300 Word Writing Challenge #46 -- VICTORY TO JO ZEBEDEE!

[The Judge]

The inspiration image for Challenge #46 is:

Image credit: Laura R Hepworth


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 winner has the option of having his/her story published on the Chrons Podcast


THE RULES:

Only one entry per person

All stories Copyright 2022 by their respective authors,
who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here

This thread will be CLOSED until July 10th 2022
As soon as the thread is unlocked, you may post your story

Entries must be posted no later than July 31st 2022 at 11:59 pm GMT

Voting will open on August 1st 2022 and close on August 15th 2022 at 11:59 pm GMT
(unless moderators choose to make an extension based on the number of stories)



We ask all entrants to do their best to vote when the time comes
but you do not have to enter a story to vote
as we encourage ALL Chronicles members
to read the stories and take part in choosing the winning entry!


You may cast THREE votes

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 is to be used for entries only

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[Rafellin]

Appletop

“What am I supposed to say?”

The beings facing me look to my commander, the seventh member of their panel.

Vator Dal nods, trying to appear wise.

“Kelmane, this is your chance to explain yourself. These are serious charges laid against you.”

“How can I be charged for doing my duty?”

Dal looks exasperated.

“Kelmane, sixteen people are dead.”

“I know.”

“You let them die.”

“No. I counselled against their plan from the outset of the expedition until they entered the clearing. After that, I told them to leave those who had succumbed. Nobody listened. Every cursed one of them treated me as a lackwit, and insisted on trying to save their companions.”

“What did you do in response?”

“Stepped back. The Nychtwood is unforgiving, and screaming attracts dangerous things.”

Bholghe, the Targanese head delegate, raises a serrated flipper.

“Elucidate me as to the dangers of the place, Warden Kelmane.”

I stand and bow to it, answering manners with same.

“The Nychtwood grew from an ancient toxic spill left by one of the Forerunner races. Everything there is sentient in some way. None of it is benign.

“The clearing has a colony of Kaleidofungus, which are telepathic, polymorphic ambush predators. They always appear as something to arouse tactile curiosity. - This time, I believe it was some fruit extinct on Earth? - The victim succumbs to explosive Kaleidofungus growth. There is no cure. If I’d been permitted the customary energy weapons,” I flick a steely glance towards Dal, “at least I could have provided mercy.”

Dal sputters in outrage: “Which is why you were sent out unarmed. You’d have shot them instead of rescuing them!”

Bholghe claps his flippers together.

“That is nothing but erroneous opinion. Expert advice and clear warnings were ignored. Warden Kelmane, you are free to go.”

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

A Walk in the Woods

Kha wrapped her leather cloak tighter around her lean body with one hand, the other busy slashing at tangled undergrowth with an axe. She spat out a curse in the tongue of her desert homeland.

"When will the rain stop?" She looked like a shadow, cast against a background of muted greens and browns under a pewter sky.

"Never," said Volen. His bald head glistened with moisture, his round, chestnut body wrapped in a damp linen robe. "That is why they call this the Forest of the Weeping Nymph."

He lifted an instrument, something like a small spyglass without lenses, to his eye and peered forward. "Our destination lies just ahead, a bit to the left."

They found the clearing, hidden by a nearly impenetrable wall of giant trees. Kha was able to squeeze through a pair of relatively youthful oaks, but had to work mightily to cut the smaller down, to allow her employer passage.

An ocean of white stained with random splotches of gaudy purple and blue lay before them. Volen strode upon its soft, undulating surface like a drunkard.

"A remarkable example of unchecked fungal growth," he said. "According to ancient naturalists—"

The organism lifted a trio of wing-like extensions from its surface and enveloped him, cutting off his scholarly lecture. Kha ran forward, nearly losing her footing on the thing's rain-soaked surface. She hacked at its body, kicking slabs of its flesh away as she shrieked an ancient war cry. Volen emerged, a bit dazed but seemingly unharmed. He held a small blob of blood-red matter in his hand.

