“We no longer hunt in the forests... For the forests are no longer here.
We no longer fish in the seas... For the seas are no longer here.
We no longer gaze at the clouds... For the clouds are no longer here.
We no longer look to the future... For we no longer have one.”
The words were carved deep into the cliff face, an epitaph to a species no longer here.
The scorching breeze seemed to sigh with sadness as it swirled across the barren landscape, sadness for the loss of the beautiful world it once knew.
The three beings stared up at the strange symbols, uncomprehending, uncaring.
The taller of three turned and took a long, sweeping look at the cracked, baked ground, and the swirling sand devils.
It took a slow, deep, satisfying breath of the carbon monoxide rich atmosphere.
“The planet is perfect for habitation, start shipping the colonists.”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Friday, 18 February 2011
Plagiarism ?
“Hey, one of my stories has been picked up by a book company, they're gonna publish it, and they've sent me a cheque for two thousand smackarooneys, how does it feel to have a published author for a brother then?”
“Hey bro, that's great, which story is it?”
I flicked the keys and brought the story up onto the screen.
“This one,” I said, swivelling the laptop around so he could read it, “It's called 'Bound homeward'.”
I watched in nervous anticipation as he began to read the fruits of my imagination, in my mind I could already hear the gushing praise that was soon to come.
He turned towards me, a vicious snarl spreading a cross his face....
“YOUR STORY?... This ain't YOUR story, this is MY story, you stole it from my computer didn't you?”
“No I didn't, your stories are full of crap, who the hell would publish any of YOUR drivel?”
He pressed a few keys, then turned his own laptop so I could view the screen.
“Here, read this then you thieving asshole.”
I skim-read through several pages...
“Well, there ARE certain similarities......”
“Similarities? Similarities?... The only similarity is the title, mine's called 'Homeward bound' apart from THAT little similarity the story is a word for word replica, right down to the last capital letter, comma, and full stop. I'm gonna split you in two, you... you... PLAGIARIST you!”
“Look, this isn't helping either one of us, tell you what, I'll split the money with you eh? A grand apiece, eh? How does that sound?”
“I should get BOTH grands... It's MY story.”
“It is NOT your story, I wrote it MYSELF.....”
“Oh yeah? And you expect me to believe that? You really expect me to believe that we both wrote exactly the same story as each other?”
“Well, given what we are, is it really so hard for you to believe that it could happen? Anyway, this is getting us nowhere, do you want half of the money or not?”
He dithered for a few moments, then his face softened as he made his decision.
“Okay, we usually end up sharing everything anyway, sorry I got mad at you.”
“And I'm sorry that you think I stole your story. Pals again?”
“Pals again.”
He went into the kitchen and returned carrying two bottles of beer, handing one to me as he sat back down.
“A toast... Here's to an endless list of best-sellers, and the rewards they will bring bro.” We both said in unison, clinking the bottles together.
My identical twin and I opened our beers, took a long, slow slug, sighed, then leaned back into our chairs, all in perfect synchronisation.
I pondered the fact at how impossibly identical we were in every possible way.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
“Hey bro, that's great, which story is it?”
I flicked the keys and brought the story up onto the screen.
“This one,” I said, swivelling the laptop around so he could read it, “It's called 'Bound homeward'.”
I watched in nervous anticipation as he began to read the fruits of my imagination, in my mind I could already hear the gushing praise that was soon to come.
He turned towards me, a vicious snarl spreading a cross his face....
“YOUR STORY?... This ain't YOUR story, this is MY story, you stole it from my computer didn't you?”
“No I didn't, your stories are full of crap, who the hell would publish any of YOUR drivel?”
He pressed a few keys, then turned his own laptop so I could view the screen.
“Here, read this then you thieving asshole.”
I skim-read through several pages...
“Well, there ARE certain similarities......”
“Similarities? Similarities?... The only similarity is the title, mine's called 'Homeward bound' apart from THAT little similarity the story is a word for word replica, right down to the last capital letter, comma, and full stop. I'm gonna split you in two, you... you... PLAGIARIST you!”
