Rogue artists, p.19
Rogue Artists, page 19
Maureen hoped the person who found this stone only needed a gentle push out of their set ways. To realize things could be done differently. To understand that all they’d been trained to do was not the end of it. Long-term doctors and nurses were often this sort of person. They were people who knew the rules so well they didn’t realize that there was more than the rules to life. Color outside the lines, she thought as she put it aside and took a breath to reset herself and her intentions.
The third stone was almost a perfect circle with a gentle bulge in the middle. It was almost too perfect to not be handmade, but Maureen knew it was one of nature’s products. On one side she scripted the word “Verify” in white paint with no embellishments. On the other side, she drew an exclamation point and put multiple parenthesis on either side. Again, she only used white paint. Its starkness made it beautiful. This rock she would put near—or inside—one of the local coffee shops.
The person who needed this stone was the type who believed whatever they heard and spread it as gospel without checking the source, the fact, the story. That was how mobs were created—online and in person—and how misinformation was spread. She hoped that the simple beauty of the painted rock would entice the finder to put the stone on their desk or some place they would see it every day and feel its message.
Three mental stones painted. Maureen sighed, already feeling the exhaustion of imbuing magic into material objects. While she was no spring chicken, she didn’t feel like she was over sixty years old. At least, not mentally. The body, that was another subject that she would not dwell on . . . at least, not right now.
She sipped her tea, grimacing at its cool temperature. It was time to shift to water then get back to work. As tiring as it was, she already felt better, more in tune with the world and doing her small, secret part to make it better.
Back to work, Maureen picked up the fourth stone. It was large and inviting. Its weight begged you to toss it up and down. Or to throw it—for good or ill. On this stone, she wrote the word “Give” in big, bulbous, pink letters and surrounded the word with tiny yellow flowers. On the other side, she drew a bright package with a large red bow. The gift sat on something that could be the ground, a counter, a table, or a chair. It was left to the finder’s imagination. She would place this one near a local bank. It might be a bit too much on the nose, but Maureen didn’t care.
The person who found this piece of magic was the type who thought about themself first and foremost before they thought about anyone else. They had all they would ever need and wanted more. The magic would turn this a little. Make it more of a joy to give than receive. To appreciate the pleasure of another’s need met. To understand that they could touch the world in wonderful, beautiful ways and that would make their lives so much richer for it.
The fifth stone was the lightest and the flattest of the bunch she worked with today. In contrast, it was the hardest of the magics to imbue. It’s why she didn’t leave it until last. On one side, she drew a shining gold lightbulb with a silver question mark at its center. She complimented this with wavy lines radiating out from the lightbulb. On the other side, she printed the word “Consider” in childlike block lettering and bordered it with solid lines above and below. A faint, thin, dashed line split the word horizontally. This one she thought she would leave in a park. Or perhaps a grocery store.
She hoped the person who found this stone would be young with a young person’s energy and spark. The need was for them to realize that there were people beyond their personal world that needed more than they had. The intent was for the finder to understand that everyone had their own world, their own lives, their own experiences. Once they considered others, they could expand their worlds into something generous and fulfilling, then create a lifetime of joy.
The sixth stone, almost as flat as the previous one was a long slender oblong. She knew what magic this stone was destined for the moment she uncovered it. On the first side, she scripted the word “Empathize” in purple and haloed the word in lavender. On the second side, she drew a pair of hands clasped with a pair of hearts on either side. This was a stone for one of the schools or local playgrounds.
With luck, the finder would be a spoiled child, charmed by the stone’s interesting shape and attractive coloring. Let them understand there was magic within it. Let them look from it to the others around them and feel as others did. To know when they did something that hurt another, they hurt themself, too. To feel joy when another felt joy, and not jealousy. To connect with others and know the world owed them nothing, but what they put into the world they got back.
Three emotional stones done. One stone left. Maureen sat back and stared at it. By now, her back had begun to ache and her hands trembled from fatigue. Closing her eyes, she wondered if she could stop for today and come back tomorrow. You already know the answer to that one, dear girl, she thought to herself. If you stop now, that last stone will remain unfinished. Come on. Stretch, then push through.
