November / December 100 Word Anonymous Challenge 2022

Space Truck’n Bar & Grill

Upon removing my leather jacket, the waitress began looking at my exposed arms. “Like my tattoos?”

She smiled, “I was staring at your scars. How did you get that one on your shoulder?”

“I got it when I was a soldier, fighting vampires on the Ghost planet.”

“And that one?”

“A unicorn shoved his horn through my bicep.”

“That one?”

“Damn mermaid bit me.”

“That one?”

“Dark Elf dagger. I’d like to order the Lovecraft Nacho Grande, please.”, I said smiling.

She grimaced, “How did you break your front tooth?”

“I walked into the glass door as I can in.”
 
Family TIEs



"NONE SHALL PASS."

"Hang on, aren't you...?"

"Yes, I am the Black Knight."

"I thought I'd mortally injured you!"

"I told you it was just a flesh wound."

"I chopped your arms and legs off!"

"Haven't you seen 'Revenge of the Sith'?"

"Yes, but that was in a galaxy far, far away. This is medieval England."

"Arthur... I am your father."

"No, that's not true; that's impossible!"

"Remove my helmet; let me look on you with my own eyes."

"Right, this is all getting far too silly. Come Patsy, we're off!"

"Where're you going? Come back! Nooooooo!"
 
You too?

When will this end? My search was far and wide, extensive, complete. But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. And my wounds remained unhealed.

Then I see him there, chained to the Stonehenge, another sacrifice to the heathen gods. So I draw my laser pistol and shoot down hooded acolytes until it’s just him and me.

“Are going to kill me?” he asks, tearful.

“What are you doing here?”

“I look for my lost love, but find only hate and death.” His dark brown eyes sparkle like hidden treasures.

Perhaps my search has not been in vain.
 
Operation Nightingale

Military hospital-ship Our Finest Hour was jinxed. Had to be, with such a name. Many of the wounded soldiers being carried into its vast infirmary grumbled. But others just smiled and remained silent.
“Attention all personnel! Departure within ten minutes. All crew to disembark immediately!”
Alarmed patients watched aghast as the nursing staff fled the Ward and sealed the hatches. What the…
“Attention! This is your autopilot. Our flight will pass through the Asclepius Nebula. It heals the sick and wounded, but kills anyone healthy. Flight Nightingale will commence in three minutes. Any fakers should report themselves NOW!
 
Designation H19187-ks993, MIA

He stared up in the night. There wasn’t much to see. Dark clouds chased each other from west to east, faintly illuminated by the intermittent firing of lasers in the distance.
He was unable to rise, too tired even to turn his head this way or that. It was just looking straight up, hoping for a break in the cloud cover. For a glimpse of a star, any star, imagining it was Sol.
Would his body be found here, on this strange bleak world, light-years from Sol, and brought home? Would...
His eyes closed. The cloud cover never broke
 
Survival Instinct

Sandra had no idea what had happened in the workshop. Hearing the cry and the clank of the malfunctioning guillotine press, she ran in.

The head was gone, and with it all constraint. Only reflex remained, raw life force. Touch and temperature sensitivity with a cocktail of adrenaline, and the lower endocrine system. No longer did its brain control or moderate.
It sensed the slight air movement as a person entered the room, felt the body heat radiate, and homed in.

It tore off her head, placed it on its torso, and waited for the body’s repair processes to commence.
 
Dogmeat

Pain clouded Private Jenkin’s head; legs refused to move. Feeling woozy, the blood trail on the concrete floor that led to him was worrying. Scattered recollections of patrolling ruins: big flash then artillery barrage. Shrapnel.

Something mechanical peered at him; framed in a blown out window. Drone dog, a robotic weapons platform. However…he picked out the painted flag on its neck

My side. Saved!

~

Tech sergeant Drexler crouching by a doorway, reported in.

“Found missing pack, hunkered down on autonomous. They’ll probably need power...” Drexler peered inside the building. “Scratch that. Biofuel reactors likely full. They consumed something…”
 
From a Mother to a Son

My ma's dead. She was in a coma from a crash and had previously opted for euthanasia in writing. So it was done. I've been living with her ghost ever since. It ain't pleasant, I assure you. The bones that had been broken in her mortal body transferred over to her spirit for a reason I don't know why. She doesn't make a peep, just lays on her transparent bed, with the transparent machines beeping ticking away. Now I'm really searching the yellow pages for a doctor who knows a thing or two about how to deal with unconscious ghosts.
 
A Call for Help

I reprogrammed the AGRO-BOTT for surgical procedures when I called it over and inserted its new commands.

‘Preparing for multiple-layer laceration. IV and anesthesia administered. Site sterilization in progress. How are you felling?’

‘I’m. I’mmm.’

‘Anessseeeaaa….Please awake, awake. Please awake! How are you feeling?’

I was unsure at first but shortly my vision cleared, and I was able to respond. ‘I feel fine, just a little out of it.’

