Monday, August 25, 2014

Scrapbook #3

More randomness! We've got a dash of comedy, a vague parable, more comedy, and another story featuring the writer's group in a new situation, and thus is a kinda/sorta sequel to a previous story.

And no, I haven't forgotten about the prompt stories. I'm working on several articles right now, including reviews of the Space Wolves and Grey Knights books, a review of The Damnation of Pythos, and an original article for my universe. Once I get those out of the way, I'll hammer out another prompt story.


“What do you experience in a sudden situation due to a jerk friend?”

“And we’re landed! Wherever here is. Let’s go!”
“Hang on! Let’s see what’s out there. ...Doctor, it’s nothing but Daleks and Cybermen fighting each other!”
“Ooh, exciting! Let’s find out what they’re fighting about!”
“Screw that, get us out of here!”
“But-”
“NOW!”
“Awww…”


Four-line one-stanza poem, sci-fi comedy

Security wears red
Obi-wan’s lightsaber is blue
Many aliens are green
EXTERMINATE!



"Finding a house on the beach"

“We’ve been walking for hours. There’s gotta be somewhere we can stop.” They continued to trudge through the beach sand, thirst and exhaustion clawing at them.

“Wait, what’s that? Look, a house!” It poked up just behind a small ridge. It seemed to be surrounded by a luscious garden. As they approached it, they saw there was even a moving sidewalk to draw them closer.

“Man, whoever lives here must be loaded!” The door opened automatically at their arrival, and they stepped in. No one was home, but the place was fully furnished. They grabbed glasses of ice water and relaxed on the couch as the TV played CNN. As they clinked glasses, a rumbling reached their ears.

“What was that?” Without warning, rain began to fall. Within minutes, it became a torrential downpour, and wind lashed the house. The walls shook, and the furniture rattled. In less than an hour, the house, its foundations too weak to withstand the storm, began to collapse, and the two of them fled into the storm.

“Let’s get inland, away from the waves!” They fled up the hills as ten-foot waves threatened to carry them both out to sea. The hills were covered in rocks, tangles of vines, and thorny bushes. The climbing was slow, and the rain lashed them like whips.

“We’ve been walking for hours. There’s gotta be somewhere we can stop.” They continued to trudge through the beach sand, thirst and exhaustion clawing at them.

“Wait, what’s that? Look, a house!” It poked up just behind a small ridge. It seemed to be surrounded by a luscious garden. As they approached it, they saw there was even a moving sidewalk to draw them closer.

“Man, whoever lives here must be loaded!” The door opened automatically at their arrival, and they stepped in. No one was home, but the place was fully furnished. They grabbed glasses of ice water and relaxed on the couch as the TV played CNN. As they clinked glasses, a rumbling reached their ears.

“What was that?” Without warning, rain began to fall. Within minutes, it became a torrential downpour, and wind lashed the house. The walls shook, and the furniture rattled. In less than an hour, the house, its foundations too weak to withstand the storm, began to collapse, and the two of them fled into the storm.

“Let’s get inland, away from the waves!” They fled up the hills as ten-foot waves threatened to carry them both out to sea. The hills were covered in rocks, tangles of vines, and thorny bushes. The climbing was slow, and the rain lashed them like whips.

Eventually, dragging themselves over the lip of the hill, they saw a light through the trees. Approaching with caution, they saw a rough wood cabin. Inside the floor was dirt, and the light came from a lantern. But up here, far above the waves, and supported on a solid foundation of rock, the cabin was more than sturdy enough to withstand the storm. They each collapsed into a straw bed and slept soundly as the rain pattered on the roof.



“Indecisive person with anger issues”

“Well, which one do you want?”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, you gotta pick.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure. They each sound good.”
“I know, but just pick one so we can get on with it.”
“Would you stop trying to pressure me?! You always do this!”
“Look, you just need to pick one or the other. It’s not that hard!”
“It is so! God! You’re always forcing me to make choices! I don’t want to! I’m sick of it!”
“Hey, stop throwing things! Oww! Jesus, it’s just soup or salad!”



“Bad ass, indomitable spirit, OCD”




“SPACE MARINES! ADVANCE! FOR THE EMPEROR!”

The Space Marines charged the Ork lines, guns blazing. Greenskin bodies fell by the dozen, and their warboss charged forward to meet the enemy. The Space Marines’ Captain ran forward, power sword blazing in the setting sunlight. The two collided into each other with tremendous force, and a shockwave of force ripped chunks of dirt in all directions.