"The Heart of the Forest King," he said. "Worth a small fortune to any necromancer. A bit more hazardous to obtain than I thought, admittedly."

"Shut up," Kha said. "You owe me a new axe."

 

[Astro Pen]

Astrid

The tarot reader had smiled as she laid the card, The Lovers, VI.

After the reading I left her tent, strolling through the happy crowd, and bought a mug of ale, swallowing the mystery herbs she had sold me.
A warm contentment spread through my being. I closed my eyes and started to astral travel. Away from these solstice festivities, the alehouse and the jesters. Upward and over the river.

On the far bank, I met a girl. She had long blonde curls and fireflies in her hair that sparkled in many colours.
She tilted her head, smiling, then walked away with faerie grace, spinning like a dancer, exuding the confidence of the queen that the fireflies had chosen.

She led me on, into the star lit ink of the midsummer night. I took her offered hand and we walked together, talking of our lives, travels and of celebrations past.

I played my flute as she sung The Ballad of the Water Maid. Her silken, flowing voice weaving the song.

She turned, and with a tug of my hand we fell together onto the soft green grass where she placed her face to mine and kissed, possessing me to the exclusion of all else and other.

Returning, afterward, to this world and the distant sound of gaiety on the village green, she laughed and bade me follow her into the wood.

Along intricate paths we walked, past owl and night grazing deer thence to the pool.

We bent down over the water and I saw that I, too, had fireflies in my hair.
The queen had chosen her king.

"We are together." I said. Gazing at the shimmering reflection of our faces and the moon in the sky above.

"Yes," she replied. " The mother, and the father."

 

[Cat's Cradle]

Chalky

The kneeling artist takes two chalks from the case. She grinds the vermilion and umber pieces together using pestle and mortar. Her thumb pokes into the mixture, and she spreads it round the circumference of the golden mushroom cap in her street art. This halo of shading somehow imparts urgency to the piranha-mouthed fairy trapped within the translucent cap, as it struggles for freedom.
She stands, regards her work… primeval ferns, rushing stream, flourishing undergrowth. There’s 3D aliveness here; couldn’t one sate themselves at the stream, brush fronds aside exploring this world’s depth?
She’s finished, except for a large, blank patch beside the mushroom.
This secluded McMansion’s driveway was the perfect canvas–

There! That upstairs curtain fluttered. She knew he’d been watching the stranger working, afraid to confront her. She waves Come!
And he does, wearing jeans and T-shirt, a nondescript man of uninteresting age. She pours black powder into her palm.
“The police said she had a sister,” he says. “Were you–”
She blows darkness into his face; he slackens.
She leads him to the 3D drawing, lays him onto its blank spot. Beside that artwork she begins another picture, jeans-clad legs first.
As she sketches, the man’s legs implode and go flat with the sound of chalk being ground; they incorporate into the primeval world, bunched against the mushroom’s stipe.
She recreates his hips, torso, head; each implodes, grinds, melds into art. As she finishes, the earlier artwork comes to life.
The ferns sway, the stream flows, the fairy bursts through the mushroom cap, attacks his face. He screams as it pillages his eyes.

She brushes away the second drawing. The first stills – he can’t escape, now.
I’ve no sister, she thinks. Just wanted to live indoors again.
But every man has something they need to pay for.

 

[BigJ]

If you find yourself alone, riding in green fields with the sun on your face . . .

My eyes opened, looking up to a clear cerulean sky. Earthen fragrance filled my nostrils; my fingers and toes found purchase in soft green grass. Flat on my back in an unfamiliar world, I laughed. The sun was high in the sky, its warmth filling me with a comfort I’d not felt since . . .

I couldn’t remember. My name, who I was, where I came from, nothing.

