Sci Fi
Delinquents, Chapter Two
4-H-N knew the girls, though she’d never spoken to them. Frequent visitors to the gym such as herself couldn’t but be aware of this widely-storied clique and the magnificent irony they beamed over Flashball courts and flight-simulators. When they trained on the latter they did so without any need for air-jets, and by all accounts played hard. They wore regulation tunics and boots as Mini-Flash Brace did, but unlike him were soon to graduate from these neophyte uniforms whereupon each girl would receive the honour of a Flash Club costume uniquely her own. Even now it went without saying the underwear glimpsed beneath their beige was never anything but the most expensive and absolute best this galaxy’s fledgling lingerie trade could furnish. Almost involuntarily 4-H-N gave her flouncy skirt a last tuck-in check, while concluding the white butt-frills really had been a mistake.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Delinquents, Chapter One
The first blast always flipped 4-H-N’s ponytail upside-down so it stood higher than the top of her head. Suspended a foot or so above the floor-vent she pointed her toes at this starting-spot and waited, fast-moving currents rushing past her legs and arms and cheeks. What the wind was doing to her skirt was everything you signed up for when you played Mini-Flash sports, but 4-H-N hoped her opponent was enjoying any quickened heartbeats prompted by that view because she reckoned it was good for one more at most. Turbines and bellows beneath the arena’s deck were fast recovering their breath after the preliminary push, with a view to raging at full fury. Sure enough, subsequent to the interval 4-H-N had estimated she shot heavenwards like a surface-to-air missile, her ponytail now plastered against the back of her sweater and her skirt sleek and streamlined over knickers and thighs.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Disqualification Tablet, Chapter Four
Leaving the lost city to the silence it knew best, the racer began to sprint. Joe was fast situating himself in a place light-years away and calendar-years far gone, and this alien road whose psychedelic undulations he was even now negotiating was transforming into what his road had been. That was where the powers of The Four Heroes were to be tapped. Set Joe down on that strip, and nothing could keep pace with him.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Disqualification Tablet, Chapter Three
Split-seconds of cannoning on at maximum burn carried our heroes round the Veirls along the wall of the tunnel and unto the night like a scarlet dart. Here the geography of Disqualification Tablet underwent a marked change, for on either side of the track as it wound its way close to the planetoid’s plane, the unmistakable traces of a lost city were rapidly starting to rise. Joe wondered whether it was mere manufactured scenery, or if there might once have been actual life on this outlandish world? Great nocturnal arachnoids perhaps, capable of clinging to their sheer-surfaced habitat and negotiating its perpetual dark, and true to this theory there was something of an insectile feel to the architecture itself, gargantuan hives with interconnecting spurs glooming black against the star-studded sky in Acheldama’s penumbra.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Disqualification Tablet, Chapter Two
“I’ll stop her, Joe!” shouted Flashtease, and before our hero could muster a word of caution the Mini-Flash bounded from his seat and gripped the top of the windshield in both hands, straightening his small body into a picture-perfect line and then flipping all the way over while curling up and continuing to spin. By the time he hit the racer’s scarlet apron he had become a whizzing sizzling ball of energy which bounced from that surface and soared to settle old scores, but the leering Solidity girl yanked back on her handbrake and unexpectedly curtailed the attack. Flashtease fell helpless through air she had never occupied, struggling out of his somersaults and resuming his tousle-haired tunic-flapping self, that he might clutch at the stern of the nearest hurtling craft and cling for dear life while his legs kicked frantically behind him.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Disqualification Tablet, Chapter One
A mighty chorus ranging from the bass baritone of moon-buster reactor-cores to the imminent whine of throttling nitro rose from the ranks arrayed in infinite diversity along the staggered start of Disqualification Tablet, each among them poised to raise its revving reverbs to blasts of acceleration. Some were vehicular robots whose mechanical minds required no interface with a living driver, others were beings of flesh and blood piloting craft which they personally owned, while others still were fusions of the technological and organic as bizarre in their realization as Mile Hunts or even stranger yet. Amidst this panoply sat Joe, ready at the gearstick with Flashtease beside him, while in nearby starting-positions doubtless waited the rivals and grudge-bearing aggressors and unlikely potential allies they had managed to make on their journey from the car park and back.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Joe and Flashtease
Flashtease ran beaming down the steps of the sports-complex and joined Joe, who was waiting for him outside. The friends set off together along the walkway, passing columns and domes on either side while overhead trawling starships dotted the space-conurbation’s artificial pink sky.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Old Flash Club Archive
The outing to the archive took place as soon as Flashtease next had a morning with no classes or sports lessons scheduled, which Joe supposed would have been the equivalent of a Sunday. Soon after breakfast they set off, the Mini-Flash driving their crimson-coloured interplanetary racer as it was he who knew the way. Flashtease explained that the building they were bound for was now disused, but had still been in service when he was a Flash Club neophyte. Hard as it was to imagine Flashtease looking any sweeter than he did today, his younger self in a beige entry-level tunic and knee-high boots might just have managed it.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Renewed Purpose
Theo was trying to make his way back to the bunker before the sun started to set. The air gets thick at night and the filter in his mask should have been replaced months ago. It was late spring. Most scavengers had picked this area clean to pad their summer stores. It was almost impossible to go outside once the temperatures got over 150 degrees and that was going to start by the end of next month. Theo was confident he would be able to wait out the worst of the four to five months by himself in the bunker without much sacrifice of comfort, but there was always room for that little extra insurance of more.
By Kathy Williams5 years ago in Fiction
Alfred and Hazel
The wind raced down from the icy mountains and across the foothills. It streamed through canyons of broken land. It howled over the rubble and uncovered two human-like forms buried in the sand. The clouded sky broke wide with a brilliant blue, and sunlight streamed on the desert. A black panel on the back of the closest form slowly charged with the sun. After several hours, the form awoke and rose. Sand cascaded from it.
By Steven Faramelli5 years ago in Fiction
The Stoner from Europa
“The fuckin’ surf sucks, bro”. “No shit, dude. I have eyes. What the fuck?” “Ah, well, let’s just chill and see what’s what before we hang it up”, the young, blonde, teenager said to his friend, an almost carbon copy of himself. Tall, lean with ab muscles well-defined, long golden hair tucked behind both of their ears, wearing their wetsuits with the tops rolled down to their waists leaving their tanned and hairless chests naked. Both were blue-eyed descendants from the waves of immigrants who had been coming to SoCal since the turn of the 19th to the 20th Century. Drawn by fame and fortune in Hollywood, millions had come and millions had failed, but in the process of discovery those same immigrants realized that SoCal had the best weather in the world, so they stayed. The thing is, these were almost uniformly the nation’s most beautiful and handsome people who having realized their only talent was being pretty, settled down to become great looking cops, firemen, plumbers, accountants, lawyers, etc. then marrying and producing lots of kids that looked like these two: handsome and fit. The apples don't fall far from the tree and apple trees can only make apples. Yet since everyone they knew fell from the same kind of gorgeous tree, they were only vaguely aware of their good looks as they moved through life with the confidence and cool that so often beauty can assure regardless of whether the bearer knows it.
By E.H. Ivans5 years ago in Fiction
