SF Drabble #49 “Not Suitable For Work”

I was majoring in Xenopsychology at the new UN school. They had a program where you could get a free ride up to the liner, when there was one in orbit, and get paired up with a visiting scientist.

I somehow drew this Chririoire botanist who was almost as exited about Earth’s greenery as he was about his immense Chririoire pornography collection.

They have five sexes. You can imagine the permutations. I watched some of it with him.

The second I got back down to the surface I went to the Administration building and applied for a change of major.

Fantasy Drabble #22 “Rooms for Rent”

I’ve been running this boarding house for forty years. At first it was mostly norms: when Mr. Ross moved in, with the chanting and incense and the flashes of light under the door, it was high scandal. I never minded much, long as he paid his rent on time.

By the time Ms. Yorbalinda took a room, I was the only normal human in the place. Witches, werefolk, you know, when they find a safe place, the word gets around. Just ask for old Mrs. Willis’ place.

We just had a pool put in, for the kids and the mermaid.

SF Drabble #48 “Coffee is for Closers”

After a moment of waiting, the door in the ground swung up and open, and a Gwolbang head popped up. There was a long plaintive whistle, which his translator soon passed as, “Can I help you?”

“Good evening. I’m the regional Human Trade Inc. representative and…”

Another long whistle, this one coming through as: “Not interested. We only buy goods made on Gwolb.” The alien head disappeared, and the door swung shut with a resonant thud.

The salesman trudged back downhill to where his supervisor was waiting. “Having a tough first day?” the man asked.

“Fucking racists,” observed the salesman.

Zombie Drabble #75 “Happy Trails”

Rocco’s heart was pounding, hammering away within his chest cavity. Blood flowed loudly past his ears. He hadn’t stopped walking in hours. His leg muscles were on fire, and he would have given anything to have worn sneakers today. If only he’d known.

The others had stopped to rest. They were probably dead now, swallowed up by the hordes now filling the city. Rocco fished out his phial of coke and took another snort, to stay amped. Cocaine kept him moving. As long as he kept moving, he would be safe.

His doctor had warned, “that stuff will kill you”.

SF Drabble #47 “Salvage”

“I’m in.” The words were preceded, followed by heavily labored breathing.

Another voice answered, “Anything?”

“Not in the airlock.” The man in the environment suit could be seen making his way through the inner hatch. “Nothing in the number one corridor. Making my way forward.”

There was nothing for a while, then: “Control’s empty. The main battery still has a charge.”

“Power up life support, then see if you can get internal sensors working.”

“Aye.”

They’d never fix what he’d done to the sensors. He’d wait till more of them were aboard, out of their suits, before he started killing.