Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by J. Hardy Carroll.
I had an idea but couldn’t make an actual story out of it and then a certain somebody sprang to mind and it all came together 🙂 . Last time, I promise 😉 . Click on the blue froggy for this week’s other stories.
The ageing figure clambered arthritically over the fence, grimacing as the spikes gashed his arm. Undeterred, he crashed through tree branches, grazing his face. Extracting an immaculately-pressed handkerchief, he wiped off the blood and pressed on, tripping over a tree stump and dislocating his shoulder.
Ignoring the pain he finally stumbled to the door, above which he spied the banner – “Welcome Intelligence Operatives Class of 1962!” He looked over others in the queue – all appeared perfectly groomed.
“For heaven’s sake, Bond!” snapped M. “It’s a party! Can’t you use the front gate like everyone else?”
“Onche a shpy, alwaysh a shpy.”
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Jennifer Pendergast.
I saw some sort of ancient monolith this week.
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy.
The entity had been waiting since the dawn of time. It had seen life crawl from the oceans. It had been buried in mud, worshipped, buried in sand, transported, stored away and displayed.
And all the time it had been watching. Gathering information. The deadline had arrived. It compiled its report.
Planet overrun. Ecosystem dying. No hope. Recommend sterilisation. Prepare culling.
A small human approached, touched it. The human’s face was full of hope, its eyes gentle, trusting, curious. The entity reconsidered. It compiled a new message and transmitted.
Situation dire but hope remains. Recommend hold. Final decision in two generations.
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Shaktiki Sharma.
It took ages to get the photo uploaded this week – it was a little buggy! Ha ha ha. Ahem. 🙂
Note – those aren’t typos in the final sentence, I was trying to do his accent.
Click on the blue froggy for more stories!
“Wow, this new tech is great!”
“Yeah, it’s bug… which is a bug!”
“Fly closer, we need to hear what they’re saying.”
“Okay… wait, it’s veering off course… heading towards that ultra-violet light… oh no…”
“A bit too bug-like, perhaps?”
“We’re going down, we’re going down! Okay, we still have video and audio.”
“Who’s this approaching with the sharp suit and Martini, shaken not stirred… oh my word, it’s HIM!”
A foot descends, crushing the bug. The last the operators hear is a strong Scottish accent.
“High-tech amateursh. Now, where wash I, my dear…? Ah yesh, sho I shaid to M…”
Here is my story for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo comes from – ooh, I just checked, Rochelle as well!
I’m afraid I’ve gone eco-warrior again. You know, one of those ones who pontificates from their armchair before roaring off in their 6 litre 3 miles to the gallon pimp-mobile.
“Wow, Mum! This virtual reality headset you got me’s great! The sky’s all blue!”
“That’s the colour it was on Old Earth, apparently.”
“Is it like that still?”
“No. That’s one thing everyone agrees on. Nobody can live on Old Earth now. It’s all destroyed.”
“We’re not sure. The record tapes were damaged when the first refugees arrived here and nobody remembers. It must have been quite the disaster, though. Now, come inside, quickly. It’s looking like rain and with the wind coming from the Factory District we don’t want another of your t-shirts dissolving, do we?”
Here is my entry for Evil Squirrel’s Fourth Annual Competition of Whatever.
He has been running a series called “Shelf Critter Theatre” and has invited us to have a go! We just need to anthropomorphise at least two objects and make sure that at least one isn’t using a personality ascribed to it by the media (for example a “Mickey Mouse” toy would have a different personality to that usually ascribed to “him”).
I think that’s correct, rule-wise. So here goes. Warning – it’s a bit rude and gory 🙂
Grandpup 1: Grandpaw, Grandpaw, tell us a story!
Grandpup 2: Yes, Grandpaw! Tell us about the time you got injured.
Grandpaw: I guess you’re old enough now, kids. Gather round and listen up. It was back in the Furry wars and I was a soldier.
Grandpup 1: A soldier? Wow!
Grandpaw: Yes! I’d just received a transfer to a new unit and I was very proud, yes, proud to be F.U.C.T.
Grandpup 1: Um, what did he just say?
Grandpup 2: I think he said…
Grandpaw: Yes, the Furry Unified Combat Troop. Tell you what, kids, I was previously a member of the Allied Research, Science and Exploration division. Boy, was I glad to put that acronym behind me!
Grandpup 1: Um…
Grandpaw (lost in his memories): Yes, everyone else was very jealous of me. I was the youngest soldier ever to be F.U.C.T… will you two stop giggling? Do you want to hear this story or not?
Grandpup 1: Sorry, Grandpaw.
Grandpup 2: Sorry.
Grandpaw: There were five of us chosen for the mission – myself, Sarge, Pengy, Tatty and Andy. We set out full of hope, single file to hide our numbers.
Grandpaw: Soon we reached our first hurdle – a vast mountain to climb down.
Grandpaw: This is where we lost a couple of team mates. Pengy was first, oh poor deluded Pengy…
(Pengy: I can fly down, I’m a bird!)
(Sarge: Pengy, no! Penguins can’t fly…)
Pengy: Wheeeeeeeee! SPLAT
Grandpaw: The rest of us took our time. Sarge was a great help.
Grandpaw: But Tatty took a tumble, landed on his head.
Grandpaw: At last we reached the bottom, but then we saw them coming…
Grandpup 1: Who, Grandpaw, who?
Grandpup 2: Yes, tell us Grandpaw, tell us!
Grandpaw: The Empire, that’s who. Shock troops, distant at first but coming closer, ever closer…
Grandpaw: … until soon we could see the whites of their bricks.
Grandpaw: That’s when we lost Sarge… he sacrificed himself… threw himself on top of them…
Grandpaw: (forgetting there were children present) …guts everywhere… blood… brains…
Grandpup 2: Urgh, I think I’m gonna… bleurghhhhhhh!
Grandpaw: Er, um, don’t tell your Mum about this… there were just two of us left, myself and Andy, when in a totally freak occurrence The Doctor showed up and decided to show off his sonic screwdriver. A wave of intense sound slammed into Andy. Everything ruptured…
Grandpaw: Realising his mistake, The Doctor swiftly left, leaving me alone.
Grandpaw: I tried to stop him, to make him pay but I tripped over and scuffed myself. And that’s the story of my injury, this scar on my paw.
Grandpup 1: That was a great story, Grandpaw, but…
Grandpup 2: … we were actually wondering about your eye.
Grandpaw: Oh, that! I got that years earlier, in ‘Nam.
Grandpup 1: You were in Vietnam? You really are old! How did it happen? The Vietcong? The NVA?
Grandpaw: No, kids. I was there ten years ago on holiday, got really drunk, slipped in the shower and poked it out on the tap.
Grandpup 1: Oh.
Grandpup 2: I liked your first story better.
Grandpaw: Me too kids. Me too. Now, give your old Grandpaw a kiss and off to bed with you!