Niki Block
Bio
Author of Polaris: Contagion
Landscaper, parent, outdoor enthusiast, writer of all sorts of stuff
Stories (6)
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The Attic
The attic smelled like sour cabbage, as if the odours of the summer kitchen below the floor had drifted through the ceiling and were trapped beneath the roof. The smell hit me first and I wanted to shove my tie up my nose. It was the kind of lingering odour that I knew I'd be smelling long after I left, and I'd never quite wash it out. I've smelled worse, far worse, but there was something about this particular decaying scent that made me grimace.
By Niki Block4 years ago in Fiction
Sisters
One of them wasn't even biological. But when Kate showed up with the body, no one asked any questions. They climbed into Kate’s car silently, Jo groaning a little as she reached for the seatbelt, muttering something about the ungodly hour. Amber was deathly quiet, her jaw set tight. Kate drove.
By Niki Block4 years ago in Fiction
Landscaping the Hospital
The prairies are a bitch when it comes to landscaping. The terrain itself is incongruent with most landscaping trends. Ornamental plants are relegated to genetically engineered apples and plums with some flowering shrubs that are largely low-growing and unimpressive when not cared for properly. I can complain about the cold for ages and how every year angry customers will demand to know why their brand new cedars died.
By Niki Block5 years ago in Fiction
How to Shoot a Longbow
Archery is the art of doing nothing, perfectly, every single time. It's the archer's job to let the bow do all the work. I taught archery for two summers at the end of my teenage years, nearly a decade ago. It seemed like an appropriate job for an energetic millenial who adored anything that had to do with targets and hitting them with sharp projectiles. I instructed all sorts of people, from the elderly to middle-aged parents to bow-hunters to pop-culture obseesed teens to lots and lots of children. I made a lot of observations on all my students: for instance, dancers were able to pick up archery the quickest; the cutest little girl was the worst student of all time and made a hardened military-drill-sergeant-turned-instructor want to drink; the most stressful class was full of high-school students, none of whom could speak English; and pro hockey players took up bow hunting just for shits.
By Niki Block5 years ago in Longevity
Raging Bull
It's been two weeks since the crash. Two weeks since the engine stalled on the flight to Uranium City, two weeks since my bush plane dropped out of the sky. I have a decent idea of my location, perhaps 72 miles southwest of Lake Athabasca, shoved into the thick bush like a bread crumb in a shag carpet. I left Prince Albert two weeks ago, with a stop in La Ronge, and then flew north. But the plane had other ideas and thought it would be fun to try to swim through the trees. I managed to wrestle the speed down to a crawl so the impact wasn't as bad as it could have been, but the trees immediately split my plane into pieces, tore it apart like savagely sharp teeth, leaving its carcass a tangled mess of metal and wire.
By Niki Block5 years ago in Fiction