The Captain’s sword clashed against the warboss’ axe, sparks flying and drawing the eyes of all the other combatants. Each of them stood over two meters tall, hundreds of pounds of raw muscle and armor. They stepped back and prepared to swing again. The Captain switched his sword to a one-handed grip and slid beneath the warboss’ next swing, bringing his sword up into the creature’s gut. Before it could react, his other hand lifted his bolt pistol and shoved the barrel into the underside of its jaw. He squeezed the trigger, and the warboss’ head exploded in a shower of blood and bone.

With the warboss’ sudden death, the Orks began to panic and flee. The Space Marines charged after them, gunning the xenos down. The Captain grabbed the edges of his cloak and began to wipe down his armor, ignoring the battle.

“Captain!” One of his sergeants shouted as he approached. “The Orks are retreating! We must advance!”

“Hang on, I need to get my armor clean.”




“Blind date with the following character:

Millicent Brimley. Goat Thief. She likes to kill the cows before leaving with the goats. Loves her own sense of humor that no one gets. Has an anole she keeps in a box in her bag.”



I sit down at the table and look around Sava’s. Might as well have this date somewhere comfortable and familiar. She shows up a few minutes later, thankfully looking just like her profile photos. Dark hair, glasses, overall very cute. She’s wearing a fancy blue dress and coat. I get up, hug her, and pull her seat out before returning to mine.

“Good to finally meet in person, Millicent.” I say. She nods and smiles nervously. “Lovely name, by the way.” The waiter comes by to get our drinks and takes off. I already know what I want to eat, so I set the menu aside. We make a few minutes of random small talk about the weather and traffic.

“Anyway,” I try to segue, “You haven’t actually told me what you do.”

She looks away nervously, leans in slightly, and quietly says, “I steal goats.” I pause for a moment, not sure if she’s being serious or not. I decide to play it casual and reach for my drink.

“Oh?” She nods. “What do you do with them?”

“Specifically, I steal the goats of certain farmers known to engage in unethical treatment of them.” That doesn’t sound as bad. I raise the glass to my mouth and begin to sip my drink slowly while she continues. “After I kill all the cows, I load the goats into a truck and take them to a rescue camp in Jackson. It’s a total goat rodeo there.” I freeze as she laughs. The way she mentions the cow slaughter so nonchalantly sets off some alarms in the first second, as does the pun. In the next second, I ponder that perhaps she does it for the same reason she rescues the goats, save them from whatever barbaric conditions they’re in, but cows take up a lot of space and resources. In the third second, I ponder heading to the bathroom and dashing out, to get away from her likely crazy. In the fourth second, I decide I’ve already dated crazier, and let’s see where this can go. I shrug and set my glass down.

“Jackson’s a bit of a drive,” I say.



"The plastic dog"

"The Plastic Dog. What a weird name for a bar," Ali said with her usual derision.
"Do you even know what plastic is?" Alex asked.
"No. Should I?"
Dendrin tried to be helpful. "It's a pre-Fall substance used by the Solar Alliance to-"
"Shut up, nerd!" Ali interrupted him. "I don't care, I need a drink." She kicked the door open and stomped inside.



"We're all in the same setting. Inmates in Alcatraz."

"Whoo, I'm number 666! Fear me, chumps!" I hear Snowy shouting excitedly. I chuckle and shake my head as I head for my cell. The others head to their cells, expressing a full range of emotions, sharing their pretend stories for why they're supposedly real inmates and not a tour group. If we were here for real, the women would all be in a different building entirely.

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about zombies or raiders," I hear Suleman, err, number 20 make an obvious reference. I plop down on my bed, toss one foot over the other as I lean back against the wall, and start to read my book: The Walking Dead volume ten. I'm so far past the prison in the comics, knowing what's coming, and secretly laughing at those who only watch the show. Mua ha ha.

Before long, my cellmate begins playing a harmonica. I set the book down and look up at the bottom of the top bunk.

"Really John? Could you possibly be any more cliche?" I say sarcastically.

"Just trying to get in the mood for this. I have a great idea for a story. And it's number 16."

"Whatever John. Are you just trying to be so cliche you're somehow anti-cliche?"

"Why are you being so uptight about this?"

"I just want some peace and quiet for a little bit. Don't make me repeat what happened at that old mansion we went to." Suddenly the harmonica stops, and I briefly reminisce about a stormy night and the smell of gun smoke. I hear some of the others already trying to organize a breakout and still more already trying to gamble with their candy cigarettes as if they were real.

"Oh, snap!" I suddenly shout as I read a huge plot twist in the comics.

"What? What happened?" John leans over to look at me upside down.

I look up and grin. "Spoilers."

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