Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: tea, cord and seal
Backdoor Coup
Sausage-like fingers grabbed an ornate cord and tugged.
A reed-thin servant appeared moments later; a tray of tea and frosted pastries held in its emancipated arms.
“Your tea, Sire.”
Baron Von Ennis smiled broadly at the tray of sugar-laced consumables. He greedily reached for a handful of the tasty treats before recalling he had company.
“Please, Colonel, help yourself.”
Colonel Lanier had been hired by Global Earth Corporation to deal with the locals. His job was to keep the natives writing computer code; something they were extremely good at.
“Baron, I have brought you a message that needs to be read immediately.” He handed over an envelope; its wax seal carried the imprint of the indigenous population’s highest office.
Both of the Baron’s hands were full with tea and treats. He crammed the fistful of treats into his mouth and took the letter. Without bothering to open it, he tossed it into an ornate trash basket nearby. Communications with the locals was well beneath his office.
Now that the diplomacy part of his day was done, he deserved another little snack. The Baron gave the nearby cord another tug.
The servant returned, but holding a communicator instead of a tray.
“Sire,” he said with a bit of sarcasm. “I must inform you that we may have taken a few liberties while writing code for your corporation; some of which is used to operate your fleet overhead. Your starships now answer to a different master.”
The Baron turned red with rage. “What is it you are trying to say?”
Far overhead, just outside of the planet’s gravity well, a starship captain pressed a button and made a small request from the ship’s onboard Artificial Intelligence.
Across the command deck screen came the response, “Get your own damn donuts.”
Word count 298
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Priceless
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: amulet, ocean and giant
Priceless
Faraday couldn’t take his eyes off of near-dead camel lying next to him.
I have made a giant mistake, he thought.
Three days earlier, it had all been going so well. He had planned the perfect crime. The countess was there as planned; a picture of royalty amongst royals. He moved invisibly amongst the throng of elites. His only disguise was a white jacket and a tray full of champagne.
It had been a perfectly executed bump-and-snatch maneuver. One moment the amulet was around her neck and then it was gone. He was out on the street sixty seconds later, strolling casually as if on an evening walk. The tray of champagne lay covered with a white jacket at the bottom of a trash bin.
His getaway car had made it five blocks before the flat tire. He’d barely gotten the tire off when the approaching sirens sent him off in search of alternative means of transport. An hour later, he was on the back of a truck headed, east – or so he thought. He had been awoken by a screaming Bedouin female who disapproved of his unauthorized presence in the back of the truck. The nomadic tribe ignored his pleas for water and transportation until he offered up his watch and wallet. Soon, he was on his way atop a camel that was apparently well beyond its factory warranty.
Now, he lay back against his camel-turned-desert-recliner and tried to lick his dried and cracked lips. He chuckled to himself at the idea of being stranded in an ocean of sand, without a drop to drink.
Faraday leaned into his hoofed lumbar support and took out the amulet.
Was it worth it? he thought.
Absolutely!
Faraday laughed defiantly at the sun as it rose ever higher into the desert sky.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: amulet, ocean and giant
Priceless
Faraday couldn’t take his eyes off of near-dead camel lying next to him.
I have made a giant mistake, he thought.
Three days earlier, it had all been going so well. He had planned the perfect crime. The countess was there as planned; a picture of royalty amongst royals. He moved invisibly amongst the throng of elites. His only disguise was a white jacket and a tray full of champagne.
It had been a perfectly executed bump-and-snatch maneuver. One moment the amulet was around her neck and then it was gone. He was out on the street sixty seconds later, strolling casually as if on an evening walk. The tray of champagne lay covered with a white jacket at the bottom of a trash bin.
His getaway car had made it five blocks before the flat tire. He’d barely gotten the tire off when the approaching sirens sent him off in search of alternative means of transport. An hour later, he was on the back of a truck headed, east – or so he thought. He had been awoken by a screaming Bedouin female who disapproved of his unauthorized presence in the back of the truck. The nomadic tribe ignored his pleas for water and transportation until he offered up his watch and wallet. Soon, he was on his way atop a camel that was apparently well beyond its factory warranty.
Now, he lay back against his camel-turned-desert-recliner and tried to lick his dried and cracked lips. He chuckled to himself at the idea of being stranded in an ocean of sand, without a drop to drink.
Faraday leaned into his hoofed lumbar support and took out the amulet.
Was it worth it? he thought.
Absolutely!
Faraday laughed defiantly at the sun as it rose ever higher into the desert sky.
Word count 300
Monday, December 20, 2010
Don't Be Afraid. I Dare You.
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the line: "I can't believe we got away with it."
Don't be afraid. I dare you.
“Let’s be honest, Mr. Chairman. I can say anything I want and you still lose, just so long as my final statement instills fear. You see, people are idiots. If there are two or more possible outcomes to an event, people will always give a disproportionate weight to the most negative outcome.”
“Sure, healthcare costs are out of control and it’s time for the government to do something. We all agree that to do nothing represents a non-sustainable proposition.”
“Everyone that cares to check will find that the current bill we oppose represents many of the ideas we have proposed in the past. Even our newest member, Senator Brown from Massachusetts, voted in favor of a similar bill for his own state just a few months ago.”
“Let’s face it. The only reason we oppose this legislation is because it came from your party. A victory for you is the same as a loss for us. Sure, the American people will suffer, but that’s okay; just so long as we regain power.”
“Now, for my closing argument,” said the senator as he turned to face the camera.
“Americans this bill will cost your children and your children’s children. Don’t let this death-panel bill ruin our country. We are only trying to save you from a bill that would spell Armageddon for the United States. We have a free solution that we will unveil soon. It is kept in a file next to a map of Iraq’s WMD’s.”
“And how does the senator from Massachusetts vote?” Reid couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her own question.
After the vote, there were high fives all around.
“I can’t believe we got away with it,” one GOP member was heard saying.
Deep pockets were harvested. The post-vote party went on for days.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the line: "I can't believe we got away with it."
Don't be afraid. I dare you.
“Let’s be honest, Mr. Chairman. I can say anything I want and you still lose, just so long as my final statement instills fear. You see, people are idiots. If there are two or more possible outcomes to an event, people will always give a disproportionate weight to the most negative outcome.”
“Sure, healthcare costs are out of control and it’s time for the government to do something. We all agree that to do nothing represents a non-sustainable proposition.”
“Everyone that cares to check will find that the current bill we oppose represents many of the ideas we have proposed in the past. Even our newest member, Senator Brown from Massachusetts, voted in favor of a similar bill for his own state just a few months ago.”
“Let’s face it. The only reason we oppose this legislation is because it came from your party. A victory for you is the same as a loss for us. Sure, the American people will suffer, but that’s okay; just so long as we regain power.”
“Now, for my closing argument,” said the senator as he turned to face the camera.
“Americans this bill will cost your children and your children’s children. Don’t let this death-panel bill ruin our country. We are only trying to save you from a bill that would spell Armageddon for the United States. We have a free solution that we will unveil soon. It is kept in a file next to a map of Iraq’s WMD’s.”
“And how does the senator from Massachusetts vote?” Reid couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her own question.
After the vote, there were high fives all around.
“I can’t believe we got away with it,” one GOP member was heard saying.
Deep pockets were harvested. The post-vote party went on for days.
Word count 300
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Gig
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: trumpet, fan and feather
The Gig
They were late.
Lionel remained cool under pressure. He was, after all, a professional.
Sure he was up on the stage at a jazz club owned by the mob. Yes, it was his first night with the band. And yes, half of the people in the room were heavily armed.
None of that posed a problem. He had been in tighter situations before.
They were midway through the first bit, but Lionel left his trumpet on its stand. He wouldn’t be up for another two or three minutes.
