Archive for the ‘fff’ Category

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John of the farm.

January 16, 2009

Just a little piece.


“John?”

John raised his eyes up from his toil. The sun was hot on his back, but he was used to it.

“Yes love.”

“It’s another one of them John, I…”

“I know Mary, I’ll talk to them.”

He rubbed his hands, tied the reigns of his oxen to the plow and walked off towards the barn.

Mary turned to follow him; he gave a weary smile reached out a hand. She took it and they walked together to the prim red structure across the field.

When they got to the barn the sparkle from one of the transcendent was easy to spot.

**why** The sparkle half talked, half thought towards them from the corner of the barn.

“I have to ask you to leave.” John was tired of their questions. At first he had tried to explain to them, but their way of life always confused beings who had made the transition. There was complete disconnect between their existence now.

**we do not comprehend**

“go” and he turned to leave them unanswered.

**you do not understand what you are missing**

John stopped and turned to look at them, “I’ve tried to explain it to you before. We are as you see. I farm, we love, there is nothing more.”

**but there is so much more**

“Of what VALUE is what you offer? It is electrons and ether. I deal in dirt and corn.”

Perplexed the other grew stubborn and did not leave.

**You are foolish, you do not know what you give up**

Finally John understood and he smiled at his wife, “No it is you who are the fool. There is nothing richer than love and growing something with your own hands.”

**Come to us, you will see**

“Forget you! Leave me alone” He turned and together with Mary they left the barn. There would be other “guests”. They do not understand each other the transcendent and the natural.

“John, why don’t they ever truly leave us alone?”

They walked slowly back across the field to the plow, “They cannot see the beauty and love that we live in Mary. They only see the hard work and short life. None of the value and love.”

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Friday Flash Fiction: Cats These Days

October 23, 2008

I quite like this one.

Came fast just like you want FFF to be like.


Margaret fumbled for her key. She had to shift the bag of groceries to her other arm to reach into her right jeans pocket to find them. Before she opened the door she made sure she pulled her gun out, Fluffy was still on the loose.

A cat had seemed like a good idea two years ago when she got Fluffy.

It was just around the time that GenPet® was advertising its NewCat® and NewDog® line of genetically engineered pets: “Smarter, Cleaner, Easier, Better,” said the brochure. They made it sound better than a real cat, no litter boxes and no surprises.

They left out the fact that smarter wasn’t necessarily better when it came to cats.

Once the NewCat understood the relationship situation, the whole pet/owner thing, they tended to exude resentment.

She opened the door slightly and peeked inside.

“Fluffy?…”

Silence.

“Fluffy? Don’t try anything ok sweetums. Mommy’s got her gun out.” Margaret held the gun firmly, showing the skill she had been forced to learn from the many encounters with her cat.

It was a bad sign when Fluffy didn’t show himself, it meant he was angrier than usual.

Margaret entered the house and closed the door behind her. Keeping her back to the corner, gun leveled, steady and ready. She reached into the bag and pulled out the bag of NewCat ‘nipBits®, “Mommy has your stuff dear.” It was considered a good conventional wisdom to keep your NewCat doped up as much as possible.

Margaret had run out of the treats yesterday, now she was in trouble.

“MeeeOOWW!” A fuzzy yellow ball of fur leapt at her from the top of the breakfront!

BANG!

She missed and barely dodged her NewCat, Fluffy raked his claws across her back as he flew by, leaving a four inch swipe .

“OOW!” Shouted Margaret as she lashed out with a foot.

But the NewCat was too quick, bouncing up and off the back of the couch and away into the dining room.

BANG!

She missed again.

Margaret headed towards the stairs up to her room. Slowly she backed up the stairway, keeping a careful aim  on the hallway at the bottom. Fluffy was bigger, stronger, faster and smarter than a normal cat. Sometimes Margaret thought he was even smarter than she was. He was always trying to outwit her.

Something slammed into her back and she felt the teeth of her NewCat sink into her neck.

“AAAEEEEeeeeeee!” She screamed, dropped the gun and reached back to grab the ball of terror. But he was too slippery and wily. She finally just slammed her back against the wall; Fluffy let go.

They stood ten feet apart in the hallway eyeing each other. Fluffy crouched over her dropped gun and laughed.

“hmmmph hmph hmph hmph.”

Margaret was sure it was a laugh, he only laughed when he was committing evil.

She saw now how he had snuck behind her. The window to her bedroom was open. He’d gone outside and climbed in from the tree in front of her window.

But the bathroom had no windows.

She made a dash and Fluffy leapt again to prevent her escape.

She slammed Fluffy’s foot in the door and he roared, an actual lions roar in miniature. But he pulled the foot back and Margaret was able to get the door shut and locked. She collapsed against the door, panting with Fluffy just on the other side mewling

“MMmmeeeooowwwrrrrge.” Margaret heard her name in his meow, Fluffy could talk! “Mmeeowrrrjj, iiiiiimmmm ggrrrrroonnna k-k-ach-kiiiiillll yoooouuuueeeeoooww.”

