300-Word Writing Challenge #38 (JULY 2020) -- VICTORY TO M. ROBERT GIBSON!

[Ursa major]

​

The inspiration image for Challenge #38 is:

Image credit: -K2-


THE CHALLENGE:

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


THE RULES:

Only one entry per person

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


This thread will be CLOSED until July the 10th 2020
As soon as the thread is unlocked, you may post your story


Entries must be posted no later than July the 31st 2020,
at 11:59 pm GMT


Voting will close on August the 15th, 2020 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 -- all must be cast at the same time


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


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


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



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​

 

[Rafellin]

White as Snow; Red Like Blood

It’s beautiful outside. So much like Earth. Such a shame the atmosphere is toxic. Back in the New Forest, the tracks in the snow could have been made by several species of predator or prey.
Here on Orampanala, they’re either made by the burrowing, sprinting Haingana lizard, or by Pok-Pok, the flightless avians that prey on them - named by little Abby West from the noise they make when they run across the snowfields.
She’s at home with her family, where I should be.
Not with her family, but with mine.
A family we never had.
We.
There’s a thing that doesn’t apply, and it’s something I’m going to have to deal with before half my air is gone.
So much time spent getting here. Cycling through wake periods on the long-haul, talking about the family we’d be starting as soon as we got here. There was love there, I’m sure. Maybe it faded a little in your eyes?
I never noticed.
Which is where it all went wrong.
So busy once we got here, I never put the clues together. Never did the calculations over the wake periods where we missed each other. If I had, maybe I’d have looked further. Maybe I’d have spotted that Clint adjusted his wake periods to match yours, right about the time we slipped out of sync.
He’s a good man. Used to be someone I counted as a friend.
Your skin is so very white in contrast to his. No room for benefit of the doubt. Didn’t need to see his face; I saw yours.
Never understood the phrase ‘seeing red’. Now I do.
I don’t think I’m going to love you anymore.
But I’ll walk a little further.
Until I’m sure.

 

[Trollheart]

The Madcap Returns

The sound of the machinery is getting louder. It's become... familiar. The thump-thump-thump, the hissing, the screeching. And now, very clearly, there's a steady, pulsing bass note, repeated slowly, over and over; measured, like a heartbeat.

I don't know how long I've been walking through this forest. It seems a long time, and always drawing me on, that shimmering, shining light hovering in front of me, so near and yet out of reach, directing my steps as I blunder on with no idea where I am or how I got here.

A name has come to me, but like a dream half-glimpsed on waking, it's gone again.

I should know it.

The sound of the machinery has got very loud, and I ask myself what is machinery doing here in the forest? Nothing seems to make sense. Perhaps if I could remember that name.

But it won't come to me.

I'm walking a little faster now, and the bass note is getting louder, more insistent, and yet remaining exactly the same, a metronome counting off the time. But to, or from, what?

I break into a run. I need to get to that light before it's too late. As I run, the sound of the machines fades down, out, but the bass note throbs in my brain. I can see light.

I have remembered the name.

Syd.

And now I hear music. I remember this music. As the blazing light blinds me, looming up in front of me, I see the sweat-soaked but smiling face of the woman who will be my mother, and from a speaker, my friends are singing me back into the world.

Syd.

This time, we'll get it right.

My friends are singing.

Welcome, my son. Welcome to the machine...

 

[BT Jones]

The Last Day

<The hour is close, my friends,> transmitted Esoph, fingers at his temple. <The grandest of all stories will be ending soon.>

The attendees, sprawled on blankets, sat in deckchairs, hovering in airpods, acknowledged the multilingual message with a raising of glasses, the embracing of those closest to them, or a defiant punch of the air.

It was a diverse crowd. There were Martians, Europax, Titanians; there were sentient AI, seeking a spectacular end after eons of servitude; galactic fugitives tired of running; members of the Solaris cult to see the prophecy with their own eyes; and a handful of Xenonic daredevils, eager to prove the indestructibility of their hypergraphene exosuits to their legion of fans watching live online.

Most, however, were proud Earth Moors, whose families had never once set foot off-world in a million generations. They were staunch believers that no Human should outlive their mother planet, and whilst four million years of interstellar migration had already made a mockery of that decree, they were content that this was still symbolically the case, thanks to an age-old ruling declaring anyone born or raised beyond Earth’s atmosphere as not legally Human.