“Look, this isn't helping either one of us, tell you what, I'll split the money with you eh? A grand apiece, eh? How does that sound?”
“I should get BOTH grands... It's MY story.”
“It is NOT your story, I wrote it MYSELF.....”
“Oh yeah? And you expect me to believe that? You really expect me to believe that we both wrote exactly the same story as each other?”
“Well, given what we are, is it really so hard for you to believe that it could happen? Anyway, this is getting us nowhere, do you want half of the money or not?”
He dithered for a few moments, then his face softened as he made his decision.
“Okay, we usually end up sharing everything anyway, sorry I got mad at you.”
“And I'm sorry that you think I stole your story. Pals again?”
“Pals again.”
He went into the kitchen and returned carrying two bottles of beer, handing one to me as he sat back down.
“A toast... Here's to an endless list of best-sellers, and the rewards they will bring bro.” We both said in unison, clinking the bottles together.
My identical twin and I opened our beers, took a long, slow slug, sighed, then leaned back into our chairs, all in perfect synchronisation.
I pondered the fact at how impossibly identical we were in every possible way.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 11 February 2011
Kindred spirits
She had come for me, I knew she would. I held her to me, I held her as tight as I could, crushing my cheek to hers, our tears mingling, I would never let her go again, the love we shared was too deep to be denied, the barrier did not exist that could keep us apart forever.
She was cold.... so cold, the heat flowed from my body to hers, sharing what warmth we possessed between us, balancing the difference, whatever we had, we would share.
I couldn't stop crying, the guilt, the pain, the memories, all washed over me like surf over shingle.
The last time we spoke was a year ago, almost to the minute.
“Please John, we'll get a cab, we can come back for the car tomorrow.”
“S'okay darling, s'only two miles, we'll be fine, I've only had a few glasses of wine, gerrin' the car honey, y'know I would rather cut my own legs off than let you come to any harm.”
I watched it all happen again, The bend, the skid, the tree.
Eventually the flickering lights, and the voices....
“She's gone.... he's pretty smashed up, but he'll most likely make it.”
Countless times over the last twelve months I had thought about taking my own life, I ached to be with her, my true love, my soul mate, my kindred spirit, but I waited for her, as I knew I must.
And now she was here...
The tears flowed even more freely.
“Oh.... oh honey, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry darling......”
“Shhh John, it's okay darling, we're together again now.”
I gripped her even more tightly...
We kissed tenderly as we began to drift upwards towards the shimmering light....
It felt good to lose the wheelchair.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
She was cold.... so cold, the heat flowed from my body to hers, sharing what warmth we possessed between us, balancing the difference, whatever we had, we would share.
I couldn't stop crying, the guilt, the pain, the memories, all washed over me like surf over shingle.
The last time we spoke was a year ago, almost to the minute.
“Please John, we'll get a cab, we can come back for the car tomorrow.”
“S'okay darling, s'only two miles, we'll be fine, I've only had a few glasses of wine, gerrin' the car honey, y'know I would rather cut my own legs off than let you come to any harm.”
I watched it all happen again, The bend, the skid, the tree.
Eventually the flickering lights, and the voices....
“She's gone.... he's pretty smashed up, but he'll most likely make it.”
Countless times over the last twelve months I had thought about taking my own life, I ached to be with her, my true love, my soul mate, my kindred spirit, but I waited for her, as I knew I must.
And now she was here...
The tears flowed even more freely.
“Oh.... oh honey, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry darling......”
“Shhh John, it's okay darling, we're together again now.”
I gripped her even more tightly...
We kissed tenderly as we began to drift upwards towards the shimmering light....
It felt good to lose the wheelchair.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 4 February 2011
High rollers
Well, I can tell you, you win some, you lose some.
Some lose more than others.
I did okay, I had more money than I needed, and I wasn't limping yet, unlike most of the guys in this game.
At a knuckle and ten grand per roll, the night would bring consequences.
I looked at him long and hard....
“Did you ever roll against McJaidy?”
“Yeah, I lost a finger and two toes in that game... less than McJaidy did though.”
