Part 1 can be found here:- Dust (Part 1)
Swarm commander Zerki felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he surveyed his attack force, the billions of craft were a magnificent and awesome sight as they flooded towards the major dwelling area.
This was to be the first strike, a test of strategy. He was confident of success, and once the tactics were proven the main force would land and the rest of the planet would quickly fall in the same way.
These were by far the physically largest dominant species they had encountered in their sweep across the galaxy, and stealth rather than fire-power would win this immense, mineral-rich world for them. The massive supplies of natural resources the planet held would feed and supply the swarms for millennia.
The planners had calculated the population of the dwelling area to be in the region of one point three million, his strike-force outnumbered them by over a thousand to one, it needed only one of his brave warriors to guide his craft into a body orifice and release the neurotoxin and the enemy's central nervous system would shut down completely in a matter of seconds.
Panic and confusion would be in their favour too, their smaller size would work to their advantage, the enemy would have great difficulty fighting back against a foe that was virtually invisible to them.
Commander Zerki had commanded many attack swarms on many planets, always finding and exploiting the enemy's weakness, victorious in every invasion.
He watched with pride as the swarm began to disperse and the individual strike teams peeled off to begin the hunt.
Before long total chaos consumed the city, people were dropping by the thousand, car and lorry drivers collapsed at the wheels of moving vehicles adding to the general carnage and mayhem. Injured and frightened people jammed the switchboards to no longer functioning emergency services. The word went out of a possible major terrorist attack, maybe chemical or viral - no one knew.
A few hours later Commander Zerki spearheaded his swarm towards the next major dwelling area, leaving behind just a few hundred thousand warriors to hunt down and exterminate the remaining survivors, and to purge the surrounding minor dwelling areas of the dominant species, his mission had been a total success. He punched the keys and sent the broadcast.
Hundreds of massive motherships hovering invisible above the planet Earth opened the vents in their cloaking shields, and began releasing the thousands of main battle-swarms.
Humankind was about to experience a dust-storm the likes of which it had never seen.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Dust (Part 1)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 29 July 2011
Friday, 22 July 2011
Dust (Part 1)
Doctor Simpson leaned back into the cushions of his garden chair and breathed out a long happy sigh of contentment, he picked up the iced lemonade from the table beside him and took a long, slow drink.
Buying the semi-rural house with its sprawling garden and views of the surrounding countryside had been an expensive venture, but moments like these made it all worthwhile. The small, but well- equipped laboratory he'd had built in the basement allowed him to do much of his work from home now, instead of facing the daily city rat-race. Work that recently had become more and more of the lucrative freelance type.
He placed his glass back on the table and savoured the sweet scent of the flowers, he glanced around appreciatively at the lush foliage, the vibrant colours. Birds chirruped and chirped from the trees, an occasional insect winged past, a few dust motes drifted lazily in the bright shafts of sunlight that streamed through the tree branches.
Doctor Simpson settled deeper into the chair and closed his eyes, smiling to himself, all was well with his world.
His eyes suddenly sprang open, and he sat bolt upright.
A feeling of deep unease flooded through him., as if some subconscious alarm bell had been triggered, as if something was not quite as it should be. The scientist in him tried to shrug off the feeling, he was a man of logic not superstition or irrational fear, but the feeling persisted, the feeling that something was not quite right.
Then it came to him, the dust motes, they swirled and moved in a way that dust motes shouldn't, they were moving against the breeze. He stood and went closer to them and watched the tiny specks for a few moments, they definitely seemed to be moving with purpose and uniformity.
He smiled at his silly fear, there was of course a rational explanation for this, thermal currents or such-like, but his curiosity was aroused, he went to the basement and returned a few minutes later carrying a sample flask and seal.
Capturing one of the motes proved difficult, it was illogical but the damn thing seemed to be trying to avoid the open flask top, eventually persistence paid off and he managed to get the flask around the speck, and place the seal. The tiny bit of dust remained unmoving, stationary in the centre of its transparent prison.
As he walked back to the house he noticed a strange low-lying cloud casting a dark shadow over the nearby hills, this too was drifting against the breeze, and heading directly towards the city.
He returned to the basement, and placed the flask beneath the powerful microscope lens and proceeded to zoom and focus on the dust mote.