I sat up and surveyed my surroundings. Rolling hills of green stretched out in all directions; I recognized none of it, and yet I felt strangely at home. I looked down at myself to find I was clad in austere pale garments, soft and pleasant against my skin. I stood up, and froze; something about the simple movement felt wrong. No aches, no pain, and no effort. I looked at my hands, rolled up my sleeves, and examined my feet, searching for scars or imperfections. I found none.

A gentle breeze lifted me from my reverie. I walked towards it.

I crested a hill to see disparate colors in the distance. I stopped, and the disturbance surged towards me, the wind turning sickly sweet, hills roiling, plunging, skyrocketing, earth and sky exploding in a kaleidoscope of colour. Through it the sun shined bright, brilliant white. I reached for the sun as the world fell away . . .

* * *​

As the medic frantically performed CPR, a hand fell on their shoulder; this one was gone. Gasping for breath they rose from the bloodied, ruined soldier in the mud. Beyond the barren trees of the glade rose the thunder of guns, the whistle of artillery shells, the crack of rifle fire; the orchestra of war.

Amidst the cacophony, a cry for help. The medic turned and jogged off; perhaps there was one who could yet be saved.

 

[Stable]

Ease

My ribs ached with betrayal. Another fruiting body threatened to block her vision, and I tasted bile as my knife sliced through the yielding fungal flesh. The infection seemed to like fruiting from her sinuses. After she’d lost so much, vision seemed the least I could save for her. So there I was, every morning before dawn with my sharp little knife.

As I set up the streaming service for the day’s entertainment my choices replayed in my memory. A few wrong steps had ruined everything, it was too easy to destroy a life.

It had been the perfect day. Beach with the kids, drop them with their grandparents while we whisked off for dinner and dancing. I hadn’t wanted it to end.

“One more bit of fun,” I’d cajoled, holding out an iridescent mushroom. “The risks are so small, and I hear the connection you get is wild.”

It was wild. We could feel each other’s wonder, and love, and the night stretched on like I’d dreamed. Of course, there is a person behind every statistic. This one was the woman I loved.

The hyphae riddled her muscles. Her balance went first, then the ability to stand, and so on until her voluntary movements were all gone. I placed the TV at the point where it seemed her eyes fixed, but I didn’t know if she could still see. The doctors didn’t know whether the mycelium would penetrate her brain first, or finally stop all involuntary movement, like breathing.

I halved the fresh mushroom I’d removed from her face. Juiced one part, and ran the slurry down her feeding tube. Bit into the other part. I pressed our heads together, pushed my despair down as deeply as I could and focused on the love I felt.

 

[Peter V]

Reunion

Alicia nervously held her breath as the flame drew close to the wick. It prompted a memory of her recent arrival on New Eden.

As soon as she’d set foot inside the administration building, an official warned her:

“If a Jelly lights the elthragrr when you are near, walk away immediately and whatever you do, don’t look.”

Not that she needed to be warned. How could she not be aware of the lure of the elthragrr after what it had taken from her?

Her daughter, Chloe, was amongst the first colonists to arrive on the planet, back before they realised that the native floating “jellyfish” were sentient. That first, improbable telepathic communication had provoked great excitement but the interaction had soon led to disaster. A group of colonists, Chloe included, had been invited to attend a ritual lighting of the sacred elthragrr; local flora that resembled giant, psychedelic candles. The gathered humans had quickly entered a trance-like state and walked to their deaths amongst the glowing lights. Quiescent and smiling, they had been absorbed.

The only survivor was Chloe’s husband. Wheelchair bound, he’d been unable to climb up with the others and had sat there, weeping; not for the loss of Chloe but because he could not join with the elthragrr. That and the death of his wife had driven him insane.

It was extremely rare for a Jelly to be called to join with the plant, which was regarded the highest of honours, so they were fascinated that humans were always called and simply could not comprehend why they would not gladly embrace such a fate.

Alicia wasn’t going to disappoint them; in her mind she could hear Chloe, like an ethereal whisper on the wind and knew that somewhere, her daughter’s consciousness endured.