Smiling at her mental voice—which sounded so much like her mother’s—she did as she told herself to do.
The seventh stone, cool and smooth, perfect for holding in the hand or for skipping across a still pond, waited for its magic. Maureen hesitated. She knew the word, but she struggled with what symbol to use. She needed both for the magic to work.
After a few silent moments, she decided that the first image that came to mind when she turned over the stone would be the one she used. The decision made, she printed the word “understand” in all small letters in neat blue script and surrounded the word with a double-lined orange box. It felt right. She turned the stone over and the perfect image came to mind: a small red heart, cupped in an offering hand. Nothing more. Nothing less. Empathy and knowledge, interpretation and intent. It was all there. She smiled. This bit of magic, she would leave wherever the urge struck her tomorrow, when she cast her magic into a world that craved it.
She did not know who needed this stone. It was both mental and emotional. To understand something was to know it. To understand a person was to know them as well. This was a stone of interpretation and communication of intent—something the world needed. Too many misunderstood small gestures and unintended actions. We are the heroes of our own story, Maureen thought. Let this stone allow the one who needs it most to understand that everyone is the hero of their own story, too.
Putting the stone down, she sighed with the fatigue, relief, and satisfaction of a good day’s work done. All that was left to do was clean up then rest. She could manage that much. In the back of her mind, she felt the magic in the stones. They were all interconnected in different ways. It made her wonder if, someday, they would bring their finders together. “Wouldn’t that be a sight?” she murmured.
As she cleaned up her work area, putting the paints away and feeling every ache in her body, she heard someone open the side gate. Perplexed, Maureen called out, “Hello?”
“You weren’t answering your door, so I figured you were out here,” Felicia Care, fellow witch and one of Maureen’s best friends, called. Not that Felicia would admit such aloud.
Waiting for Felicia to appear in all her glory—black clothing, salt and pepper curly hair, and suffer no fools attitude—Maureen tried to figure out why Felicia was here. The woman liked her schedules and, she couldn’t remember anything being on the schedule for today . . .
Felicia turned the corner, carrying a large basket. “You forgot, didn’t you.” It was a statement, not a question.
Maureen groaned. As soon as she saw the basket, she remembered. It was Wednesday. Tea time with Felicia. Her turn to cook. “I’m so sorry . . . ”
“Meh.” Felicia shook her head, dismissing the apology. She looked at the painted rocks with interest. “I knew you were working. I could feel it. I also know how you are when you work. These look interesting. When are you going to distribute them?”
“Tomorrow. Would you like to come?” She thought Felicia would decline, but was pleasantly surprised as her friend nodded.
“Sure, I haven’t been on that kind of run in a while.” She put the basket down and really looked at the painted stones, but didn’t touch them. She knew better. “You do do good work. It’s just a shame that we have to keep it so quiet.”
Maureen tried not to preen at the compliment. “Sometimes it’s better to do secret magic. Nudge here and there. Let the magic find the people who need it most.”
“Well, enough about the necessity of secret magic. I brought tea and I’m hungry.” Felicia hefted the basket, swept past Maureen, and went inside.
Smiling at her friend’s back—the woman expressed all her emotions in action—Maureen glanced at the table and the seven magic stones waiting to be cast into the world. Tomorrow. Then every person who found one would be nudged in the right direction whether they felt the magic or not. It was one small way she could make the world a better place. That was all one could strive to do in this lifetime.
Maureen turned and walked into her little home. It wouldn’t do to keep her friend waiting. Now, it was time to rest. Tomorrow was another day.
~
Jennifer Brozek is a multi-talented, award-winning author, editor, and media tie-in writer. She is the author of Never Let Me Sleep and The Last Days of Salton Academy, both of which were nominated for the Bram Stoker Award. Her BattleTech tie-in novel, The Nellus Academy Incident, won a Scribe Award. Her editing work has earned her nominations for the British Fantasy Award, the Bram Stoker Award, and the Hugo Award. She won the Australian Shadows Award for the Grants Pass anthology, co-edited with Amanda Pillar. Jennifer’s short form work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Uncanny Magazine, and in anthologies set in the worlds of Valdemar, Shadowrun, V-Wars, Masters of Orion, and Predator.