As different as these revellers were, though, in size, colour, outlook and physical state, they were all here for the same thing: the Sun's final surrender to the laws of physics – almost five billion years too early, thanks to Human egotism. Last year’s UASA ploy to manipulate cosmic hydrogen and helium in order to stabilise the star had backfired, leaving the Sun on countdown to an unprecedented supernova.

Now, its end – and, ergo, Earth’s – was imminent, and as the universe watched on, the gathered masses bade their last goodbyes on this glorious spring day in verdant Svalbard.

<Together now,> enthused Esoph, <ten, nine, eight…>

 

[Guttersnipe]

"Tragedy: Uncut"

"I don't get it, Slater," said Mr. Burke, dream salesman, as he fast-forwarded the ionic film, "Dreams aren't naturally colored. We go the extra mile to take pride in our work. It fits our customers' desires. Black-and-white is so...blech."

Slater steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

"My dreams, my rules. And this isn't meant to be a pleasant dream, anyway."

"I know," Burke grunted, more ashamed at himself, "You know nightmares are hard sells. Nobody wants to be scared, no matter what they tell you."

The dream donor stood up.

"You've just watched it, didn't you? It's not exactly spooky. Not in that way. A bit on the tragic side, rather." Burke tried to look him in the eyes, but the latter's head was down.

"Yes," Burke replied softly, "It's heartbreaking. But it's too scary in that way. What if, God forbid, some poor, depressed customer gets a hold of it? Slater, it would drive people off the ledge."

The donor slammed down the leg of his chair.

"It's worth something to me," he said, in a tone on the tip of breaking, "Burke, it was my wife. We were in Canada, at my father-in-law's cabin. A cheap honeymoon. There it is." He pointed at the screen. The snowy path through the pines opened to a white field, at the end of which was a large cabin. The P.O.V. jiggled a few times as the dreamer ran almost futilely through the heavy snow.

"I was gathering wood for a fire. I don't know how I knew it by I knew my wife was in danger. I was too late. She'd overdosed. I never knew quite how depressed she was, how beautifully she covered her sadness. And now we're gonna sell it, Burke, because there are others who need to know sadness...at least once. And frankly, all should weep when necessary."

 

[Cat's Cradle]

Expiration Date

I smile at Tommy’s jokes throughout dessert. That’s what you do on blind dates – smile, make small talk, and hope the guy’s nice.
The waiter brings our check as blue mist appears over Tommy’s head. I wait for the message to form, knowing nobody else will see it.
Best Kissed On 8/8/20
So, we’ll have our second date Saturday.
I consider kissing him now, but a headache starts. Outside I thank him for dinner. We hug and say goodnight.
~

The microwave dings so I head for the kitchen, squeezing around unpacked boxes. Blue messages hover everywhere:
Hang Pictures by…
Wash before…
Donate these on…

I’m starting over again. Again. New town, new job.
You fooled me, Tommy, you seemed decent. But when you started drinking, started following me ... started making threats...
I get terrible advice on men.

I open the fridge for a beer. Don’t Drink Before 2/3/21 floats above the bottles. That’s tomorrow but screw it, I need this. I grab one and wince in sudden pain.
Pepsi, then.

Things aren’t so bad outside, but at home the rooms glow like Vegas casinos. I need help, and mom’s scared – she recommended a psychiatrist, and though it makes my head pound, I’ll call tomorrow for an appointment.
~

In darkness I wake to red flashes – the old messages have disappeared, each replaced with a scarlet, pulsing Disregard.
I’ve seen red only once before.
Words glow above the car keys: Drive Now.
I stumble out to my Hyundai, I drive. I think about Caleb, my best friend in seventh grade. I told him about the messages despite the crimson-stained migraine that erupted. He drowned days later.
There’s no helping me, mom. I'm exhausted.

Red mist condenses over the nearby highway’s off-ramp: Turn Here, so I drive into oncoming traffic.

 

[Provincial]

Next

Mattei doffed his cap, swabbed the sweat from his neck and forehead with a grubby handkerchief and jammed the cap back on firmly.

“Here we are then; this is it.” He turned to his brother, weary but smiling.