Where the hell is Fat Tony? he thought to himself. Tony was his reason for being here. He had used all of his connections to get himself on that stage on that night.
“You guys need to give Lionel a chance. He’ll blow you away with his talents. It will be a real feather in your hat when Tony hears him play.”
It had been a convincing argument. Lionel got the gig, sight unseen.
Ten feet away, just off of the stage, was a small table with a little ‘reserved’ sign on it. That was where Tony was supposed to be. That was where he needed Tony to be within the next minute and a half.
Sweat started to form on Lionel’s brow. It was hot in the smoke filled room; the fan overhead did little more than stir the air.
It was almost time. Lionel was aware of his heart beginning to race. He was not going to get a chance to make the hit. It would have been a simple thing to take out Fat Tony and then shoot his way through the crowd of expendables.
Now he was faced with a more daunting situation. His cue was coming up and he had no idea how to play a trumpet.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: trumpet, fan and feather
The Gig
They were late.
Lionel remained cool under pressure. He was, after all, a professional.
Sure he was up on the stage at a jazz club owned by the mob. Yes, it was his first night with the band. And yes, half of the people in the room were heavily armed.
None of that posed a problem. He had been in tighter situations before.
They were midway through the first bit, but Lionel left his trumpet on its stand. He wouldn’t be up for another two or three minutes.
Where the hell is Fat Tony? he thought to himself. Tony was his reason for being here. He had used all of his connections to get himself on that stage on that night.
“You guys need to give Lionel a chance. He’ll blow you away with his talents. It will be a real feather in your hat when Tony hears him play.”
It had been a convincing argument. Lionel got the gig, sight unseen.
Ten feet away, just off of the stage, was a small table with a little ‘reserved’ sign on it. That was where Tony was supposed to be. That was where he needed Tony to be within the next minute and a half.
Sweat started to form on Lionel’s brow. It was hot in the smoke filled room; the fan overhead did little more than stir the air.
It was almost time. Lionel was aware of his heart beginning to race. He was not going to get a chance to make the hit. It would have been a simple thing to take out Fat Tony and then shoot his way through the crowd of expendables.
Now he was faced with a more daunting situation. His cue was coming up and he had no idea how to play a trumpet.
Word count 300
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Wall Gnomes
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Climb, Mystery, and Cheer
Wall Gnomes
Chider the Young stood obediently at the door. He kept his head bowed; eyes fixed on the furry tops of his bare feet. At the sound of the gong, he walked to the center of the room.
The chanting began a moment later. It had a hypnotic cadence and Chider found himself involuntarily swaying to the beat.
Three gavel taps brought an abrupt silence.
“Chider the Young, remove your hood and face those you dare aspire to have as your brethren.”
He took a breath and willed himself to not shake. Slowly, conveying due respect, he brought up both hands and pealed back his hood. He raised his head, facing the council of elders. Tonight, they were not the fathers of his childhood friends. They were not scout leaders or school teachers.
Tonight they were his judges.
“Your progress has been impressive young one. It seems like only yesterday you were learning to tap on walls and leave lights on. As you grew, your accomplishments became more complex. Who knows how you were able to climb up the chimney and close the damper; all noteworthy achievements, but not really anything to cheer about.”
Chider looked from face to face. He knew this was a test. They wanted to see if he’d retreat. Undaunted, he pulled out a large satchel from under his robe.
“I tell you this…my brethren; I’ve been to the basement, the lair of the great cat.”
Gasps.
“Do you mean…?”
Chider opened up the satchel and pulled out a giant patterned cloth object. He tossed it on the floor.
Everyone looked at it in disbelief. Finally, one said, “It’s an argyle!”
The missing sock mystery had not been accomplished since the cat started sleeping on the dryer.The room of open mouths told him he was in.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Climb, Mystery, and Cheer
Wall Gnomes
Chider the Young stood obediently at the door. He kept his head bowed; eyes fixed on the furry tops of his bare feet. At the sound of the gong, he walked to the center of the room.
The chanting began a moment later. It had a hypnotic cadence and Chider found himself involuntarily swaying to the beat.
Three gavel taps brought an abrupt silence.
“Chider the Young, remove your hood and face those you dare aspire to have as your brethren.”
He took a breath and willed himself to not shake. Slowly, conveying due respect, he brought up both hands and pealed back his hood. He raised his head, facing the council of elders. Tonight, they were not the fathers of his childhood friends. They were not scout leaders or school teachers.
Tonight they were his judges.
“Your progress has been impressive young one. It seems like only yesterday you were learning to tap on walls and leave lights on. As you grew, your accomplishments became more complex. Who knows how you were able to climb up the chimney and close the damper; all noteworthy achievements, but not really anything to cheer about.”
Chider looked from face to face. He knew this was a test. They wanted to see if he’d retreat. Undaunted, he pulled out a large satchel from under his robe.
“I tell you this…my brethren; I’ve been to the basement, the lair of the great cat.”
Gasps.
“Do you mean…?”
Chider opened up the satchel and pulled out a giant patterned cloth object. He tossed it on the floor.
Everyone looked at it in disbelief. Finally, one said, “It’s an argyle!”
The missing sock mystery had not been accomplished since the cat started sleeping on the dryer.The room of open mouths told him he was in.
Word count 300
Friday, December 17, 2010
Hitting Bottom
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Search, Giant and Money
Hitting Bottom
The crack in the glass kept the time.
John watched it grow, not seeing it as his mind’s eye went elsewhere.
There was no order to his thoughts; at least chronologically so. His subconscious mind had a script and John was content to let it play out.
The crack jerked to the left and then paused for a moment before beginning a slow extension.
There was a first kiss and a last argument. A marriage with children was chilled by an obsession that took over his life. The Search, as it had come to be known.
The crack forked, doubling its progress, and then doubling again.
She’d been supportive but when the money ran out, she’d left him. “You don’t lack of dreams. You just never dream of me,” she’d said, pushing the kids out the door ahead of her.
Ah, but there had been good times; times that made John smile.
The crack circled back onto itself and John noticed the first drip of water.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Funny, he thought. None of his “precious memories” covered any of the time he’d spent alone, pursuing his dream; conducting the Search.
Only now did it finally strike him that he’d become so obsessed with his goal, that he hadn’t noticed the ride along the way.
More water began to make its way in as the glass began to groan.
He’d finally achieved his life’s ambition. He’s found the giant squid of legend and followed it to the bottom of the ocean where it now held him like a snow globe.
The bathysphere was his deathbed. There was no fear. There was only the pain of knowing that he’d missed the point.
Next time, he’d do better.
John spread his arms and willed the crack to grow faster.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Search, Giant and Money
Hitting Bottom
The crack in the glass kept the time.
John watched it grow, not seeing it as his mind’s eye went elsewhere.
There was no order to his thoughts; at least chronologically so. His subconscious mind had a script and John was content to let it play out.
The crack jerked to the left and then paused for a moment before beginning a slow extension.
There was a first kiss and a last argument. A marriage with children was chilled by an obsession that took over his life. The Search, as it had come to be known.
The crack forked, doubling its progress, and then doubling again.
She’d been supportive but when the money ran out, she’d left him. “You don’t lack of dreams. You just never dream of me,” she’d said, pushing the kids out the door ahead of her.
Ah, but there had been good times; times that made John smile.
The crack circled back onto itself and John noticed the first drip of water.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Funny, he thought. None of his “precious memories” covered any of the time he’d spent alone, pursuing his dream; conducting the Search.
Only now did it finally strike him that he’d become so obsessed with his goal, that he hadn’t noticed the ride along the way.
More water began to make its way in as the glass began to groan.
He’d finally achieved his life’s ambition. He’s found the giant squid of legend and followed it to the bottom of the ocean where it now held him like a snow globe.
