Entered this for a flash fiction contest…

Where you had to write a story that involved a museum and lemonade. I did not win…oh well!

***

“Hide, sweetie!” Janine whispered to her son, Billy. Billy hid behind the pink lemonade stand, pleading eyes staring at his mother. “Shh…”

“And what is this?” the apparent leader of the fascists said. “Pink lemonade? And over here? Hard lemonade? This is not lemonade!” He fired off a few rounds from his weapon, emphasizing his point.

“Please,” the tour guide, who had a gun to his head, said. “Please, it’s just a museum. There are kids here.”

“Ah, children whom you are corrupting! There is only one type of lemonade, and that is FRESH SQUEEZED IN WATER WITH PERHAPS A LITTLE SUGAR!” The leader shook his head, as if sad that he had to explain these facts. “Kill him.”

His men obeyed, firing one round into the tour guide’s temple. He fell like a sack of lemons.

“The very idea that you have a museum dedicated to all different kinds of lemonade is ludicrous. It has gone too far! All must die.”

His men killed another of the hostages. Only Billy remained hidden from the fascists. He saw nothing but heard the screams.

More shots went off, and it sounded to Billy like some people were fighting back. An opportunity opened. Billy ran toward the fire escape and rushed outside, his eyes hurting from the sudden brightness. A woman with a badge rushed to him, picked him up, carried him to an armored truck.

“How many are there, son?” an ugly, gruff man asked Billy. “What’s going on in there?”

“There’s three…I think,” Billy said. “They’re fighting. I’m scared! My mom!”

The gruff man turned and nodded to some others. “Send them in,” he said. Then, to Billy, “You did good, son. Better than most people could.”

Gaia’s Dream, a novel about science fiction gladiators and shadow monsters, is now available!

Gaia’s Dream is now available! Links below:

A description of the book:

Science fiction gladiators. Land pirates. A giant city made up of huge buildings called megastructures.

This dystopian adventure has all that and more.

The story follows Mary Gold as she and her team of corporate gladiators hunt down Gat Jones, a serial killer who wants to use shadow monsters to destroy the city in which they all live.

The hunt takes them out of the city and into the unknown forests, rivers, and alien towns that none of them knew existed.

Thank you for reading!

Campy story about a warrior guy

Original post can be found here.

 

“Launch the nukes at him!” General Krabzor of the Yurians shouted. “He must die!”

“Nukes, sir?” Major Painfak replied. As a timid Ugithan from the peaceful Pacification sector of the Kindly Galaxy, he rarely spoke against his Yurian overlord. “There may be nothing of the planet left for us to use. We’re here for its resources, after all.”

“Use the damn nukes! I want that ‘warrior‘ dead!”

“Why don’t we simply go to the other hemisphere and start the mineral extraction–”

“NUKES!!!”

Alarm lights flashed red as Major Painfak pondered whether to follow his superiors orders.


Jimbob of the Billy Mike Billy knights of Candytown stood in scorched pit. He had managed to deflect or else withstand each attack that the massive Ship-Upon-the-Air, as the Rulers of the Planetsphere called it, had launched at him. The powerful Robes of Destiny hardened his skin, the Helm of Quickening gave him lightning-fast reflexes, and the Sword of Really Fucking Good Swordcraftmanship reflected the beams of light that the mystical ship sent down.

“I may be only one warrior,” Jimbob had said to his king when the ship first appeared, “but I will defend against the evil lasers of the sky, which have already destroyed so many of our villages. My wife was the first to die in the attacks. I saw her die with my own eyes. As I also saw so many others die. I was the only survivor. Hence, I am here to avenge my village and defend your kingdom. I will not fail you, my liege. In fact, permit me to say that I will die before I fail you.”

“Right,” the king had replied. “Again, for the third time, simply repeat the oath, ‘I fight today to live tomorrow, for the kingdom and the Planetsphere, forever.'”

“Of course, my king, but only after I speak again of my wife. It was a pleasant winter’s night when we first met. ‘Hello,’ I said–”

“Just go.”

Jimbob went indeed and he stood now among the ash and fires of the enemies attacks, waiting too long for the next one.


“He’s gone mad,” Major Painfak said to two other of the General’s subordinates. “We must not launch the nukes. It’s literally just one guy down there. We killed everyone else already. We can just go around to the other side of the planet and have it mined within a week.”

“I don’t know…” Major Gillzor said. “Can’t we just launch one nuke? The last dude who disobeyed Krabzor got a knife through his…well, you know.”

“He wants all of them launched! That much radiation will render any resources to be gained from the planet absolutely useless. We need to–”

“To what?” General Krabzor had appeared behind the Majors and continued, “To commit treason? Space this fool.”

