Friday, 27 December 2013

Crappy New Year

Well, there was no way he was going to make that new years eve party, was there? It would probably be almost over by now, and he had been so looking forward to it too.

Barney Wilson splashed his way through the ankle deep liquid to a pile of semi-solid sludge, he sat down and pondered his next move.

He wasn't in any immediate danger, the creature's stomach acid wasn't strong enough to eat through his suit, at least not for months, and he was hoping to be out of here just a smidgen before that happened.

He glanced around, his helmet light picking out the glistening contours of the organic chamber. High above his head was the opening of the slimy tube he had slid down after being swallowed, no chance of reaching that, and probably no way past the oesophagus even if he could.

His light illuminated another fleshy opening, just out of reach on the curve of the stomach wall.

Several minutes later and Wilson had managed to cobble together a crude ramp by piling various coloured lumps of half-digested vegetation, decomposing animal carcases, bits of bones, hooves, and god only knew what else. He scrambled up the slithery slope and pulled his way head first into the slippery tube.

Wilson squidged and squelched his way along the tunnel, through many twists and turns, his helmet light barely piercing the gloom as he part swam, part crawled through the semi-liquid contents, all the while accompanied by the gurgling sounds of intestinal music.

Suddenly the tunnel lurched violently, several times. Wilson was slung about this way and that, the panic welled up in him causing his own bowels to void.

“Great! At least before I couldn't smell what I was swimming through.” He thought to himself. “If there's one thing worse than a fart in a spacesuit...”

Wilson fought back the urge to vomit, and began crawling forward again.

The tunnel contracted and relaxed increasingly rapidly, and Wilson felt himself starting to move forward. Faster and faster he was carried along, gaining momentum all the while.

The light was almost blinding as he was ejected out into the daylight, from several metres up he flew downwards like a bullet towards an enormous pile of brown coloured dung, the lights went out again as he landed head first, projected up to his thighs into the soft mess. Small tremors shuddered through his legs as more of the squelchy stuff splatted onto his calves and the soles of his boots, burying his body completely.

Eventually Wilson managed to claw his way out of the filth, cleared his visor, and looked around him.

His ship was still there, and in the distance the lumbering form of the leviaslurp as it headed towards the tree line, and it's natural habitat. What the hell had the gormless animal been doing out here on the plain in the first place?

In Wilson's experience bad things usually came in threes. When a meteor storm had headed his way he had been forced to make an emergency landing on this ball, taking some damage in the process. He had climbed out of his ship to assess the damage only to be swallowed by a toothless, hairless, brainless, six hundred ton herbivore that was too stupid to tell the difference between meat and plant, and the third baddie, having his spacesuit covered in shit, both outside and inside. It could only go uphill from here.

Unfortunately for Wilson, fate decided that the swallowing and the crapping were both part of the same baddie, number two. With a roar of engines, a myriad of flashing orange lights, and a swirling of dust, baddie number three landed in the form of a brightly painted, red and yellow towship, her side emblazoned with the words...


Wilson walked over to greet the rather large, booted and suited guy who climbed out of the towship.

“Boy, am I glad to see you...” He began.

“Save your breath mister, and don't come any closer either.” Said the ITC guy, wrinkling his nose as he took in Wilson's disgusting suit decorations.

“Look mate, I need a little help here...” Spluttered Wilson.

“Can't you read?” Said the ITC man, and he pointed his finger at a barely visible speck in the distance.

Wilson switched on his visor zoom scope, about three hundred yards away, sticking out of the scrubby landscape was a signpost. Wilson fine tuned the focus and the blurred sign became readable.


“Yeah but...” Began Wilson.

The guy just slammed a ticket into Wilson's gloved palm. “Look mate, I'm just doing my job, okay? Seven hundred credits for the vehicle seizure, plus eighty credits per day storage, the sooner you pay up the sooner you get your vehicle back, and the less it costs.”

The ITC man coupled up the grapple beams then began climbing back into his towship.

Just before he slammed the hatch shut the ITC man hesitated, then said “Oh, and err... Happy new year.”

Wilson watched as the towship fired its thrusters, then headed skywards in a graceful arc taking his own vehicle along with it. There was a bluish flash as the driver punched into FTL drive, and both ships disappeared from view.

Wilson sat down on a nearby rock, and wondered what the chances were of flagging down a cruising Stellarcab in this neighbourhood.

©2013 Stephen. J. Green.

•。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`* •.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*• ¸.¸.☆¨¯`♥´¸¸.☆¨¯`♥´ ¸¸.☆¨¯` •*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•. ☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。 •。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`*

Happy new year everyone, and best wishes for you all for 2014


•。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`* •.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*• ¸.¸.☆¨¯`♥´¸¸.☆¨¯`♥´ ¸¸.☆¨¯` •*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•. ☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。 •。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`*

Friday, 20 December 2013

Christmas box

•。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`* •.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*• ¸.¸.☆¨¯`♥´¸¸.☆¨¯`♥´ ¸¸.☆¨¯` •*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•. ☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。 •。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`*

I picked up the tiny box from under the tree and held it out to her. “Happy Christmas darling.”

My wife took the box from me, and I watched nervously as she tore off the wrapping paper and flipped the lid open. She squealed with delight when she saw the diamond earrings.

“Oh, thank you darling, thank you so much, they are just beautiful.”

She gave me a kiss and a great big hug, I felt so pleased, when I had bought the earrings I was unsure about the choice but her reaction told me that the present was just perfect.