‘Do you feel any pain?’

‘No, none at all,’ looking away.

‘Won’t you thank me?’

I couldn’t because it was neither human nor alive. Besides, it caused this.
 
The growing pains of Zalderbon Pendrocknel

  • Zalderbon Pendrocknel had been a fine Voodoo doll.
  • He'd accepted every pain the Obulterglude inflicted.
  • And for sixty seven years had never complained.
Not this morning though.

Because Zalderbon Pendrocknel was told he would have his heart stabbed with a needle.

And it was the last straw:

'To hell with you, I've had enough misery', Zalderbon told the Obulterglude.

Zalderbon then instructed the Obulterglude to:

'Stick that needle up your hyperior deflection.'

And left to buy ice-cream.

8000 billion light years away Bart McGlinchey woke up feeling happy. Better than he'd ever felt before.

'Today’s a good day', he thought.
 
Local Wit

Bryce had named his switchblade…

"Occam's Razor," he bawled, laughing in our faces. "It'll always find the grist of the matter!"

Harry K, Blood Rave's door supervisor, couldn’t ignore his belligerence.

He approached as Bryce sat down. "You! Out!"

Bryce finished his pint, gave a two finger salute, and clambered over the table, launching himself at Harry.

Mr K sidestepped this lunge, withdrew an infrasound baton (a recent purchase) from his jacket sleeve and pushed the blunt instrument into Bryce's torso.

The knife wielder fell back, vomiting.

"Your mate, he just can't stomach the truth," Harry chidded, dragging Bryce away.
 
Pain Harvester


‘Can you fix it, doc?’

‘Yes. But setting your broken femur will cost $4000.’

‘sh*t! We ain't got that... There's nothing you can do?’

‘Would you agree to using a Pain Harvester?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Basically it harvests your pain response. The neural energy created from this procedure can be worth up to $5000.’

‘So you’ll pay us $1000?’

‘Yes. But there can be no anesthetics. It will be excruciating... I will need your husband’s consent.’

The doctor left them alone to discuss, but rushed back in after hearing an agonized scream.

‘I consent,’ said the husband. ‘For both her legs.’
 
Casualty

I feel the stretcher sway as I'm lifted onto it, but see only darkness. What? It was before noon when we charged - have they waited for night to fall before collecting the fallen?

There are voices, but nobody screaming "Where does it hurt?", a major advantage, actually. After a battle, have you ever tried to sort out the serious damage from the sprains, bruises and minor problems? It all hurts. But the mutter doesn't seem as hysterical as usual.

Ah. I get it. This time the wound was mortal.

I wonder who won.
 
Wait a Second

For the 43th time that day, Achmaran Buhajin fell flat on his face.
“11 am. And drunk.” A passerby helped him get up again.
“It’s an injury. A time-lapse injury,΅ Achmaran muttered.
“A what?”
“Time-lapse injury. You see, I invented the time-machine.”
“Right. Drunk, like I said.”
“No, really. But I demolished it.”
“Why?”
“I accidentally activated the machine while I was tinkering with the control-panel, lying on the floor with my legs sticking out of the machine’s cabin.”
“So?”
“It made a 1 second jump. Ever since my legs respond 1 second too late.”
 
Infirmary
A dragon's head entered the tent, followed by the body, with attached stretchers. A glance around; no obvious empty cots to dispose of his load, and all orderlies occupied. War was like that, or perhaps medicine was like that in wartime.

His princess was triaging and bandaging, so concentrated she hadn't noticed his arrival, spectacular in underclothes to make a showgirl blush.

Hot, stuffy, stinking - a couple of wingstrokes swirled the air, then, even with short legs, he could unload. Another casualty, feeling unwanted, helped get his stretchers down and guided him out.

Human combat was not much fun.
 
An Unnecessary Appendage

"Sir, I'm afraid the President's lost his mind."

Zelokin Brashburn wished this news came as a surprise. "Lost it how?"

"Says he took it out for question time, and it's done a runner."

"That's the third time this month!" A heavy sigh. "Well, it can't have gone far."

"It really hoofed it this time, sir. Jumped out the window and everything."

A string of curses. "Never mind, we'll get another one. How's he doing?"

"The mind?"

"The President!"

"No one's noticed the difference, sir."

Zelokin nodded. "Of course not. Let's continue, shall we?"
 
"The Fall"

He stepped into the turbo chute and braced himself; it was a long way down. Mining on Callisto was lucrative but dangerous. He hated being underground but had no choice; it was his team that went down this morning and there was an accident.

He activated the communicator. “What happened?”

“Not too sure,” a voice responded. “We received an emergency call but there were only screams until communication halted. A loud bang—everything went dead.”

“Any idea what caused the explosion?” he asked.

“Malfunction,” the voice said. “Half-way down and without warning, the turbo chutes lost power and plummeted... Hello?”
 

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