Category: Friday Fiction

by Smitty

“I get it; the interplay between the geometric precision of the arches in the vaulted roof, the straightness of the pillars and the squares of the floor, against the snapshot of chaos, as the simulated tsunami crashes through the windows, with the unevenness of the edge on the floor pointing out how the random nature of reality mocks all of our mortal vanity. What do you call the piece?”
“Climate Change.”
“Really? The commission?”
“Six figures from the National Endowment for the Arts.”
“My tax dollars bought this?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll offer a Mel Brooks reference,” reaching for his zipper.

via Darleen, with apologies, as hers was better.

by Smitty

Zygiell’d lowered his hands and Korban rose as the tree, suddenly drained of vitality, toppled away. The others would enjoy a traditional recovery. “Osiris burns brightly in the night, affording me an unusual power. The first good sign in recent memory.”
“The land is destroyed. Father had no hope other than buying time and dead orc horde. The last report said that the locusts East of the Grey Mountains complained of being outnumbered by orcs. We have until Spring,” mused Korban.
“In the library there is a tome. Dravonid–”
“That madman?”
“Build a redoubt in the Greys to stop them.”

Previously:
Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
—
via Darleen

by Smitty

via Darleen

by Smitty

“And then one of the people at the table went out and betrayed him, right? They haul him off, publicly execute and bury him. But a month later he’s reborn as a zombie and everyone cracks open all the presents their parents stashed under the tree that they mysteriously set up in the living room.”
“Stunning, Joey. And. . .what happens four months later, at Easter?”
“This funky chicken that has assumed a bunny racial identity comes by and, in a fit of pique, blows away a whole chicken generation in a game of Lost-and-Found.”
“How astounding. Common Core wins again.”

via Darleen

by Smitty

The motor had once been electric, mounted on the beam atop two poles. It still drove the fan blade that kept Her Majesty and the People Who Mattered comfortable in the sultry summer.
The drive belt that went through the center of the wooden poles was the same old rubber friction affair, only instead of alternating current, it was motivated by a set of stationary bicycles manned discreetly by lean, gnarly men who pedaled aimlessly, as though stuck in a Sisyphean Tour de Hades.
This story lacks dialogue, for all regrets over losing the 2016 election had long since been uttered.

via Darleen

Update: “You were always on my mind, Animal.”

by Smitty

The sisters spied him and looked discreetly out the window as they sat on the loveseat; young, aristocratic, unapproachable.
We approached. They turned, and I immediately botched it: “I you ladies spoke the fork Ball?”
“What?”
Joe bailed me out: “What Jim was trying to ask before he was overcome with your radiance is whether you ladies had been invited to the Thanksgiving Ball.”
They blushed in stereo and the one closest to the window replied: “No, and maybe.”
We were set, both then, and a year later at the double wedding.
I never lived down the initial fumble, though.

via Darleen

Update: here’s a stomach churner for you.

by Smitty

One last dip in the road separated Korban and his troops from Korbill Tower, highlighted by the moon on the hill.
They were far enough up a side valley from River Myzods that the rolling countryside was untouched by disaster.
As they passed a copse on the right side of the road, a bat-like thing took flight, briefly highlighted against the moon.
That was no native bird. They knew.
So much for time to rest and heal. Hopefully Zygiell’d had survived and would rally here. The kingdom was broken, and he had no plan beyond “Kill orcs.” Which was insufficient.

via Darleen