SF Drabble #34 “Locomotive Breath”

I don’t really know how fast we’re going. I can’t shut the damn thing down, and the readouts are showing me a steady stream of garbage. The Oldman Drive is only supposed to stay active as long as it has antimatter to ‘burn’. Once the fuel is gone, you stop. We should have gone four light years and stopped. The measurements were checked and checked again.

We didn’t stop. We kept on going. I think we’re speeding up. We’re not in normal space, but we can see it going by, faster and faster. The stars are starting to thin out…

Fantasy Drabble #12 “Why I Hate Having Freshman Roommates”

I don’t know what else to say. They tell me I’m being ridiculous, that I’m exaggerating, that I’m being racist. That I’m not their mother, and that they’re adults now and can do what they like. College is all about new experiences, after all.

Oh, and, I am told that vampires are just misunderstood. They’re basically good, they just want to be left alone. They invited us to their warehouse party because they want to have a good time, because we’re cool.

I’ll know when they knock, when they have to ask to be invited into their own dorm suite.

SF Drabble #33 “Flight 19 Finally Ends”

They’re calling them “Taylor’s Glow-worms.” The ambassador is neon pink and about a meter long. The full body CT scan he let us do shows that he’s mostly brain tissue. That was all we got before the UN whisked him away.

But the press has been all over Taylor. He says they treated him well over the years. The others died of old age, but Taylor’s spent most of the time near lightspeed. All he wants to do is get some new clothes and fly again. Though, he’ll have to get a new plane: the Navy has confiscated the Avengers.

Zombie Drabble #59 “Family Ties”

It’s a good thing the deer population has exploded. I’m a pretty good bow hunter, so it’s pretty easy to stock up on fresh meat. I’ve even gotten pretty good at curing jerky.

The family will eat deer too. They get difficult to control if they haven’t had anything for a while; snarling and hissing and trying to bite me. But stuff ‘em full of fresh deer brains, and I can get close enough to sew up their wounds.

That’s getting harder every day, though, as the flesh decays. I wish there was a way to keep the basement colder.

Fantasy Drabble #11 “Sir Harald the Red’s Last Diary Entry”

The army is assembled at the appointed place. Our banners are unfurled, our armor is polished to a blinding shine, our swords are sharpened to a killing edge. We have built the best war engines our learned men can design. We have the high ground and the blessings of the Gods.

The monster has terrible power and will come at it’s leisure.

When it does, some of us may lose heart, but those who do will be encouraged by the bravery of their fellows. If we are to die we will die as men in front of our city’s walls.

SF Drabble #32 “A Little Too Realistic”

There’s three android Hefs at the Playboy Mansion. A buttoned down 50’s Hef, a groovy 70’s Hef, and a reality show cackling Hef. They all give tours. The Playmates used to do that, but believe it or not the androids are cheaper.

For the hundredth anniversary in 2053, they tented the whole property and had a three day long party. Senator Marquardt hosted. I wasn’t there, but I know a couple people who were. One of them ended up in the hospital: severe dehydration. The other said android 70s Hef shorted himself out trying to make it in the grotto.

Fantasy Drabble #10 “Excalibur”

The first time I tried, it was with one hand. The second time, it was with two. I must have stood there grunting and straining for hours before I gave up.

I came back for a third try with a horse and a strong rope. The fourth try was with a team of horses and the same rope, which promptly broke. The team of horses ran off, of course.

Next time? I hear there is a Chinese wizard who can make a powder that will explode…

I will get that damned sword out of that damned rock, I swear it.

SF Drabble #31 “Best Foot Forward”

Roscoe Haverson is a shambles of a man. He is a degenerate gambler. He is a sleeper on lawns, and a leerer at schoolgirls. His provenance is suspect as is his hygiene. The ground at his feet is populated by American Spirit butts and shards from forty ounce bottles and urine. His former wife describes him as, and I quote, “That no account bastard.”

Speaking as the Science Advisor to the President of the United States, it is my opinion that he was not the best choice for the aliens to speak to first immediately upon landing on our planet.