The wick flared...

 

[Guttersnipe]

We Are the Eggman

Arbitrator O'Shaughnessy 2-43 was presiding over the case on the legality of the powerful psychedelic drug, Delirium.
Johnson 8-99 cleared his throat.

"The fact is," he said, rather glibly, "studies have shown that this drug is a sure-fire means of contracting insanity. Those
under its influence may not be overly harmful to themselves, but they have been known to cause danger wherever
they go. Why, just last week there was a man who huffed some and walked into traffic, believing he was in paradise.
And will we allow doctors to perform crucial surgeries after taking the drug? Your honor, Delirium is a drug straight from
the pit of hell, and legalizing it will be our undoing as a nation. Thank you."

Johnson 8-99 smirked at his opponent, Jefferson 3-56, as he sat down.

"Your honor," said Jefferson 3-56, "what my opponent has just said is in bad faith. These stories of crazed lunatics are
myths already debunked. Look at the Scandinavian model and you'll see that, since Delirium has been legalized there,
quality of life has gone up and murder has decreased. I ask you to look at the actual evidence."

Just then, a man in the audience stood up.

"Delirium rules!" he shouted. He carried what looked to be some kind of hose device. The people screamed at what they
perceived to be a weapon. Gas--Delirium--shot out of it in thick clouds, and the courtroom was momentarily full of it.

Trees and mushrooms seemed to sprout and grow from the floor. Colors abounded, glistening and beautiful. Sparkles
danced in the air. Everyone was euphoric. Delirium was on the fast track for legalization.

The next day, the President phoned the Russo-Chinese dictator and told him he loved him. The dictator assumed,
rightly so, that the man was on drugs.

 

[THX1138]

The Dominant Spore

“Thanks for arriving so soon Dave!” Susan exclaimed as she shook his hand.

The sun was just starting to go behind the peek further up the mountain, causing the usual early evening sun set.

“My pleasure.” He said while adjusting the large pack on his back. “Is it pass the cabin?”

“Yes.” Susan noticed a clinking sound coming from his pack. “What are you carrying in here?”

“Just tools of the trade.” Dave answered as they hiked the trail leading up the mountain with flashlights in hand. “Is that campfire up ahead our destination?”

“Well, it’s not a campfire.”

Soon they came upon the site of concern; a small colony of unusually large button mushrooms glowing brightly in multi vibrant colors, like psychedelic lava lamps, in the now darkening woods. Dave’s flashlight revealed a wide, raised area around the glowing mushrooms.

“Let’s stay back here, Sue.” Dave set his pack down and rubbed his chin. “It’s a parasite, and there will probably be more showing up.”

“A parasite? What’s it called?” She asked curiously.

“Twilight Paint Palette, it’s a Plane Shifter. And depending on how large the main spore is, it could kill the mountain.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Kill it first.”

Dave dipped a long skewer into a small vial he had retrieved from his pack. Walking up to the fungi he inserted it completely down through the glowing mass and went back to Susan.

Its vibrant colors faded as the colony melted. The ground surrounding it caved in.

“What happened? Is it dead?” Susan asked in disbelief.

“No.” Dave answered grabbing his pack. “It’s bigger than I thought, we have our work cut out for us. There they are.”

Looking up the mountain, Susan saw the glow of several more Twilight Paint Palette’s appear in the dark.

 

[JS Wiig]

The Jungles of Elsadore

“This better be one important plant,” freelance captain Spak Jarrow grumbled as he hacked away at tangled vines and thick underbrush. The whole job had been a disaster since they entered orbit around this godforsaken moon, from the failure of the ship’s water condenser to the impossible mess his lander was hopelessly snagged in.

“Technically it’s a fungus,” said contract botanist Laren Hemsworth. “And yes, it’s very important.”

Spak stopped to wipe sweat from his brow, and looked up past the canopy of trees to where the once thriving planet of Terra 3 loomed overhead. “Are you a survivor descendant then?”