The bathysphere was his deathbed. There was no fear. There was only the pain of knowing that he’d missed the point.
Next time, he’d do better.
John spread his arms and willed the crack to grow faster.
Word count 300
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Story Telling
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: thunder, plastic and disease
Story Telling
Shanna walked out into the night that was not a night.
Such a distinction was important, once upon a time. Day and night meant different things. The sun came out in the day and the stars at night. At least that’s the way the story went.
Such a thing was hard to imagine for someone that lived in the perpetual twilight of artificial lighting generated by a technology long forgotten.
There were lots of Once Upon a Time stories. Children learned them by heart while still young. The elders thought it was important that the lore of the past be retained. With no understanding of how their automated world worked, they resorted to the history keeping of their ancestors – story telling.
Tonight the story was about storms. Shannon hurried to the town hall; she was already late. Hopefully she would get there before they talked about Thunder. That was her favorite part. What a world it must have been to have water fall from the sky and booming sounds shake the walls.
Just before she entered the large meeting hall, Shanna paused to look past the buildings that housed the automated food producers; past the end of the street and the small grove of trees beyond. She looked at the boundary that both protected them from the disease of the world outside and, protected that same world from them.
That was one story she didn’t like to hear. The one that began with Once Upon a Time and ended with the remnants of mankind under a giant plastic dome designed to protect them from the world they had nearly killed.
She dreamed of the day, her children’s children would tell new stories. They would sit outside, under the sun and say, Once Upon a Time, we lived in a bubble.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: thunder, plastic and disease
Story Telling
Shanna walked out into the night that was not a night.
Such a distinction was important, once upon a time. Day and night meant different things. The sun came out in the day and the stars at night. At least that’s the way the story went.
Such a thing was hard to imagine for someone that lived in the perpetual twilight of artificial lighting generated by a technology long forgotten.
There were lots of Once Upon a Time stories. Children learned them by heart while still young. The elders thought it was important that the lore of the past be retained. With no understanding of how their automated world worked, they resorted to the history keeping of their ancestors – story telling.
Tonight the story was about storms. Shannon hurried to the town hall; she was already late. Hopefully she would get there before they talked about Thunder. That was her favorite part. What a world it must have been to have water fall from the sky and booming sounds shake the walls.
Just before she entered the large meeting hall, Shanna paused to look past the buildings that housed the automated food producers; past the end of the street and the small grove of trees beyond. She looked at the boundary that both protected them from the disease of the world outside and, protected that same world from them.
That was one story she didn’t like to hear. The one that began with Once Upon a Time and ended with the remnants of mankind under a giant plastic dome designed to protect them from the world they had nearly killed.
She dreamed of the day, her children’s children would tell new stories. They would sit outside, under the sun and say, Once Upon a Time, we lived in a bubble.
Word count 300
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Space Marine
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Trophy, Catalog and March
Space Marine
Rocco applied another layer of sealant to the bite-mark sized holes in his suit. His helmet readout indicated there was still some bleeding but probably not enough to be life threatening. His opponent hadn’t been so lucky; although for a while, it could have gone either way.
It had been a close call but he’d somehow managed to avoid becoming a trophy on a Sloth Giant’s cave wall.
Alone, he slogged through the swampy muck; not for the first time thinking, This was not mentioned in the recruiting catalog.
“See the galaxy!” That had been in there. “The blue women of Nartinthium love anything in a pressure suit.” That had been in there as well.
Nowhere, had there been a hint of the boiling mud-storms of Charosh or the blade-snakes of Sargon.
And there had certainly never been any mention of Sloth Giants!
He signed up thinking he might have to occasionally march and maybe salute every now and then. The rest of his expectations had to do with blasting aliens and seducing women. There had been no mention of aliens that fought back or women that ate their mates for breakfast.
Nope, that recruiting propaganda was nothing more than a pack of lies; all of it.
There was some good news; should he survive the hike to the hospital ship. Word was that they were going to invade a water planet after the next jump. Better still, the women there were rumored to be … welcoming. The mere thought brought a smile to Rocco’s face. He knew this wasn’t more propaganda. He knew it was true because its time-test source never lied.
If it was written on the bathroom wall, it was true. And just yesterday, there it was on the inside of the door, “Earth Girls Are Easy.”
Word Count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Trophy, Catalog and March
Space Marine
Rocco applied another layer of sealant to the bite-mark sized holes in his suit. His helmet readout indicated there was still some bleeding but probably not enough to be life threatening. His opponent hadn’t been so lucky; although for a while, it could have gone either way.
It had been a close call but he’d somehow managed to avoid becoming a trophy on a Sloth Giant’s cave wall.
Alone, he slogged through the swampy muck; not for the first time thinking, This was not mentioned in the recruiting catalog.
“See the galaxy!” That had been in there. “The blue women of Nartinthium love anything in a pressure suit.” That had been in there as well.
Nowhere, had there been a hint of the boiling mud-storms of Charosh or the blade-snakes of Sargon.
And there had certainly never been any mention of Sloth Giants!
He signed up thinking he might have to occasionally march and maybe salute every now and then. The rest of his expectations had to do with blasting aliens and seducing women. There had been no mention of aliens that fought back or women that ate their mates for breakfast.
Nope, that recruiting propaganda was nothing more than a pack of lies; all of it.
There was some good news; should he survive the hike to the hospital ship. Word was that they were going to invade a water planet after the next jump. Better still, the women there were rumored to be … welcoming. The mere thought brought a smile to Rocco’s face. He knew this wasn’t more propaganda. He knew it was true because its time-test source never lied.
If it was written on the bathroom wall, it was true. And just yesterday, there it was on the inside of the door, “Earth Girls Are Easy.”
Word Count 300
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Hard Drive Veto
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Tower, star and bones
Hard Drive Veto
Clayton had just entered the Klaxon Star Cluster when the check-engine light began to flash in the lower left corner of his view screen. This was one of the last things anyone would want to see while traveling at near relativistic speeds.
Although, admittedly, it wasn’t totally unexpected.
More than one ship had fallen prey to the parsec known as The Galaxy’s Hotel California. You could never leave. The bones of lifeless other starships littered the area.
This planet rich environment had an abundance of nearly every element known to man. One of the gas giants had a core of solid gold. Several others were littered with diamonds and helium 3. Like a well baited hook, hopes of fortune lured in the reckless and wary alike.
The problem was the absence of Dark Matter. The fuel, abundant everywhere in the universe, had taken a pass on this particular location. No fuel, no escape velocity.
Clayton didn’t start to sweat; not yet anyway.
“Robot!” he yelled.
“Here sir.”
Clayton, caught off guard by the giant machine’s close proximity, nearly jumped out of his skin. He hated the way the giant android would tower over him all smug and metallic and stuff. He hated nearly everything about his first officer.
But it had its uses.
“Robot, I intend to swoop down and scoop up some precious gold dust. I will need the dark matter stored in your positronic brain to refuel the ship. Sure, you will crash hard but hey, that’s the way it goes. Prepare for the transfer.”
The robot appeared to freeze; its hard drive light blinking furiously.
Clayton asked “Robot, do you understand?”
“One moment sir, I am busy loading my insubordination software.”
Things had just taken a nasty turn for the worse. Clayton finally started to sweat.
Word count 299
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Tower, star and bones
Hard Drive Veto
Clayton had just entered the Klaxon Star Cluster when the check-engine light began to flash in the lower left corner of his view screen. This was one of the last things anyone would want to see while traveling at near relativistic speeds.
Although, admittedly, it wasn’t totally unexpected.
More than one ship had fallen prey to the parsec known as The Galaxy’s Hotel California. You could never leave. The bones of lifeless other starships littered the area.
