300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #25 -- VICTORY TO THE JUDGE!

[Ursa major]

​

THE CHALLENGE:


To write a story in 300 words or fewer
INSPIRED by the image provided below, in the genre of
Science Fiction, Fantasy, or other Speculative Fiction



THE RULES:

Only one entry per person

All stories Copyright 2017 by their respective authors,
who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here


This thread will be closed until APRIL the 10th
-- as soon as the thread is unlocked, you may post your story

Entries must be posted no later than APRIL the 30th 2017,
at 11:59 pm GMT


Voting will close MAY the 15th, 2017 at 11:59 pm GMT
(unless moderators choose to make an extension based on the number of stories)

You do not have to enter a story to vote -- in fact, we encourage ALL Chronicles members
to read the stories and vote for their favourites

You may cast THREE votes


NO links, commentary or extraneous material in the posts, please -- the stories must stand on their own


PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FAMILY-FRIENDLY FORUM


For a further explanation of the rules see Rules for the Writing Challenges


The inspiration image for this month is:

Image credit: ChrisG​

This thread to be used for entries only.
Please keep all comments to the DISCUSSION THREAD​

Please do not "Like" posts in this thread​

​

 

[farntfar]

Stand up and face it.


3:33 a.m.
The dead of night.
As the red figures clicked into place on the dash board, James’ head dropped against the wheel.
He could still see their reflection in the softly rippling pool outside, the water’s movement distorting the figures, so that instead he read:
6..... 6..........

A scream bloke the silence.

Yes. It would be about now. But surely he was too far away to be able to hear?

.
.
He had been a fool to believe in that unlooked for offer of a job. But then how could he refuse.
The Roman Castevet Institute was legendary. People would give their eye teeth, just to look inside the front door.
But the details were always somehow vague.

Nevertheless, to be invited to join them................
.
He realised now, of course, that it had been Janet they had wanted all the time.
Seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and with such a disjointed and disturbing memory of her early life?
He hated to admit it, but the challenge of that had been part of the reason he married her.
Of course he loved her, but ..........


A movement caught the periphery of his vision

The snap of a twig.
A hooded figure approached.

Boney almost fleshless fingers tapped on the window.
“Having trouble there, sonny?” The apparition rasped
.
“You’re right”, James cried. “If I had half a brain I’d go back and face them.”
With that the engine roared to life, and the Mercedes spun back the way it had come, tyres squealing.
.
.
“Ah well,” I murmured. ” Less than half a brain anyway, apparently.”
Straitening my hood, I continued my lonely rambling.
If I stood in one spot too long the smell of my rotting flesh was too much even for me to bear.

 

[AlexH]

Stay Away from the Red Coats

"Stay away from the Red Coats," Mum says. "Stay away."

I listen. My older brother doesn't. "It's just a fairy tale," Daniel says when we're out in the woods.

The Red Coat appears behind him, like a blood-shock against the bare sycamore trees and dried, faded, fallen autumn leaves.

"Daniel," I shout. He's still in his trunks from the swim. He doesn't listen, again.

The Coat nears, its cloud-softened shadow too slight to warn Daniel. Scarecrow-like, his head flops to one side and his arms stretch out. He spirals into the sleeves. It steals his colour - pink turning to white from his forehead to his toes, like grains of sand down an egg timer.

The silver zip connects at his waist and rises. If it reaches his chin, I'm too late. I run and dive and pull down on the zip. I fall to the floor and tug with all my weight. The zip's teeth grind downwards.

Now I'm pulled up from the floor, like gravity in reverse. Zzzzizzip...it snaps together at the top between my forefingers and thumbs. I'm hanging on, trying to pull, and now push, down. I'm so light, like there's no weight to me. I look into Daniel's eyes. Black pupils and green irises fading, greying.

"Daniel," I scream, sending birds flapping. His eyes widen, green returns to his irises. A flash of life, before all-white.

I'm floating.

I let go of the zip and collapse to the leafy floor. My legs wobble as I try to walk, but after a few steps, I run.

Now the Red Coat knows where I live. Where I sleep. Where I play. Where I go to school.

Daniel will be back home at dinner. How do I tell Mum he's joined them?

 

[Cathbad]

IN THE CLEARING


STAN: “Careful, this forest isn’t very thick – they’ll see you!”

EVAN: “What’re they doing?”

STAN: “Chanting. They’re witches.”

