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About Literature / Professional Core Member Julian M. Miles - a.k.a. JaeMale/United Kingdom Recent Activity
Deviant for 6 Years
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Given by SimonJM
Statistics 199 Deviations 1,687 Comments 14,118 Pageviews

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Literature
To a Flame
“Everybody ready?”
“Hell, no. I want to go home.”
“I didn’t ask where you’d rather be, Andrei. I want to know if your suit is sealed so you don’t give us away.”
Muted assent follows Don’s outburst. There’s no more banter. I wriggle forwards and bring my night-eyes online. Peering at the green and grey world about me, the side screen shows the infra-red view. We’re all part of the ambient heatscape. No hotspots.
Sylvia whispers: “Down there. Ten o’clock.”
A hotspot: walking quickly, shoulders hunched. Just a sensible citizen on their way home after a late night.
Don’s words focus us: “We’re on. Watch the low sky.”
‘Low sky’ is the space between buildings. What we seek doesn’t traverse open sky, or so we think. That’s one of the things this project was set up to prove.
When you’re looking to do interesting things with biotailoring, everyone looks
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Literature
Apocalypse Poet
Do you see the snow as it gently falls?
Can you feel the frost as it climbs the walls?
How do you feel now our world is gone?
Why did you leave us to carry on?
Well, ‘us’ may be a bit of a stretch, but ‘me’ is too cliché. After all, I have the critique of future readers to consider. Whatever they may be.
Excuse me. I’m Giles Rapson Drew, car salesman, stock trader, poet, husband, father, and – of late – childless widower. I’m also the sole inhabitant of Hove in East Sussex, formerly a town, currently an expanse of icy rubble on the southern coast of what used to be Great Britain.
In truth, the only things I was ever good at were writing and being a father. But the pressures of life and career made writing a secondary thing, for odd moments snatched from the month. After all, whoever made money at writing stuff if they didn’t get lucky?
A world heading for peace at last. That’s what we were told. The Moscow Accords, the Py
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Literature
Call Me Monday
That leaden feeling in your gut as you trudge from transport to entrance. The warmth of the lift buttons under your fingertips. Those shooting pains in your head as Maxine punctuates a story of her weekend with piercing giggles.
Your desktop serves up the application screen so slowly it loads in sections, with an irritating pause between each. The completed page seems too bright, input fields needling your eyes with piercing white light.
The rest of the office had great weekends. Cheerful conversations, loud congratulations, and the usual start-of-week complaining all meld into a roar of babbling noise that makes you wince. Through it all, the printer/copier emits despairing beeps, thirsting for toner.
Too much. You break for coffee. The percolator jug is already down to the dregs, but you wring a half cup out by shaking it for every last drop, promising yourself a fresh one as you gulp the gritty mix. That doesn’t help. Your guts spasm at the insult and you try to settle them by
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Seven Years by Rafellin Seven Years :iconrafellin:Rafellin 3 1
Literature
Dial Up
By the time the stubborn git drops, I’m not sure if my nose is numb from the cold or from him hitting it. Christ, what a night to be out earning. Snow up to my ankles and only a footie top under my now-torn padded jacket. Dammit, I like this jacket. Had it off a stallholder down Streatham way. Fuck me, must be over a year ago now.
Right, enough of the ‘down memory lane’ bollocks. What’s this hardcase got that he didn’t want me to have?
As my grandad loved to say, “You know when you’ve been tangoed.” Bloody hell but my ribs are giving it some. I’m going to be black and blue tomorrow.
Aye-aye, fancy phone you had, matey. My word but it’s heavy. You stashed something in it, did you?
“David, is that you?”
Was the prick on the phone when we kicked off? No? What the f-
“Hello, bystander. Has my carrier encountered an unexpected difficulty?”
Yeah: me. Hang on, ‘my carrier’?
“Just found him ly
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Literature
Wherever My Gnome
We’ve had kids stealing our garden gnomes for years. Some came back, some didn’t, and some sent me postcards, usually from Skegness or Blackpool. As years went by, those kids did well. Our wandering gnomes sent postcards from Ibiza and Goa.
The second generation of gnome-nickers went alternate. We got a card from Burning Man and an envelope from Rio containing a risqué selfie, featuring one of our gnomes, that made the wife blush.
I had an idea: I set up a Twitter account so our gnomes could ‘phone home’. I engraved the password on the bottom of each gnome. I’ve only had one idiot reset the password; the inhabitants of the Twitterverse tore him to pieces. Our wandering gnomes have built up quite a following.
Then ‘Ricky’, one of our veteran wanderers, disappeared. We heard nothing for months. The missus and I were beside ourselves. Losing one of our old boys was especially hard.
That Christmas Eve, my phone ‘cheeped’ – a
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Literature
Close Call
Our fleeing shadows flicker in the strobing light from far-off eppy guns – still enough to hurt our eyes, not enough to drop us.
A while later, Oli gasps: “Where?”
Good question. Sheer luck we’d headed out in search of cold drinks. The block party had turned into a full-on noise riot and any chilled stuff had gone. We were several roads over when the raid hit.
The road sign says ‘Salvington Hill’. I have a mad idea.
“This way.”
We run upwards, crossing into Honeysuckle Lane. Finally, the incline forces us to pause and catch our breath. The houses around us are big and set back from tall gates in taller walls. We’re surely a long way from the urbs.
A green glow outlines a kokuji sign. Hoping, I press the call pad under it. I hear the whirr of a lens.
“Leonie?”
The relief at hearing his voice nearly drops me. Instead, I brace up and wave.
“Greets, Hanzo. Me plus one and yes, I need something.”
I hear a laugh an
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Literature
Fire Place
“Pass it.” Jez hisses at me.
“Shan’t. M’readin’.”
“Borrox!” Kate’s disbelievin’: “What it mean, then?”
Lookin’ over the page, I hunt for really long ‘uns: “This word is ‘mountain’. That one is ‘distance’.”
“Bloody ‘ell, you never said you could read!”
I shrug: “Not much. Word here, word there is all.”
“More’n us. You smart, Nev.”
Kate’s adorin’ gaze warms me. I could talk this up an’ get a night in her bedroll. As soon as I think it, I know it ain’t a right thought.
I grin: “An’ you lot still get taken easy. Can’t read a damn thing. Can point out a word an’ lie.”
Jez throws a book an’ I let it hit me, coz it’s not as hard as the disappointment in Kate’s eyes.
Reachin’ out, I touch her wrist: “Like it when you think good o’me.