As she frantically stuffed ‘nipBits under the door, she vowed to herself that she was definitely signing on to the class action lawsuit against GenPet tomorrow.

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Friday Flash Fiction: Windows for Eyes

September 26, 2008

…and the damn McDonalds ad kept coming back up.

I triggered my blocker and it was gone leaving behind a ghost image for a few seconds before the buffer could clear. I need to update to the latest Windows Vision 10, winvis9 is pretty buggy. I mean my new eyes are only 5 months old and already they have trouble with refresh rate and spam.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for 419ers worming around the security settings and waking me up in the middle of the night with promised riches. Bastards! Are there still people dumb enough to fall for that line of crap?

Don’t get me wrong my new eyes are way better than bio eyes. I mean I don’t see trash, I have live maps going all the time and I can see everyone’s vcard which is cool. I even got this great theme going right now, all the dudes are dressed but all the chicks are naked, well the software makes them as close an approximation as possible. Anyways, I need to tweak that filter a bit, it’s been a bit flakey lately and I’ve been startled by a few full monties and that ain’t cool.

All the buildings are flowing shades of coral and it’s like we are all walking under the ocean with fish and dolphins cruising around. Sometimes it gets hard focusing on what I’m doing or where I’m going.

The mermaids are awesome.

But the hassles of having advertising piped directly into your visual cortex is almost enough to sour me on the whole thing.

Maybe I’ll get me a pair of iEyes from Apple.

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fff: Hard luck on Mars.

August 22, 2008

Shorty and a late one at that.

———————————————-

Where do you go when you’re fired? I mean if you are on Earth you can just go get another job at a different company, but Mars? It ain’t like there too many opportunities for reasonable employment if you ain’t working for one of the big orgs.

You end up a scrub…

Hold on a second will ya buddy, here comes a fatcat bureaucrat.

Hey gov’ner, you got any spare air credits for a martian down on his luck?

Yeah screw you buster.

So like I was sayin’, Mars ain’t for the weak. You either gotta step up or stomp on somebody to make it…

Me? I’m gonna be ok, I just need one lucky break.

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FFF: Patselonkaloman

August 8, 2008

Really fast one today.  I can’t vouch for quality or grammer.  I’m headed out on vacation.

_________________________________________________________

[Crap! he’s a MK2 not an Mk1] Thought Patselonkaloman.

He watched as the Peacekeeper fired his attitude jets, which now came standard on the mark two, and accelerated in his direction across the weightless space of the vast cargo hold. The slow coast Patselonkaloman had from their initial struggle was not fast enough for him to get to a wall before the cyborg got to him.

[Crap!] There was only one chance, if he timed it just right he could land on the catwalk and Joe Degrady, all 300 pounds of augmentation, would fall the rest of the way to the floor some 50 feet further down.

Patselonkaloman activated the gravity generators from his headgear. But only for a second and then off again. His trajectory changed, now angled down towards the catwalk. Peacekeeper Joe’s course was altered as well but he had much more control than Patselonkaloman, who’s tool was the crudeness of 32 feet per second squared.

“AAHHHHH!” Patselonkaloman yelled in challenge as the Peacekeeper continued his advance.

“You cannot win Mr. Kaloman, surrender.”

“AAAAHHHH!” in answer.

Close now, Patselonkaloman could see the metallic eyes.

Patselonkaloman turned, grabbed the handrail of the catwalk and flicked the gravity generators back on.

Joe Degrady grasped at “Mr. Kaloman” and missed as the hammer of gravity that Patselonkaloman wielded knocked him to the floor of the room with a thud.

“LaTERRRRRRRR!” Patselonkaloman sang as the Peacekeeper rolled onto his back. Even cyborgs feel it when they fall 50 feet to hard steel.

Patselonkaloman ran.

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FFF: The Last Prince of Atlantis

August 1, 2008

Short one today.  I like how this one turned out.
——————————————————–

The end was nigh. The end of all that had come before. The end to the millennia of magnificence that was Atlantis.

And so Selebor the lesser sat in the room of far-seeing in the highest part of his palace, brooding as the flames engulfed the city sprawled below him.

There was nothing left to do to save the empire now. The rebels of the eighth house had succeeded in breaching the walls of the citadel and would soon be scouring the seven palaces for the heads of the princes they sought so voraciously.

One of those heads belonged to Selebor.

He waited, patiently, brooding all the while as he watched his world burn. His eyebrows scrunched down hard over his eyes, his jaw clenched in powerless anger, one hand gripping the arm of his ornate chair, its knuckles white with effort, and the other idly banging the bottom of his long scepter on the marble floor.

He alone remained of his household. The rest he had sent away to his holdings elsewhere, far away from the desecration of their home. He didn’t expect to ever see them again.

And so he sat as the chants grew near and his doom approached.