EVAN: “I don’t recognize the language. Doesn’t even sound human!”

STAN: “Weird dance, too. Shh! One looking this way!”

EVAN: “How can you tell, with those masks they’re wearing?”

STAN: “Yeah. Goats wolves and crows. Weird.”

EVAN: “Nine witches. Dancing and chanting in a clearing. I wonder what they’re trying to do?”

STAN: “Look! They’re taking off their white robes!”

EVAN: “God, look at those droopy tits on the leader!”

STAN: “I think she’s called the Priestess. But some of the younger ones are looking fine!”

EVAN: “Yeah. Thank goodness for the moonlight!”

STAN: Weird how it seems so bright in that clearing-like the moon’s concentrating its light there!”

EVAN: “Hush! They’re gonna hear you!”

STAN: “Look! What’s that? Smoke?”

EVAN: “White smoke – seems to be rising behind the Priestess!”

STAN: “But, they don’t have a fire?”

EVAN: “These witches are for real!”

STAN: “Omigod! The Priestess – she’s pointing this way!”

EVAN: “No way she can see us through this shrubbery. Look! The other women are dancing in a frenzy, now!”

STAN: “Whatever they’re doing, I think it’s gonna happen soon!”

EVAN: “Maybe they’re summoning a demon?”

STAN: “I think it’d be black smoke, in that case. Dang, look at their titties bounce!”

EVAN: “Glad they can’t see us watching them. Wait… what’s that Priestess doing?”

STAN: “She’s walking this way… she’s looking right at us!”

EVAN: “Backup, quick! Stay low, but get ready to run.”

STAN: “She stopped at the edge of their circle.”

EVAN: “I don’t like how she’s swinging her arms around; looks almost like she’s guiding something our way – keep backing up!”

STAN: “What’s that growling?”

EVAN: “Something behind us. Lemme look.”

BOTH: “AARRGGHH!!”

 

[Wruter]

Jerusalem

Walking the dog home through the boroughs of Northampton with the rain pouring down and his gout playing up, old Noah had an epiphany.

What if, he thought, these were the end times, the biblical rains which rained for forty days and forty nights? Had it been raining that long? It certainly felt like it.

And what if he, like his biblical namesake, was destined to build a great ark, to ensure the continuation of life on Earth? It couldn't be a coincidence, even if his mother had claimed she wanted a girl called Nora.

Finally, he had a purpose! Two of every animal, that's what was needed, Noah recalled as he hurried on home through the continuing downpour. He wasn't certain where he might find any elephants or zebras in Northampton but the little details could wait.

* * *

With his arthritis giving him gyp, it soon became apparent that building an ark of any significant greatness was easier said than done. Eventually, Noah settled on using the garden shed instead, which he regarded as being pretty great anyway, mainly because his home brewing kit was there.

Obtaining all of the required animals also proved to be somewhat difficult. The local pet shop didn't even stock any aardvarks. So in the end he decided to just take the dog with him. The new world would simply have to be one of more canines and fewer elephants. Besides, the dog took up less room.

Always a prudent man, Noah stocked up on plenty of canned foods before sequestering himself and the dog in the shed, to await the coming of the great flood. From the tiny window he watched the rain falling endlessly, washing the old world away.

Northampton wasn't quite Jerusalem but it could be, couldn't it?

 

[mosaix]

On Reflection...

This is always the problem. This and the funny looks and comments about her smudged lipstick and untidy hair.

She sits and listens. Definitely two girls still out there, chatting above the bass-beat. And now, annoyingly, she hears the outer door open, ushering in a wave of music and a click-click of high heels as a third enters. The door of the adjoining cubicle bangs shut. Why are they always so loud?

If she doesn't get back out there soon he'll be gone. Definitely her type. Tall, blond, athletically fit, no wedding ring, Ferrari keys on the table next to his glass. Vulgarly ostentatious of course. Still, who cares? It shows wealth and probably a place of his own. Most important. Highly unlikely that he's still living with his mum.

Some giggles and salacious love-life details from the two out there but, finally, there's a blast of music as they leave followed by a return to the muffled, throbbing, bass-beat.

Thank God she'd got rid of that sweating short guy with the central parting and fat neck. Definitely not her type. Especially the fat neck.

At last she hears the cubicle door next to hers open and there's a click-click of high heels again, a pause, the rustle of a skirt being straightened, more click-clicking, another blast of music and then silence.