A dozen clicks with the computer keyboard and the blurred image appeared on the two-metre wall screen, a few slight adjustments, the image solidified into crystal clarity.
Doctor Simpson stared at the screen, his logical brain refusing to accept the impossible insanity of what his eyes were telling it.
On the screen the minute craft and its uniformed crew of four were almost life-size. The intricate propulsion cones beneath the machine, and the bristling weaponry it carried were futuristic and alien in their detail.
One of the creatures stared through the window of the ship, and directly into the lens. The face that looked back at Doctor Simpson from the wall had a look of malevolently intelligent awareness in its eyes, and an expression of pure hatred.
And it was grinning.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :- Dust (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Buying the semi-rural house with its sprawling garden and views of the surrounding countryside had been an expensive venture, but moments like these made it all worthwhile. The small, but well- equipped laboratory he'd had built in the basement allowed him to do much of his work from home now, instead of facing the daily city rat-race. Work that recently had become more and more of the lucrative freelance type.
He placed his glass back on the table and savoured the sweet scent of the flowers, he glanced around appreciatively at the lush foliage, the vibrant colours. Birds chirruped and chirped from the trees, an occasional insect winged past, a few dust motes drifted lazily in the bright shafts of sunlight that streamed through the tree branches.
Doctor Simpson settled deeper into the chair and closed his eyes, smiling to himself, all was well with his world.
His eyes suddenly sprang open, and he sat bolt upright.
A feeling of deep unease flooded through him., as if some subconscious alarm bell had been triggered, as if something was not quite as it should be. The scientist in him tried to shrug off the feeling, he was a man of logic not superstition or irrational fear, but the feeling persisted, the feeling that something was not quite right.
Then it came to him, the dust motes, they swirled and moved in a way that dust motes shouldn't, they were moving against the breeze. He stood and went closer to them and watched the tiny specks for a few moments, they definitely seemed to be moving with purpose and uniformity.
He smiled at his silly fear, there was of course a rational explanation for this, thermal currents or such-like, but his curiosity was aroused, he went to the basement and returned a few minutes later carrying a sample flask and seal.
Capturing one of the motes proved difficult, it was illogical but the damn thing seemed to be trying to avoid the open flask top, eventually persistence paid off and he managed to get the flask around the speck, and place the seal. The tiny bit of dust remained unmoving, stationary in the centre of its transparent prison.
As he walked back to the house he noticed a strange low-lying cloud casting a dark shadow over the nearby hills, this too was drifting against the breeze, and heading directly towards the city.
He returned to the basement, and placed the flask beneath the powerful microscope lens and proceeded to zoom and focus on the dust mote.
A dozen clicks with the computer keyboard and the blurred image appeared on the two-metre wall screen, a few slight adjustments, the image solidified into crystal clarity.
Doctor Simpson stared at the screen, his logical brain refusing to accept the impossible insanity of what his eyes were telling it.
On the screen the minute craft and its uniformed crew of four were almost life-size. The intricate propulsion cones beneath the machine, and the bristling weaponry it carried were futuristic and alien in their detail.
One of the creatures stared through the window of the ship, and directly into the lens. The face that looked back at Doctor Simpson from the wall had a look of malevolently intelligent awareness in its eyes, and an expression of pure hatred.
And it was grinning.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Continued in :- Dust (Part 2)
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 15 July 2011
As long as he needs me (Guest post)
This week is the first anniversary of The Twisted Quill, and I am celebrating my Blogiversary by publishing a guest post from the lady who is in a way largely responsible for its creation.
The very first post on this blog “The birth of The Twisted Quill” explains how this came about, and how Nickie, a talented writer, and Author of the very successful blog “Typecast” played her part.
Nickie concentrates her talents mostly on blogging and various other avenues of writing, but does produce an occasional short story.
As I asked for her to guest post (unknowingly) just four hours before she was due to go on holiday, it gave her no time to write anything new, and so with her permission I chose this previously published story of hers.
Thank you for reading. Steve Green.
AS LONG AS HE NEEDS ME. A flash fiction By Nickie O'Hara.
I felt his finger trace my spine from top to bottom. If I'd have been able, I would have let out a sigh of pleasure. I know he only loved me for my inner knowledge and the stories I could tell but, when he wrapped his strong hands around me and gently picked me up, I knew that we would both be satisfied within a few minutes.
