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To Boldly Go
Laura Gabrielle Feasey over at I Smith Words has started a new flash fiction thingummy called “Literary Lion”, because Literary Lion looks after the prompts, you see. This one is for up to 400 words (wow, yeah, I know right, 400 whole words!) and this week the prompt is “Space”.
I’ve gone completely literal – the first thing I think of when I hear “Space” is Captain Kirk’s famous words at the beginning of Star Trek: “Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.”
I know this is my third fiction this week, but although fairly long this one is all dialogue and so quite easy to wade through :-).
I got to thinking – I bet it wasn’t that polished when he spoke those words the first time. So let’s take a look, shall we, and see how it went?
Taken from Wikipedia, Copyright probably Desilu/Paramount
“Space, the final frontier,” began Kirk. The bridge crew looked around expectantly. “These are the voyages of the star ship Enterprise,” he continued. “Its five year mission, to…”
“Five years? FIVE YEARS?” cut in a Russian voice. “I told my mum I’d be back for Sunday lunch!”
“Mr Checkov,” admonished Kirk. “Do you mind? I’m trying to give an inspirational speech here.”
“Sorry, Keptin.”
“To continue,” said Kirk, “…explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations…”
“And shoot them!” laughed the security guard by the turbolift.
Kirk looked at him. “You’ll be dead soon enough, red-shirt cannon fodder uncredited person, so I’ll let you have your fun this time.” The security guard turned a funny shade of green, which clashed rather abominably with his red jumper.
“As I was saying,” continued Kirk, “…to boldly go where…”
“You’re splitting your infinitive, Captain.”
“What’s that, Mr Spock? Splitting my infinitive, you say? I’ll damn well split my infinitive if I like, you pedantic fool. Are you the captain? No, I’m the captain. Besides, it will probably be the most famous split infinitive in the English language by the time I’m finished. If I may?”
“Of course, Captain,” said Spock, unfazed.
“…to boldly go…” Kirk paused, glaring around the bridge as if daring someone to object, “… where no man has gone bef…”
“’Person’, Captain. Or ‘one’. ‘Man’ is a bit sexist, don’t you think?”
“Oh, good God! Janice, shortly I will be involved in America’s first interracial TV kiss with the lovely Uhura.” He winked at the Lieutenant, who ducked her head and pretended she hadn’t heard. “One thing at a time. Baby steps, Yeoman, baby steps. Now, …no man has gone before!”
He looked triumphantly around the bridge, one arm held dramatically above his head. Everyone clapped.
“Now, Mr Sulu, ahead, warp factor… what’s a sensible warp factor do you think?”
“Um, two, Captain?” hedged Sulu.
“Very good, Mr Sulu. Fast enough that we mean business, not so fast that it looks like we’re rushing about like headless Ferengi. Warp factor two it is!”
And so the Enterprise went boldly towards the distant stars, the Captain’s speech but a distant, somewhat embarrassing memory.
Life Without Parole
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, the weekly 100 word photo prompt hosted by Rochelle. Congratulations are due this week on the new arrival to the Pendergast family :-).
The photo this week was contributed by C. Hase, and the other stories will appear during the week on the page reached by clicking the blue froggy below.
Copyright C. Hase
Life Without Parole
Trapped. Hemmed in. Chained down. How has it come to this? Can’t breathe…
I can’t breathe!
Sweat trickling down my face. I feel so closed in. Helpless.
So much I’ll never do again. And so many things I’ve never done. That fishing trip with the lads we planned but never got around to. Watching tennis at Wimbledon. Climbing Mount Everest. Running a marathon. So many opportunities wasted.
Help me, somebody. Take me away from here! How has this happened? How…
“Sir? Sir?”
“Uh, yes, sorry. Ahem. I do.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
MFTS – Fool Me Twice
Here is my contribution for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story for this week. For this challenge we get 150 words or so plus a photo and an opening sentence.
I must confess, I’m twenty-odd words over this week. Sorry :-(. This week’s story picks up pretty much where last week’s left off, as we rejoin newly-deceased stoners Chad and Brad, their souls ripped from their bodies after mistaking tales of alcoholic beverages with spirits of the ghostly variety.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
“What a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive, dude.”