“You’ve said that before”, said Lucius. He dumped his backpack on the scrubby grass beside the path. “I’m not taking another step until I’ve had a rest and a drink.” He sank down beside the pack, pulled it towards him and began to rifle through it.

Matteo shifted from one aching foot to another. “We can’t stop here Luca. If I sit down I won’t be able to get up again. Please. We are nearly there.”

Lucius shoved the pack from him, folded empty hands behind his head and leaned back against a tree trunk. “You go on Matti, tell me what you see. I need to rest.”

“You need to carry on. We need to carry on. We’re nearly there.”

“You don’t know that, Matti. All you can see is sky. Go take a look, and tell me what’s on the other side.”

“We must go together if we are both to get there. Please Luca, come.”

Lucius’s head rolled gently to one side.

“I cannot wait”, whispered Matteo. Slowly he tightened the straps on his backpack and turned back to the path.

A steep slope reached the blank horizon through birches whose leaves glowed like silver, as intense sunlight bleached all the the colour from the landscape. Matteo walked without thinking. Somewhere a bird called. At the top he paused as a slight breeze ruffled his shirt collar.

Matteo turned his head. “Luca!”

He was alone.

 

[MikeAnderson]

Like Diamonds in the Sky

"I don't understand, Markon. I thought we were going for lunch on Vannis.. Why did you bring me to this toxic ball of gas and rock?"

Ypsilanti 5 wasn't exactly a romantic destination. The pulverizing gravity, extreme heat, and carbon heavy atmosphere ensured, this world was less “vacation destination”, and more of a spot to die in the worst ways imaginable.

Markon smiled as the nightly blanket of lethal clouds blotted what light remained.

"Ypisanti is a peculiar specimen of planet, baby." Markon replied. "The combination of heat, pressure, and elements that compose the atmosphere create a unique phenomenon at night."

She gasped, as the clouds released their glittering hailstones.

"My God...are those..."

"Yup. Diamonds. Some of purest, cleanest stones you'll find in the sector. And every evening, it's a fortune the night sky rains down on this burnt out planetoid."

The prismatic monsoon was the most breath-taking event she witnessed in her life. While she witnessed a scientific miracle, the ship's matter replicator and manipulation system was combining the highest quality stone salvaged with a gold ingot he placed in the chamber.

Seeing Markon on bent knee with a freshly forged engagement ring made her heart almost jump out of her chest into and onto the control console.

"Yeah, I know. A bit extreme, but, they just didn't have anything at the jewelers that was up to snuff for me."

Many men promised to Eliza over centuries they'd do whatever it takes to make her happy. Markon proved beyond all doubt then and there, he was literally willing to go to Hell to bring her a slice of Heaven.

How could she say no? He didn't even need to ask.

The word "yes" came out of her mouth just as fast as those jewels fell from the sky.

 

[Ashleyne]

LIGHTS OUT​

Dinner tastes juicy, fresh as ever. The metallic water runs aplenty, and the song Dinner sings makes Shookoo’s spikes stand up around it’s porcine body, glitter nits flocking within them. New meat sprouts with each bite.

The other soulfeasters bristle their dens within the bare branches. Their spikes all perch larger. Shookoo’s haven’t grown much since pinning Dinner to the bark.

Two trees stand, observing each other. A head grows from a branch near each tree’s top, liquid ever spilling from the holes that watch. Their mouths never move. Shookoo prefers looking at Dinner’s head and listening to all the sounds it makes.

Light appears. Shookoo buries its head in Dinner’s hair. The hair dulls the brightness enough to see. The light floats in the sky, out of reach, and speaks the words of the dinner.

No, the light shan’t take Shookoo’s dinner. It sinks teeth into Dinner and vows to never let go. Shookoo shall not become the pile.

Footsteps quake from underground. A crack splits the dirt path and from it rises the beast with two heads. The lower head snorts and the top head speaks the words of the dinner.

Across, in the other tree, the brightness descends and fills another soulfeaster’s dinner, transforming it to light. The two streaks of luminescence shoot away, becoming unseeable.

Shookoo savours the juice and the meat, knowing one day, it’ll be just like the newly famished soulfeaster.

The two headed beast gallops away, leaving soulfeasters to eat their dinners in peace, all but one.

