New years eve. They watched the Earth from the viewport, a glass of champagne at the ready, the Universal clock read 23:59. The six of them had been celebrating and dancing in the confined floorspace of the orbital pod for almost two hours now, and their mood was high.
The clock flicked to 00:00, and they each took a sip from their glasses, there were hugs, kisses and cheering from them all.
“Well, the lack of funding in the space program has made the last twelve months totally forgettable, here's to a new year to remember.” Said Barker, she raised her glass to the others, then took another drink, a huge grin spreading across her face.
“Wow! Those fireworks displays must be absolutely awesome this year,” said Rawlings, “I can spot them even from this distance.”
Barker, her grin spreading even wider, walked across to the monitor, switched it on, and zoomed the view, her face fell, then paled. “They aren't fireworks,” she said, “they're mushroom clouds.”
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 31 December 2010
Thursday, 23 December 2010
Merry Zmas
Zachary Johnson was working as an in-store Santa when the infestation overran the town.
The early hours of Christmas morning found Zach walking slowly along a dark suburban avenue, the area was littered with body parts, wrecked cars, and the resultant debris from several days of slaughter, pandemonium, and panic.
He turned his head towards the sound of a door opening, and the sudden brightness of a porch light.
“Mommy and Daddy said you wouldn't come this year, but I knew you would.”
The voice came from a small girl framed in the light of the doorway.
“Come on in, Mommy and Daddy will be so surprised to see you.”
She scampered off into the house, leaving the door swinging wide. “Mommy, Daddy, wake up, Santa's here, he looks beautiful, he's all dressed in red and white, even his beard is red.”
Zach emmitted a loud moan, which was heard by every other walking corpse for over two hundred yards, then shambled towards the house in pursuit of his Christmas dinner.
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
The early hours of Christmas morning found Zach walking slowly along a dark suburban avenue, the area was littered with body parts, wrecked cars, and the resultant debris from several days of slaughter, pandemonium, and panic.
He turned his head towards the sound of a door opening, and the sudden brightness of a porch light.
“Mommy and Daddy said you wouldn't come this year, but I knew you would.”
The voice came from a small girl framed in the light of the doorway.
“Come on in, Mommy and Daddy will be so surprised to see you.”
She scampered off into the house, leaving the door swinging wide. “Mommy, Daddy, wake up, Santa's here, he looks beautiful, he's all dressed in red and white, even his beard is red.”
Zach emmitted a loud moan, which was heard by every other walking corpse for over two hundred yards, then shambled towards the house in pursuit of his Christmas dinner.
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 17 December 2010
Worried to death
Frank worried about anything and everything, just lately he had started fretting about the fact that he was constantly worrying over trivial matters, and this fretting became a cause for deep concern, and although he tried not to let it, the concern itself was something which became a cause for much worry.
The doctor had told him that the itchy inflammation all over his body was just a nerve rash and nothing to worry about, but as the itching increased, and subsequently his scratching intensified, so did his anxiety, and he became extremely stressed about his fretting over his anxiety regarding the worrying concerning his nerve rash.
Frank sat in a bath full of hot water, which did nothing to alleviate the effects of the nerve rash, or for that matter, the worry over the stress caused by the fretting about the anxiety concerning his nerve rash.
He picked up the straight razor from the table at the side of the bath, and immediately began worrying over whether he would be doing the right thing.
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
The doctor had told him that the itchy inflammation all over his body was just a nerve rash and nothing to worry about, but as the itching increased, and subsequently his scratching intensified, so did his anxiety, and he became extremely stressed about his fretting over his anxiety regarding the worrying concerning his nerve rash.
Frank sat in a bath full of hot water, which did nothing to alleviate the effects of the nerve rash, or for that matter, the worry over the stress caused by the fretting about the anxiety concerning his nerve rash.
He picked up the straight razor from the table at the side of the bath, and immediately began worrying over whether he would be doing the right thing.
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 10 December 2010
Darklight (A darkening world Part 3)
A darkening world (Part 1)
Darklings. (A darkening world Part 2)
* * * * * * * * * *
( A darkening world part 3 )
The two beings hunched over the Darklight gameboard, and considered the intricate positioning of the pieces, centuries passed....
“I am winning the game my friend, the Darklings are close to victory, and soon your Lightlings will be overrun, and you will lose.”
“It is true that you appear to be winning, but the best strategist in the fourth quadrant you are not, you may have overlooked one or two moves along the way.”
“I think you try to bluff me, admit your defeat and yield the game.”
“I think not my friend, I believe if I take this piece from here, and place it here, it allows me to relight two of their suns, does it not?”
“Oh... I hadn't seen that move, relight the suns then, but this game is not over yet, and I still hold the lead.”
“Then play your next move my friend.”
The two beings hunched over the Darklight gameboard, and considered the intricate positioning of the pieces, centuries passed....
--------------------
A darkening world (part 1)
Darklings (A darkening world part 2)
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
Darklings. (A darkening world Part 2)
* * * * * * * * * *
( A darkening world part 3 )
The two beings hunched over the Darklight gameboard, and considered the intricate positioning of the pieces, centuries passed....