I looked at his hands, a thumb and a pinky on the right, the index and middle on the left.
I kept my empty hand below the table, and pushed my money forwards with my full right.
“Yeah, you look like a lucky guy, so... roll the dice, huh?”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Some lose more than others.
I did okay, I had more money than I needed, and I wasn't limping yet, unlike most of the guys in this game.
At a knuckle and ten grand per roll, the night would bring consequences.
I looked at him long and hard....
“Did you ever roll against McJaidy?”
“Yeah, I lost a finger and two toes in that game... less than McJaidy did though.”
I looked at his hands, a thumb and a pinky on the right, the index and middle on the left.
I kept my empty hand below the table, and pushed my money forwards with my full right.
“Yeah, you look like a lucky guy, so... roll the dice, huh?”
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 28 January 2011
Reality check
I had a dream, and in my dream I possessed super powers, I could fly, not with wings, but like Superman, defying gravity. I was blessed with superhuman strength, and bulletproof skin.
In my dream I put these powers to good use, saving the damsels in distress, rescuing the unfortunate victims of accident and crime, I became a legend, the city's saviour, where there were wrongs to be righted I was there.
In my dream I looked down from the window of my seventh storey apartment, a crime was taking place directly below, the mugger was sprinting away with the purse in his hand, this was another case for SuperDan, in scant seconds the criminal would be captured, and the purse returned to the sobbing young lady.
In my dream I launched myself from the window and gave chase....
In reality I didn't succeed in catching the mugger, but I did succeed in killing the sobbing young lady who I landed on.
In reality there is now only this bed, and the occasional face that enters my limited line of vision.
I now take all of my meals through a drip, and communicate in morse code eye-blinks.
Any dreams I now have are dominated by remorseful reflections on the folly of combining hallucinogenic drugs with tall buildings.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
In my dream I put these powers to good use, saving the damsels in distress, rescuing the unfortunate victims of accident and crime, I became a legend, the city's saviour, where there were wrongs to be righted I was there.
In my dream I looked down from the window of my seventh storey apartment, a crime was taking place directly below, the mugger was sprinting away with the purse in his hand, this was another case for SuperDan, in scant seconds the criminal would be captured, and the purse returned to the sobbing young lady.
In my dream I launched myself from the window and gave chase....
In reality I didn't succeed in catching the mugger, but I did succeed in killing the sobbing young lady who I landed on.
In reality there is now only this bed, and the occasional face that enters my limited line of vision.
I now take all of my meals through a drip, and communicate in morse code eye-blinks.
Any dreams I now have are dominated by remorseful reflections on the folly of combining hallucinogenic drugs with tall buildings.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 21 January 2011
A man's need
He had survived the aftermath of the war and the nuclear winter by doing what was necessary.
At first he fought other survivors for the contents of the stores and houses, eventually it was down to hunting dogs, cats, rats, even insects.
It was almost three days since he'd last eaten, and now hunger was rapidly turning to starvation. His stomach growled, and cramped painfully.
A small movement caught his eye...
A cat maybe, or if luck was with him, a dog.
He lifted the rifle and trained the telescopic sight on the animal...
Not a dog...a woman, a young woman, maybe eighteen or twenty years old, certainly not much more, was picking her way lithely across the rubble, keeping low to the ground.
The desire boiled in his body, it had been a very long time since he had seen a woman.
His mind was swamped with memories of women he had known, had loved, had made love to.
Images flooded his thoughts, intertwined flesh, skin beaded with the glow of exertion, mingling juices, hot staccato breath, whimpers and small noises...
As he watched her approach, the exquisite sensation in his groin became almost overwhelming.
Almost....
A man's need to breed is one of his most basic instincts.
As is a man's need to eat.
A solitary tear rolled down his cheek as he squeezed the trigger.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
At first he fought other survivors for the contents of the stores and houses, eventually it was down to hunting dogs, cats, rats, even insects.
It was almost three days since he'd last eaten, and now hunger was rapidly turning to starvation. His stomach growled, and cramped painfully.
A small movement caught his eye...