She waits and listens, just to make sure, then opens her door and steps out. Opposite her a long, wall-length, brightly lit mirror reflects the row of cubicle doors. Just the cubicle doors. Nothing more. Not even her.

She can get around the smudged lipstick and untidy hair. It's the give-away of having no reflection that's always the problem. That and garlic.

 

[Talysia]

The Cost of Assumption

‘Finally! I can just see the headlines now: ALIENS EXIST, AND WE’VE GOT THE PICS TO PROVE IT!’ He grinned, and his hands burst from the pockets of his coat to gesture triumphantly. ‘Tomorrow, in your Sunday paper,’ he intoned gleefully. ‘They’ll probably put it in a free glossy magazine!’

She sighed, already used to his ways. Idly, she lowered her camera and took a photo of his reflection in a small pool. Perhaps this was the only way she could use her photography skills these days. Beautifully framed, well composed photographs were nice and all, but they didn’t pay the bills.

‘We should get going, boss.’

‘Oh, you’re so right. Can you print out those photos soon? I want to look at them.’

‘My equipment’s in the car, so...’

It had felt… odd in that forest. There was no trace of any wildlife, and the air seemed unusually still. They had been investigating the disappearances in the area and, after catching a misty humanoid shape on camera, it seemed like the boss might be right. Maybe the missing people had been abducted by aliens after all.

Firing up the portable printer, she soon had a pile of photos. Snatching them up, her boss started to thumb through them before stopping, mouth agape. The pictures fluttered to the ground.

So you know, a voice said. Do you think I’ll let you leave?

The temperature dropped. She felt icy fingers claw at her skin and pull her into the realms of darkness, of panic, and then of nothingness.

Humans these days. They never change. Aliens? Haven’t they ever heard of being spirited away? Of ghosts, Fae or fetches? What arrogance.


Days later, a single picture was found, showing the reflection of a figure in a red coat.

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

The Awakening

After billions of years of insensate existence, it came to life.

I am! I am!

It knew itself to be a mass of rock and clay and sand. Without eyes, it saw dawn paint the trees with golden light. Without ears, it heard the songs of birds and insects. Without skin, it felt the soft caress of a cool breeze.

It shambled through decades of dead leaves, sending small creatures scurrying away. They filled it with delight.

You are! You are!

It wandered aimlessly, joyfully, until it came to a place where a pool of still water reflected the clouds, as if the sky had come to greet it. It approached this new wonder and beheld itself. It saw that it was bigger than the other beings in the forest, and it resolved to move softly, that it might not harm them.

A crashing sound came from across the pond. Two animals, nearly as tall as itself, drew near. Their bodies were bright orange. This was the most beautiful color it had ever seen. It yearned to share its happiness with them, but it had no voice. It could only shuffle back and forth and hope that they knew this to be a dance of celebration.

I am! You are!

One of the two lifted a long, shiny object. Its companion touched the thing and made sounds with its mouth. The other did so also, in a voice which was louder and deeper, and moved the shiny object away. There was a loud noise that filled the air for a long time. There was pain.

It fell into the water. It felt the movement of fish as they swam around it. Their eyes were large and full of wisdom. It loved them, as it loved those who had slain it.

 

[Cory Swanson]

Brown and Sticky

Two branches stuck up from the water, each unique but basically the same. I don’t know what compelled me to do it, but I pulled on the one closest to me and the muddy, cold water dripped down my arms. I shivered and kept pulling, hand over hand.

It had been naïve to think that I could extricate myself from the mire that followed, and I soon found myself being pulled deeper and deeper down into the mud and grime. I could have let go, but curiosity got the best of me.

Beneath the water now, I thrashed and kicked. I fought and pulled with my hands, my feet, my teeth, everything I had. The more I struggled, the more tangled I became. I scrambled to get back out, but it pulled me back under, further and further.

The pain seared through my body, filling my neck. I tried to swim away; it drew me back. The water was impossibly deep, but a shimmering light came from what I believed was below me. Fearful, I tried to swim the other way, but it pulled and pulled me towards the light.

In an instant, I broke the surface and was blinded and disoriented. Their hands grabbed me and tore the branch away. Pain splintered through my neck. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t breathe. They held me up by my mouth. I jerked and pulled but could not break free.

“Hoooooeeee! This one sure is a beauty.”

