JUNE 2020 75-Word Story -- VICTORY TO VICTORIA SILVERWOLF!

[Ursa major]

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RULES:

Write a story inspired by the chosen theme and genre in no more than 75 words, not including the title

ONE entry per person

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

WHEN WRITING YOUR STORY, PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FAMILY-FRIENDLY FORUM

All stories Copyright 2020 by their respective authors who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here


The complete rules can be found at RULES FOR THE WRITING CHALLENGES

Contest ends at 11:59 pm GMT, 23 June, 2020
Voting ends at 11:59 pm GMT, 28 June, 2020

You do not have to submit a story in order to vote -- in fact, we encourage all Chrons members to take part in choosing a winner


The Magnificent Prize:

The Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers and the challenge of choosing next month's theme and genre


Theme:

Unusual


Genre:

Pastoral Science Fiction or Fantasy



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

We invite (and indeed hope for) lively discussion and speculation about the stories as they are posted, as long as it doesn't involve the author explaining the plot


** Please do not use the "Like" button in this thread! **​

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[Cat's Cradle]

The Harvest

I sense the koi nipping at insects sheltering in my servobod’s grooves.
The megafarm’s cleansing pool is where my memcore best harmonizes my diverse responsibilities; I finalize the harvesting schedules and broadcast to all Midwestern AI-remotes:
Corn-Kansas today, Wheat-Montana tomorrow, Potatoes-Idaho Thursday, the crops then to be transported westward and dumped at Composting-California.
I think humans would be proud that I kept the farms going, but I’ll never know, now.

 

[Astro Pen]

Stilling the scythe

We made life possible on the savannahs, we grasses. Fed the gazelle that you hunted. You built your huts with our stems.

But now you fence us and grind-kill our seeds, a generation lost for your food.

So summer sleep on us now as our countless green fronds lift your murderous body and carry you down to the lake, and onward, below it.

 

[Guttersnipe]

The Brilliance of the Bellwether

The visiting witch had enchanted the ram's bell, giving him magical charisma. He spoke in Baa to his congeners from a knoll.
"A change of diet!" he bellowed.
The other sheep cheered.
"No more shearing!"
Again they cheered, more passionately this time.
"Complete freedom to wander this world and rise above the two-legs!"
Then a dreadful thing happened. The sheep turned away from the bellwether and continued their eating.
They were, after all, just sheep.

 

[SaulAHerman]

The Rule of Thanatos

The lightning reverberated across the echoed coil of time and space—across the fourth dimension.

It called to its master, beckoned the will of flames across the grass—enacting the grand judgment of finality.

The man vanished from existence—sprung from mortality by the lightning’s divine masters—the gods of war, Svetovid and Perun.

His sacrifice for the birth of millions—such is the rule of Thanatos.

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

The Caretakers

Triple digit heat and the stranger wore a three-piece suit in the cornfield.

"Come," he said.

Frank killed the harvester's engine and hopped down. He followed the stranger through rows of ripe corn. The man pulled a cob off a stalk and husked it, revealing scarlet kernels.

"Give this to your female. She will live."

Frank took the rare and beautiful cob. "Why?"

"You care for your animals. So do we." He shimmered and vanished.

 

[Danny McG]

Traveling through hyperspace ain’t like dusting crops, farm boy.

“Yup, they be ripe for the picking, tis a good crop this season, Gaffer, see how tall they is, nice and lush”

“Yer well, let’s get on with it, we can’t wait around ‘ere forever, fire up yon 'arvester, boy”

Millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, as humans everywhere were sucked up through airless space into the vast machine’s silos.

 

[BT Jones]

Aesculus

“My children, cometh the ripening hour. Fear not the unnatural world of the supple red saps. It is with their kin that you shall spend your existences.”
“Remember, only those that stay strong shall prevail and, even then, conquest is no guarantee of a deserved burial."

"Should fortune smile upon you, however, and you are rewarded with an earthy tomb, glorious resurrection awaits.”
“Now fly!”

With a shiver, the horse chestnut tree shed its fruit.

 

[Hugh]

Buttercups​

He could hear the buttercups singing. Alongside the grasses and the daisies they made the most exquisite choir.

But it was the buttercups he loved most of all, little orbs of sunshine dancing in the grass.

And they loved him. He knew it. He could feel their singing in his heart thanking him for protecting their sanctuary, refusing to let them be mown.

He sensed a heart around him, even him, and began to sing.

 

[Stable]

It's not unusual to be loved by anyone​

She plodded towards the farmhouse, root over burned root.

