My name is Glorken, and I’m The Urban Spaceman’s best and only friend! I help TUS with scientific experimentation and reports to the Homeworld. Today, I’m reporting on the Earth’s potential as a lucrative tourist destination. Let’s take a look at this from the perspective of a potential investor/developer!
Many thanks to The Drabble, for posting my short story of childhood antics with long-lasting repercussions. Follow the link below to check out more excellent drabbles from writers across the interwebs.
Two weeks into summer break and bored out of their minds, Tommy and D.J. rode their bikes two miles to the abandoned church in the countryside. They spent three days chiselling the image of a giant penis into an outer wall, and the rest of the summer giggling over their artistic accomplishment.
In 2717, following the aftermath of the Earth-Venus conflict, two anthropologists from Mars University won the prestigious Hawking Prize, and a substantial credit grant, for their discovery of an ancient fertility pilgrimage site and its importance in proving how primitive terrestrial humans were obsessed with phallic worship.
Chuck Wending said write about an invasive species in less than 1500 words. So, I wrote about an invasive species in about 1200 words. These are letters from a soldier, and I hope they prove suitably entertaining. Pic source.
Please forgive me. Last night, as my soldiers lay exhausted and bleeding in an impromptu reprieve from battle, I realised it has been almost a month since my last letter to you. Though you are in my heart and mind every single day, reminding me of what I am fighting for, nothing can excuse my negligence. For that, I can only beg your forgiveness and understanding.
The group of histourists moved closer together as Clancy Deville led them along a familiar path through the ruins. As he walked, he pointed out features he knew would impress, and waited patiently as they snapped shots with their ocular visors. As soon as they got back to a stable extranet connection, those snaps would be sent back to Ceti Alpha and Terra Minor, where envious family members would soon be booking their own once-in-a-lifetime trips to see a little piece of history.
“Look over here,” said Clancy, directing the group off the beaten track towards a derelict house. He gestured to an elaborate iron door knocker, now green with age and weather, clinging precariously to the ancient wooden door. “This was how our ancestors announced their arrival at the home of their host. The gruesome countenance of this fellow was said to ward away evil spirits.”
A few of the group chuckled over the foolish superstition. “Oh look!” one woman cooed. She pointed to the plant that had adhered to the wall. Clancy was particularly proud of that one; it had taken several attempts to coax the ivy to grow up the trellis. It wasn’t so much cheating as adding authenticity. These people had paid good money to see ancient Earth, and he had overheads to cover.
“Yes,” he nodded, injecting gravity into his voice. “Nature is reclaiming the Earth. Soon, these ruins will be nothing more than forests and nesting sites for birds. It’s good that you came now, before it’s all gone. Now, who’d like to take a picture of themselves standing by the knocker?”
Clancy smiled as hands shot into the air. There had never been a more profitable time to be a histoury guide.
Today’s flash fiction hits two prompts. The first is Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt for this week. Please check out the other awesome contributions which will soon come pouring in to her site. The featured image is also by Sue.
The second is the BlogBattle prompt, Ruse.
Gone is the freshness of warm summer rain,
Gone are the words which brought me to shame.
Gone are the birds, aloft in the sky,
Gone are the flowers, which in fields lie.
Gone is the comfort of family life,
Gone is the husband; gone like his wife.
Gone all the insects and all the beasts.
Gone are traditional Christmas Day feasts.
Gone all the laughter, gone all the joy,
Gone every girl and gone every boy.
Gone are the trees, down to the last beech,
Gone is TV and the freedom of speech.
Gone is the sun, burning yellow to red
Gone like the darkness present instead.
Gone are the books, all our fine written work,
Gone are our minds, in which monsters lurk.
Gone are the parks, and small empty swings,
Gone into the silence that nothingness brings.
Gone is the knowledge of present and past,
Gone is the belief that everything lasts.
Gone is all anger, all sorrow, all woe,
Gone into the void where emotions don’t show.
Gone is the wonder, the chance to create,
Gone into the same place as malice and hate.
Gone now are our friends, all of our kin.
Gone too our vices and gone is our sin.
Gone are the places in which creatures roam.
Gone our nobility, thrall upon throne.
Gone, all of this, in the blink of an eye,
Gone all the people who could have asked why.
And gone last of all, like a leaf on the breeze,
Is the image of God, brought down on His knees.
I wrote this poem many years ago. So long ago, in fact, that I can’t even remember what it was about. I’d guess it was about the end of the world, but it might’ve been about depression, or it may have been about androids replacing us all (because that’s what androids do. Damn you, androids! *shakes fist*). So, take your own meaning from it. Or don’t! Clearly, this was important enough to me to save for all these years, and it even survived the Great Hard-Drive Crash of 2014 (when so much of my other work didn’t) so now I’m sharing it with you interwebfolk.
Themes: Fantasy, Religion, Disobedience
The halls of residence are silent, save for the small noises of the other Acolytes sleeping soundly. The quiet snores. The fitful turns. The creak of Alovis’s bed as he rolls from his back to his side. They’re familiar sounds. Comforting sounds. They try to lull you into that same sleep, pulling at your tired mind and heavy eyes. But you resist. Tonight, you have a mission. Tonight, you’re going to break every rule in the Cloisters.
Silent, midnight silk,
starlight eyes in winter sky.
I’m being followed.
Haiku inspired by my cat. Picture courtesy of Pixabay.
Themes: Suspense, Horror, Fantasy
His hunger was a wildfire burning within his belly, its flames licking greedily at his thoughts. The fire wasn’t doused by the sight of Coira MacDermott bathed pale in the moonlight, her rough woollen cloak pulled tight around her slender body, against the autumn chill—rather, the flames were fanned to an inferno of desire. As he stepped out of the forest onto the dirt track trod by years’ passing of boots and shoes, he licked his lips, already savouring the sweetness of her flesh on his tongue.