I didn't care that our interaction took such a short period of time; the reason I existed was to appease him. We always captured snatched moments together; one of us with a hint of doubt and embarrassment, the other eager to totally surrender.
He tenderly laid me on the table and expertly opened me up – exposed for all to see. With one finger, he gently stroked me in places that plenty of people had been before. There had been so many that all their faces blurred into one. Only he mattered now; he was the one who needed me.
He looked at me, fleetingly up and down. He murmured something under his breath and then as he released a guttural cry of exclamation, I knew he was finished with me. I didn't feel used this time; I knew he'd be back for more.
He straightened me up, ensuring that nothing was out of place. He lifted me once more, placed me back on the shelf between A-D and I-L and he walked away.
©2010 Nickie O'Hara
Author's note:-
Nickie is still on holiday, and so will be unable to respond to any comments for another week or so.
“As long as he needs me” was first published in August of last year on Nickie's blog “Typecast”.
http://www.iamtypecast.com/2010/08/as-long-as-he-needs-me.html
The very first post on this blog “The birth of The Twisted Quill” explains how this came about, and how Nickie, a talented writer, and Author of the very successful blog “Typecast” played her part.
Nickie concentrates her talents mostly on blogging and various other avenues of writing, but does produce an occasional short story.
As I asked for her to guest post (unknowingly) just four hours before she was due to go on holiday, it gave her no time to write anything new, and so with her permission I chose this previously published story of hers.
Thank you for reading. Steve Green.
AS LONG AS HE NEEDS ME. A flash fiction By Nickie O'Hara.
I felt his finger trace my spine from top to bottom. If I'd have been able, I would have let out a sigh of pleasure. I know he only loved me for my inner knowledge and the stories I could tell but, when he wrapped his strong hands around me and gently picked me up, I knew that we would both be satisfied within a few minutes.
I didn't care that our interaction took such a short period of time; the reason I existed was to appease him. We always captured snatched moments together; one of us with a hint of doubt and embarrassment, the other eager to totally surrender.
He tenderly laid me on the table and expertly opened me up – exposed for all to see. With one finger, he gently stroked me in places that plenty of people had been before. There had been so many that all their faces blurred into one. Only he mattered now; he was the one who needed me.
He looked at me, fleetingly up and down. He murmured something under his breath and then as he released a guttural cry of exclamation, I knew he was finished with me. I didn't feel used this time; I knew he'd be back for more.
He straightened me up, ensuring that nothing was out of place. He lifted me once more, placed me back on the shelf between A-D and I-L and he walked away.
©2010 Nickie O'Hara
Author's note:-
Nickie is still on holiday, and so will be unable to respond to any comments for another week or so.
“As long as he needs me” was first published in August of last year on Nickie's blog “Typecast”.
http://www.iamtypecast.com/2010/08/as-long-as-he-needs-me.html
Monday, 11 July 2011
The Versatile Blogger Award
The very kind lady Helen, who blogs at Helen-Scribbles has awarded me the Versatile Blogger Award, Helen, thank you so much.
Now, the rules are, I must write seven random facts about myself, and nominate other bloggers to receive the award.
I'm not sure which random facts will interest anyone, but these came to mind.
1) I love peace and quiet, and regularly watch the TV with the sound turned off
2) I love slaughtering things on my Xbox 360, currently I'm replaying Bioshock.
3) I eat lots of fruit, but never eat cherries.
4) I am absolutely NOT a morning person, and am really lucky because my working hours are 12.30 PM – 9.00 PM, and I absolutely luuurve those hours.
5) High on my list of pet hates are drivers who tailgate, and drivers who don't use their indicators.
6) My Ipod has 5,500 tunes on it, ranging from Bob Dylan, to modern pop, and one of my favourite all-time bands is Blondie.
7) The first car I ever owned was an Austin Allegro, and true to its nickname, it really was an All-Aggro. Possibly the worst tin-box of problems ever to be built.
Nominating other bloggers is much more difficult than one would think, because I enjoy reading many people's writing, and it is hard to choose one over another.
So I eventually settled on these three.
Stephen Hewitt at Cafe shorts, for the sheer eloquence and depth of his writing.
John Xero at Xeroverse 101 and at Missing Pieces, for his very deep and dark writing, even though I'm not always deep enough, or dark enough to understand it.
Tim VanSant at otoh because he regularly makes me smile with his razor-sharp wit.