This planet rich environment had an abundance of nearly every element known to man. One of the gas giants had a core of solid gold. Several others were littered with diamonds and helium 3. Like a well baited hook, hopes of fortune lured in the reckless and wary alike.
The problem was the absence of Dark Matter. The fuel, abundant everywhere in the universe, had taken a pass on this particular location. No fuel, no escape velocity.
Clayton didn’t start to sweat; not yet anyway.
“Robot!” he yelled.
“Here sir.”
Clayton, caught off guard by the giant machine’s close proximity, nearly jumped out of his skin. He hated the way the giant android would tower over him all smug and metallic and stuff. He hated nearly everything about his first officer.
But it had its uses.
“Robot, I intend to swoop down and scoop up some precious gold dust. I will need the dark matter stored in your positronic brain to refuel the ship. Sure, you will crash hard but hey, that’s the way it goes. Prepare for the transfer.”
The robot appeared to freeze; its hard drive light blinking furiously.
Clayton asked “Robot, do you understand?”
“One moment sir, I am busy loading my insubordination software.”
Things had just taken a nasty turn for the worse. Clayton finally started to sweat.
Word count 299
Monday, December 13, 2010
Nocturnal Sampling
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the line: "Wake up. I heard a noise."
Nocturnal Sampling
Susan sat up abruptly and said, “Wake up. I heard a noise.”
Nothing.
She reached over to prod Hank awake and instantly knew something was wrong. There was no Hank. In fact, there was no bed.
Not again , she thought.
Experience had taught her to stay calm and let her eyes adjust. In time, all would be revealed.
Shadows became trees and vast expanses of emptiness turned to fields. That was good news. It meant she was probably somewhere near home.
Susan performed a mental survey and found that she seemed to be okay; another good sign. It didn’t always end up that way. Sometimes she would wake up miles from home. It wasn’t unusual for her to be sick to her stomach during such an event. From time to time, her injuries would be significant. Puncture wounds and sprains were not unusual. And of course, there was the time her arm had been broken or at least the doctor said it had been broken. By the time he first saw her the next morning, it was already healed.
Susan felt around for it. She knew it was there somewhere. It always was.
Soon, she found what she was looking for. It was a small bump on the back of her knee. That noted, she got up and started walking. The house wouldn’t be hard to find one she got her bearings.
Hank walked into the kitchen just after three in the morning. As expected, there was Susan at work with the small knife and tweezers. She ignored him for a moment before triumphantly lifting up a small metallic object, apparently just removed from the back of her leg. She took it to the sink and let the garbage disposal do its thing.
“Abducted?” he asked.
“Abducted,” she said.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the line: "Wake up. I heard a noise."
Nocturnal Sampling
Susan sat up abruptly and said, “Wake up. I heard a noise.”
Nothing.
She reached over to prod Hank awake and instantly knew something was wrong. There was no Hank. In fact, there was no bed.
Not again , she thought.
Experience had taught her to stay calm and let her eyes adjust. In time, all would be revealed.
Shadows became trees and vast expanses of emptiness turned to fields. That was good news. It meant she was probably somewhere near home.
Susan performed a mental survey and found that she seemed to be okay; another good sign. It didn’t always end up that way. Sometimes she would wake up miles from home. It wasn’t unusual for her to be sick to her stomach during such an event. From time to time, her injuries would be significant. Puncture wounds and sprains were not unusual. And of course, there was the time her arm had been broken or at least the doctor said it had been broken. By the time he first saw her the next morning, it was already healed.
Susan felt around for it. She knew it was there somewhere. It always was.
Soon, she found what she was looking for. It was a small bump on the back of her knee. That noted, she got up and started walking. The house wouldn’t be hard to find one she got her bearings.
Hank walked into the kitchen just after three in the morning. As expected, there was Susan at work with the small knife and tweezers. She ignored him for a moment before triumphantly lifting up a small metallic object, apparently just removed from the back of her leg. She took it to the sink and let the garbage disposal do its thing.
“Abducted?” he asked.
“Abducted,” she said.
Word count 300
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Unreliable Resource
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Flowerbed, Peacock and Predator
Unreliable Resource
“It says to check the flowerbed,” said junior detective Shamrock.
In his hand, he held the detectives “bible” on tracking serial killers. Right there, in the very first chapter, it said that most serial killers liked to bury the dead in flowerbeds. It said most people were remiss to dig up flowers, even if they were looking for a body.
Not for the first time, Shamrock shook his head in admiration. That Professor Kindling, the man that wrote the book, was a genius.
“Nothing here sir,” reported the officer. The flowerbed had been a bust.
Shamrock wasn’t about to be put off by a lack of immediate gratification. Mrs. Template had been missing for more than a week. The note from the serial killer, while cryptic, had suggested foul play.
He opened the Detective’s Guide to Serial Killers looking for something that could be helpful.
Your typical predator will tend towards eccentric behavior. They are often attracted to Christmas caroling. Again, Shamrock was impressed with the author’s insights.
Minutes later, Shamrock and his officers were doing their best to get through the Twelve Days of Christmas. They made it halfway when an argument broke out. Johnson said there was no such thing as a French Hen and Mulligan said there was. According to him, they were like tiny peacocks with berets.
Shamrock, frustrated, dug back into the book for more brilliant answers.
Across the street, a curtain was allowed to fall back into place. He’d done enough peeking at the Keystoners across the street to know he was in no danger of being caught. He figured he’d take another look in a few minutes. By then they should be on the chapter about juggling.
Serial killer Kindling smiled. It was easy to escape capture when one wrote the book.
Word count 299
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Flowerbed, Peacock and Predator
Unreliable Resource
“It says to check the flowerbed,” said junior detective Shamrock.
In his hand, he held the detectives “bible” on tracking serial killers. Right there, in the very first chapter, it said that most serial killers liked to bury the dead in flowerbeds. It said most people were remiss to dig up flowers, even if they were looking for a body.
Not for the first time, Shamrock shook his head in admiration. That Professor Kindling, the man that wrote the book, was a genius.
“Nothing here sir,” reported the officer. The flowerbed had been a bust.
Shamrock wasn’t about to be put off by a lack of immediate gratification. Mrs. Template had been missing for more than a week. The note from the serial killer, while cryptic, had suggested foul play.
He opened the Detective’s Guide to Serial Killers looking for something that could be helpful.
Your typical predator will tend towards eccentric behavior. They are often attracted to Christmas caroling. Again, Shamrock was impressed with the author’s insights.
Minutes later, Shamrock and his officers were doing their best to get through the Twelve Days of Christmas. They made it halfway when an argument broke out. Johnson said there was no such thing as a French Hen and Mulligan said there was. According to him, they were like tiny peacocks with berets.
Shamrock, frustrated, dug back into the book for more brilliant answers.
Across the street, a curtain was allowed to fall back into place. He’d done enough peeking at the Keystoners across the street to know he was in no danger of being caught. He figured he’d take another look in a few minutes. By then they should be on the chapter about juggling.
Serial killer Kindling smiled. It was easy to escape capture when one wrote the book.
Word count 299
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Mind Control
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Hamster, Apple and Purple
Mind Control
Leonard stared intently at the hamster; willing it to not be hungry.
You are the fullest hamster ever, he sent over and over.
The rodent looked over at the man tied to the chair. Then, in an act of defiance, it turned and took another big bite of the apple wedged between the bars of its cage. It shifted to face Leonard again, its jaws working hard on the morsel.
“Come now, Leonard, you can do better than that.”
Leonard looked at the man on the other side of the window. He could see Dr. Maltase leaning over the microphone; a sinister expression on his face. It was hard to tell if he wanted Leonard to succeed or fail. Either outcome would probably be perversely satisfying.
He tried, for the millionth time, to see if he could get his hands free. It was no use. They were tied so tightly to the chair’s arms that his fingers were purple. This was definitely the last time he’d answer an ad for anything that mentioned the words “test” and “subject.”