Brooding.

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FFF: The Blue Stone of the Incas

July 18, 2008

“My Lord!”

The dark haired Spaniard in breastplate that was dull and beaten from conquest, turned away from the view of destruction below him and faced the younger conquistador.

“Yes Nephew.” He answered. The temple complex of the Inca’s was theirs now, it had taken a day of slaughter but, God willing, they had been victorious.

“We’ve found the last of them.”

Gonzalo Pizarro followed his nephew as they turned and walked back into the main temple chamber. There were half naked bodies lying about the large room; shot, stabbed, burned. He ignored the devastation, he had seen it all so often; it was his way.

Deeper they went, through a cloud of smoke, down an ancient stone stairway lit only by torchlight. The air became cool all of a sudden as the heat from above could not penetrate so far. Still they went down.

“How far does this lead Francisco?”

“Not much further my lord.”

Their voices sounding trapped in the long dark stairway.

They finally reached bottom and entered what looked like a temple hall fully 50 feet on each side with columns through the center. The room was laden with gold as was the Inca’s wont. Gold was an adornment, a tool of the royalty and priesthood.

Two more Spanish soldiers were there, guarding an Inca priest in his garish red and yellow costume. He was bound and beaten, but praying still.

Gonzalo ignored him, what more could he learn from them, they were treacherous and ignorant. Best send them on to God, baptized before death, there was no further salvation available for them here on earth.

It was then he noticed the stone on the alter at the back of the room.

“What is that nephew?”

“It is for that I brought you here Uncle.” Francisco used the familiar term as a means to lord it over the other soldiers in the room. Gonzalo smiled slightly, admiring his nephew’s skill in politicking at the young age of nineteen.

[He’ll go far] he thought.

Gonzalo walked up to the alter and reached out a hand towards the large blue colored stone. It looked like a large egg, a little longer, a little bigger than it should be and blue as the sky on a summer day.

As he reached for it he heard the Inca begin to protest in his gutter tongue.

Gonzalo did not turn his gaze from the stone, “Shut the whore-son up!”

He didn’t even look as the blade was sunk into the belly of the Inca. The Inca’s scream was cut short by a second strike from the other soldier. There was no need to look, he had seen so much worse, what was one more death to him.

Gonzalo reached out, slowing his hand as it approached the blue stone; captivated, almost hypnotized by its allure. His eyes playing tricks in the flickering light for the stone seemed to shift, to almost shiver, as if anticipating his fingers.

It sparked. Gonzalo pulled his hand back in trepidation. Then, with his Spanish pride goaded, he reached for the blue stone with a sneer of disdain for himself, for the stone and for the pagans.

The stone almost seemed to jump into his hand as he grasped it, as if it were searching for a palm within which to rest. Gonzalo gripped the cool surface; it felt soft like the softest leather but cool like it had just been pulled from the bottom of a mountain stream. The coolness seemed to seep into his hand and up his wrist, pleasing and invigorating.

“Nephew, this stone feels magnificent. My arm feels rejuvenated.”

The stone started to warm a bit, the warmth like whisky in his veins, wicking up his arm.

“aaaaaahhhhh.” Smiling in pleasure, he motioned for his nephew to come take the stone but as Francisco approached Gonzalo found that he could not release his grip.

“uhhg…it appears to be stuck.” He reached up with his other hand to remove it, but his other hand was pulled like a lodestone pulls iron; both his hands were attached. It was then that the cold-heat changed to pain.

“AHHH! There are nails coming from it, AAAAHHH! My hands!” Gonzalo fell to his knees and began to strike his hands against the stone floor in desperation. The pain now was like needles or molten lead going up his veins.

“Uncle,” Francisco rushed to his uncle’s side but then stopped as Gonzalo fell on his side and started screaming.

“AAAAAAEEEEEEEEEESSSSS” His eyeballs rolled up into his head leaving just the whites of his eyes visible. He writhed on the floor, kicking with his feet and shaking his hands that were still glued to the mysterious stone.

Francisco stood in shock; the two soldiers backed out of the room, fearful that the pagan magic would possess them as well. First one bolted up the stairs followed quickly by the other. The clatter of their booted feet receded up the dark stairwell leaving Francisco alone with Gonzalo; frozen with fear, four feet from his uncle.

“…Uncle…” He reached towards the older man who now lay rigid and burbling on the floor in one long convulse.

Francisco leaned over his uncle and listened.  Gonzalo had quieted, no longer even burbling, but instead no his breath came at a rapid pace.  Still Francisco would not touch him.

“AAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEE!” He screamed into Francisco’s ear, convulsed three more times and then collapsed, spent and flaccid.

The stone rolled free of its grip.

Francisco did not pick it up.

Finally, tentatively, he touched his uncle’s arm. It was cold as the snow and looked at his uncle’s face and noticed tears of blood running from the corners of Gonzalo’s eyes.

He was sure his uncle would die.