“No, my family comes from Beta. My sister’s wife is though.”

“Is she sick?”

Laren finally said, “Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”

After another long, awkward silence, Spak decided to drop it for now and continued chopping their path forward.

Later, they stopped for a much needed rest.

“Look,” Spak said, “this job is more than likely going to cost me more than it’s going to make me, so I’d appreciate if you’d level with me. I’m no scientist but I’ve pieced some things together. Have you found a cure?”

Laren swallowed from her canteen, then stared Spak down with fiery green eyes. “The fallout cannot be cured. It’s too diabolical. I wouldn’t mind finding some ricin or oleander for those idiot weapons engineers.”

“So is that why we’re here, because you want to poison fools?” Spak said, exasperated.

“No,” she sighed. “The pharma conglomerate won’t let me say too much, and they’re paying the bill. Let’s just say a particular mushroom that may or may not grow on this moon may or may not make the worst symptoms bearable.”

“Then let’s find it. I don’t want anyone else suffering like my father did.”

 

[AnRoinnUltra]

A kick in the Tabernackle

I was in the Tabernackle once.
It was the night before the EDM race.
I was with Taz and Bungalow.​

Only the stone Gorbandula saw us creep into that holy place.
'No good will come of this,' it'd growled when I handed Taz and Bungalow glowshrooms.
'Ah, shut your rock hole', I'd replied. That kind of comment could get you killed. But the priests were at the festival.
Every other Martian listened to them while we ate their glowshrooms. We expected something magical to happen. But were disappointed.

Race morning came quickly.
I pitied the crowds watching -their lives not racing Emergency Dispatch Machines must feel empty.

I took stock:

• We were the three best EDM pilots in the galaxy
• In a home race
• I was confident of beating Bungalow (he never took risks)

And EDM racing is about risk:

Sector 1 of 3

You need to go slow, or the gravitational pulses will destroy your machine.
Nobody told the Jupitarians.
All three were torn apart. Debris hit my port rudder. I grabbed it, but in doing so knocked the wind deflector loose.
It slapped against my head.

Sector 2

• Bungalow peeled off the course
• That left Taz, and some extraterrestrial no-hopers

Sector 3

• You need to commit
• Pick a racing line
• Stick with it

Thrack
A Neptunian machine exploded against an outcrop. One by one the others piloted their machines out of danger. And of the race.
Except Taz.
We were approaching the finish line.

Thrack
The loose deflector hit my head again.

Thrack
3000 metres left.

Thraaaack

• I woke in a field of glowshrooms
• With a foot on my head
• The body that it belonged to belonged to a priest

'Get outta the Tabernackle ya filthy scut', he yelled.

I did.
And I don't plan on ever returning.​

 

[VRlass]

Something new

“Mommy, I am cold”

“It will go away Tommy, it will go away”

Tommy looked around the remains of the hydroponics station.

“Mummy, why are we here?”

“Because this is where we sleep, honey… This is the place”

“But it’s scary here, can’t we go somewhere else?”

“No honey… We cannot… I cannot… But hey, I am still here. I am right here for you honey. Please don’t be afraid. Please… Here, eat those berries they will help you sleep.”

Tommy takes berries from his mother’s hand and put them in his mouth.

“Mum, thy are bitter, I don’t like them.”

“It’s ok Tommy. Some things in life are bitter. Sometimes we don’t like them.”

“Mummy, why are you crying”

“It’s… it’s nothing… I just don’t want to fall asleep before you.”

“Mummy I am bored, could I wake up dad, Jerry, or Anna.”

“No honey, they won’t wake up. Please try to sleep.”

“Could I watch something?”

“No… the power is down in most of the vessel.”

“But what if we sleep and the monsters, that killed all the plants, come?”

“They are gone, honey… They won’t come…”

Tommy touches his mother, but freezes as sudden bad feelings strike him.

“Mummy, but you are cold. Why are you cold?”