A cat maybe, or if luck was with him, a dog.
He lifted the rifle and trained the telescopic sight on the animal...
Not a dog...a woman, a young woman, maybe eighteen or twenty years old, certainly not much more, was picking her way lithely across the rubble, keeping low to the ground.
The desire boiled in his body, it had been a very long time since he had seen a woman.
His mind was swamped with memories of women he had known, had loved, had made love to.
Images flooded his thoughts, intertwined flesh, skin beaded with the glow of exertion, mingling juices, hot staccato breath, whimpers and small noises...
As he watched her approach, the exquisite sensation in his groin became almost overwhelming.
Almost....
A man's need to breed is one of his most basic instincts.
As is a man's need to eat.
A solitary tear rolled down his cheek as he squeezed the trigger.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Creative Genius
Genevieve Ching the excellent writer who resides at So, Write has very kindly awarded me the Creative Genius Blog Award, thank you Gen, I am so pleased.
It seems that I now have the privilege of nominating some of my own favourite writers on #FridayFlash, certainly not an easy choice as there are so many very good writers on the site, after much thought, these are the three that I finally decided on, and the reasons why I chose them.
Stephen at Powder Burns & Bullets. For the enjoyment I have had reading his excellent western serial “Heroes Wanted”.
Rachel Blackbirdsong at Ravenwood. For her beautifully eloquent and darkly poetic writing style that I absolutely love.
Harry at Harry B Sanderford. For being so uniquely entertainingly different in his stories.
Please copy the award from my right-hand side bar guys, and post it to your own Blogs.
Thanks to you all for the pleasure you have given me through your writing, and best wishes for all your future works and projects.
Steve Green.
Friday, 14 January 2011
Going down
I don't like it here, man... in fact I hate the place.
I used to have my own penthouse suite, the band was riding high in the album charts, the tour was going well, my plec and Gib slammed out super-sexy heavy metal, man...
and I had my pick of the rock chicks too, three at a time if I wanted.
Sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll baby, yeeehaah!!
The rags were calling us a modern day Guns N' Roses....
Guns N' Roses? Ha! More like Buns N' Pansies, man, a buncha pussies with an Axel to grind.
We were THE band, man.... THE BAND.
It's a bummer how just one more snort, one more joint and a midnight Hog ride can change things.
Now I have to share a cloud.... jeez man, SHARE a cloud, the harp is more out of tune than in, and plays nothing but plinky-plonky crap anyway, and the “chicks” are so goody-goody they make me want to puke!
What kinda shit-fer-brains incompetent was put in charge of the decision that sent me here in the first place, huh?
My transfer will come through any day now, I just know it....
They're already gettin' sick of me...
Grabbin' the chicks asses, wiping my nose on the guys' wings, belchin' and fartin' during the chorals...
Patience was wearin' thin man, ha!
Yeah, man, I'll soon be on my way.
A one way ticket to Hades baby....
well, it sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than this place.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
I used to have my own penthouse suite, the band was riding high in the album charts, the tour was going well, my plec and Gib slammed out super-sexy heavy metal, man...
and I had my pick of the rock chicks too, three at a time if I wanted.
Sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll baby, yeeehaah!!
The rags were calling us a modern day Guns N' Roses....
Guns N' Roses? Ha! More like Buns N' Pansies, man, a buncha pussies with an Axel to grind.
We were THE band, man.... THE BAND.
It's a bummer how just one more snort, one more joint and a midnight Hog ride can change things.
Now I have to share a cloud.... jeez man, SHARE a cloud, the harp is more out of tune than in, and plays nothing but plinky-plonky crap anyway, and the “chicks” are so goody-goody they make me want to puke!
What kinda shit-fer-brains incompetent was put in charge of the decision that sent me here in the first place, huh?
My transfer will come through any day now, I just know it....
They're already gettin' sick of me...
Grabbin' the chicks asses, wiping my nose on the guys' wings, belchin' and fartin' during the chorals...
Patience was wearin' thin man, ha!
Yeah, man, I'll soon be on my way.