“But…but,” Major Painfak tried to resist, but ultimately failed. Two brutes shoved him into an airlock without so much as a goodbye.


Jimbob knew that the time was come when he would need to make the greatest move ever. Many great pillars, the size of the great trees of Nevermore Forest, came barreling down at him from the ship. The warrior readied his sword and sent first one, then another, and a third back to the ship. The might of his sword could be withstood by none. One-by-one, he whacked the metal cylinders back toward the ship.

By the time he was done, thousands of huge balls of fire erupted from the ship, and it came crashing down to the planet’s surface, perhaps a thousand miles away. It was a quiet ending to what had been the most intense battle of Jimbob’s life.

He walked back to his king’s castle, only to find a crater where it once stood. Destruction was everywhere he looked. Tears fell from his eyes, as he thought of his wife.

The Alien Candidate

Inspired by this Reddit prompt (my username is goat_therandy):

 

“Sir, we’ve touched down in what’s known here as the Appalachian Mountains,” Blorg said the leader of the Fridnar team, aka the Scalpels. They stood on the edge of a cliff, and twinkling lights dotted the warm, green valley below them. “This is one of the more beautiful places we’ve been, eh sir?”

“Stop calling me sir,” Captain Rogorg said, turning to look at his friend of over three Earth centuries. “Seriously, what the hell is that about? We’re a team, not a bunch a of filthy savages. Tell me, does everyone have their skin on?”

“Yes, except Lorg, she’s still getting ready. Man, I don’t know how humans where this stuff.”

“It’s just how they hold their guts in. Anyway, you really need to do more to remind your wife of the urgency here. The Yakonians have already infilitrated the Cuban government.”

“They’re playing a short game, then.”

They both fell silent and enjoyed the sight of the stars. It reminded Blorg of when he first asked Lorg to marry him, after they had been dating for months (although it had seemed like many wonderful years already) on Fridnar’s third moon. It reminded Rogorg of their win against the Hyperions in the Hindristic Nebula games.

No team had managed to infiltrate a major power here yet, and Rogorg wanted to know why.


“You mean to tell me that I have to get people’s signatures in order to run for office?” Captain Rogorg was telling the party official. “How many?”

“Well, sir, it depends on the state … ” Mary, or whatever her name was, tapped a few keys on her keyboard, and the Fridnarian knew it was a delaying tactic ” … but in total…about 900,000 in order to get on the ballot in each state.”

“What the hell are you talking about? In my home country, anyone can run for office! A child can, of course he won’t be elected, but he can do it!”

“That’s very cute, sir.”

Rogorg grunted and left the building. He called Blorg with his cell phone. Human currency was easy enough to print for themselves, at least. “Any luck getting a job with the agency?”

“Ro, they want to do background checks! They want my family, my friends, all of them to testify against me just to get a job!”

“What kind of untrusting people are these? This is going to be harder than I thought. Damn, I heard the Yakonians are working with Venezuela now.”

“And the Klepers are already moving on from Ghana to Gambia.”


Rogorg knew it was unethical, although not technically cheating, to assume the bodies of whoever they were invading. He didn’t see another way, however, and a win was a win. He sat in the Oval Office, sure that in this position of power the Scalpels would win within a week, or perhaps a day or two.

Blorg stood in the corner, continually scratching himself. “It’s this skin, how can they wear it?” he’d say when Rogorg or Lorg, who sat in a chair staring at a tablet, would complain about it.

“What do you mean you can’t get the votes?” Rogorg said angrily into the phone. “I’ve literally developed an engine that can go faster than the speed of light, and still you can’t get enough votes to approve a Martian colony?”

The gift of technology was something else that was traditionally forbidden in the Invasion Games, but technically not considered cheating. Rogorg had had enough.

“I know…I know…ethical concerns, taking care of Earth infrastructure first, all that, of course. But an off-world colony is the first step to any unified world government. What do you mean New World Order? Actually yes, that’s a good description of– What are you talking about? Why shouldn’t I talk this way? Just get the votes!”

“Easy, captain,” Blorg said after Rogorg slammed the phone down on its receiver. “We’ll find a way, just got to keep trying.”


“Peace is what brings us together, not war! Peace is what makes a man a man and a woman a woman, not war! Peace is what we must have, for one world must have one government!”

All the political representatives cheered Rogorg’s speech in the joint session of congress. He was sure that people all over the country, and even the world, were ready now to become one. Then the Scalpels would declare victory for the third time in as many centuries, a record that few could match.

A senator, whose name the captain didn’t know, spoke in his ear, “Sir, it still has to go through both houses.”

“Whose houses?” Rogorg said above the ongoing cheers.