So saying, Chad jabbed the lead ghostly spirit (Basil by name), his fingers coming away covered with ectoplasm, sticky and insubstantial as a spider’s web.
“I’M SURE I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN,” intoned Basil.
“You lured us here with talk of spirits,” complained Chad. “Vodka, whisky…”
“Advocaat,” added Brad, puffing on a joint.
“AND SPIRITS YOU FOUND!” laughed Basil. “DON’T YOU JUST LOVE HOMONYMS!”
“Chad, calm down!” said Brad, offering him an insubstantial joint. Chad took a puff.
“Dude!” he exclaimed happily.
“Dude,” agreed Brad.
“We want back in our bodies, dead Dude,” said Chad, pointing at his corpse.
“PERHAPS… THERE IS A WAY,” pondered Basil. “WOULD YOU CONSENT TO… TRIAL IN COURT?”
“Hell yeah!” said Chad before Brad could stop him. “No jury in the world will rule against us!”
“BWAHAHA!” laughed Basil. “TRIAL BY COMBAT! IN THE COURT OF THE DAMNED! FOOLED YOU AGAIN, GULLIBLE STONERS!”
“Dude,” said Chad.
“Dude,” agreed Brad. “You know what we need?”
“Yeah!”
And so the pair set off in search of more ghostly weed, the better to endure the trials ahead.
Extinction by Stupidity
Here is my contribution to this week’s Friday Fictioneers 100 word challenge, ably hosted by the talented Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Doug MacIlroy.
To read the other contributions, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
Marvik and Grvox, father and son team from “WorldRenewals Inc” stepped onto Earth, freshly scorched and ready for new inhabitants.
“The flamers did a good job on this one,” said Grvox. He pointed at a charred skeleton. “What d’ya suppose that was?”
“Some sort of marine mammal, son.”
“And what about over there? Looks like the remains of a… city? Built by those Hoomans? Da, we’re not allowed to flame worlds containing intelligent life!”
“Son, you’ve read the report on this world, same as me. Plundering your planet’s resources to exhaustion to make ‘shiny new things’ isn’t a sign of intelligence.”
MFTS – The Highest Spirits
Here’s my story for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story.
To read the other stories, click on the blue froggy. The supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
“The only residents remaining in the small town of Miners Hill are spirits.”
“That was the end of the myth? Heavy,” said Chad.
“Yep,” said Brad. “And there it is. Miners Hill.”
“Wow. It really is black and white. I thought it was just an old photo.”
They scrambled down the hill.
“Spirits, the myth says? What kind, d’ya think?”
“I’m hopin’ vodka, whisky, maybe even… the Good Stuff.”
“Wow. Advocaat? Heavy.”
Suddenly a host of ghostly apparitions appeared.
“Whoa!” Chad pulled the joint out of his mouth and stared at it suspiciously.
“I can see them too, and I’m not even high!” said Brad.
“Oh, dude, you gave up?” asked Chad sympathetically.
“Yeah, it’s kinda tough…”
“IF YOU TWO DON’T MIND?” broke in one of the spirits. “YOUR SOULS ARE FORFEIT.”
“No! Not my Nikes!” Chad looked in dismay at his footwear.
“SOULS. WITH A ‘U’.”
And so the lads joined the ranks of the dead, booze in hand, weed in mouth, the highest spirits of Miners Hill.
From Misery, Beauty
Here is my contribution to this week’s Friday Fictioneers, the weekly 100 word flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle at Addicted to Purple. This week’s photo comes to us courtesy of Santoshwriter.
To read this week’s other stories, click on the blue froggy.
Copyright Santoshwriter
She cried for the pain she felt, for the helplessness. She cried for her lost childhood, her forgotten innocence. Her mother knew, had to know, and she cried that the one person who should have protected her had failed, had ignored what was happening.
She hefted the package the stranger had handed her. Squat, black, ugly, magazine fully loaded. A means to an end. She headed home, noticing in passing her tears glistening on the leaves in the early morning sunlight, reflecting rainbows of colour.
How can my misery create such beauty? she wondered, tucking the pistol into her waistband.
Full Speed Ahead!
Here is my contribution to this week’s Mondays Finish the Story, hosted by Barbara Beacham. 100-150 words is the goal, and the supplied opening sentence is in bold in my story.