Jennifer has been a freelance author and editor for over fifteen years after leaving a high paying tech job, and she has never been happier. She keeps a tight schedule on her writing and editing projects and somehow manages to find time to volunteer for several professional writing organizations such as SFWA, HWA, and IAMTW. She shares her husband, Jeff, with several cats and often uses him as a sounding board for her story ideas. Visit Jennifer’s worlds at jenniferbrozek.com.
Acknowledgments
Authors have always had a place at Origins Game Fair. GAMA would like to thank Gregory A. Wilson and Aaron Rosenberg for their invaluable assistance in overseeing and scheduling the Authors Alcove program this year. Likewise, our thanks goes out to E.D.E. Bell and the participating authors, without whose work there would be no anthology, and to Events Coordinator Cynthia Tuck and Executive Director John Stacy. Thanks is also due to Charles Urbach for the magnificent cover for this year’s volume.
GAMA is the Game Manufacturers Association, the sponsoring organization for the Origins Game Fair and GAMA Trade Show. Its mission is to be an advocate for gaming on all levels. To learn more, please visit gama.org.
Atthis Arts would like to thank GAMA, Origins Game Fair, Gregory A. Wilson, Aaron Rosenberg, and the participating authors for trusting us with this project. We are so proud to share these stories with the world.
And most of all, our thanks to you, for reading them.
For more, visit atthisarts.com.
Content Notes
The content of this anthology is intended for adults and teens and is generally non-graphic. Specific notes for each story follow. These may reveal elements of the plot, and are intended for readers looking to avoid specific elements (at that time, or in general) prior to reading the stories.
Art Holds Our Broken Hearts Together (link)
War and sadness to children, death of family, suicide
Catharsis (link)
Religious oppression, policing, imprisonment, off-page torture, expressions of agony, bodily fluids
ARTBOT (link)
Off-page death of child, parental expectations, arachnid reference, blood
Art In (link)
Cultural theft, moments of alarm, parental expectations
Shattered (link)
Broken glass, a cut and blood, yearning
Flower Girl (link)
War and sadness to a child, loss of parent, off-page blood
and death
Opening Night (link)
White supremacy, terrorism, killing, flu epidemic, gunfire, peril
Gallery (link)
Misogyny, transmisogyny, rape, off-page habitual rape including children, classism, ableism, off-page torture
Butterflies Through the Gray (link)
Covid, off-page death of sister, depression
The New Pointillist Manifesto (link)
Technological control, classism, mentions of policing, guns, cancer
A Matter of Value (link)
Addiction, deception, gaslighting, parental expectations
Grace, who sings (link)
War, wounds, repression, suffering, exhaustion
Redemption (link)
Killing, blade violence, violence against children, gendered magic, loss, blood, tattoo
The Chess Master (link)
Discussion of enslavement of Africans, white supremacy, stereotypes, slurs, murder, blood, bodily fluids
Am I The Love (link)
Deception, cruelty, threat to life
Theft and Memory (link)
Religious classism, domestic control, off-page murder of child, violent struggle, death, destruction of art
Seven Stones to Throw (link)
[No significant notes]
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Art Holds Our Broken Hearts Together by Cat Rambo
Catharsis by C. S. E. Cooney
ARTBOT by Sarah Hans
Art In by Aaron Rosenberg
Shattered by Marie Bilodeau
Flower Girl by Donald J. Bingle
Opening Night by Michael R. Underwood
Gallery by R. L. King
Butterflies Through the Gray by Addie J. King
The New Pointillist Manifesto by Carlos Hernandez
A Matter of Value by Daniel Myers
Grace, who sings by E.D.E. Bell
Redemption by Tracy R. Ross
The Chess Master by Chris A. Jackson
Am I The Love by Jason Sanford
Theft and Memory by Gregory A. Wilson
Seven Stones to Throw by Jennifer Brozek
Acknowledgments
Content Notes
Landmarks
Cover
Table of Contents
Beginning
E.D.E. Bell, Rogue Artists