“You betcha, Zeke.”

I was tossed into a large container. There were others, terrified and writhing at the bottom. I tried to climb the sides but couldn’t gain purchase on the wet plastic and fell back into the pile.

“What you usin’ for bait?”

“Just a stick. They’s dumb as rocks.”

 

[Starbeast]

Friend of the Forgotten​

April 1st is usually a day for harmless fun, unfortunately not for a Wisconsin hiker who chose the wrong path. His headless body was discovered the following day.

#

On April 6th, another headless victim was found in that same wooded area, that's when I, newspaper reporter Carl Kolchak, was sent to cover the story. I phoned the Independent News Service, and suggested tomorrows headline should read, "Serial Killer", my editor, Tony Vincenzo, refused to fuel that fire.

#

April 10th. The mystery killer struck again, without leaving any clues, just like the first two murders. Fortunately, I overheard a group of policemen talking about campers seeing a monster roaming this forest. After an earful, I hastened to interview those campers.

#

One man showed me cell phone camera footage. A little shaky, but I could make out, a nightmarish creature.

#

That night I walked the path where the victims were discovered. Near dawn I came upon a girl in red, she pointed at a pond, uncomprehending what she was trying to imply, angered the young lady. Her head vanished...then, an abomination leaped down from the trees. It, chased me. Long arms grabbed me, I yelled as it prepared to remove my head. Bullets suddenly ripped into it's body, a small army of policemen fought the beast as I scampered to my feet. An idea came to mind, I raced back to the pond, and dove in. My hunch was right, I found a skull. Ignoring the officers the thing came toward me with outstretched arms, I relinquished the skull. We were all astonished to see the beast hold the skull lovingly, then turning quietly, it lumbered into the forest. Dumbfounded policemen stared a me. I shrugged, waved my hand and said, "Don't worry. I didn't see anything."

 

[ratsy]

A New World

Snow fell hard on their new world. For two Earth months it dropped to the ground, piling surprisingly high. Lainey and her new family were happy to see the melt, knowing they could finally climb back down from the mountainside and start their crops.

“Lainey, what if the seeds don’t take?” little Ben asked, a waver in his voice.

“They’ll take. They wouldn’t ‘ave shipped us here to die. Have faith child.” And that was that.

The gardens were planted.

The world’s suns burned bright and high in the sky for the next couple months. Water was abundant from the melt; puddles still lay every few feet. This helped the growth.

They built homes, low down on the ground and reserves in the mountain caves, in preparation for the next snow fall.

The fire roared heartily and she sat with Ben and the ever gruff Clark, after a long day’s work.

“Yield is coming in nicely. Think we can pull this off?” Clark asked, always leaning on Lainey for answers.

“Aye. I’d like to say we already have.” She thought about her old life. Thousands of light years away. The puddles around her reminded her of the flooding. Soon there was nowhere to go. But space. She shook off the memories. Most of them here didn’t recall that time. They were born in cryo. A new world, a new people.

She smiled at Clark, and could see his hard shell soften just a little bit.

She was tasked with starting again. There would be no war, famine, or pain. She would see to it.

“Ben, come with me while I walk the perimeter,” she said with pride.

The boy followed along, holding her hand.

He jumped in a puddle, splashing about.

Lainey smiled.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

Grasping at the past

The mind copes with trauma by forgetting, I'm told, but I remember it all.

We called ourselves - ha! the irony - the Doggers. We met in the forest most mornings to walk our dogs. Barney and me, without fail - he might be old, but he lived for that walk. Sam, normally, but he didn't turn up that day. He hated ice and would delay things until the sun unfroze the pathways. Tina was missing, too. Tuesday was her ex's night to have Butch, even though he hated the dog. Spite, I guess.

Which left me and an empty forest. Barney and I wandered along the riverbank, down to the duckpond. I sat, freezing, on the bench, and he watched, perhaps remembering being young enough to chase the ducks, perhaps resting before the walk back.

I remember the slap-slap of water. Barney panting. The smell of dank pondweed, stolen by that of cigarettes and whiskey - Janine's sharp Jack Daniels, not my preferred malt.

She struck from behind, shoving hard on my shoulders, and I toppled. She stood over me, yelling about how and why and where and who watched. She kicked me and I rolled and plunged into the water. My coat pulled me down.

Barney barked. Janine's pack snarled. She'd never had control over them.