The famished soulfeaster climbs through twigs, towards one of the tree heads. As it licks the water, its glitter nits extinguish. With its lights out, the famished soulfeaster falls, bouncing from the top of a pile of hollow husks. Dust puffs, raining through the corpse pyramid.

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

Emergence

For three wakings Dav forced his body through a maze of narrow stone tunnels, following tricklings of water and faint stirrings of air. Often he reached a dead end, and had to go back down to find another path. He ate the small round things that grew in wet places, and hungered for the succulent creatures that swam in the pools of Home. Sometimes he despaired, and thought of the words of the Eldest.

"Your quest is foolish," she said. "You are like an infant, who has not yet learned to heed the messages of ear, nose, finger, and tongue. No one can reach the gods."

Dav felt another obstruction ahead, but this one was not solid rock, but softer, almost like the sandy places of Home, where the People buried their dead. He ran his hands over it. From a tiny hole a breeze caressed his skin. He scraped at the opening. Blood ran down his fingers, but the hole widened. For a full waking he worked, until at last the opening was large enough for him to crawl through.

Warmth surrounded him, but not of a kind he knew. It was not like the gentle, comforting heat of bodies huddled together. Nor was it like the small, biting flames the People made by scraping rocks together near growing things removed from the water and allowed to dry. This seemed to come from far above, and yet everywhere.

Voices came from afar. They spoke strangely, but in words he could understand. The gods spoke of water falling from the sky, and tall growing things to eat.

"My God," one of them said. But was she not a goddess herself? "Don't let the children see his eyes."

Dav approached her, seeking her wisdom. "What is see? What are eyes?"

 

[-K2-]

Whispers on Boot Hill

Near forty times I watched Roy Cobb walk up that hill. No cut stone or crosses of iron to lean on; just scraps of ragged wood with maybe a name scratched on it. What did Cobb say up there alone with only the whisper of prairie wind to answer? No point guessin’, now it’s my turn to make the climb. Marshal Cobb waits in silence, and I wonder what I’ll say.

Save for my spurs, bustling Dodge hushed when I strode out to the street. Just the burning sun and stinging wind bear witness to Marshal Cobb and I. This day was long in coming and I’ll wait no longer.

“Joe Buck, you come on now. You don’t have to do this,” Cobb pled in his buffalo grunt like voice.

Hell I don’t; it’s my time now, his days are over. I’m young and quick with a heart fired by his worn thin reputation. He’s old, large, and lumbering; a big iron and long draw. Like a hot brand set to hide, nothing will change the outcome. His beggin’ eyes make me madder, we’re burnin’ daylight, and I got drinkin’ to do.

My short Colt doesn’t scrape leather as I cock on the draw, pivot, and fire. Crack-a-thunder, a dull thump, and it’s over. Lord, I’m fast.

So, I make the climb like he always did. When I crest the rise, I see it. A heap of hard clay abreast a long hole in the Great Plains and Marshal Cobb there beside it.

“Joe Buck, I’m sorry you chose that way. Ride well.”

Oh, that’s what he says, and I fade into the light.




K2

 

[Elckerlyc]

Fated

I watch the supplicant trudging on the serpentine path up to my abode. There is much one can learn by observing those who seek this challenging path. Too many do.
I am weary! Weary of these people, but mostly of myself; of riddles, ambiguity and other means of obfuscation I employ. Need employ. They come to seek truths that yet hide in the future. Fools!
Do I tell the future mother of a great man not to marry the brute who will sire him?
Can I tell the general who seeks glory that he will lose the battle that must be fought?
My truths are a farce. Yet still people come, while the gods laugh.

Strong, focused, taking slow but deliberate steps, he is now halfway. There is something odd about this supplicant, something unsettling. A vision flares... and dread fills me. There is one person I can shield nor deceive. Myself.

There is no deference as the supplicant rushes, unaided, through the proscribed rituals and offering. Nor any respect when he, boldly and unwanted, deposits some gold coins. A knife comes next to it.
He speaks. “Provide me the knowledge I seek. Yours is the gold if you do, unambiguously. If not, the knife.” He wears a thin smile.
Not trusting my voice, I lift an eyebrow. In response I am given the name of a criminal he seeks. It matters not. An oracle, the gods, do not answer to threats. They have now stopped laughing, their acute attention is suffocating. A vision blossoms… and I almost pity the fool as I see his end. But not here, not today.
My future hides in shadows, awaiting my response. Deny or cede... Lies here truly the choice?
No.
I sigh, deeply, and do what I do best.