“I am just very tired Tommy. That’s all. I really need to sleep, but I don’t want to… before you. I can’t… I mustn’t…”

There is a moment of silence.

“Mummy?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Will I sleep for long?”

“As long as you wish honey… As you wish.”

There is another moment of silence and Tommy starts crying… “Mummy, are we dying? Is it the end?”

“No honey, this isn’t the end. It is just the beginning. The beginning of something new and beautiful. Just as you fall asleep….”

 

[Aknot]

Another Day On The Job
I hate Mars.
The cantina always serves swill, everything wants you dead and the greenskins are constantly jabbering.
“Shut up!”, I yell at them.
Some new off-worlders take offense. Start telling me about respect. “It’s their planet”. Heard that before. That’s what they said on Venus. Then the toadies killed every man, woman and child in Nueva Porta.
I smile in response. Showing metal skulled teeth and they turn quiet. Everyone’s heard of the Deathgrins. 105th Marine Recon. Hoyaah!
Signal chimes. Time to for another tour. Naturally my group includes mouthy.
“Listen”, I tell them. “My ride, my rules. Sit still and shut it.” Sour faces and snooty looks. We kit up. In full gear, fear replaces puss looks.
We head out. Six to a vehicle. Booger at the wheels. I ride shotgun. Jeffers and Nomi in van two. We circle the perimeter; mine fields, cluster grenades and automaguns. We show razor sharp wire with two feet barbs. That always drives home the point.
We go further. Explore wadis and canals. See Mars’ greenery, hidden deep below red dusty plains.
In a clearing, we stop. Gawk at glittery fungi. Then it happens. Mouthy steps out. Heads off to touch them. Ten seconds of terminally stupid. The world explodes. I start firing as arrows and spears fly from hidden hands.
“Drive” I shout. Booger pushes the engine to the max. Screams of pain. Gunfire. I lobby grenades and rockets. All I’ve got. Fire and shockwaves and debris. It’s total chaos. A crunch behind us. Vehicle two is a horror of vines and leaves and guts. Someone pukes.
Our engine strains. A last push and we’re out. Booger stops and I exit. Dust and silence hits my face. Seven dead including two marines. What a bloody waste.
I hate Mars.

 

[Christine Wheelwright]

Diplomatic Failings​

The day after they landed, the Ambassador took Captain Rossi and First Officer Bianchi to meet the Creminian leader.

“They have an odd appearance,” he said. “Like a toadstool that you might find on Earth, but much taller of course.”

“A toadstool?” said Rossi, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, indeed. They are a highly intelligent fungal species, immobile but able to communicate telepathically. I am permitted to mind-link with them after a decade of careful diplomacy. You may communicate through me.”

“What is their leader’s name?” asked Bianchi.

“Unpronounceable,” replied the Ambassador. “I just refer to him as King Mushroom. He seems happy with that.”

They entered a clearing where the woodland canopy opened to reveal glimpses of a pink alien sky. In the center was rooted King Mushroom himself; ten feet tall, translucent and swaying slightly in the cool breeze.

Through the Ambassador, the crew members explained the humanitarian nature of their mission; the desperate food needs of a stricken Earth colony on a nearby planet.

“He agrees,” said the Ambassador. “Take what you need. Obviously, though, fungus must be undisturbed under pain of death.”

As they took their leave, the Ambassador added; “By the way, King Mushroom asks as a favor that you check on the Princelings, in a field adjacent to the landing site. He has not heard from them since yesterday.”

The two crew members visibly tensed. Their pace quickened.

“Well Ambassador, er, it’s like this,” said Rossi. “We have just received urgent orders and must leave immediately. No time to explain.”

The Ambassador stared incredulously as the two officers hurried away in the direction of their ship.

Once safely in orbit, Bianchi sighed, “We certainly made a mess of that mission, Captain.”

“Look on the bright side,” replied Rossi. “It was an excellent Risotto!”

