Category: Friday Fiction

by Smitty

“Stop right there!
“We know that you’re carrying the data in an inner pocket. If you cooperate, you will live.

“Your rebellion and its listening post will no longer steal government data.
“You may slowly turn, and–PUT THE UMBRELLA DOWN RIGHT NOW!”
**BOOM**
“Arrrgghh!”
Her face took on a malevolent laugh as the acid rained down on the Secret Police. Completely unprepared for this surprise, they broke and ran.
**BOOM**
She turned away and strode away under the cover of her protective gear. The light mortar covered her retreat, while her thoughts turned to who had betrayed the cause.

—
via Darleen

by Smitty

There he is again.
“You tell that Zergotazz to lay by his volcanic rift. Sending the Silent Posse won’t break this crypto faster.”

No motion.
“That’s enough data, they said. Plenty of resources, they said. Sorry. It’s not. You’re wasting bandwidth.”
The hologram glitched a moment, blurring the henchman’s knees.
Suddenly, a while circle appeared around the alien’s torso. A bracelet lit up on its arm, expanded to basketball diameter, slipped below its hand.
It exited the hologram, floated across the room to paused above his head.
“I ain’t no angel.”
The circle dropped suddenly and resumed its original size.
—
via Darleen

by Smitty

He ran through the forest toward the bingo point.
Got to get back to the Moon.

No time to worry about why the mission failed.
Shot through the arm.
No time for pain. Run.
The full moon provided enough light as the clearning emerged.
Glancing leg shot. Dogs barking as they scented his blood.
Green glow of the Transport Potion.
Shot blew off his other arm and he fell beside it.
Losing blood rapidly, he picked it up.
The glow attracted a shot, and the bottle vanished with his hand, showering him in the Oil of Transport, returning him moonward. . .
—
via Darleen

by Smitty

From time ago far past,
Sprang a galaxy so vast,
Infinity did strain it to contain.
And though man be alone,
Contemplation skill to own,
Still weighed it heavily upon the brain.

Into its depths he peered,
(Predators so deeply feared),
Devices all around, data to glean.
To algorithms fed,
The danger off to head,
And puzzle out what all of this could mean.

Yet with advancing age,
Came a rather frigid rage:
Intellect failed all meaning to bring forth.
And then his eye did score,
Wisdom handed down from yore:
The prophets had the right of life’s full worth.
—
via Darleen

by Smitty

Held the lantern before her as the alley ended.
Comfortable night; last week’s storm had purged the alley.
Senses alert; autonomic nervous system deftly controlled, she knocked on the door.“Results,” a voice challenged.
“Not excuses,” she replied.
Blindfolded, gently led, eventually seated. She gave the guide the lantern.
“Report,” he demanded. The leader.
“Data in the lantern. Grim situation. The mainland is devastated.”
“As bad as the third Velvet Revolver album?”
“Worse.”
“Indeed, imposter: there were only two Velvet Revolver albums, and the real Sophia McNish would not have fallen prey to that misdirection.”
The fake-tooth detonator worked.
—
via Darleen

by Smitty

Offstage, the director nods. I step into light.
“None of this madness,” a sweeping gesture captures the previous action, “has made sense.

Your mind cycles through the events and characters, connecting dots in a vain attempt to draw order from chaos.
Relax.
The good news: there *is* a point to all of this.
The bad news: the fulness of that point is too much for this medium; as with a mountain on a map, all you get are some topological line hints.
Again: relax. Spread joy, not sorrow, and await the moment the final understanding grips you.”

Return to darkness.
—
via Darleen

by Smitty

The pumpkin spice latte drifted across my nose, and I chuckled.

“What’s that about?” she demanded.
“Oh, that smell returns me to High School. Math class. I had one on the floor. Ten minutes into class, the teacher notices it and demands that I dispose of it.”
“What’s funny about getting busted?”
“Nothing. Speaking of busts, though, Alice sat nearby.”
“And?”
“*She* had a bust. And perfume. And these sweaters, and so forth.”
“So?”
“Well, I was too. . .distracted. . .to dispose of the offending cup.”
“A-hah!”
“Thank God for the coat I was wearing, which covered my midriff well enough.”

—
via Darleen

by Smitty

Sometimes they put you in a bad position, and blame you for being there.

The end of the day, the end of the week, the end of the month: somebody comes up to you and needs data access.

You kinda know who this is; you’ve seen him around the office, but this request is really weird.

Your car keys are on the desk, so he doesn’t worry when you declare the need to use the restroom before “We get on that”.

True enough; a great roadtrip begins on an empty bladder. Thank god for the spare key under the frame.
—
via Darleen