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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.
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.
In Plain Sight
It’s Friday Fictioneers time again, and I hear that it’s Rochelle’s second year anniversary as fearless leader of our little group. Congratulations, Rochelle, and thank you!
For the second week in a row I had trouble thinking of a story and I eventually ended up with this. I hope you enjoy it! The photo this week was contributed by The Reclining Gentleman.
Don’t forget to click on the little blue froggie to see all this week’s other contributions.
Copyright The Reclining Gentleman
Maximillian Zerrissen gazed mournfully across the lake. Behind him were plaques which, when depressed in the correct order, would cause the water to drain away to reveal a huge dish capable of focussing his patented death ray.
When he had started building his secret evil lair all this had been woodland. Due to a combination of recession and labour shortages, it had taken so long to complete that a whole community had sprung up around the site. Somebody would be bound to notice his evil-doing.
The waste of money smarted less than his subsequent demotion within the evil-doers community from “Evil Genius” to “Second Henchman”. Read, “Cannon Fodder“.
Singleness of Purpose
Here’s my contribution for this week’s Friday Fictioneers. This is a 100-ish word photo prompt hosted by Rochelle – be sure to check out her blog! – and this week the photo has been contributed by fellow Fictioneerer Douglas M. MacIlroy. Thanks, Doug!
To view all the other contributions for this week, click the little blue fellow below. Check back often as more are added during the week. Why not have a go yourself? It’s fun 🙂
Copyright Douglas M. MacIlroy
Resolute of purpose, the dreaded Snail Army made its ponderous way towards the art display.
“Look, my soldiers!” roared Snail-Commander. “Our shelled fellows, captured and affixed to wood! We shall rescue them!”
“LIBERATE! LIBERATE!” came the reply.
“We shall destroy their captors!”
“ELIMINATE! ELIMINATE!”
“And then, victorious, we shall eat, drink and be merry!”
“FORNICATE! FORNICATE!”
“Come, death or glory awai… hang on, is that lettuce over there?”
The dreaded Snail Army swivelled to look.
“I believe it is, Commander,” said Snail-Sergeant.
“My friends, we have a new goal!”
Resolute of purpose, the dreaded Snail Army made its ponderous way towards the salad bowl.
On a Promise
It’s Friday Fictioneers time here on the interwebz. This is a 100 word photo challenge, and this week said photo has been supplied by our lovely and talented host, Rochelle!
If you would like to take part, head over here, check out the instructions and then leave a link to your story via the little blue froggie fellow (where you can also find all this week’s other contributions).
I didn’t see “death” in this week’s photo, so I apologise to any of my regulars who are expecting horror, gore and whatnot.
Copyright Rochelle Wissoff-Fields
Bored, Simeon placed his drink down and began drumming on the bar with two cocktail sticks, tapping his foot in time. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a raven-haired beauty gliding across the room towards him.
“Come with me,” she whispered. “We will make beautiful music together.”
In a daze, Simeon enjoyed the seductive sway of her hips as she led him from the bar.
Her apartment was filled with a flowing melody as her nimble fingers danced over the keys. As he tapped out the rhythm on a snare drum, Simeon reflected morosely that this wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind.
Mistaken Identity
I can hardly believe it’s time for Friday Fictioneers once again, but it is! This is a 100-ish word writing challenge hosted by the lovely Rochelle, who is currently on her summer break, it seems. Therefore we have a re-run photo to write to. It’s not a re-run for me, though, as I’ve only been doing this for a year. A year and 4 days, in fact, so this is my FF anniversary!
The photo was contributed by Madison Woods, and nearly made me throw up when I saw it. I have no idea what it is, and I don’t think I want to either. Thanks, Madison 🙂 .
Click on Bracken, the little blue fellow, to see this week’s other contributions.
“Trust me, this stuff is fine! Hmm, tastes a bit rank.”
“It looks gross. How you know it’s good to eat?”
“It says so in the ‘Fruits of the World’ book. See? Ugh, it’s all crunchy.”
“’Curved and yellow in colour, a good source of potassium. Peel before eating.’ Sounds like a banana. That’s not right. Look, there’s a page missing. It’s been ripped out.”
“Oh. I wonder what the description for this was?”
“Gross, do not eat? I’ll Google it. Here it is. Oh.”
“I can’t feel my feet. Everything’s going dark.”
“If anything were to happen to you, could I have your Xbox?”
“Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
Cowboy Trucking Inc
Unbelievably, it’s Wednesday again and you know what that means, don’t you? Yes, that’s right, it’s time for Friday Fictioneers!