“Leonard, it’s just a dumb animal. Use your brain my boy. There’s not much time left.”
He didn’t need to be told. That had to be the hungriest hamster ever. It took a bite about every ten seconds. After it ate enough of the apple, the fruit would fall from the cage. It would land on a pad that would cause a gun’s trigger to be pulled and that would be the end of that.
Small mind or not, the hamster’s will was too strong.
Desperate, Leonard shifted his focus.
The doctor’s sneer changed to surprise when the gun began to elevate and turn towards him. His expression changed to fear when the door to the room he was in locked itself.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Hamster, Apple and Purple
Mind Control
Leonard stared intently at the hamster; willing it to not be hungry.
You are the fullest hamster ever, he sent over and over.
The rodent looked over at the man tied to the chair. Then, in an act of defiance, it turned and took another big bite of the apple wedged between the bars of its cage. It shifted to face Leonard again, its jaws working hard on the morsel.
“Come now, Leonard, you can do better than that.”
Leonard looked at the man on the other side of the window. He could see Dr. Maltase leaning over the microphone; a sinister expression on his face. It was hard to tell if he wanted Leonard to succeed or fail. Either outcome would probably be perversely satisfying.
He tried, for the millionth time, to see if he could get his hands free. It was no use. They were tied so tightly to the chair’s arms that his fingers were purple. This was definitely the last time he’d answer an ad for anything that mentioned the words “test” and “subject.”
“Leonard, it’s just a dumb animal. Use your brain my boy. There’s not much time left.”
He didn’t need to be told. That had to be the hungriest hamster ever. It took a bite about every ten seconds. After it ate enough of the apple, the fruit would fall from the cage. It would land on a pad that would cause a gun’s trigger to be pulled and that would be the end of that.
Small mind or not, the hamster’s will was too strong.
Desperate, Leonard shifted his focus.
The doctor’s sneer changed to surprise when the gun began to elevate and turn towards him. His expression changed to fear when the door to the room he was in locked itself.
Word count 300
Friday, December 10, 2010
Inevitably
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Painting, Bag and Gate
Inevitably
As he hung, suspended from the ceiling, Conroy watched events unfold below him – inevitably.
The movement of the guards, the timing of the remote camera, even the bustling crowd of school children was right on schedule. It couldn’t help itself. After it happened once, the past could not be changed. History was carved in stone; it was inevitable.
Inevitable unless you were like Conroy and happened to own a time-gate.
At the appropriate time, he lowered himself to the floor. Unseen by a room of eyes momentarily pointed elsewhere, Conroy was able to walk up and pluck the priceless painting right off of the wall. He slipped it into a casual shoulder bag and walked, unchallenged, out the front door of the museum.
It happened as he strode past an alley-way, on his way to his hotel. The hair on his arm stood up and the crack of a huge static charge drew his attention towards the darkness.
Busted!
He watched as the suit with a blaster stepped through the time-gate. There was no place to run. Even if he did, they would know. This was now all part of history. It was all known and thus inevitable.
“Citizen Conroy, you are under arrest.”
“How’d you catch me?” he asked, stunned.
“You fool, once you made your move, you became history. All we had to do was look back in time. Our catching you was…”
“Inevitable?” asked the voice from behind.
A stunning blast dropped the suit to the ground.
Conroy stood looking at himself then both broke out in laughter. Of course, they knew he’d be caught. History had said as much.
Their celebration was interrupted by a static crackle from the alley.
“Conroys,” said the suit, “You’re both under arrest.”
“Inevitably,” said a familiar voice from behind.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Painting, Bag and Gate
Inevitably
As he hung, suspended from the ceiling, Conroy watched events unfold below him – inevitably.
The movement of the guards, the timing of the remote camera, even the bustling crowd of school children was right on schedule. It couldn’t help itself. After it happened once, the past could not be changed. History was carved in stone; it was inevitable.
Inevitable unless you were like Conroy and happened to own a time-gate.
At the appropriate time, he lowered himself to the floor. Unseen by a room of eyes momentarily pointed elsewhere, Conroy was able to walk up and pluck the priceless painting right off of the wall. He slipped it into a casual shoulder bag and walked, unchallenged, out the front door of the museum.
It happened as he strode past an alley-way, on his way to his hotel. The hair on his arm stood up and the crack of a huge static charge drew his attention towards the darkness.
Busted!
He watched as the suit with a blaster stepped through the time-gate. There was no place to run. Even if he did, they would know. This was now all part of history. It was all known and thus inevitable.
“Citizen Conroy, you are under arrest.”
“How’d you catch me?” he asked, stunned.
“You fool, once you made your move, you became history. All we had to do was look back in time. Our catching you was…”
“Inevitable?” asked the voice from behind.
A stunning blast dropped the suit to the ground.
Conroy stood looking at himself then both broke out in laughter. Of course, they knew he’d be caught. History had said as much.
Their celebration was interrupted by a static crackle from the alley.
“Conroys,” said the suit, “You’re both under arrest.”
“Inevitably,” said a familiar voice from behind.
Word count 300
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Beyond Soap
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the line, “You’re going to regret this.”
Beyond Soap
“I’m breaking up with you.”
That’s what Suzie had said.
Not, “I’m unhappy,” or “I am thinking about breaking up with you.”
Nope. This had had that sound of finality that left no room for negotiating the next step -kind of like dropping a large stone into some deep mud; no sense standing around waiting for it to bounce because it wasn’t going to happen.
David just turned and walked away. It didn’t even occur to him to look back. His mind had gone elsewhere. It was as if it were looking for a loophole that could undo that which couldn’t be undone. Maybe he was dreaming or in a parallel universe. If only he could turn back time.
“You’re going to regret this,” popped unfairly into his head. It was as if he felt a need to kick himself while he was down. Never mind that those were the very words he’d used to caution himself only two days earlier.
He slogged along, eventually making his way back to his apartment. At least he didn’t need to clean it up anymore. He tried a hot shower, but scrubbing with soap only made things worse, highlighting the hopelessness of his situation.
He just knew this was his fault, in a male hormonal rampage kind of way. That Suzie was a babe was beyond question. He said he loved her and she’d smiled in return; that had to mean something. So what if they’d only known each other for a few days.
He’d felt a need to prove his love, before she changed her mind.
Now, as he wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror, the words of warning came back, “You’re going to regret this.”
Staring back from the mirror was the full-chest tattoo that exclaimed, “David and Suzie Forever!”
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the line, “You’re going to regret this.”
Beyond Soap
“I’m breaking up with you.”
That’s what Suzie had said.
Not, “I’m unhappy,” or “I am thinking about breaking up with you.”
Nope. This had had that sound of finality that left no room for negotiating the next step -kind of like dropping a large stone into some deep mud; no sense standing around waiting for it to bounce because it wasn’t going to happen.
David just turned and walked away. It didn’t even occur to him to look back. His mind had gone elsewhere. It was as if it were looking for a loophole that could undo that which couldn’t be undone. Maybe he was dreaming or in a parallel universe. If only he could turn back time.
“You’re going to regret this,” popped unfairly into his head. It was as if he felt a need to kick himself while he was down. Never mind that those were the very words he’d used to caution himself only two days earlier.
He slogged along, eventually making his way back to his apartment. At least he didn’t need to clean it up anymore. He tried a hot shower, but scrubbing with soap only made things worse, highlighting the hopelessness of his situation.
He just knew this was his fault, in a male hormonal rampage kind of way. That Suzie was a babe was beyond question. He said he loved her and she’d smiled in return; that had to mean something. So what if they’d only known each other for a few days.
He’d felt a need to prove his love, before she changed her mind.
Now, as he wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror, the words of warning came back, “You’re going to regret this.”
