Choose your favourite

Untitled 1
1 (7.7%)
1 (7.7%)
Sgt. Avery
3 (23.1%)
Untitled 2
3 (23.1%)
On his Day Off
1 (7.7%)
Untitled 3
2 (15.4%)
Danny boy
2 (15.4%)

Total Members Voted: 12

Voting closed: July 09, 2010, 03:09:50 AM

Author Topic: Voting Time Flash Fiction 19  (Read 1514 times)


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Voting Time Flash Fiction 19
« on: June 29, 2010, 03:09:50 AM »
Well folks, a lot of intersesting enteries. You have 10 days to read through, consider then vote for the one you like best.

1. Untitled 1

The ship was to have taken them home. The voyage was to have lasted ten years, one age year for the crew. Instead, it would last an eternity.  They were all dead, missing, or something else.   
The madness was unstable.

But Elva was alive. 

   “Fuck it,” Matt muttered, lifting the oblong cover and pressing the codes to the auto pilot.  They were going home. Picking up his weapon, he left the voice of the droid behind him and entered hell’s fire.  The heat that shot up from the corridor was toxic. 

He had little time left.  The bastards didn’t die easy. 
Holding the weapon with one hand, he wiped his palm on his pants one at a time.  He couldn't lose it. Not now.   Rounding the corner, he saw it.  He didn’t know which poor son of a bitch it happened to be. Its body was thinning, its ribs broke through flesh. Matt looked for a semblance of the person it once was, but found nothing. Its gnawed hand, replaced with sharp claws like knives, banged on the walls of the chamber. 

   “I’ve come for her you son of a bitch.  The rest of you can die,” he whispered and entered the chamber already pulling the trigger.  The thing exploded but three others charged.  One managed to clip him in the shoulder drawing blood.  Matt dropped and rolled, drawing his weapon lower with him and firing a steady stream of energy into the chamber in an arc. The second fell his torso went left, his legs right. By then the chamber exploded in a chorus of pitches that reverberated throughout the ship. 

He was home.

2. Falling

At the time, people thought it was a great idea: tow asteroids out of their
place, into orbit of Earth, where you could easily mine all the metal out of
them. There were whole worlds of copper and iron up there, and Earth was fast
running out of useful metals. So, why not?

Of course, these huge globs of rock were by far the heaviest things in Earth
orbit: all the satellites running around up there were eventually pulled into
their path, and wiped out on the surface of one or another mining operation.
Sure, replacement satellites were being sent up, but now there was a problem.

Pieces of old satellites don't just disappear: they hang around, and crash
into shiny new stations, through dishes, killing miners. It was so bad now,
that no new equipment could go up there. Something had to be done: the rocks
had to go back to their place. An ingenious plan was devised: a pulse of
gravitic force, emitted from every point on the Earth's surface, to push all
the junk away from Earth, and leave the skies clear.

In all their excitement, the scientists forgot one thing. Gravity attracts:
even anti-gravitic generation couldn't stop that.

I told them, of course, but they wouldn't listen; wrote me off as a crackpot
conspiracy theorist, doom-mongerer, and such. Well, doom's come to town, in
the shape of everything that was ever in Earth orbit; any more bright ideas?

3. Sgt. Avery

The smell of cool summer evenings resurface as I briskly pull the rake over the grass, tearing little holes in the earth and leave the last of summer’s memories exposed in the weak fall sunshine.  The day’s work lies in scattered piles of leaves waiting to be bundled and removed.  My gardening gloves are too big and rub stiffly against my hands when I adjust my grip on the wooden handle.  Each cast of the rake saps my energy and the wind blows in my face, laughing as I struggle to tidy nature.  It is warm for October.  People pass by walking their dogs and kids in shorts whiz by on their bikes.  Everyone has savored the day, knowing this will be the last time anyone will leave the house without a coat until spring.  As I lay dreaming surrounded by the crisp decay and cool damp grass, it feels as if the seasons have gotten confused.  Summer’s browned hands have returned to wave one final goodbye.  The sun sets over me not in blazing reds and oranges but in rust and amber.  Rubbing my sore hands, I am a silhouette when I rise against the deepening sky to head in for dinner.  The figure of a man resembling the son I had once cradled in my arms stands watching at the mailbox.  The air turns sharp and stirs forcefully.  Autumn has returned and brought with it my heart’s desire.  Sergeant Avery is safely home.

4. Untitled 2

“Well, look who it is. If it isn’t the gay boy.”

This was the predictable welcome that I received from Darren, my ex-mate who turned against me at the end of the last term when I told him I was gay. Now he was sat, slouched at his desk with his new best mate, Stuart, ready to make my life hell for the rest of my final year.

It had been a long six weeks summer break, and I was shaking with fear about my return to this hell-hole they call school.