A last yelp from Barney broke me. I grabbed her coat, scrabbling for purchase, and pulled her into the brack-water. I forced her under and didn't let go.

And then silence.

The clock ticks on, a year, then two. The smell of cigarettes and whiskey is always with me. I down a JD - our preferred brand now - and she embraces me, her chill spirit all around me.

The mind forgets, they say, to protect us: Janine will never let me.

 

[Ashleyne]

Young Again

I wake up, looking forward to my morning jog. I try to get out of bed and my bones crack in agony. The mirror reflects me as if I'm looking through water ripples, a mass of sagging wrinkles, blurred through white fog. I look like my grandmother, exactly like her. And I'm in her room.

I grow queasy and shiver. I shout, "Help", and my voice comes out quiet and wheezy. I can't lift my arms. I can barely keep my eyes open.

#

The day has grown dark. I'm caged up in her bed, no food. I've soiled myself and I can't get to the bathroom. My bones ache too much.

My eyes are red raw; I've cried for hours. I can hear laughter coming from the next room.

#

Smash. I've finally pushed that lamp off the bedside table, trying to get someone's attention.

A door slams, and angry footsteps boom towards the room.

She looks exactly like me as she storms through the door. She shouts, "Will you shut up?"

"What's...", I choke on my tears, "happening?"

"I'm borrowing your body, but it's just for a few days."

"Grandmother?"

She nods her head.

"I looked after you. I fed you, changed your nappy. Why? How?"

"I wished upon a star and a fairy came and granted it." She strokes my forehead. I try to recoil. "Don't be like that. The pain was too much. Don't worry. When my body fails, I'll die, and you'll get your body back. It w-"

"Just go. I don't wanna look at you."

Her voice cracks: "I'm sorry, darling." She runs from the room.

#

Darkness surrounds me. She's kneeling over me. She snuffs my breath with a pillow. "Darling, I'm sorry."

 

[Calliopenjo]

One Day, On My Way Home. . .

I dismounted and led Iothin to the glen ahead. I smiled when I entered the tree line because that meant water. I led her towards a river. I scooped water in my hands and nothing ever tasted so good. I looked up after I had my fill and a Forest Folk stood across from me.

He or she laughed and went for the trees. I heard of them but never met one.

I had no energy and neither did Iothin. Smoke stopped coming out of her nostrils a long time ago.

I dropped to the ground to lean against the tree while my dragose walked into the river and drank.

I looked up because I felt eyes on me. It ran away. I stood, stumbled a couple times, and walked on the rocks to get to the other side.

Once my feet hit solid ground, I looked ahead of me. It waved at me. I looked around to find something to use to help me climb the tree.

“Try to catch me.”

I took the bait and chased after the Forest Folk. Hard with fallen trees, bushes in every available space, and huge rocks to avoid. I caught up when it tried to get a vine from a tree.

“Well, lookee here. I gotcha.” I smiled, as I took the vine from it.

“Are you better now?”

“Wha? What are talking about?”

“Forest Folk are naturally green. You are supposed to be... well... not green and yellow.”

I checked myself over and saw grass stains with dirt and mud splatter. The next thing I had to do, get cleaned up, but I needed to get that thing.

It wiggled out of the vine and leaped up the tree before I caught it. “No more bad. Feel good. Happy travels.”

 

[Cat's Cradle]

The Robe and the Arrowhead

My grandfather was our tribe’s seer, and of the truths he taught me, two are most important: these forested Black Hills are sacred and eternal; and cavalrymen cannot be trusted.

I stand before the pine with bow drawn, wearing the robe grandfather had woven shortly before his murder; he’d dyed it red with cranberries, and the blood of the tribe’s women and children. Cavalrymen had slaughtered them.

We’d sought, then notched this tree he’d seen repeatedly in visions, while desperately seeking to save our people. He requested I return on his death, and:
...send an arrowhead into its marked heart;
...carve slits surrounding the wound to channel in resin;
...then join with Tȟašúŋke Witkó’s tribe, to war against the butchers Custer, and McCutcheon.

Goodbye, grandfather.
****

He’d built his lodge in the Black Hills liberated from the Lakota. Above the fireplace was mounted a robe taken from a warrior’s corpse twenty years before.

He threw a log on the waning fire, then knelt to reread the handbill.