Staring back from the mirror was the full-chest tattoo that exclaimed, “David and Suzie Forever!”
Word count 300
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Amour Courtois
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Diamond, Escape and Trust
Amour Courtois
They were fat.
The fingers were fat; so much so that a ring’s band was lost in a fat-fold, leaving only a large diamond exposed.
He kissed the back of the Queen’s hand in spite of his revulsion.
“You look marvelous tonight,” he whispered low enough so that none but the queen could hear.
She nodded to him, apparently bored by the gesture. Still, the note changed hands from her to him. He continued down the reception line, dreading what she may have written.
Meet me in my chambers later. I trust you will bring the rubbing oil, he later read.
Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if it had all been worth it. She’d kept up her side of the bargain. He wanted for naught. His clothes were made by the finest seamstresses and his home was well furnished with a view overlooking a lake. There were horses in his stable and every meal was a banquet.
But it had come at a price.
The queen got his oils. She also got him as well.
Tonight, that was all going to change. He reached into a small pouch and pulled out a vial of strong poison. One drop would kill an elephant. He looked up from the vile to her, hoping he had enough.
As the Royal Ball stretched into the night, the queen became more and more drunk and thus daring. She went from shy peeks to openly ogling him.
If only he could get up the nerve to use the poison.
Her slapping his butt was the last straw.
Carefully, he took a glass of ale and added the poison. Then, before he could back down, he drank the entire contents in a single gulp. Death would come swiftly. It was his only escape.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Diamond, Escape and Trust
Amour Courtois
They were fat.
The fingers were fat; so much so that a ring’s band was lost in a fat-fold, leaving only a large diamond exposed.
He kissed the back of the Queen’s hand in spite of his revulsion.
“You look marvelous tonight,” he whispered low enough so that none but the queen could hear.
She nodded to him, apparently bored by the gesture. Still, the note changed hands from her to him. He continued down the reception line, dreading what she may have written.
Meet me in my chambers later. I trust you will bring the rubbing oil, he later read.
Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if it had all been worth it. She’d kept up her side of the bargain. He wanted for naught. His clothes were made by the finest seamstresses and his home was well furnished with a view overlooking a lake. There were horses in his stable and every meal was a banquet.
But it had come at a price.
The queen got his oils. She also got him as well.
Tonight, that was all going to change. He reached into a small pouch and pulled out a vial of strong poison. One drop would kill an elephant. He looked up from the vile to her, hoping he had enough.
As the Royal Ball stretched into the night, the queen became more and more drunk and thus daring. She went from shy peeks to openly ogling him.
If only he could get up the nerve to use the poison.
Her slapping his butt was the last straw.
Carefully, he took a glass of ale and added the poison. Then, before he could back down, he drank the entire contents in a single gulp. Death would come swiftly. It was his only escape.
Word count 300
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The Pursued
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: cloud, waterfall and crystal
The Pursued
Gothard watched her bathe in the pool far below. Her light-green fur shimmered in the mist at the base of the waterfall. The way she moved about the shallows was, for him, like a ballet. Every step and turn was just as it should be. Her thin, perfectly proportioned frame made him wonder if the Gods had surpassed their own limitless talents to create her.
Gothard loved her with all his heart.
For the moment, they were safe.
He knew it wouldn’t last.
He stood and shook off the vision of the princess. It was his job to keep her safe, not admire her beauty. He took up the far-seers in his big hairy paws and began to scan the horizon.
At first, it looked like they had caught a break. The sky was clear. Then he saw the cloud, alone and nonthreatening. The gateways always started that way. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the cloud whiled into a dark cyclone more than a parsec across.
They had been found.
“My Princess!” he shouted, his roaring voice easily heard over the falls. “They have found us. The Astral-Gate will be open within minutes. We must flee.”
Princess Saliana was out of the water and dressed in a moment. She grabbed up her pack and looked inside. The Tachyon Crystal was safe. They needed to keep it that way.
Gothard, the last surviving member of her father’s guard was soon at her side as usual. She was his last charge.
Saliana worked quickly to open the micro wormhole they would need to escape. In a moment, it was big enough for her to fit through. Gothard was another story. They needed more time.
As the Carthigan warriors crested the top of the falls, Gothard turned and drew his sword.
Work count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: cloud, waterfall and crystal
The Pursued
Gothard watched her bathe in the pool far below. Her light-green fur shimmered in the mist at the base of the waterfall. The way she moved about the shallows was, for him, like a ballet. Every step and turn was just as it should be. Her thin, perfectly proportioned frame made him wonder if the Gods had surpassed their own limitless talents to create her.
Gothard loved her with all his heart.
For the moment, they were safe.
He knew it wouldn’t last.
He stood and shook off the vision of the princess. It was his job to keep her safe, not admire her beauty. He took up the far-seers in his big hairy paws and began to scan the horizon.
At first, it looked like they had caught a break. The sky was clear. Then he saw the cloud, alone and nonthreatening. The gateways always started that way. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the cloud whiled into a dark cyclone more than a parsec across.
They had been found.
“My Princess!” he shouted, his roaring voice easily heard over the falls. “They have found us. The Astral-Gate will be open within minutes. We must flee.”
Princess Saliana was out of the water and dressed in a moment. She grabbed up her pack and looked inside. The Tachyon Crystal was safe. They needed to keep it that way.
Gothard, the last surviving member of her father’s guard was soon at her side as usual. She was his last charge.
Saliana worked quickly to open the micro wormhole they would need to escape. In a moment, it was big enough for her to fit through. Gothard was another story. They needed more time.
As the Carthigan warriors crested the top of the falls, Gothard turned and drew his sword.
Work count 300
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Birth of Chaos
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: straw, echo and charcoal
The Birth of Chaos
Ovid toggled his holo-view to the pasture deck where the horses were being fed their midday snack of straw and oats. There were millions of species on the Ark, but only the horses were allowed to germinate. The rest, well they would have to wait. Sooner or later a suitable home world would be found.
Ovid loved watching the horses. They were smart and affectionate. Their physical structure was as near perfection as any creature ever discovered.
Ovid was allowed one living pair of animals.
The thought was that a completely automated spacecraft, over the course of a million years, would suffer some unforeseen problem. A failure loop, they had called it. It was the result of what Newtonians referred to as super predetermination. “A” would cause “B” which would cause “C” etc. until a failure was caused. When that happened, the best any automated system could do was start over; thus, the loop.
A living creature could think. It introduced a degree of chaos to an otherwise orderly system. Things would still fail and be corrected, but the next time it would be different.
An alarm went off indicating a fire in the forest sector.
Ovid initiated fire suppression systems and then headed down to check things out. The echo of his metallic clomping was his only companion. Everything was automated – even him. Aside from the horses, there were no others.
Ten minutes later, he was pushing bits of charcoal around with his toe. This fire had been deliberately set.
This was not part of the plan. This was something new.
Chaos had introduced a change.
Ovid, without emotion, headed back to his monitoring station. He didn’t know what he was looking for other than confirmation.
But he already knew what he would find.
He was no longer alone.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: straw, echo and charcoal
The Birth of Chaos
Ovid toggled his holo-view to the pasture deck where the horses were being fed their midday snack of straw and oats. There were millions of species on the Ark, but only the horses were allowed to germinate. The rest, well they would have to wait. Sooner or later a suitable home world would be found.
Ovid loved watching the horses. They were smart and affectionate. Their physical structure was as near perfection as any creature ever discovered.
Ovid was allowed one living pair of animals.
The thought was that a completely automated spacecraft, over the course of a million years, would suffer some unforeseen problem. A failure loop, they had called it. It was the result of what Newtonians referred to as super predetermination. “A” would cause “B” which would cause “C” etc. until a failure was caused. When that happened, the best any automated system could do was start over; thus, the loop.