100 or so of us write 100 or so words in response to a photo prompt, which has been contributed this week by Roger Bultot. As always, the talented Rochelle is at the helm.
My story last week was a bit grim, so here’s some mindless dialogue for you. Coincidentally, this ties in quite well with my post yesterday all about driverless cars. In this case, however, instead of having no steering wheel, this little lorry appears to have two of the things! What’s that all about?!
To read this week’s other stories click on the little blue chap below, whom I like to call Bracken.
Copyright Roger Bultot
“What’s with the foliage?”
“It’s decoration.”
“It’s not, though, is it?”
“We drove through a hedge.”
“Huh?”
“At a junction, Bill turned left and I turned right. The lorry went straight on. It’s these stupid dual steering wheels.”
“Any comeback?”
“Nah. Hedge owner was standing right in the way. He won’t be making any complaints. Splat. Har har.”
“Every cloud an’ all that. Clean the lorry up then. I’ve gotta go help out Jeff and Steve.”
“What’s up there?”
“Jeff turned left and Steve turned right. Ended up in the harbour.”
“Any comeback?”
“Nah, harbour master was standing right in the way. Har har.”
“Every cloud an’ all that…”
Dangerous Currents
It’s Wednesday and you know what that means – Friday Fictioneers! Hosted as always by the talented Rochelle, a hundred or so of us attempt to write approximately a hundred words in response to a photo, which this week has been provided by fellow Fictioneerer Björn Rudberg.
To read all the other stories (more are added throughout the week), click on Bracken, the little blue guy below.
Copyright Björn Rudberg
Frederick looked down from the dizzying height of the cliff. Far below he could see a house nestled against the cliff face and further still his target, the beach. He checked his parachute, took a deep breath and jumped.
Exhilarated by the buffeting wind, he reached to open his chute. Without warning a gust hit him square on, throwing him towards the house. A brief, agonising moment of pain, then blackness.
Meanwhile, inside…
“Bill! Oi lost moi show! The picture’s gone all snowy!”
“Prob’ly another one o’ them damn fool base jumpers impaled on the aerial again. Oi’ll get the ladder.”
“Third one this week. Inconsiderate bastards.”
An Unfortunate Choice of Lunch
It’s Thursday and high time for my entry for Friday Fictioneers, the weekly 100-ish word flash fiction challenge hosted by Rochelle.
This week’s photo has been contributed by fellow Fictioneerer Adam Ickes. To read the other contributions, click on the frog below.
My contribution this week is a bit random. But so’s the photo.
Copyright Adam Ickes
“Hello?” came a voice. “I need the Browski file.” A head poked round the corner. “Whaaaa… you’re a… a… sheep!”
“Indeed!” smiled Kevin, Ram in Charge (records department). “Never fear. We love humans, us.”
“Absolutely love ‘em, yes,” echoed the goat at the next desk.
Kevin handed the file over.
“Um, thanks, um,” said the newcomer, leaving quickly.
“Lovely chap. I love humans, me,” said Kevin. “What’s for lunch today?”
“Me too, love humans!” The goat perused the menu. “It’s… oh shit, lamb chops.”
“Bastards!” snarled Kevin, grabbing his shotgun and pumping a shell into the chamber. “Death to the murdering human scum!”
“Human scum!” echoed the goat.
Underbelly
Here we are on Thursday with Friday Fictioneers, the prompt for which was posted on Wednesday. Confused? Never mind, because it’s story time, hosted as always by Rochelle.
The photo which prompts our 100-ish word story this week was contributed by Kelly Sands and features big clouds over houses. But are they clouds? ARE THEY? Or are they actually Something More Sinister (dum dum dummmm)? My story this week is a bit nuts, so bear with me.
The other stories this week can be found by clicking on Bracken, the little blue froggy, below.
Here’s the photo of the clouds. OR ARE THEY CLOUDS? etc etc.
Copyright Kelly Sands
It came from Outer Space. NASA had pictures and everything.
One evening in late May it had appeared over the sleepy hamlet of Little Frimpton. The residents took it in their stride, as country folk often do.
“What be that, Jed? Looks loike clouds. But not clouds.”
“That be the underbelly o’ one o’ them giant aliens, Jethro.”
“Oh. ‘Nother ale?”
In June it broke wind, hospitalising several members of the Little Frimpton Knitting Circle during a particularly complicated crochet demonstration. Gas masks were distributed to the villagers.
They could only hope that nothing more solid would follow. Though as one pragmatic farmer noted, “It would be good fer moi fields.”
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