A one way ticket to Hades baby....
well, it sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than this place.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 7 January 2011
Misdirection
People tended to see what they wanted to see, or what served their own individual purpose to see, or what their prejudices, narrow minds, bigotry, upbringing, or inadequacies, steered them in the direction of.
Underestimation can be a very dangerous thing.
When most people looked at George Least, one glance was enough to tell them everything that he was capable of, or incapable of to be more precise, in that one glance they could read everything about him, he was, and always would be, a failure at everything he ever did, he would never succeed at business, he would never win the fair lady, he would never win a two-fisted fight, he was a weedy, cowardly, brainless, four-eyed no-hoper, this is what people saw, even his name belied what George really was inside.
Appearances can be deceptive.
George was Five feet three inches tall, weighed a scant ninety eight pounds, wore glasses, and bore more than a passing resemblance to Steve Buscemi, all this combined to cause people to constantly dismiss him, belittle him, and underestimate him, and this burned him deeply.
George was originally from New York, but had moved to Chicago soon after graduating three years ago, he had a degree in mathematics, made an absolute fortune on the internet, had bedded dozens of beautiful women (paid for, but beautiful women nonetheless), hidden beneath his clothes, his body was hard toned muscle from working out for two hours each day, he was also a third Dan shotokan karate expert.
In the last three years, one hundred and eighteen men and women had been brutally slain in Chicago, the M.O. Was always the same, they were found where they had died, eyes gouged out, smashed ribs, broken teeth, broken neck, a multitude of other internal injuries, a large 'M' carved into the forehead, and as a final violation, posthumously raped.
The police experts profiled a man aged twenty five to forty, black hair, approximately one hundred and ninety to two hundred and ten pounds, powerful build, approximately six feet two tall, blood type O, taking a size eleven shoe.
George laced up his size seven brogues, ran a comb through his blond hair, he took a final glance around his expensively furnished apartment, then stepped outside. His rather weak looking expression hid a smug and superior attitude.... And something else.
By the morning the body count would be one hundred and nineteen, there would be further clues to support the profile, and the police would be no nearer to catching the monster.
Misdirection was George's middle name.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Underestimation can be a very dangerous thing.
When most people looked at George Least, one glance was enough to tell them everything that he was capable of, or incapable of to be more precise, in that one glance they could read everything about him, he was, and always would be, a failure at everything he ever did, he would never succeed at business, he would never win the fair lady, he would never win a two-fisted fight, he was a weedy, cowardly, brainless, four-eyed no-hoper, this is what people saw, even his name belied what George really was inside.
Appearances can be deceptive.
George was Five feet three inches tall, weighed a scant ninety eight pounds, wore glasses, and bore more than a passing resemblance to Steve Buscemi, all this combined to cause people to constantly dismiss him, belittle him, and underestimate him, and this burned him deeply.
George was originally from New York, but had moved to Chicago soon after graduating three years ago, he had a degree in mathematics, made an absolute fortune on the internet, had bedded dozens of beautiful women (paid for, but beautiful women nonetheless), hidden beneath his clothes, his body was hard toned muscle from working out for two hours each day, he was also a third Dan shotokan karate expert.
In the last three years, one hundred and eighteen men and women had been brutally slain in Chicago, the M.O. Was always the same, they were found where they had died, eyes gouged out, smashed ribs, broken teeth, broken neck, a multitude of other internal injuries, a large 'M' carved into the forehead, and as a final violation, posthumously raped.
The police experts profiled a man aged twenty five to forty, black hair, approximately one hundred and ninety to two hundred and ten pounds, powerful build, approximately six feet two tall, blood type O, taking a size eleven shoe.
George laced up his size seven brogues, ran a comb through his blond hair, he took a final glance around his expensively furnished apartment, then stepped outside. His rather weak looking expression hid a smug and superior attitude.... And something else.
By the morning the body count would be one hundred and nineteen, there would be further clues to support the profile, and the police would be no nearer to catching the monster.
Misdirection was George's middle name.
©2011 Stephen. J. Green.
Friday, 31 December 2010
A new year to remember
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.
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.
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