Sci Fi
Joe and Gala, Chapter Two
With battle-wearied bodies nearing their last vestiges of strength, Gala and Joe were swinging and slugging at less than half the speed of before. There was something however keeping them going, something each had found within one of the darker and less-travelled recesses of themselves, as slowly parrying they stumbled into some boiler-room deep in the fungus-ship’s bowels. Here the environment more than suited the combatants’ mood. Shapes that did not bear close inspection hulked in the murk, and the walls and floor were awash with horrid slime secreted by these giant glands to lubricate the constant peristalsis of this living craft.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Broadside for Broadside, Chapter One
Pavements soaked with standing rain stretched beneath a hard grey-black sky seared through with red. The city drew in breath. Something was moving through the clouds, something huge, something fast. Doors and windows rattled in its unseen overhead wake, and lakes and canals parted into deltas as if cloven by an invisible prow. Those citizens who turned their eyes fearfully upward saw only an immense indistinct shape, darker than the heavens it was forging through, throwing even gloom into shadow for a moment then just as swiftly gone.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Overture, Chapter One
Stars and planets wheeled overhead for a vertiginous instant before the combatants crashed through the bulkhead wall together and plunged into the cavernous square vault of the battle-cruiser’s cargo hold. Bret Stevens proceeded along the quickest route into the dark, punctuating this vertical course with rebounds and springs from the walls while striking brilliant sparks and clashing notes between his samurai sword and an alien bladed weapon that flashed with equal speed. Its owner, a lean and lithe and man dressed in form-fitting white and a round black helmet, had so far matched Bret in his aerial acrobatics and countered thrust for thrust and parry for parry.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Green Lines of Death
My name is Lucintha I was born into what is now called Center City, but it isn't much of one if I say so myself, more like a wasteland of broken down buildings with no windows or doors, there is no electricity or running water, and trash is strewn about the muddy roads that have been carved out of foot traffic for as long as I can remember, it has also rained as long as I can remember and I have never seen what they call "sunshine". The city is surrounded and secured by a wall of lasers that if penetrated is met with certain death, we call them the Green Lines of Death. We scramble for food because there is no more of what was referred to as "money" which would be completely useless now anyway, who would have thought a piece of green paper with a mans face on it in different denominations could be so powerful? I heard tell that this peice of paper ruled the whole world at one time in history, I can't even fathom the thought. How could that be? It never made sense to me, but anyway, we now barter with things like rusted old cans of corn and bean soup, and sometimes we find something rare like tomato or mushroom soup, we can trade them for big bags of rice or beans, which last longer and feeds alot more people. I hear speak of the betterments growing food in the ground, but I have never seen any, they call these the "good greens" and they are supposed to be very good to eat. We got lucky today and trapped two good sized rats for meat, also we found some chicken bones in the trash outside the palace where the "Watchers" go to eat, and even though I have never seen or had the pleasure of eating any such chicken, the bones make a good soup. We are know as Dregs, because we are the dregs of society, so pretty much useless to anyone who has more than we do, and those people are the Watchers who are a policing system here and the Betterments also know as Puritans in the city. They are the people who have and run everything here, and they believe that if you are not a pure person you are a dirty disgusting dreg, which they have deemed to be the lowest form of life here, we are lower than rats to the Puritans and they like to use us as bait for thier hunting games because they do not see us as people, but animals to be hunted, so they take 45 of us to the "farm" to be hunted every year. To be a pure person you have to be born into it. I was not, I was a mistake and was not meant to survive, but my parents hid me from the Watchers and I managed to grow up beneath the city in an underground secret world only known by certain dregs. We are 400 strong and we are very good at keeping our existence a secret. Most dregs have a barcode tatooed on the back of they're necks that is unique to them for identification, which in turn is scanned, and that is how they get into the food depot to pick up their rations. My parents escaped underground with 130 other people when world war 3 came about, so they did not get a barcode and nobody underground possesses such a number, so, if I were ever to be caught, I would be deemed a trespasser and either killed or imprisoned for the hunt. I have been trying to get out of Center City since I was a femchild, the Puritans decided that they didn't want to get any older so they did away with the yeartime system and now the days just pass. the dregs up top never know if it's "day or night" because it stays dark and wet all of the time, and the only light is one green flashing light hanging in the middle of town.
By C. M. Sears5 years ago in Fiction
The Tomb Where Marigolds Grow
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." - Arthur C. Clarke Greetings, weary traveler. Through luck, or perhaps fate, you have found yourself in the company of Finton Merrybrook, the greatest storyteller in all of D'veen!
By Bradley Ramsey5 years ago in Fiction
THE LOCKET
“Baby, take this locket!” Mamoo squeezed my hand tightly as I sat next to her in the bed in the living room. She just suffered what could be her third heart attack clutching her chest. She was in the middle of cooking my favorite dish of Turnip, Mustard, and Collard Greens with Smoked Turkey. The aroma of down-home soul food filled our small one bedroom Section 8 apartment located in the South Loop of Chicago next to the historic Bronzeville neighborhood.
By JANET C MIMS5 years ago in Fiction
Please be Waiting, Chapter Two
Soon a pair of sisters were in each other’s arms. Carmilla had once decried Phoenix as a traitor to The Four Heroes’ cause, and although this was not wholly unreasonable since Phoenix engineered that deception herself, there had been prior harshness and accusation too for which reconciliation never came. Now however, as Carmilla and Phoenix held one another close, their peace was finally made.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
THE LOCKET
“Baby, take this locket!” Mamoo squeezed my hand tightly as I sat next to her in the bed in the living room. She just suffered what could be her third heart attack clutching her chest. She was in the middle of cooking my favorite dish of Turnip, Mustard, and Collard Greens with Smoked Turkey. The aroma of down-home soul food filled our small one bedroom Section 8 apartment located in the South Loop of Chicago next to the historic Bronzeville neighborhood.
By JANET C MIMS5 years ago in Fiction
At the Drive-In, Chapter One
Two glaring eyes on a monstrous faceless visage burst upon the horizon without any warning at all, as heavy beats of warlike music began to pound. Flashthunder, beholding in the dark, trembled. He had dreaded this moment. The tiny comfort that usually accompanied it, which was in knowing that for once in a way he wasn’t the only one terrified, scarcely applied tonight. For this evening it was very important he somehow find it in himself to not to show his fear.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