 

[Luiglin]

The Exam

The entrance exam for the Tall Trees Rangership Academy had begun only a few hours back, but Yonnic just knew he had already failed.

It had been the emergency trail stop that had done it. The examiner had slapped their board on the back of his head just before he had scuffed out the animal marks. A pity that his half-drawn arrow missed the examiner, fatalities allowed for another try.

Before him lay the hill shoot start.

He waited for the examiner to finish his secret ranger code. The man paused, looking for a final twig. Yonnic nudged one over.

The examiner finished the ‘y’ on When you are ready.

Yonnic edged up the game trail, silent as a mouse in fluffy slippers. Reaching a comfortable spot, he settled down to wait.

Typical.

Above the crest of the hill and setting slap bang in the middle of the trail, the bleeding sun with its bleeding eye frazzling light. He cursed the examiner, the Gods, his luck and his parents for forcing him to apply to a ranger academy.

Wait, movement, a silhouette, a shape, just coming into view. It moved in quick jerks, two large ears between curved antlers appeared first, followed by the rest of the body.

A jackalope. He’d wanted a dire boar but it’d do.

Yonnic drew back, breathed deep, exhaled and let fly.

The arrow hit the jackalope in the rump and provoked a scream of near human agony. Hold on, scratch the ‘near’. That sounded like Ortenz. The same Ortenz he’d seen getting bonus marks for his jackalope camouflage.

His examiner shuffled up and spelled out FAIL in branches.

Yonnic grabbed a handful of twigs as Ortenze ineffectually plucked at the arrow sticking out of his backside.

Do I get a bonus mark for accuracy?

 

[Phyrebrat]

The Release of Wonderful Things

Yes, I remember Luxor…

Not the Luxor of limestone cliffs baked almost to glass, where summer nights are filled with the occasional crack! as heat escapes from stones into darkness; nor dry river-bottom throats leading to tombs of the cursed; not the Luxor where the restless, linen-wrapped hollow their mouths, sighing in their eternal sleep, and turn over for another century; nor even the Luxor where vaults inhale sand and exhale cinnamon and frankincense.

No, I remember the Colossus of Memnon and the hypostyle Osirises smiling down from cold January heights, uprooting massive oaks from fertile plains and sweeping the dust from the chill skies; of Medinet Habu and the ache for my love, set deeper in my soul than the hieroglyphs he ordered carved so deep no successor could chip asunder.
Where the chapels of Amun, Mut, Hathor, Khonsu, Isis exhort skywards to the Nile, scattering from their hands hatfuls of stars. And tearing up elms and beeches to sweep the cobweb clouds from the Nile’s corners, shooing away Apep, Ammit the devourer, and she who binds the dead in chains.

The Luxor of pink and black hoopoes bouncing on the corniche calling us to prayer:

Ooo-oo, oo-oo

When Thebes and Luxor were the same, and worries were weightless - the heaviest of concerns were carried on tutelaries’ hips and heads, light as sunrise.

And when our leafy trees had swept the sky, their sap encrusted with trapped flies; we’d pour the demons into the vaults, choke those corridors withal, trapping them in the hinges of doors and sealing the throats, that Kemet forever would be temperate, plague and famine-free.

Yet here comes Carter and his hired fellaheen on his felucca ‘cross the Nile, his head full of teeth and sin and ideas…

And sacrilege.

 

[Calliopenjo]

COMING HOME

A bloody mess this dispute turned out to be. Maybe battle would be a stronger word only because it took longer than a simple disagreement. I remembered leaving with grey skies over my head and the ground blanketed in white snow. When it finished, the intense and hot sun reminded me the seasons had in fact changed.

The flora on either side of the trail had a mix between burned and green leaves. Birds tweeted, and the bugs buzzed around me. The pathway that used to lead me home. It could still be there, but the chances of that being true seemed dismal.

Rocks in the dirt provided enough of a grip so I wouldn’t slip downhill. I got to the top, and a boy looked up and smiled at me. He ran away before I could say anything. I looked around, and as I thought, the entire village lay flat. No animals either, and the well destroyed.