“I am winning the game my friend, the Darklings are close to victory, and soon your Lightlings will be overrun, and you will lose.”
“It is true that you appear to be winning, but the best strategist in the fourth quadrant you are not, you may have overlooked one or two moves along the way.”
“I think you try to bluff me, admit your defeat and yield the game.”
“I think not my friend, I believe if I take this piece from here, and place it here, it allows me to relight two of their suns, does it not?”
“Oh... I hadn't seen that move, relight the suns then, but this game is not over yet, and I still hold the lead.”
“Then play your next move my friend.”
The two beings hunched over the Darklight gameboard, and considered the intricate positioning of the pieces, centuries passed....
--------------------
A darkening world (part 1)
Darklings (A darkening world part 2)
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 3 December 2010
Phobic
I stared through the windscreen, my heart was beating fast, too fast, an irregular tattoo of bumps and thuds pounding against my ribcage. Almost deafened by the gushing, sporadic pulse in my ears.
I held the steering wheel in a death grip, hands twitching and shaking, arms rigid, muscles solid.
I felt the sweat begin to trickle through my hair, dampening my scalp, soaking it through, plastering my hair to my head, weaving its way down my already clammy forehead, dripping from my eyebrows and nose.
It cascaded from the back of my head, running down the nape of my neck, soaking my collar.
My shirt drenched wet at armpits, back, and chest.
It streamed down my spine, puddling on the car seat, and trickling to the floor.
My mouth was dry, arid, my tongue a lifeless leathery slug stuck to the roof of my mouth, my throat constantly dry-swallowing, adam's apple yoyoing rapidly.
Cold, steely, writhing worms of tension iced their way through my guts, my scrotum pulled tight against my body.
My sphincter constantly contracting and relaxing, bowels threatening to empty as the fear washed over me in continuous tidal waves.
A glance in the mirror showed a face haggard with terror, apprehensive, drawn, pale, lined with tension, the mouth tight, and thin-lipped, eyes impossibly wide open, round and staring, each one a bullseye of white, blue, and black.
Then the visions came...
And the sounds...
I watched in horror as the cars collided…
Racing engines...
Squealing tyres...
Shrieking brakes...
Screaming voices....
A never-ending continuous cacophony...
A horrifying montage of colour and movement.
I watched as the cars piled into one another, impacted, compacted, flipped over, somersaulted...
Bones cracked and splintered against steering columns, faces punched through windscreens, flesh and sinew shredded against glass and steel, limbs torn from torsos....
On and on, until all I saw stretching from horizon to horizon was a rolling boiling ocean of tortured twisted mangled metal and Minced meat.
Intertwined, interlocked.
Bent bumpers, gnarled grills, crumpled bonnets and doors.
Shattered windows, light glinting off the odd diamond of glass still stubbornly clinging to the rubber seal.
A viscous globby cocktail of coolant, brake fluid, fuel, and gore splattered over it all.
The voice brought me back to reality...
“Don't worry.” Said the instructor. “ It's quite normal to be a bit nervous on your first driving lesson.”
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
I held the steering wheel in a death grip, hands twitching and shaking, arms rigid, muscles solid.
I felt the sweat begin to trickle through my hair, dampening my scalp, soaking it through, plastering my hair to my head, weaving its way down my already clammy forehead, dripping from my eyebrows and nose.
It cascaded from the back of my head, running down the nape of my neck, soaking my collar.
My shirt drenched wet at armpits, back, and chest.
It streamed down my spine, puddling on the car seat, and trickling to the floor.
My mouth was dry, arid, my tongue a lifeless leathery slug stuck to the roof of my mouth, my throat constantly dry-swallowing, adam's apple yoyoing rapidly.
Cold, steely, writhing worms of tension iced their way through my guts, my scrotum pulled tight against my body.
My sphincter constantly contracting and relaxing, bowels threatening to empty as the fear washed over me in continuous tidal waves.
A glance in the mirror showed a face haggard with terror, apprehensive, drawn, pale, lined with tension, the mouth tight, and thin-lipped, eyes impossibly wide open, round and staring, each one a bullseye of white, blue, and black.
Then the visions came...
And the sounds...
I watched in horror as the cars collided…
Racing engines...
Squealing tyres...
Shrieking brakes...
Screaming voices....
A never-ending continuous cacophony...
A horrifying montage of colour and movement.
I watched as the cars piled into one another, impacted, compacted, flipped over, somersaulted...
Bones cracked and splintered against steering columns, faces punched through windscreens, flesh and sinew shredded against glass and steel, limbs torn from torsos....
On and on, until all I saw stretching from horizon to horizon was a rolling boiling ocean of tortured twisted mangled metal and Minced meat.
Intertwined, interlocked.
Bent bumpers, gnarled grills, crumpled bonnets and doors.
Shattered windows, light glinting off the odd diamond of glass still stubbornly clinging to the rubber seal.
A viscous globby cocktail of coolant, brake fluid, fuel, and gore splattered over it all.
The voice brought me back to reality...
“Don't worry.” Said the instructor. “ It's quite normal to be a bit nervous on your first driving lesson.”
©2010 Stephen. J. Green.
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