McKinley–McCutcheon
1896
Vote For Prosperity​

He whooped resoundingly.

Vice President! McKinley’s so desperate for the Western vote, he bartered my fame from the wars for letting me pursue a final resolution to the Indian problem.

The log on the fire popped and spat alarmingly, hissing like a rattlesnake on a griddle. He looked closer – its heart was a tumor of smoldering resin, encasing—

*CRACK*

“Klouff...gluck…”

He collapsed, hands encircling his spurting throat. Something was embedded there –

Arrowhead!

His terrified eyes flitted, then found the robe – it was draining of color, red running as liquid and pooling at the hem. With his throat’s every spurt, red gushed from the hem onto the hearthstone.

The robe’s color and body’s blood soon stopped flowing, leaving the robe cleansed, and the seer’s true purpose fulfilled.

 

[Luiglin]

Bashcobbler

Nilrem stalked the hills, his long stride eating away the miles to the lake where he’d been summoned.

Summoned... summoned... him! He still bristled with the effrontery of it. The premier mage in all the lands summoned like some downy cheeked apprentice who still could sing soprano.

I mean it was not as if he had time on his hands, what with the echoes of a future King to work out and that sorceress, Anagrom, who’d he’d had a one night stand with a few months back, threatening to dish the dirt.

His wizardly intuition drew him down into a hidden valley and a small copse of ancient trees. Winding his way through, Nilrem missed a puddle, completely soaking one foot. Hopping back, he swore loudly and heartily.

“Greetings, mighty Nilrem.”

He spun round looking for the owner of the voice.

“It is I, the Peeress of the Puddle,” said the puddle, the waters rippling with each word.

“You've got to be kidding,” said Nilrem.

A muddy hand appeared from the water holding an amusingly shaped club.

“Here that just looks like a-”

“It is Bashcobbler, a weapon with which to birth a nation!”

“That's one way of putting it,” said Nilrem, eyebrows raised.

“You must take Bashcobbler and place it in a bush.”

“Is this some sort of windup?”

“For,” continued the Peeress undaunted, “he who draws the club from the bush will be King.”

“Now you're taking the p-”

“Then at the end of his reign the future King must return Bashcobbler to this very puddle.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so,” said the Peeress of the Puddle.

Nilrem accepted the club. “What if he doesn’t? Will you hunt him down?”

“No, for I cannot exist beyond the bounds of this water.”

“Right,” Nilrem grinned. “All hail me then.”

 

[Jason McGraw]

Bear Hunter

Sometime after midnight, the collies went wild and kept it up till dawn.

“Something sure spooked them!”

A funny thing about June near Yellowknife is that the sun sets around 11:30 and rises around 3:30. So “night” was only four hours.

Collin walks out to the sheep pasture and greets his collies. Some look at him with alarm and paw his leg. Others smell the ground. Collin surmises that one of his sheep was taken by a predator. He rounds up the dogs, locks the kennel, and treks out with his rifle.

“Must have been a bear.”

Collin treks southwest from his farm. He herds sheep, milks goats, breeds collies, collects wild herbs, repairs tractors, does some welding, and anything else to earn a better living. Collin thinks about what he could do with a black bear skin. A bear skin ought to more than make up for one sheep if he tans it right and sells it online. And bear meat makes good stew.

Collin finds fresh tracks in soft earth. He can’t make out pads but he’s sure it's the size of a bear. About a mile from the farm, on top of a hillock, Collin spots fresh bones with pieces of torn skin and wool. The marrow has been cracked and sucked out. The skull is unrecognizable as the brain was eaten too. He had never seen an animal devoured so quickly and completely.

Many deep tracks lead down the hill. Collin, rifle ready, crests the hill and scans the clearing. Amazingly, he does not see a black bear or any other recognizable animal. The animals -- monsters, really -- walk on two legs, shaggy hair covers their bodies, and are watching over a half dozen mini-monsters.

“Lord, there’s a family of them! A family of yetis!”

 

[Danny McG]

Mice Helium

The security team wandered around the brackish lagoon, red powered armour gleaming in watery sunshine. Viv and Mickey exchanged nods with them, then navigated up through the equipment cluttered on the Survey Vessel ramp.

Andy’s voice boomed out-
“Got a minute Viv? I have a joke that may amuse you”,
his tone went higher, as always when he attempted humour.
He turned towards them, a split second later pulser beams strobed out, quartering Mickey. Startled yells came as Security reacted to the weapon discharges.