Come on over and collect your award guys.
Steve.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Together
I held her close to me, held her tight, nuzzled her neck and kissed her cheek.
“Don't be afraid.” I whispered into her ear. “I'm here, we're together where we belong, where we've always belonged.
The sounds of the rising panic drifted up from the streets eighteen storeys below, and through the open balcony windows.
The sounds of screaming, the occasional muffled thud of traffic accidents as people futilely tried to bulldoze their way to safety, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing desire to flee, to escape.
And above all, the endless, shrieking monotone of the sirens.
I held her even closer to me, breathing in the sweet scent of her.
My thoughts flashed backwards, then forwards, in leaps, bounds, and jerks.
We were born in the same hospital wing, just minutes apart. Our parents were next door neighbours, and the first time we consciously met was across two feet of space from pram to pram, eyeing each other with that wide-eyed curiosity that only infants seem to possess.
As children we were inseparable, playing together, laughing together, and sometimes even fighting together side by side, defending one another from the school bullies.
As we grew older our love hardened into something unbreakable, I recall that beautiful August afternoon when my parents were out, and we lost our virginity together, another treasured milestone in our inseparable lives.
And soon we would die together.
I gently took her hand and led her up the steps and out onto the roof.
We stood together hand in hand and stared up at the white trails of the outgoing missiles as they arced up and out into the night sky.
A few moments later the bright specks of the retaliatory inbound missiles appeared on the horizon.
We watched them come.
Without fear.
Together.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
“Don't be afraid.” I whispered into her ear. “I'm here, we're together where we belong, where we've always belonged.
The sounds of the rising panic drifted up from the streets eighteen storeys below, and through the open balcony windows.
The sounds of screaming, the occasional muffled thud of traffic accidents as people futilely tried to bulldoze their way to safety, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing desire to flee, to escape.
And above all, the endless, shrieking monotone of the sirens.
I held her even closer to me, breathing in the sweet scent of her.
My thoughts flashed backwards, then forwards, in leaps, bounds, and jerks.
We were born in the same hospital wing, just minutes apart. Our parents were next door neighbours, and the first time we consciously met was across two feet of space from pram to pram, eyeing each other with that wide-eyed curiosity that only infants seem to possess.
As children we were inseparable, playing together, laughing together, and sometimes even fighting together side by side, defending one another from the school bullies.
As we grew older our love hardened into something unbreakable, I recall that beautiful August afternoon when my parents were out, and we lost our virginity together, another treasured milestone in our inseparable lives.
And soon we would die together.
I gently took her hand and led her up the steps and out onto the roof.
We stood together hand in hand and stared up at the white trails of the outgoing missiles as they arced up and out into the night sky.
A few moments later the bright specks of the retaliatory inbound missiles appeared on the horizon.
We watched them come.
Without fear.
Together.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 1 July 2011
Punishment
“You call this a punishment? A sentence? Ha! What joy I have had, what fun this exile has been.
This world is mine, my ball to play with.
These creatures have given me many names, and I love every single one of them, Homicide, Matricide, Patricide, Fratricide, Infanticide... Genocide, my personal favourite.
As the whim takes me I send them war, slaughter and destruction.
I taste their suffering, savour it, gulp it down.
I have guided their hands and minds to the creation of their new weapons, and I shall guide them to turning the keys and entering the codes, and that done I shall hunt down the remnants and turn them one against the other, for this species deserves nothing less than total annihilation.”
“Yes, and when you have succeeded in emptying your world of playthings, then your sentence shall truly begin, an eternity of nothing, an immeasurable time of boredom, of inactivity.
That is to be your punishment.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
This world is mine, my ball to play with.
These creatures have given me many names, and I love every single one of them, Homicide, Matricide, Patricide, Fratricide, Infanticide... Genocide, my personal favourite.
As the whim takes me I send them war, slaughter and destruction.
I taste their suffering, savour it, gulp it down.
I have guided their hands and minds to the creation of their new weapons, and I shall guide them to turning the keys and entering the codes, and that done I shall hunt down the remnants and turn them one against the other, for this species deserves nothing less than total annihilation.”
“Yes, and when you have succeeded in emptying your world of playthings, then your sentence shall truly begin, an eternity of nothing, an immeasurable time of boredom, of inactivity.
That is to be your punishment.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
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