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Paperbacks in OpenDyslexic by Rafellin Paperbacks in OpenDyslexic :iconrafellin:Rafellin 0 0
Literature
Froxnar's Miracles
The dim room is momentarily illuminated as the door opens to admit two men in dark suits. They sit on the sofa, facing their guest across a low table. The door silently closes.
The left-hand figure produces a badge that glows with a pale blue light.
“You can shed your guise, Blessed. We’re from the Bureau.”
The room is lit like the noonday sun shines above. Both men fall instantly and irrevocably in love. With a quiet rustle, she furls her wings and the light eases to summer evening intensity. The feathered tips of the wings softly brush the ceiling and sparkling dust drifts about.
“Thank you for attending so promptly, Honoured Second Sistrial of the Jadiene Host.”
“The title’s honorary, given my exile. Call me Froxnar.”
“Thank you, Froxnar.”
“I’m surprised. Courtesy and nice furnishings don’t fit your reputation.”
“That’s why it’s a good reputation, ma’am. Terror is still the be
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Literature
Bad Neighbours
John trundles the pallet truck toward the ramp.
“A few of us acquired some things from Centra Medico on your behalf. Doesn’t seem right, just throwing you out.”
He smiles and I hope my embarrassment doesn’t show. ‘Civil war’ is a misnomer. It can be rude and brutal. But, despite the rabble-rousing and the hatred, good people remember that today’s enemies were yesterday’s neighbours, friends, and family.
Seven hundred colonies seceded from the Pax Centra, choosing to make their own way into the great unknown in a loose alliance devoid of big power blocs. After many weeks of negotiation and sporadic violence, it was decided that both sides would repatriate those who wished it and subsequently adopt a peaceful hands-off policy for six Earth months before returning to the negotiating table.
He smiles: “You understand I can’t stay, the Pax Police are keeping watch on any who come near you Free700 folk. Good luck.” He parks th
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Literature
Silo One
The cooling towers hum less at night, as the temperature drops in the world above. ‘The World Above’. Oh, how our leaders love that title. They use it everywhere, usually presented in ways that used to be reserved for heaven and similar post-death nirvanas.
“Tea?” Susan nudges my arm.
I look down to see a cup of chestnut-coloured brew. I take it, forcing a smile. Susan has adapted better than I. It would be petty to spoil the moment in a fit of pique.
The world was going to hell with fanatics of every stripe hacking at each other while good people were left to shore up the burgeoning masses with steadily increasing taxes. Even corporations stepped in to help governments cope as the global population exceeded all resources.
In better times, the outbreak between North Korea and America would have been limited. However, when Chinese intervention forces rolled into Pyongyang, little Kim let rip with everything he had at every country he feared. He had a lot more tha
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Literature
Save
We’d been down for a long while before Commander Bramson came up with the idea of linking to the orbiter, getting it to swing into low orbit and tractor beam us off this damn rock. I objected on the grounds that humans can’t extract oxygen from vacuum; the orbiter couldn’t enter atmosphere thick enough to breathe.
“Sure, the ship’s beat up, kid. But the crew section is solid.”
“How the hell can anyone verify that? Our diagnostics and scanners were mangled when the control module got flattened!”
“That’s not the attitude we need. You go ‘bout your duties and leave the serious stuff to us.”
As I leave, Kristin grabs my arm and drags me behind a cargo pod.
“Will you stop kicking off at him? He’s not going to listen, even if you’re right. Always has to be his idea. You know that.”
I know that. But, Bramson’s last ‘bright’ idea planted us in a cliff face that collapsed on us afte
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Literature
Eavesdropping on the APC
 “Dave?”
 “What?”
 “I know they’re built on the same chassis, but why do I get the feeling that fastmutt is just sauntering along at the LEK9s strike pace?”
 “Because it is. Military mutts have to be quicker than police models as the stuff being thrown at ‘em is usually coming quicker than beer cans or furniture. If it was authorised, it could get to the target and back, and still be pacing our LEK9s as they arrived.”
 “This is overkill. Have you deployed matching units on all six routes in?”
 “Damn right I have. Given what that bastard could have protecting his hideout, I’d rather go in ready beyond heavy than see if my regular cruiser can absorb an RPG.”
 “Partially proving my point. You requisitioned heavy assault platforms!”
 “They see them and realise they’re more likely to die today than gain reputation from surviving a firefigh
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Literature
Vegetable Process
Have you ever grown your own computer? It’s not like they show on MeVee. There’s a lot more liquid blend used because spillages occur all the time. The damn things sweat out unused elements constantly, overflowing the moulds. On a hot night, it can even overflow the trays you stand the moulds in. And that image of the girl in her skimpies leaping lithely across the room to get cloths to mop a spill? Utter tosh. Any leakage puts a near-frictionless layer between skin and any surface. You crawl to the towels with your hands and knees wrapped in stray clothing. If clothes are out of reach, duvet or sheets will do.
Very important: you’d better be using nanomachine-enhanced detergent or you’ll fuse the dryer and your element-soaked laundry into a whorled sculpture. Great conversation piece at parties, but it isn’t covered by your home insurance.
For pity’s sake don’t use the ‘quicksilver fastwiring’ hack. It does work, but, mercury is po
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Literature
Sweet Rocks
The stars appear like fireflies seen through vintage sunglasses, the ones that used to give everything a mellow brown hue. My grandfather had some, an inheritance from his grandfather. Guess they’re buried somewhere in the dust of Earth One.
Mellow. Now, there’s a definition for this moment. Sitting here, heels on the console, chilled vodka tube in hand, seat reclined all the way back, headrest cradling my head with the infinitesimal pressure granted by a pocket repulsor field. Mellow, indeed. More correctly, I’m mellow. It’s a feeling, after all. Despite all the advances in technology, we haven’t bridged the machine-emotion chasm yet.
Just like we haven’t bridged the gap between what Earths Two thru Seven provide and the stuff that could only be found on Earth One. We knew it was dying, but somehow, with our never-quite-accepting view of extinction events, we let it slide without conserving the bits we’d miss.
“Incoming!”
I jolt fu
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Not a lot I can follow that title with, except to thank all involved in getting me there again.