I glanced at the base of the tree, and to my dismay saw that there was no other parcel there, nothing. Oh well, I had absolutely everything I needed anyway, my problem wasn't a shortage of possessions, more a shortage of where to put them all, but it would still have been nice to have received a little something.

“I shan't be a minute darling.” She said as she left the room, I heard the connecting door to the garage open, then shortly after close again. A few moments later my wife staggered through the door with a rather large, gift-wrapped box, all sparkling and glinty with red and gold paper.

“Happy Christmas darling.” She said, as she placed the box on the floor in the centre of the room.

I eagerly tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a very sturdy, plain white box, a cube of almost three feet per side. I took the lid off the box and lifted out the contents, an identical, but very slightly smaller box, and inside that one another, then another.

Before long the floor was covered in dozens of identical boxes, all just a tiny bit different in size from each other, and at last I had the final box in my hand, a tiny thing the size of an ice cube, and it was empty.

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry, surely she was playing some kind of cruel joke on me?

“There's nothing in here.” I said to her, trying hard but failing to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“That's just the point,” she said, smiling broadly, “for Christmas I got you the one thing you really, really need.”

“What?” I asked her, not seeing the point at all.

She waved her hand, the gesture taking in all of the empty boxes covering the floor.

“Storage.” She answered.

©2013 Stephen. J. Green.

•。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`* •.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*• ¸.¸.☆¨¯`♥´¸¸.☆¨¯`♥´ ¸¸.☆¨¯` •*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•. ☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。 •。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`*

Happy Christmas everyone, I hope you all have a really fantastic and enjoyable festive season.
My very best wishes. Steve.

•。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`* •.¸¸❤¸¸.•*¨*• ¸.¸.☆¨¯`♥´¸¸.☆¨¯`♥´ ¸¸.☆¨¯` •*¨`*•. ☆ .•*¨`*•. ☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆‿↗⁀↘‿↗⁀☆ 。 •。★  ☾ °☆  . * ● ¸ .   ★ ° ☆¸.✶*¨`*

Friday, 13 December 2013

Sleep disorder

He had come to me seeking help for a sleep disorder, the chap did look rather haggard and worn out, and I told him I would try my best to help. I did explain to him that hypnotherapy was not always successful, and that not everyone succumbed to the deep relaxation techniques used, and needed, to achieve satisfactory results. He said he still wished to give it a try, and so we discussed my fees, and made the first appointment for the following Tuesday.

Many sleep disorders originate in guilts and anxieties stemming from childhood fears, and that would be where I hoped to start my analysis.

He turned out to be one of those classic patients, sometimes it can take months or even years to take a patient to the levels he managed to reach in just three sessions.

Under deep relaxation he spoke openly and freely about his happy childhood, about his wonderful relationship with his parents and siblings. He spoke in great detail about his privileged teenage years and early adulthood, about his university days, and the ensuing successful career and the financial benefits it had brought him.

And he spoke freely about the other stuff.

About the abductions, the rapes, the torturings, the murders and dismemberments.

Even when deeply under, he had actually laughed out loud when he recounted the futile efforts of the authorities to apprehend him. Seventeen cases, male and female, and the police were still no nearer to finding him.

What I had heard here was inadmissible as evidence, and I would not break the doctor-patient confidence even if it were. I could do nothing to bring back any of his victims, nor relieve the sufferings of their families. For what I was about to do I would be going to prison, probably for the rest of my life, but I was willing to trade my liberty for the lives of the victims yet to come.

Quietly and gently I spoke to him.

“Today you will reach a level of relaxation far, far deeper than on any other occasion, do you understand me?”

“Yes.” He whispered. His eyes remained closed, his breathing deep and regular.

“All you can hear is my voice, soothing and gentle...

You will continue to breathe slowly and easily...

Breathe in... and out...

Breathe in... and out...

all the while going deeper... and deeper... and deeper...

I am going to count backwards from five, and as I do you will feel your whole mind and body drifting down, down, down, to a place far deeper than ever before.

Five... starting to drift deeper now...

Four... relaxing more and more...

Three... hearing my voice, soothing and relaxing...

Two... deeper and deeper now...

One... almost there...

And zero... totally relaxed now, completely at ease and calm.

Hearing my voice, absorbing and following the suggestions I make.

And slowly, breathe in... and out...

And in... and out...

And in... and out...

And in... and in... and in... and in... and in...”

There was a loud splat as his lungs exploded, blowing his chest and ribcage to smithereens. Globs of blood, skin, tissue, and fragments of bone peppered the walls, furniture, and myself.

I removed my spectacles and wiped them clean with my handkerchief, walked across the room, picked up the phone and dialled the police.

“Hello? My name is Doctor Pearson, and I would like to report a murder.”

©2013 Stephen. J. Green.

Friday, 6 December 2013

Moving on

She slammed the door shut as she left, she wasn't coming back.

The tears trickled down his cheeks, dripped from his chin, joining the shards and fragments that littered the floor.

He brought the dustpan and brush from the kitchen, knelt down, and began to clear up the remains of seven years.

Slowly and deliberately he scooped into the dustpan the pieces of broken promises, shattered dreams, smashed hopes, and a fractured heart.

With each stoke of the brush fresh tear drops landed, then lengthened and tapered as the bristles caught them, like tiny salt water comets against a polished pine sky.

He returned to the kitchen and emptied the dustpan into the trash.

He slammed the trash can lid shut, mimicking her action with the door. Wiped his eyes dry.

Time to move on.

©2013 Stephen. J. Green.