Viv shuddered at the twitching fungoid mass in Mickey’s place, it’s sharp proboscis flailing aimlessly. She gagged at it’s charnel house stench and slumped weakly to the deck.
.............................................
“It mesmerised us, Sir, security and survey teams alike, we really thought Mickey was fellow shipcrew, obviously Andy here couldn’t be affected”, Viv said to the Admiral and Staff crowding the sick bay.
“We’ve found them throughout every waterway of this world now, always with a shoal of lethargic amphibians”

Her friend Andy, a Combat Class Android, spoke up, “They infiltrate the amphibians and mentally broadcast good will all around whilst nuzzling blood, ours had drained so much that Viv needed emergency transfusions”

“Why call itself Mickey?”

”It absorbed knowledge when linked via it’s proboscis. It could be classed as a mobile variety of Mycelium; that sounds like mice helium, and, of course, a famous mouse who sounds like he inhales helium is..?”

“Mickey” groaned Viv.

Andy’s voice pitched higher and Viv cringed, “In fact, with his wit and stench, you might say he was PUNgent ”
“No” hissed Viv, gaping at the frowning Chiefs, “Andy, not now!”
Unperturbed, Andy continued ”Yes, he was a real fun guy”

 

[HoopyFrood]

In Town For One Night Only

“Please can we go, please,” I beg.

“Amanda...” My dad’s face almost makes me wish I hadn’t asked.

“Please? I’ll stay with you all night, promise.”

Mum’s voice cracks. “No.”

It wasn’t right to ask. But the night air through my window carries warm popcorn, lilting music, and it’s only here every 10 years. As far back as anyone can remember and Old Mr Stewart remembers back the furthest; he says it’s the same people in charge, since he was a kid. His mind’s going now, though.

Branches scratch my face as I climb downwards. What am I doing? But I can see the lights; they’re like dancing flames, drawing me.

A whirling kaleidoscope of colour, a cascade of music, so many delicious smells! I run from place to place, overwhelmed by choice. What’s in here? I duck through a tent flap. Inside, a small figure sits on a hay bale, wearing a red coat.

My heart stops and a memory, 10 years hidden, from when I was still in mum's arms, breaches. The last glimpse of Adam in his favourite coat, laughing, running into darkness.

I step towards the figure; it turns and I recoil, sick; not a boy, a man, 100-years-old or more, skin cracked and melting down his face.

Someone grabs me from behind.

“Are you lost?” A tattooed woman grins into my face. “Are you alone?”

“My parents...are o-outside..”

She sees my lies. A lizard-scale finger runs down my cheek. “Such youth. I bet it tastes like toffee apples.” Her hand grips my face and burns like fire.

Suddenly she yelps and falls. The old man’s yellow nails dig at her eyes.

“Run,” he croaks.

I try to say his name; it sticks in my throat.

“Go!”

I run.

 

[LittleStar]

May Day

Life’s short. Passes in the blink of an eye. But that don’t mean it don’t have to mean somethin’.

I emerged to warm, muggy air, two seconds after midnight; already knew I was destined for greatness.

Graduated when I’s three hours old; held back a couple times, see, on account a’ my bein’… well everyone said ‘slow’, but I’s just a thinker is all. Readin’ books about life wasn’t guna help me live none, or find my destiny.

Destiny found me on my seventh hour.

I went to the Dance at the Creek, just to see what’s the fuss. I met May there. You won’t know, but your mother was beautiful, like sun on water. And we danced our lives mong reeds and ripples.

On my ninth hour, May fell pregnant. Made me the happiest I ever been. We married when I’s eleven, on the banks, in late-spring sun.

Life was hard once the kids came. We visited often as we could, but still wanted to live like we always talked.

Then the winds changed.

Cold, hard gusts caught up the Creek, and I swear, blew the sun too fast to the trees.

Your mother passed on her eighteenth hour.

Now I just wait for sunset, ready to dance one last time.

It’s funny… well, you’ll see soon, but when you’re old like me, you only got memories left. You have to live in the past, cause there ain’t much future. But that ain’t bad, no. I get to live again, with May, and smile at everyone tellin’ me all the things I’s too slow to do.

I’ve lived… really lived.

Maybe not the greatness I always saw, but it’s been a great day, and I wish you all health and happiness for yours.