 

[johnnyjet]

Fungal Dreams

Cylindrical pods peppered the blackened fields like brilliantly colored mushrooms. The disc settled lightly onto a rising rooftop. Rankin latched her ship into place.

She took the slide ramp to the lower hold. The mad starman sat passively in the chamber among floating ice mists. She was glad he'd be out of her hands soon.

He was the only survivor of a mission to a new world which many hoped would become a refuge for future generations. Their final log entries described a fungus-like life form which appeared overnight around their encampment, growing rapidly into tall, shimmering things of beauty.

The psych surgeons arrived and prepared their dream injections. Rankin shouldn't be watching, but nobody stopped her.

He squirmed. Broken words poured out. "They're everywhere. Choking the air. Spores, thick, like fog. Run! I made it, but no one else. The spores, some got inside. I have to crush them all. Crush them all."

Suddenly, he broke his bonds, knocked the doctors down, and ran. He ran toward Rankin. She reached for him; he slammed her into the door. Dazed, she hurried after him.

Out of the ship, onto the rooftop.

He stopped at the edge. The cityscape glittered like a plague of fireflies.

"Wait!"

He turned, looked into her eyes. "Too late. They're everywhere."

She leaped. He jumped. Into the blackened swamplands between the gleaming cylinders, where the nutrients which kept the city alive thrived.

#

The next day on her way to her ship, Rankin noticed a strange tree sprouting from the black sludge where the mad starman disappeared. Bent like a crooked old man, it sparkled like jewels. She left a voice message with the mayor's office before taking her ship up.

Speeding toward the stars, she hoped they got the message.

 

[leorising]

The eukaryotic organisms laid the foundation of Tulgey Wood, thriving under its dense and murky canopies.
They knew at once something unnatural had entered their world.

The prismatic spores glittered in whispered chaos as the little girl chased the effervescent white rabbit.

She wore a little blue dress and a white apron, blonde as the shining sun. Curious little brats did not belong in Tulgey Wood. The spores danced their silent rejection and glitter saturated the ambient. It settled on the girl's shoulders, her head, flooded her nostrils, and seeped into her veins through her tear ducts.

She meandered, confused and dazed through labyrinth-like paths, the living silence of the wood her only companion. The kinder Mome Raths point out the direction of the exit and she squealed with excitement.

The Woods knows better.

With broomdog sweeping away the exit paths, she fell into despair once again, lamenting.

"...but who'd ever think to look for me here?!" She cried and the Woods creatures flocked around her.

The Woods listened, waiting.

"If I'd listened earlier, I wouldn't be here," she sobbed "I give myself good advice, but I very seldom follow it." Her sing-song voice reached out to the ever-curious creatures of the Woods. Wayward she might be, but she was not without remorse.

"Be patient, is very good advice... but the waiting makes me curious. And I love the change, should something strange begin." She sang a melancholic tune to suppress mounting desperation. Tears flowed out as the folly of her belligerence reached its zenith and she wept.

The Wood reached out to give her a way out, every organism rushing together to take feline form, the insouciant Cheshire Cat.

The Woods showed mercy, for a little girl to be regretful of her hubris is a rare thing indeed.

 

[BT Jones]

A Kind of Immortality​

Trainee Botanist Jasprit Singh exited the lander.
Valisensis, day 1, although ‘day’ was a dubious term; the spectral green light supplementing the technicolour glow of the fungal forest she’d come to study was more akin to twilight.

She spied a space-suited figure crouched behind a six-foot toadstool – Survey Leader Broad, presumably. “Hello.”

“Morning.”

Jasprit approached, a little bemused. Synths were punctual, but never early. The figure looked up. “Beautiful, eh?”

“Erm… absolutely.” Jasprit goggled at the weathered face inside the fishbowl helmet.

Broad sighed good-humouredly. “Yes, I’m Human.”