I shouted several times, but nobody answered. Every structure lay flat with dried bones scattered around. I didn’t expect a celebration but at the very least see people living their lives. I guess all of that fighting was a waste.

That boy showed up again. He waved me over, and I followed. Through the impenetrable woods and into another village. The baker that sold the best bread along with the brewer that owned his own Inn. They brought joy to my soul.

I walked around and it didn’t take long to find her. That same ol’ bonnet on her head while she picked the weeds out of the flower garden. Tiptoe through her tulips and tap her shoulders. She shrieked before she calmed down enough to yell at me.

“Hi, Mom. I’m home.”

 

[chrispenycate]

Above the madding crowd


It glittered like a vampire wedding, and fizzed like Prosecco on a roller-coaster. You expected a narrow-beam reindeer directing traffic, even if this was less likely than the Spanish inquisition in these northern climes. Winterfest, the short daylight rejoicing in temporary splendor.

Midwinter sunlight, brilliant, bleached and frozen, spreads high definition beauty and snowblindness in equal parts. Skin sunburns and chillblains and would probably glow if ambient lighting were less intense. The scarf wrapped round your nose and mouth mates with your ear-protecting hat, leaving a bare centimetre of skin before the goggles, the rest seals airtight to gloves and boots.

Your fellow passengers from the télécabine have disappeared somewhere, leaving you with a hoarse jackdaw asking if you've delivered anything edible. Learning you haven't it flaps away, and the breeze hardly stirs the frosted trees. the sort of silence you never find around humans, with the magic light leeching away the colour as the snow swallows sound. At the bottom of the slope a shack sells gluwein and gives away warmth. Your mobile phone informs you reception doesn't extend up here, so an emergency call will be ignored - that's why you go with partners. Security.

Only you haven't. You couldn't pollute nature with their down to Earth conversation, and it seems your traveling companions felt the same about you. Like Boojums they have swiftly and silently vanished away, as you soon must. Winterlight, even as intense and ornamental as this, is short lived, even in the heights, and below you shadows are eternal.

A 'clonk', followed by the whirring of wheels on cables shatters the ambience into crystaline fragments. You wave to the CCTV camera, latch on your board, and leave nearness to the skies behind.

​

 

[Starbeast]

Aboard The Flying Brick​

A rectangular ship plummeted into a planet's atmosphere, giving an appearance of a fiery, falling butterfly as it dropped onto a forest path. WHOMP!

"You did it! We're alive. Thank you Scotty."

"Aye sir. I slowed the ship's velocity by 98%."

"Damage report."

"All of the ship's drink holders were destroyed. I'm afraid no one will be able to set their beverage down. I'll need 48 hours to repair them."

"Keep me posted."

"Aye, Captain."

#

"Nice ostrich egg, Mr Data."

"Sir. I don't believe it's an ostrich embryo. Lt. Uhura, witnessed a dragon-like creature leaving this near the ship's main hatch."

"One of the natives gave us an offering. Cook it for me, Data. Over easy, please."

"Sir. May I remind you of quarantine procedure..."

"Cook It."

#

"I love, breaking yoke." ssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSssssssss!

"Captain. You were fortunate. You could have melted along with the plate, table, floor and..."

#

"Captain."

"Yes, Lt. Bowie."

"Our ship is infested with scary monsters. Check out these security surveillance recordings."

"Those were shocking videos. Yeesh!"

"Makes a man, think things over. What should we do?"

"Let me see that forth video again. That one's funny."

#

"Lt. Worf. You're the bravest person I've ever met. Good Luck."

"It was an honor to serve you, Captain. I'm ready to face the monster threat. I've obtained a rolled up magazine. I'm going in."

#

"Great job, Worf."

"Thank you, Captain. Fortunately, I used a thick periodical."

#

"Ahoy, Mr Data."

"Sir. Beverage holders are operational. More importantly, our ship is repaired, and ready for space travel."

"Set a course for the nearest, KFT."

"Captain. Red Shirt Squadron reported a KFT is located a mile north, and accessible by a forest path where we crashed."

"Fetch me a bag of Klingon Fried Tribbles and a Qapla Cola, please."

