The deck heaved and dropped under him as the ship plowed through wave after wave, sails at full on heavy seas. He held tight to the rail, ignoring his stomach, concentrating.
A call from the wheelhouse: “Where?”
He pretended not to hear. A believable pretense: at the bow the crashing furor of the waves was unrelenting. But the impatient call came again: “Where, man!”
In his mind he was a fish, far from his human body. He broke the churning surface and looked around quickly, spying a distorted speck of ship on the horizon.
Uncomfortably human again, he pointed: “There!”
SF Drabble #262 “Mind Your Manners”
The Association is all about profit; at least, profit for the core races, the founding members. The rest of the galaxy survives on what the Old Five don’t need and don’t want. Fortunately, all the way out here in Sol’s neighborhood there’s very little they need or want. As long as we recognize their authority and keep buying their goods they leave us alone.
But they don’t tolerate sedition. Keep putting speeches like that out over the Net and there’ll be Grodon warships in orbit before you know it. Not a hundred light years away at the Sector Outpost: here.
But they don’t tolerate sedition. Keep putting speeches like that out over the Net and there’ll be Grodon warships in orbit before you know it. Not a hundred light years away at the Sector Outpost: here.
Fantasy Drabble #194 “Scorned”
Clouds roiled within the glass sphere, rapidly changing from white to blue, to blood-red, and fading back to white. Soon she could pick out shapes, outlined figures, featureless faces. She tried to be patient: they would resolve themselves soon enough.
And then he was there, his voice coming through now even before his expression became clear. His soothing, seductive tones were familiar. The girl she did not recognize, but it didn’t matter: she could bear no ill-will, plot no revenge against another of his victims.
She let the image of their superimposed bodies blur and die. Time for the curse.
And then he was there, his voice coming through now even before his expression became clear. His soothing, seductive tones were familiar. The girl she did not recognize, but it didn’t matter: she could bear no ill-will, plot no revenge against another of his victims.
She let the image of their superimposed bodies blur and die. Time for the curse.
Zombie Drabble #290 “Target Practice”
The zombie strained at the chains, arms outstretched in front, clutching at cold thin air. It would not break free: Hanks had sunk the post deep while the ground was still soft, and the chains were strong, having been salvaged from a playground tire swing.
The kids had been afraid of it, at first. Emily wouldn’t stop crying, and her mother had begged them to do away with the thing. But now: Emily was the boldest of all the children. As the others packed their first snowball, she was winding up to launch her second, right at the zombie’s face
The kids had been afraid of it, at first. Emily wouldn’t stop crying, and her mother had begged them to do away with the thing. But now: Emily was the boldest of all the children. As the others packed their first snowball, she was winding up to launch her second, right at the zombie’s face
Fantasy Drabble #193 “Light Show”
The great hall teemed with activity, conducted by the light of candle and torch. Great slabs of meat and bowls of fruit were constantly being brought in, and their remains taken out. Jesters plied their trade in the empty spaces between tables. The King’s hospitality was legend, but it was mere prelude to what the guests knew was to come.
Soon the flames would be extinguished and the room would fall dark and silent, and from keyhole and crevice would emerge the pixies, the sprites, and the Will o’ the Wisps, to perform their aerial dance: the evening’s true entertainment.
Soon the flames would be extinguished and the room would fall dark and silent, and from keyhole and crevice would emerge the pixies, the sprites, and the Will o’ the Wisps, to perform their aerial dance: the evening’s true entertainment.
Fantasy Drabble #192 “Bush”
They were suddenly all around us, but Urbo — our guide — seemed calm enough, so I left my sword in its sheath. One of the party cautiously came forward and spoke to him at length. As he answered, Urbo pointed back along the path from whence we came, and then forward, presumably towards our destination.
As the two conversed the others filtered closer through the brush into view: stocky and muscular for Elves, primitive, a marked contrast from the Black Coast clans. Beside me, Bougnard whispered, “They look disappointed that they won’t get to eat us.”
“The conversation isn’t over yet.”
SF Drabble #261 “Reprieve”
I was shaking; the adrenaline released during the chase was still coursing through my veins, causing my heart to hammer away in my chest. The robot stood motionless. I waited with breath held for the beam to reach out and slice me in two. After what seemed an eternity of waiting, I finally wondered if it had shut down: I moved a few steps to the right, and sure enough, it failed to track me.
I considered pausing to sabotage the robot, but thought better of it. This is my chance to escape, this, right now. I turned and ran.
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