back to the living. He has cleaned his blood of his addiction, and an unexpected, family farm home rewards his efforts. Only, the country acres isolate Blaine when a sharp-toothed monster hunts to bring Blaine back to dark. The sad history of Blaine's blood brings magic to the country home's new master, but in the end, only Blaine himself can break his chains.

  Mr. Hancock’s Signature: The dead walk in Monteray. The corpse of a nearly forgotten farmer named Hancock arrives via train. Ian Washington remembers Mr. Hancock and vows to return the body home. Yet Mr. Hancock's body will not rest while Ian works to reopen a cemetery, and the corpse staring each morning upon the doorstep forces the town to choose between the isolation of their fear or the hope of their fellowship.

  Glass Desires

  Brian S. Wheeler

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2013 by Brian S. Wheeler

  Glass Desires

  Content

  Chapter 1 – The Corner of Water and Fifth

  Chapter 2 – Worlds Stacked Upon the Shelves

  Chapter 3 – Vain Worry for Fay

  Chapter 4 – Snow-bitten

  Chapter 5 – Celebration with No Strings Attached

  Chapter 6 – One Snow Globe More

  Chapter 7 – Surrounded by Reflection

  Chapter 8 – Picking Up the Pieces

  Help Spread the Story

  Other Stories of the Clever Fay Kind

  About the Writer

  Other Stories

  Chapter 1 – The Corner of Water and Fifth...

  I sensed that Fay would be standing at the corner of Water and Fifth streets the moment I opened my eyes in the morning. Though any sight of her reminds me of my pressing mortality, I'm always pleased to see Fay when I glance out of my bedroom window. I have learned that one cannot take anything for granted regarding her. I can never guess what wonders she will bring.

  I knew I would see Fay again despite what my doctors said. My doctors tell me that my treatments have defeated the tumor wrapped in the folds of my brain matter. They tell me the steroids that have soured my mood have completed their purpose. They tell me the radiation that blurred my vision has decimated the foreign growth. They assure me those awful, black chemotherapy pills I forced down my throat each morning, that made me miserable and noxious, succeeded in halting any additional, cancerous growth. My doctors proudly gather to tell me this, as if they've turned lead into gold.

  Yet my bones are suspicious of my doctors' assurances.

  Fay's return confirms this suspicion. My mortality stands at the corner of Water and fifth next to her. I don't mind if Fay brings the reaper himself with her to that street corner outside my window. I am a lonely man, and I am always happy to see Fay.

  She notices me looking upon her and smiles. I wave. My heart buzzes.

  If I believed logic explained anything about Fay, I might say that the optic nerves in my brain, inflamed by my tumor and the radiation treatments, account for the halo of light that swirls around Fay's head, for the snow passes through such circling light like motes of pearl.

  But Fay has taught me to put all my faith instead into magic.

  The outer cold has frizzed Fay's exposed, silver hair. Her hair isn't the grayish silver a person might associate with distinguished shades of age. It is the color of bright, pure silver, the silver of coins or of treasured bars. For as long as I've known her, Fay has worn only a single wardrobe, and it is a poor collection of articles for the weather. Mismatched boots cover her feet. The boot on her left leg looks stylish with a thin, high heel, while the boot on her right foot is simply a cheap, rubber rain boot. As a result, Fay's stance is highest on her left side and slopes downward to her right, a posture that I think must wrench her back into knots. Both boots climb half-way up her calf, and there is only a trace of Fay's light skin before a black skirt wrinkles a little beyond her knees.

  I have imagined Fay so many times during those cat scans and radiation treatments. I have dreamed of Fay when I have rested in the hospital during those stretches of isolation between visitations paid by mumbling coworkers and dwindling, distant family members. I have thought of Fay whenever my spirit sagged.

  I am not ashamed that I have dreamed of Fay stepping out of her silly wardrobe. I like to imagine that Fay's curves possess a supple bend. I like to think her figure traces arcs and curves of a grace I could not resist. I like to imagine my fingers trailing through her silver hair, upon her waist, further still towards murmurs and sighs.