A living creature could think. It introduced a degree of chaos to an otherwise orderly system. Things would still fail and be corrected, but the next time it would be different.
An alarm went off indicating a fire in the forest sector.
Ovid initiated fire suppression systems and then headed down to check things out. The echo of his metallic clomping was his only companion. Everything was automated – even him. Aside from the horses, there were no others.
Ten minutes later, he was pushing bits of charcoal around with his toe. This fire had been deliberately set.
This was not part of the plan. This was something new.
Chaos had introduced a change.
Ovid, without emotion, headed back to his monitoring station. He didn’t know what he was looking for other than confirmation.
But he already knew what he would find.
He was no longer alone.
Word count 300
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Cortollian Affair
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: smoke, surprise and furry
The Cortollian Affair
“We will die before surrendering to the likes of you!”
Big surprise there, thought the captain as the view screen blinked off.
He turned to his guest/captive. “Well ambassador, it doesn’t look like you and your fellow Cortollians are on the same page. Do you suppose they are bluffing?”
The ambassador’s furry tongue flashed in and out rapidly. He was either panicking or calmly thinking of an appropriate response. The captain guessed it was the former, but he was never sure when it came to Cortollian body language. The damn creatures were each as different from each other as they were from alien species. No two looked or acted the same.
The captain started to wonder how they chose a mate and then realized there were more important tasks at hand.
“Perhaps, Captain, you underestimate our offensive abilities. At this very moment, they are preparing to board your ship. In case you are interested, we will not be taking prisoners.”
Okay, so flickering tongue does not mean “I give up.” The captain made a mental note.
He pressed a button on the command console and announced, “General Quarters. Prepare to repel boarders.”
Moments later, several Cortollian-sized smoke balls appeared on the Command Bridge. They hovered momentarily and then with a flatulent-like sound, disappeared; leaving behind a small puddle of electronics and biological matter.
The captain turned to his guest. “Very impressive Ambassador. What do you do for an encore? Self destruct?”
“Perhaps we were a bit rash, Captain. Maybe further negotiations are in order.”
The captain admired the potato-shaped alien ambassador. He had guts.
“Perhaps Ambassador, we should have your fellow Cortollians transport you back to their ship.”
A small fur ball popped out the backside of the ambassador. The Captain was fairly certain he was interpreting that gesture correctly.
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: smoke, surprise and furry
The Cortollian Affair
“We will die before surrendering to the likes of you!”
Big surprise there, thought the captain as the view screen blinked off.
He turned to his guest/captive. “Well ambassador, it doesn’t look like you and your fellow Cortollians are on the same page. Do you suppose they are bluffing?”
The ambassador’s furry tongue flashed in and out rapidly. He was either panicking or calmly thinking of an appropriate response. The captain guessed it was the former, but he was never sure when it came to Cortollian body language. The damn creatures were each as different from each other as they were from alien species. No two looked or acted the same.
The captain started to wonder how they chose a mate and then realized there were more important tasks at hand.
“Perhaps, Captain, you underestimate our offensive abilities. At this very moment, they are preparing to board your ship. In case you are interested, we will not be taking prisoners.”
Okay, so flickering tongue does not mean “I give up.” The captain made a mental note.
He pressed a button on the command console and announced, “General Quarters. Prepare to repel boarders.”
Moments later, several Cortollian-sized smoke balls appeared on the Command Bridge. They hovered momentarily and then with a flatulent-like sound, disappeared; leaving behind a small puddle of electronics and biological matter.
The captain turned to his guest. “Very impressive Ambassador. What do you do for an encore? Self destruct?”
“Perhaps we were a bit rash, Captain. Maybe further negotiations are in order.”
The captain admired the potato-shaped alien ambassador. He had guts.
“Perhaps Ambassador, we should have your fellow Cortollians transport you back to their ship.”
A small fur ball popped out the backside of the ambassador. The Captain was fairly certain he was interpreting that gesture correctly.
Word count 300
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Runner Up
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: scroll, doubt and vase
Runner Up
Professor Jenkins knew he was dusting off a rewrite of history.
Up to this point, the Dark Side Expedition had turned up little more than fossilized bone fragments; proving only that the moon had once supported animal life. It was hard for people to get excited about ancient cockroach remains on the moon. That didn’t count as life, at least not in the biblical sense – in God’s image and such.
The vase changed everything. Bugs didn’t make cookware. This could only mean one thing. Intelligent life had once lived on the moon.
For years there had been speculation. Now there could be no doubt. This vase would change history. It would change the way man viewed his role in the universe.
And most importantly, it would change the way people viewed Professor Jenkins.
No more following in the footsteps of the “great” Doctor Frank Boas – direct descendant of the legendary Franz Boas, the founder of modern anthropology.
Yes, up until this moment, Jenkins was the career silver medalist of anthropologists. Now, as he made his way back to base camp, he imagined how it would all unfold. First, the teams would throw him a big party. Next, he would be whisked back to earth where there would be a parade. His name would be in every history book written from this point forward.
As he approached the camp, he could tell right away that something was up. He cleared the airlock and was immediately swept up into a wild celebration. At first, he thought that news of his discovery had somehow reached the camp ahead of him.
He stopped a reveler and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Haven’t you heard? Doctor Boas has found an ancient scroll with alien hieroglyphics on it! It’s the Rosetta Stone to the universe.”
Word count 298
The prompts: This story must contain the words: scroll, doubt and vase
Runner Up
Professor Jenkins knew he was dusting off a rewrite of history.
Up to this point, the Dark Side Expedition had turned up little more than fossilized bone fragments; proving only that the moon had once supported animal life. It was hard for people to get excited about ancient cockroach remains on the moon. That didn’t count as life, at least not in the biblical sense – in God’s image and such.
The vase changed everything. Bugs didn’t make cookware. This could only mean one thing. Intelligent life had once lived on the moon.
For years there had been speculation. Now there could be no doubt. This vase would change history. It would change the way man viewed his role in the universe.
And most importantly, it would change the way people viewed Professor Jenkins.
No more following in the footsteps of the “great” Doctor Frank Boas – direct descendant of the legendary Franz Boas, the founder of modern anthropology.
Yes, up until this moment, Jenkins was the career silver medalist of anthropologists. Now, as he made his way back to base camp, he imagined how it would all unfold. First, the teams would throw him a big party. Next, he would be whisked back to earth where there would be a parade. His name would be in every history book written from this point forward.
As he approached the camp, he could tell right away that something was up. He cleared the airlock and was immediately swept up into a wild celebration. At first, he thought that news of his discovery had somehow reached the camp ahead of him.
He stopped a reveler and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Haven’t you heard? Doctor Boas has found an ancient scroll with alien hieroglyphics on it! It’s the Rosetta Stone to the universe.”
Word count 298
Friday, December 3, 2010
Stressed
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: Write a story that contains the line: "Where were you last night?"
Stressed
There was a momentary mismatch between the man and his reflection in the mirror.
Damon almost caught it - a lag between him, at the bathroom sink; and him, on the inside looking out.
A perfectly matched wave of the hand demonstrated that it was nothing other than his mind playing tricks.
He tossed it off as stress. Lately, his mind just wouldn’t shut up. It was as if it had a bottomless bag of doom that it reached into; pulling out one bit of negativity after another.
He sloshed through the inch-deep water on the bathroom floor. He paid no mind to it; just like the way he ignored the blood-soaked towel that clogged the toilet.
High pressure meeting coming up this morning, he thought as he dragged the straight razor down the side of his jaw. Right away, his mind began a slideshow of all the things that could go wrong like his boss pushing for higher sales in a market that wasn’t interested in buying. He could lose his job.
God how he hated his boss; almost as much as he hated that money-grubbing ex-wife.