"Aye sir."

 

[Iwroteathing]

NATURALLY GREEN FOLK​

Welcomeridge was the tallest point in the valley. To the foreign eye, it was another hill that frustrated those who avoided the goblin-infested Pitwoods, and instead walked around them. It was a long detour, but suited those fancying a less stabby journey to the Guilds.

Chalyn arrived at the summit without a sweat. He'd been walking for miles with briefcase in hand, wearing a pristine black suit. He wasn’t here for the view or safe passage. He was here for the wee goblin at the hilltop, who threateningly waved a cucumber at him.

Chalyn groaned, tightening his tie. "I am here on behalf of the nice Gobfolk of Pitwood, to settle a... troubling concern"

The goblin lowered his cucumber, but kept his tiny eyes fixed on the strange giant.

"You are letting too many good humans, like myself, wander the way freely. No bloodspilling reported for weeks. The nice Gobfolk of Pitwood are getting... anxious"

"Me sorry, m'lordy" piped the goblin, before biting into the cucumber proudly. "We's vegetarian now!"

Chalyn is known as an unflappable man among the guilds, but he raised his eyebrow in a rare stroke of awe.

"Vegetarian, you say? How... unsettling"

Chalyn had heard of this unnatural case amongst goblins. Unfortunately, the solution rested inside his briefcase. Unhesitant, he coolly knelt to the goblin and placed the case gently before him. He unflicked the latches, recited his guild oath, and opened it before the curious green fellow.

Something caught the goblin's eyes. Maybe it was sunlight reflecting off the shiny dagger inside. Or maybe it was the ribbons of blood now spraying from Chalyn's neck.

The goblin regained his balance, dripping red, disgusted as his spindly fingers tickled the blade. His tiny heart filled with shame and regret.

"Veggibles!? Blyehhh... whats was I thinkings!?"

 

[Ian Fortytwo]

Not all Robots are Grey.

I was walking in the forest for quite sometime, at first there was plenty of colour, however now the forest was turning a dull grey. I looked down at my clothes and found myself wearing a grey suit. When I started, I was dressed in simple outdoor clothes with walking boots. I carried on and looked down again, I was now wearing a black suit.

What was happening? I stopped, and looked ahead, there was a bright light, I tried putting my hands up to shade my eyes, yet it got brighter. I saw a shadow of movement, then a robot stood in front of me.

"Your name is Peter Piper," the robot spoke, "you have insulted us robots for years. Now justice will be done to you."

I tried to move, but couldn't, I tried to speak, and found I was unable to utter one word, so I closed my eyes and waited.

For a while my eyes remained shut, and then when I went to open them, they would not. Then I passed out.

Quite sometime later I opened my eyes, in front of me was a mirror. I had become a robot, almost identical to the one which had stood in front of me earlier. However, I was a rainbow coloured.

 

[Astro Pen]

The Ultimate Calling

“There were billions of them once.”

The old man stood behind the boy, putting his hands on his shoulders. "The sky at night was full of them you know."

“That’s just myth grandpa,” the boy replied. “There’s only one, everybody knows that.”

“Well it’s a good myth and we like it even if you youngsters don’t.”

“But why is it changing?” the boy asked. “It was always small and round, now it is big and fuzzy.”

“Ah, that is why I brought you here today. Your parents and I had such hopes for you, that you would be one of the builders of spires or a farmer of the great plains. Or a monk on Sacred Hill, dedicated to learning and the dispensing of wisdom. But now..”

“But now what? I’ll be one of them, my teachers say I'm very good, I’ll be one. I just haven't decided which path yet. I have a year left to choose, I'm not ten yet.”

“You must become a monk,” said the old man quite emphatically.

“But why?” said the boy, slightly downcast. “I'm learning all about the harvesters, how to drive one and all that grain, whoosh, into the silos. Food for everyone. To walk past the bakeries, smell the bread and know I grew that. The monastery just isn't as exciting.”

Grandpa moved to stand alongside him, gazing at the watery sun.

“The people will need your wisdom more than your wheat. You see, the sun is dying, that is why it is changing. Soon, during your lifetime, it will expand and swallow us all and then it will be gone. Only frozen darkness will remain for eternity.”

“You see you must guide your people spiritually, for they will be the last.”