Brewster “Silicon” Jones

Brewster “Silicon” Jones noted the sunshine slanting through the computer lab window across his monitor, making the monitor nearly invisible in the glare. Like a search light from a cop car, it invaded from literally outside his domain where he was no deity, no more than bar slime. “Where the sun don’t shine” was pretty much where he lived. Yet the golden beam of slightly swirling dust reminded him of his promise to Red to be home early, before sunset, before the full moon rose. He had planned to leave long before now.

She was doing ritual tonight—the Great Rite. She thought she needed a god with a sword to become the goddess, and he was certainly willing to oblige. His intent wasn’t focused in the same direction as hers, but he’d enthusiastically share his energy for her to work her magic. It was great sex.

He slipped out of the lab and into his car, a middle-aged Buick that generally ran under the radar when he didn’t slip into his “usual suspects” mode. He stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of tequila. It would slow him down just a little before hand, and ground them after—blending the four elements, he called it: lime for air, ice for water, salt for earth and tequila for fire. She loved margaritas. He picked up some limeade from the convenience store next door while he was at it, just in case she had run out.

He was still half a block away from her house when the Buick sputtered and quit.

Out of gas–again.

He slipped the transmission into neutral, and willed the car to coast into her driveway.  IT rolled to a stop just before the tires hit the curb.

Might as well call it magic, he thought, magic being more reliable than luck. She’d have enough gas to siphon out, or she would take him to get some later, maybe in the morning. Give him an excuse to be late to work.

Life is good, he thought, watching the red sunset fill the western sky through the pines behind her house. Tomorrow would be a nice day—maybe he would call in sick. It was still early enough in spring for him to come down with a bit of a cold, and he’d likely be hung over anyway. He grabbed the booze and went in to worship his goddess.

This entry was posted in Character Sketches. Bookmark the permalink.