“What a queer,” Darren shouted at me. Stuart just laughed, before they both came over to me and soon there were a gang of boys punching and kicking me to the ground. The teacher entered and they all scarpered to their seats.

“What’s going on here then?” This was directed at me.

“Nothing, I just tripped.”

“You’ve been fighting. See me at lunchtime for detention. Now go to your seat.”

I made my way to my seat, hurting all over. On the way, Darren stuck his foot out and I tripped onto another lad’s desk. “Watch it, gay boy!” he warned.

“Will you get to your seat please?!” the teacher was becoming increasingly impatient now.

“Sorry,” I muttered, stumbling to my chair at the back of the classroom.

“Right, well we have a new boy starting with us today. He’s just moved to the area and....”

The door opened and a good-looking boy entered the room. Darren started to become agitated, and then the boy produced a pair of pink furry handcuffs, passed them to Darren and said,

“You left these at my house Saturday night.”


He excitedly walked into the clearing; smiling, happy with the warmth of the sun, the blue of the sky and especially with the fine wind.  It was a good wind.  He almost laughed at the way it chased the little white clouds.  He checked the kite, the tail, the string; making sure for the tenth time that day that there was enough.

He wet his finger, held it up, turned it here and there, clicked his tongue and nodded.  "Let’s go", he thought, and whipped the kite up.  it fell immediately.    Three more times the wind spit it back.  He stood there looking at the sky a long time - not thinking - just looking.  Finally, he took a deep breath and started to walk away with his tattered paper kite, his head held to one side, his brows managing to merge.

Gold and silver flashes from the ground made him blink.  He hadn't noticed the object before....it was blue and white and green, with silver and gold streaks woven through it.  He found the ethereal kite in his hands and examined it, looked around for its owner.  Ahhh, alone with the beauty.  Starting to breathe deeply, handling it lightly, he carefully turned.

Looking at the sky as if for the first time, he held his breath, closed his eyes and offered up his find to the wind.  It was taken up, inspected, found pleasing and lifted up to the sky.

Noooo, the silver and gold ribbon -string wasn't long enough!  But he held on tightly and was skyed along with that Beauty and felt himself become one with it.  He lifted his shoulders, curled his arms out and pushed away at the heaviness below.  Waves of wind played about him, wrapping his body, pushing, lifting and then taking him to hid behind a cloud.  He soared, swam, floated, surged with power.  A flock of Grebes passed below him.   He saluted them and cackled.

The sun disappeared behind a large dark cloud.  The wind quickly pushed the startled little white clouds to safety.  He felt himself separating, heavy again, falling.  He closed his eyes in terror.

He found himself back on the ground, his Beauty gone.  Frantically, he searched the sky.  There came a flash of lighting followed by a crash of thunder. 

There, there....the little white clouds parted and through them the Beauty danced on the wind, slowly fell and
returned to his hands. 

It was a find day off.

6. Untitled 3

Our hands, wrinkled and dotted with age spots, hang entwined between us, me on the hospital bed and Linda standing like a British soldier.
The white lab coat and tie tell us what we’ve feared all along, “It’s returned, and spread. You have weeks, maybe months.”
Linda crumples into my arms, tears and sobs everywhere. Her hair smells sweet and soft. “Oh, my Linda-Lou, we fought a good fight, didn’t we?” She shakes, and I do my best to stay rock solid. “I guess cancer’s the only thing more ornery than I am.” More sobs, more tears, and now my aching heart.
“What do you say we go out and celebrate?”
“Celebrate what?” she gasps.
“That we’re finally gonna beat ‘em. If I’m going down, at least the bastards are going down with me.”

7. Danny Boy

I'm never going back: not after the last time. I wouldn't have gone the first time if it hadn't been for the tea and scones. Shelia knew I wouldn't want to go, so she played down the spiritual aspect and emphasised the refreshments. Of course I fell for it: hook; line and teacup.

For an eternity we sat on arse-numbing wooden benches while a smarmy git in a cheap suit, minced about on stage talking about the-other-side. It was too uncomfortable to sleep so I furtled with my Nano and managed to get one earpiece into my lughole. Surreptitiously I tuned the radio into Five Live.

I faded out the woo-monger and faded in the game. Good timing: Bath and Bristol were playing. When Danny Grewcock carried the ball across the line, right between the posts, I leapt to my feet, fist clenched, and (apparently) shouted: "YES!"

Bad timing. The Reverend Twaddle had just asked: "Has anyone recently lost a loved one who suffered terribly towards the end?" Whoops!

They've got no sense of humour these spiritualist types. We were told to leave, and when I asked if we could have our scones to go, he told me to feck off (which is swearing in Irish). I thought Shelia would be miffed, but as soon as we were out of the hall she started laughing and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

On the way home we called into Sainsbury's and bought some scones and a tub of clotted cream.