He dabbed the last bit shaving cream from his face.
There is was again! Did he actually see the image in the mirror smile a brief smile that wasn’t his?
No. It was just the stress…
In the closest he stepped over a pile of still-wet and muddy pants without a thought. Fiddling at his night stand, he pushed aside a gun that he didn’t know he owned. It was wrapped in a torn shirt, he didn’t know was his.
One last trip to the bathroom…
There it was again!
In the mirror, he saw himself holding the straight razor to his neck.
He saw himself ask, “Where were you last night?”
Word count 300
The prompts: Write a story that contains the line: "Where were you last night?"
Stressed
There was a momentary mismatch between the man and his reflection in the mirror.
Damon almost caught it - a lag between him, at the bathroom sink; and him, on the inside looking out.
A perfectly matched wave of the hand demonstrated that it was nothing other than his mind playing tricks.
He tossed it off as stress. Lately, his mind just wouldn’t shut up. It was as if it had a bottomless bag of doom that it reached into; pulling out one bit of negativity after another.
He sloshed through the inch-deep water on the bathroom floor. He paid no mind to it; just like the way he ignored the blood-soaked towel that clogged the toilet.
High pressure meeting coming up this morning, he thought as he dragged the straight razor down the side of his jaw. Right away, his mind began a slideshow of all the things that could go wrong like his boss pushing for higher sales in a market that wasn’t interested in buying. He could lose his job.
God how he hated his boss; almost as much as he hated that money-grubbing ex-wife.
He dabbed the last bit shaving cream from his face.
There is was again! Did he actually see the image in the mirror smile a brief smile that wasn’t his?
No. It was just the stress…
In the closest he stepped over a pile of still-wet and muddy pants without a thought. Fiddling at his night stand, he pushed aside a gun that he didn’t know he owned. It was wrapped in a torn shirt, he didn’t know was his.
One last trip to the bathroom…
There it was again!
In the mirror, he saw himself holding the straight razor to his neck.
He saw himself ask, “Where were you last night?”
Word count 300
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Nested Minds
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: dictionary, mind and circle
Nested Minds
They floated down the empty streets of New York, surveying the damage.
They had been too late. Not by much, but too late just the same. The damage had been done. The current condition was irreversible.
Originally, they were to be part of a Prevention Team. As such, they would have stepped in and taken action as needed to prevent the otherwise inevitable fall. Sometimes, a Prevention Team arrived too late. When that happened, they became a Rescue Team.
This time they were too late to rescue anything.
Meet here, appeared in the mind of each of the widely dispersed team members. It wasn’t the actual words. They had no need for those. It was the feeling that they were to be at a specific place designated by the team leader.
Immediately, each surveyor stopped whatever it was doing and headed towards the thought. Soon, hundreds of them hovered together in their social circle. The junior members made up the outer ring while other, more senior members made up the interior nested rings. At the very center were the team leader and the one survivor they had been able to find.
This was a very important moment. This one individual held, perhaps, the key to the planet’s demise. Given the backward nature of the creature, the team leader would not be able to use telepathy. Instead, he had his survey ship download the appropriate thought-to-verbal dictionary.
The entire nested group sent positive thoughts to its team leader. This had to go well or they may never know what happened here.
The team leader slowly morphed a mouth, lips and a collection of other parts needed to create sound.
He then chose a “greeting” phrase. Lowering himself down to the alien’s eye level, the team leader said a perfect - “Woof.”
Word count 299
The prompts: This story must contain the words: dictionary, mind and circle
Nested Minds
They floated down the empty streets of New York, surveying the damage.
They had been too late. Not by much, but too late just the same. The damage had been done. The current condition was irreversible.
Originally, they were to be part of a Prevention Team. As such, they would have stepped in and taken action as needed to prevent the otherwise inevitable fall. Sometimes, a Prevention Team arrived too late. When that happened, they became a Rescue Team.
This time they were too late to rescue anything.
Meet here, appeared in the mind of each of the widely dispersed team members. It wasn’t the actual words. They had no need for those. It was the feeling that they were to be at a specific place designated by the team leader.
Immediately, each surveyor stopped whatever it was doing and headed towards the thought. Soon, hundreds of them hovered together in their social circle. The junior members made up the outer ring while other, more senior members made up the interior nested rings. At the very center were the team leader and the one survivor they had been able to find.
This was a very important moment. This one individual held, perhaps, the key to the planet’s demise. Given the backward nature of the creature, the team leader would not be able to use telepathy. Instead, he had his survey ship download the appropriate thought-to-verbal dictionary.
The entire nested group sent positive thoughts to its team leader. This had to go well or they may never know what happened here.
The team leader slowly morphed a mouth, lips and a collection of other parts needed to create sound.
He then chose a “greeting” phrase. Lowering himself down to the alien’s eye level, the team leader said a perfect - “Woof.”
Word count 299
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
An Inquiring Mind
Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Tornado, scrape and time
An Inquiring Mind
The sound of the back screen door banging open caused Judy to look past the sheet she was hanging out to dry. A dog wearing a Mousekateer hat and a backpack flew out the door and around towards the front of the house.
Not a good sign, she thought to herself.
Bobby had a lot of – creative energy; especially when left alone. She’d only been outside for a few minutes; not enough time for him to do too much damage.
The scene was beyond belief. There was spaghetti on the wall. The entire contents of a box of Cheerios had been distributed across the floor with impressive uniformity. Bobby sat motionless in the corner wearing nothing but a Batman cape, some flippers and his older brother’s football helmet. He’d seen something the day before on Animal Planet that made him think being still was a good defensive strategy against large and aggressive animals.
His hope of going unnoticed was quickly dashed.
“What’s going on in here? It looks like a tornado came through our living room!”
She walked right over to Bobby, ruining forever his trust in television programming.
“Mom, it was an experiment. I was going to clean it all up. I wanted to see how much of the floor I could cover with a box of cereal.”
Such was the curse of raising a six-year-old genius.
“What about the spaghetti?”
“I was trying to see if it would stick to the wall longer than jelly bread.”
She followed his eyes to a neat row of Wonderbread slices starfished to the wall.
She handed him a spatula. “Scrape that stuff off before it dries.”
Smiling inwardly, she left him to his task. As she did so, all she could think of was, Where’d he learn to cook spaghetti?
Word count 300
The prompts: This story must contain the words: Tornado, scrape and time
An Inquiring Mind
The sound of the back screen door banging open caused Judy to look past the sheet she was hanging out to dry. A dog wearing a Mousekateer hat and a backpack flew out the door and around towards the front of the house.
Not a good sign, she thought to herself.
Bobby had a lot of – creative energy; especially when left alone. She’d only been outside for a few minutes; not enough time for him to do too much damage.
The scene was beyond belief. There was spaghetti on the wall. The entire contents of a box of Cheerios had been distributed across the floor with impressive uniformity. Bobby sat motionless in the corner wearing nothing but a Batman cape, some flippers and his older brother’s football helmet. He’d seen something the day before on Animal Planet that made him think being still was a good defensive strategy against large and aggressive animals.
His hope of going unnoticed was quickly dashed.
“What’s going on in here? It looks like a tornado came through our living room!”
She walked right over to Bobby, ruining forever his trust in television programming.
“Mom, it was an experiment. I was going to clean it all up. I wanted to see how much of the floor I could cover with a box of cereal.”
Such was the curse of raising a six-year-old genius.
“What about the spaghetti?”
“I was trying to see if it would stick to the wall longer than jelly bread.”
She followed his eyes to a neat row of Wonderbread slices starfished to the wall.
She handed him a spatula. “Scrape that stuff off before it dries.”
Smiling inwardly, she left him to his task. As she did so, all she could think of was, Where’d he learn to cook spaghetti?
Word count 300
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