Jasprit dithered. “Sorry. I…”

“…was expecting a synth?” Broad checked his analogue wristwatch. “We’re early, so… Ask away.”

At Broad’s beckoning smile, bathed in orange bioluminescence, Jasprit exploded with childlike awe. “I… Your file said 473 years’ service.”

“…including 425 years of cryosleep.” Broad looked to the dark jade heavens. “But yes; 48 planetary tours; 17-star systems.”

“But… Your family...”

Broad pursed his lips. “Never had much of one. Only child. Scientist parents, very supportive. I knew at 18 I wanted to see the galaxy. They encouraged me. Dad loved to imagine me still sailing the universe in a thousand years’ time. A kind of immortality, he thought.”

“But didn’t you miss them?”

“At first. 7 years’ interplanetary training helped. I send them my field reports. They send me weekly diaries – I watch them in the evenings. The backlog’s down to forty-years!”
Broad saw Jasprit ponder the implications. “They’re still alive to me.”
He looked to the horizon. “Yes. It was a sacrifice,” then he gestured to the ether, “but I get this: a new world every year.”
Broad beamed, before noticing Jasprit was becoming emotional. “Anyway…”
He rubbed his hands and pointed yonder. “You can start over there. But beware the ones that look like pink doughnuts. They are not sweet!”

 

[Ian Fortytwo]

Lord, what fools these mortals be.

My name is Ava, I'm over six feet and a female elf, my job is a dewdrop collector. Water is very precious and always needed. Today as I enter the forest of twelve foot mushrooms and toadstools, something weird happened.

At first I encountered a brick wall that suddenly appeared from nowhere. Eventually I found a door, which I went through. Then I heard a cackling laugh, and wondered where the person was.

Secondly I encountered a hedge, it took me a bit longer to find a gate, which I went through. I heard a cackling laugh again, and still I couldn't find out where from.

Thirdly I encountered a river, at first I couldn't find a way across, until I saw a boat. As I travelled across the river I heard the cackling laugh yet again. This time I looked up, and found the moon was speaking to me.

"You foolish elves why do you always seek for dewdrops among the mushrooms and toadstools. When you could just ask the God's for whatever favour you desire."

When I came out of the trance, I found myself outside the forest.

I travelled back to the city and spoke to the elders, however they did not believe a word I said.

Moral of story. Do you believe in gods or Fungi?

 

[paranoid marvin]

What Goes Around



The stranger rolled into Tumbleweed unannounced, a saucer-shaped craft in tow. Shortly afterwards, posters went up all over town:

'WITNESS THE WONDERS OF THE UNIVERSE! A ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY! DON'T MISS OUT!'

Eager anticipation turned to disappointment when the townspeople discovered the price being asked. In a region blighted by poor harvests, only the wealthiest landowners could afford the cost of admission aboard the newcomer's craft.

Departure day arrived, and folk came from far and wide to witness the spectacle. As the fortunate few began to enter the saucer, a row broke out with one of the passengers.

"I can't take Fido? Don't you know I'm the richest, most influential landowner around here?!"

The stranger was firm. "I make it a rule never to permit animals or children to travel."

Muttering something rude, she thrust the poor creature into his arms and climbed aboard.

It wasn't long before everyone was securely seated, and not long after that before the saucer's doors reopened and the passengers alighted. They found themselves in a strange alien landscape, gigantic mushrooms towering overhead and tree trunks stretching far into the sky.

"How long 'til they realise they've been shrunk down to a quarter-inch size, rather than being on another planet?" grinned a weather-beaten tenant farmer, peering down at the miniaturised saucer and the ant-like creatures swarming around it.

The stranger chuckled. "Oh, not long I shouldn't imagine. They'll return to normal size - eventually; I'll be long gone by then."

"And what do we do with them in the meantime?"

"That's up to you, my friend. How often have you toiled under the midday sun, whilst they've lounged in the shade? Karma can be a slow bus coming, but it's just arrived at its destination here today in Tumbleweed."