Her stems tick-tocked in mourning for her lost brothers, sisters, and husbands. The silence that answered made her sap run slow and thick. They had been so many, so happy, before the animal and his flames.

How her poison sack swelled at the memory.

She would root beside the door and wait. She could wait so quietly. One way or another, the feud would end.

 

[johnnyjet]

The Bells of St. Stephen Hawking

The quiet town was full of cheerful folk who tended gardens, repaired holes, enjoyed life.

When the glorious bells of St. Stephen's parish rang out, they froze wherever they stood.

Some watched the dark hole grow, taking everything it touched. Others heard whooshing sounds or felt pressure. This time the hole took only a corner from the market.

When the bells stopped ringing, the hole vanished.

They repaired the new hole, treasuring their blessed lives.

 

[Daysman]

The Lay of the Land

Kathy's brood scatter through vineyards whose berries hang heavy with crystals, and cross hillside orchards where fallen fruit writhe in the sun, all in search of the Physician.

The smallest child spots the machine in a tree.

"Ma needs her medicine!"

Always prepared, it lowers a folded package. "It opens only for your mother."

The child snatches it away, shouting, running.

The Physician has an orchard heart for her too, when her own is spent.

 

[AstroZon]

LaCrosse

IPC Report: LaCrosse Settlement

Year One: Wheat failed. Hydroponics underdeveloped.
Year Two: New wheat hybrids failed. Hydroponics died.
Year Three: As above.
IPC Classification: Unsustainable. Abandon Immediately.

Almost... Rena and Pax stowed away behind.

Novus One: “A year’s worth perhaps,” Pax said to Rena counting rations.
Rena spent a week releasing her smuggled Narthi microbial worms. “They wouldn’t listen,” she whispered. “Go!”

Novus Two: Cannellini beans, yams, tomatoes, chamomile, and a shimmering field of wheat.

 

[Steveb37]

20:00 ship time, silent curfew. The incand in the cell dimmed, his eyes slowly adjusting as the mutterings from adjacent rooms ceased.
All talk had been rumours that they would be the last generation to be born and pass on the ship.

 

[JNG01]

The fish stares at me.

I backpedal, bristly wheat stalks chafing my legs. The towering creature shimmies ahead on its fin-tips. A crow calls, but the bulbous eyes stay fixed on me.

I retreat towards the branch on the ground behind me. Not much, but it’ll have to do. The fish minces closer, gills pulsing ominously.

When I get back to the village, I’m having words with Michel. His experiments have gotten out of hand.

 

[mosaix]

Fall Out

“Oh not again! That was 65 million years ago!”

“All you had to do was keep an eye on a few meteorites.”

“At least he didn't let an entire planet run dry. What's your excuse for Mars?”

“If you three don't stop bickering I'm going to get very irritated. Now let's move on. Give me the latest on the Dodo.”

 

[Joshua Jones]

The First Unusual Day

Karen emerged from the wheat field and waved at the small shuttle that flew overhead, outside the canopy. In 248 days, she would be a pilot, over her parents’ protests. No more boring crops for Karen; her days would be among the stars.

Suddenly, she was enveloped in blackness, surrounded by floating wheat. Her last conscious moment was spent beholding the stars, her generation ship, and the alien warship destroying it.

 

[Ambrose]

The Visitor.

He had seen over thirty meteors the previous night. He stretched, yawned, and went for his morning stroll round the garden. In amongst the lettuce in the vegetable patch was a fresh crater. At its bottom lay an egg-shaped object. As he watched, it swelled and then split open. A tendril sprouted and swiftly flowered. ‘May I stay awhile?’, it asked. ‘Yes’, he replied. ‘Welcome, starry messenger.’

 

[Calliopenjo]

What Am I

Some might say I don’t exist. Others might argue otherwise. Once people see me, they wonder what I am. My feet have no toes and no heels. No backwards and no forwards for me. I simply go wherever and however I wish. I am solid. I am a creature and not of the netherworld, oh no. I cannot run through walls because that hurts you know. Floating comes from a magic I do not possess.

 

[Elckerlyc]

Take a Deep Breath

Reclining on the porch, Bruce overlooked his fields contentedly. The harvest promised to be bountiful this year. No shortages, the coming winter.
With a whining noise a flying saucer descended into the valley, wobbling and rapidly losing altitude. Crashing, the spacecraft plowed through the fields and came to a rest 5 meters from the farmhouse.
Take a deep breath.
“Annie!” Bruce shouted, “Get my butcher knives!”
This winter they would diet on alien meat.