This week’s other stories can be found by clicking on the blue froggy. I couldn’t help thinking that the boat (if that’s what it is) in the picture looks like the slowest boat ever, so that’s the way I went in my rather nutty story this week. I had fun substituting the usual words associated with sleek and fast ocean-going vessels with the ones I used here :-).
Sorry about the ending, I’m already over the word count :-(.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
The crew of the Angel Flame received orders to head out.
“Pleasure yacht ‘Schnitzel’ adrift – all craft assist!”
Derkin put to sea, his son Timmy standing excitedly at the prow. The Flame’s powerful twin engines pushed the craft to an impressive 1.5 miles per hour. Timmy shouted with glee!
They cut through the waves like a spork through a brick, eating up the inches, thundering at nearly no speed whatsoever towards the stricken yacht. Another rescue craft drew level and then shot ahead, its lone occupant pulling hard on the oars.
“Faster, Dad!” yelled Timmy.
Derkin gritted his teeth and engaged the afterburner, increasing speed to 1.75 miles per hour. Suddenly a three inch wave hit them full on, swamping the boat.
“We’re taking on water, we’ll have to turn back!” he yelled. “I hope we make it!”
Timmy gasped.
Derkin turned the Flame and stared in horror. The dock was already over thirty feet distant! Throttles open to the limit, they reached safety twenty minutes later and were home in time for tea.
Another New Start
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, the only Friday fiction challenge on a Wednesday! Thanks as always to Rochelle for hosting and choosing the photo, which this week comes from Marie Gail Stratford.
Click on the blue froggy to see this week’s other contributions.
Copyright Marie Gail Stratford
Darius looked at the silo through the tint of his RadSuit’s visor. His grandfather had tilled the soil when they had housed grain. His father had worked on their conversion to missile launch bays. Sighing, he dragged his find – a compact atomic power unit – back towards the shuttle.
As he walked, he looked up at the moon. Home to the human race since the devastating “oil wars” of the late twenty-first Century, it was already 80% irradiated by the ongoing resources war between surviving factions. They’d need this power unit to aid the evacuation to Mars – yet another New Start.
MFTS – Rags to Riches
Here is my contribution for Barbara Beacham’s Mondays Finish the Story. We get a photo, an opening sentence and then we have 100-150 words to finish the story.
I had a story all written, about a woman who’s had a terrible life and decides to drown herself, then changes her mind, swims back towards shore and gets eaten by a shark (ha ha ha) but you’ll be pleased to hear I changed my mind and wrote this one instead.
For this week’s other contributions, click on the little blue froggy. In my story, the supplied opening sentence is in bold.
Copyright B.W. Beacham
Arriving at the beach, she reflected on her life. A tough childhood. Orphaned. In and out of trouble. Never fitting in, never belonging. She’d grown hard. Bitter. Always putting herself first. Because she had to. Because she needed to survive.
That was before David. Sweet David. Gentle David. David, who wouldn’t think twice before throwing himself under a bus to save a small furry animal in distress.
New husband David. Rich David. Gullible David. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to talk him out of the pre-nup. “Davey, honey, love’s forever. We’re forever.”
She imagined tomorrow’s headlines. “Wealthy philanthropist David Gear dies in tragic boating accident while on honeymoon. New wife inconsolable.” She’d better work on inconsolable, she thought. The way he’d thrashed about as the sharks had ripped him apart made her smile. It had reminded her of the way he made love. Ineffectually.
She pinched herself to make her eyes water, then walked back to the hotel to face the Press.
Burnout
Here is my story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers, the 100 word photo prompt ably hosted by Rochelle. This week’s photo was contributed by Madison Woods.
To view this week’s other contributions, click the blue froggy.
Copyright Madison Woods
Jedro hesitated, took a deep breath, and turned the tap. Behind him, the crowd strained to see.
Nothing.
Word spread, hope changed to resignation. Loved ones hugged. Children, confused, were gathered up by parents. The last remnants of humankind dispersed, wandering away to make their own plans for the End.
The water was gone. All of it. Jedro kicked angrily at the salt covering what had once been the floor of the Atlantic Ocean.
Antimatter energy, they’d said. Unlimited power. Totally safe! An accident, the Earth moves a fraction of a degree closer to the Sun… and the world slowly boils away.
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