  But I don't think I will ever see Fay without that atrocious, camouflage sweater that blankets her body and denies any hint of the creature standing beneath such fabric. The sweater's sleeves stretch beyond her hands, and Fay is constantly fidgeting with her cuffs so that her fingers might see daylight.

  Necklaces crowd Fay's throat. I wonder how Fay managers to hold her chin off the ground despite the weight of so much jewelry. Pieces of shining glass, polished stones, bottle-caps, foil balls and anything else that might sparkle in her eye compose her necklaces. The necklaces jingle when she walks. I have offered her finer necklaces of turquoise and gold, but she never accepts any of them. She prefers whatever baubles she finds littering the destinations of her travels.

  Fay does not trade the sweater for a blouse no matter the heat nor the humidity. If it is wet and cold, like today, Fay never wears a coat, nor cover any of her necklaces with any kind of a scarf. Fay wears only the single wardrobe, and only Fay can tell you where she finds her pieces of motley attire.

  Before I knew better, before Fay introduced me to her world, I assumed Fay was some homeless waif, one of the young and lost somethings the world devoured before tossing the bones into the street. I pitied her the first time I saw her.

  I have learned better. Fay is no powerless girl lost on the street.

  I blink and Fay vanishes from my window view. Though I ache, from perhaps the armies of cancer regrouping in my skull or simply from the shock of the cold tile beneath my toes, I shuffle quickly through my bedroom to reach my apartment intercom hanging just inside my front door.

  The intercom buzzes the moment I reach it.

  “When are you going to learn that you don't have to ring my apartment bell anymore when you want to visit?”

  Fay's light voice dances through the speaker. “It's good manners to ring, Adam. People don't forget to ask for invitations where I come from. Never underestimate what it means to cross through someone's threshold.”

  I chuckle. “You give my apartment too much credit. This is not the Queen's ballroom. It's only simple A
dam's simple place, and you don't have to buzz every time you want to enter.”

  “May I come up, Adam?”

  “Of course, Fay.”

  “I have permission?”

  “You always have permission.”

  I close my eyes to provide Fay with her needed moment of magic. When I open them, she stands warm and dry in my apartment, as if the cold and wet never touched her.

  “You're as beautiful as ever, Fay.”

  Fay's halos spin and glow. My eyes tear and blur in their shimmer.

  “Who, or what, should I thank for your visit?”

  “I found another piece, Adam.” Fay's hands extend out from her sweater, and her fingers weave through her necklaces. A reflection of light blinds my inflamed, left eye for a moment before Fay shows me a jagged shard of glass. “I know it's been a while since we've last found one of my glass pieces. And I know it's been a long time since I last visited. But here's a new shard, Adam. The Regent's left another piece behind for us. We can still find him.”

  I turn weak, but I force myself to smile.

  “Are you alright, Adam?” Fay's head tilts. “You've suddenly turned pale.”

  I wave off her concern. “It's only the medicine I'm taking. It will pass.”

  “If you say so,” Fay frowns. “I don't trust any of those medicines you're taking.”

  I nod. I do not need to convince Fay that I am strong and healthy. I only need to distract her from the real source of my hurt.

  “If you have a new piece of glass, does that mean you have a new snow globe?”

  Fay's eyes beam. The halos circling her face brighten, and my mind swoons in the glow.

  “I would never come to visit you without one, Adam.”

  Fay's hands retreat back into her sweater before her right hand reemerges from the sleeve holding a glass snow globe in her palm. I hold my breath.

  Then, Fay shakes the bauble and the snow trapped inside swirls. No matter how ill I might feel, no matter that Fay's visits force me to face my mortality, I will never cringe at Fay's knock. I will never deny her an invitation. Fay always arrives with a new snow globe, and their swirling snows treat my hurt better than any of man's medicines.

  * * * * *