The first was unexpected and a badly needed hint that I was going in the right direction.

This? This is phenomenal. Thank you.

Please, 'stay tuned'. There's a lot more to come. The next highlight being the seventh volume of my annual flash and short fiction anthologies, 'Six Degrees of Sky', which will be published worldwide before Christmas. For those keeping track, today's DD 'About Time' will feature in the eighth volume (next year), but my first DD 'Run Run Run' is included.

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Rafellin
Julian M. Miles - a.k.a. Jae
Artist | Professional | Literature
United Kingdom
Author, publisher, poet, storyteller, project manager, game designer, pagan, and part-time gentleman.

(Profile photo by Maricel Dragan, slitsight.com)
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:iconakrasiel:
akrasiel Featured By Owner Dec 3, 2017  Professional Writer
:noes: Another Jae!
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:iconrafellin:
Rafellin Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2017  Professional Writer
Yup. 'Tis only a nickname, though. The name on my books is Julian M. Miles.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.
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:iconakrasiel:
akrasiel Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2017  Professional Writer
Only a nickname for me too, even though that's what's going on my books. :giggle:
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:iconrafellin:
Rafellin Featured By Owner Dec 4, 2017  Professional Writer
And here's to there being many of them!
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(1 Reply)
:iconsimonjm:
SimonJM Featured By Owner May 18, 2017
Happy Birthday!
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:iconrafellin:
Rafellin Featured By Owner May 18, 2017  Professional Writer
Ta, guv.
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:iconfredmai:
fredmai Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the llama, Julian! :)
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:iconrafellin:
Rafellin Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2017  Professional Writer
No worries. I missed your trade offer, so a gratis contribution toward the alpacalypse seemed only fair.
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:iconfredmai:
fredmai Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Ok, buddy! It seems fair! Cheers! Nod Hug Hi! 
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:icondragonfairy88:
DragonFairy88 Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the badge! :D
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