“I just want you to know, there are still those of us who oppose you in the Senate. We’ll filibuster this if you try it without negotiating first.”

“Filibuster?” the Fridnarian had heard of that term, and he knew what it meant. “No…” he shook his head as the cheers quieted “…no…” he writhed around, dense internal hands pushing against the flimsy skin “…no…” Blorg tried to stop him, but it was too late.

A twenty foot tall tentacle monster stood before the Congress. Its orange skin rippled like oil in a breeze, and its dozens of eyes stared everywhere at once. Talons popped out of its tentacles and began whipping at everything in the room.

“I’M INVADING YOUR PLANET, YOU SHITHEADS!!!”

Blorg looked at Lorg among the ripped and gored carcusses of those who so recently had been clapping for their killer, and said, “Well…I guess this means we lost.”

A Tired Monkey

The wingbat stared at the sky and pondered what might be in another era. Thousands of years had passed and the gubers lived strong. These beasts, with horns that reached hundreds of feet high and trunks like the elephants that you had nightmares of as a child, destroyed the homes of the wingbats, who flitted of to Mars to live the rest of their sols.

The gubers ruled the Earth for millions, if not many millions of years. Decades? Centuries? Millenniums? They were nothing to the gubers, who wanted only production and evolution, management and organization, peace and brutal warfare.

The moon was home to an old species…you guessed it, humans. They were tall and thin and light from Luna’s light tug, but had little food to subsist on. More water evaporated into space than could be replenished. The humans were to die, and the gubars only waited.

A new type of wingbat was born one day, on Christmas Eve in the year 86,723,148 A.D. He flitted about and felt the wind of Mars and was ever happy and proud. All the other wingbats were in awe of his speed, his dexterity, and his abilities in the game of poker.

One day, an old wingbat approached Maximus and said, “My crapson, you are the fucking chosen one that our goddamn, dumbass people have spoken of for like three years. You know your shit and that’s why we’re fucking sending you to the worst kind of shit your ass has ever witnessed.”

“Just tell me what to fucking do,” Maximus said to the old wingbat.

“Go kill the shit. On the thing.”

“What the hell? You speak of Crappy the Crap, the crappiest crap who ever crapped?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“I’ll fucking go to Earth and fuck some shit up.”

Maximus, the crapperson of Plentimus, flew off to Earth to face Crappy the Crap in battle. When the young wingbat arrived there, however, he witnessed something that disgusted him: All of the gubers were ugly, lazy, and malcontent. It would be an easy battle, but there would be no honor in it.

“You there,” Crappy the Crap said, the biggest guber said. “You are Maximus? I hear you play a good poker game. How about we play a round and whoever wins shall inherit the Earth?”

“I can fucking deal,” Maximus said. Winning in poker against one of the greatest gamblers in the universe would certainly be a greater honor than slaughtering the pathetic creatures.

THe first hand was the wingbat’s, but the guber came back around in the second. The battle tipped up and down for each combatant and there was the ever flowing sound of chips being transferred back and forth as each other one gained the upperhand. Finally, Maximus landed the best hand imaginable.

“No,” Crappy muttered. Hands of sludge covered his eyes as tears poured forth like Niagara Falls expels water during spring. “It can’t be!”

“Oh, but it can, bitch,” Maximus said, the wingbat’s eyes gleaming with the shining light of righteous victory. “It can, bitch.”

“Five kings! Five of a kind! Why, this hasn’t happened since Bleepy destroyed Gappy in the Great Poker Tournament of 24,565,019 A.D.!”

“Give us our home back.”

And so the wingbats returned to Earth from their temporary shelter on Mars. The humans left the moon at the urging of the wingbats and returned to Earth, where they crossbred to become something like angels.

The gubers, on the other hand, were left with a Mars that was already rusting over. The radiation set in after three hours.

Poetry, I guess

At times, tainted life of light will shatter.

When it hits some undiscovered matter,

Say the ground, or a plane, or even you,

darkness comes, and you’ll wonder what to do.

Your life is like that short, or long, lived light.

Nothing matters if your day is so bright

that, should the days of others be clouded,

your joy makes all fear become unshrouded.

Out in the open with nowhere to hide

exists the choice of letting fear decide.

Only when light reveals an empty night,

can we put aside our near-constant fright.

 

 

______________________________

 

I have no idea what makes a good poem…

The Fallacy of Self – Coupon!

Get my short story collection, The Fallacy of Self, for 75% off from now until 11/7/15 using coupon code: KX74F .

Do it! Do it now! Before it’s too late! It’s about life! And what life would be like if life did not exist! A paradox? An android? Corporate warfare? Read it now!

Fallacy of Self