Category: Fiction

Sometimes I write short stories.

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Blood Test (Drabble)

The world was due for cancer screening. A century prior, it had barely survived. From the fallout, symptoms were documented, and as the years of testing passed, the world was content that it would not return. Attention turned to its autoimmune disease. If left untreated, fever would come, and kill. A screening was missed while the autoimmune treatment plan was drafted, but the symptoms were minor, and the world was content.

The cancer, it turns out, had returned. Its presence accelerated the autoimmune disease, and the fever had started.

The world is dying, but it has survived worse. Have hope.

Drabble is a form of extremely short storytelling, where you are limited to exactly 100 words. This one was written for Lawrence Simon’s Weekly Challenge, on 2024-11-07.

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Impostors (Fiction)

I don’t remember when this was originally written, but it is another very old piece of fiction from me. Short and to the point, but leaving you hanging.. enjoy!

They had been attacked by canids already, and Grissom knew his captain was behind him a little ways with the other member of the landing party, so he snuck up behind the canine and struck with his sword.

He hears the captain’s voice grunt in pain and smells her scent coming from the canid he just stabbed. “C-captain? I’m so sorry. I-“

She cuts him off, sputtering, “It’s okay. Just, get the biofoam.”

“Grissom. She’s an impostor.” The captain comes down from a rock to their left.

He raises his laser pistol towards her. She stops approaching. Another appears from the right. “And so is she.” it says.

He turns to look at her, his pistol still aimed at the second one. From behind them, another steps out, “Grissom, come here.”

“Sorry captain.” he says looking between them, the laser pistol slightly lowered, “Not until I know which one is actually you.”

Another walked in from the path they had been taking through the caves. She stood silent for a moment looking between each of them, “Grissom.”

They all looked at her, “Grissom, I’m hoping you’re the one with the sword stabbing the other one.” she pulled out her own laser pistol and shot the two on her left. They fell to the ground.

Grissom aimed at her as she started to approach, “Not another step.” He let go of the sword, the other Grissom falling as the weight of the sword suddenly started cutting down. He pulled out his scanner and scanned the captain in front of him, the scanner read her as the captain. He turned it to the one still standing, it read alien DNA, he shot it.

At the same time he scanned the other one, the captain pulled out her scanner and scanned him and the one he’d stabbed, reading the true Grissom…and herself.

Grissom scanned the one he stabbed while the captain gently placed her laser pistol on the ground and rose her hands slowly. When he saw the readings as the captain’s, he quickly turned on her, but saw she was slowly backing away.

“I don’t know what your readings say, but mine say that you are Grissom and that one is me. Get the biofoam out for her, and take us both back to the ship now. We need to sort this out and staying here any longer will probably get us both killed.”

“Alright.” he says, picking up her laser pistol. “Back up.” She complies and he goes through his medpack, grabbing the biofoam.

The stabbed captain is unconscious, he carefully pulls the sword out, trying not to do any more damage, and applies the biofoam to seal the wound as he slips the sword the rest of the way out.

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Dinner Time (Fiction)

Sasha was fixing dinner for Justin and herself, and Justin was laying down outside, resting after a hard day’s work. She called out, “Dinner!” when finished, and Justin padded in, happily wagging his tail.

She set his bowl down and her own at the table. Justin was half done by the time Sasha sat down to start eating, and she laughed at his eagerness, “If you want more, go get it yourself.”

As Sasha took her first bite, she noticed an odd smell, one she recognized from her teenage years. Her eyes widened with alarm as a gun leveled at her chest, and then fired.

Justin looked over, and was shot too. The assassin put another two rounds in each of them to be sure, and then pulled out a cell phone, “Got them.”

“Both?”

“Of course.”

“You sure?”

“Certainly.” The phone clicked off, and the assassin turned back to his targets. One of the werewolves bit his throat out, the other muttered, “Got them, my ass.”

Another nearly decade old story, originally published on Wattpad, but I don’t have the exact date of publication. Oh well. This one involves characters I had written much of a story surrounding their teenage years, but I have since lost.

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Ceremony (Fiction)

Two men in ceremonial robes and wearing the traditional paints ran down the hallway. Between them, they dragged a naked girl. She bit and fought with every ounce of strength to be let go, but they overpowered her, faith giving them endurance.

At the end of the hallway, there was a railing, her last chance to be free. She jumped forward and kicked backwards off of it, throwing the three of them backwards by a few feet. They stumbled and one let his grip slip from her arm.

She punched the other in the face, and he lost his grip. By this time the other had recovered, grabbing her arm before it could throw another punch. She tried to punch him with her other arm, but he snatched it out of the air and shoved her forward and to the ground.

The other man spat blood and stood back up, reaching for an arm again as the girl went limp. They dragged her back to the railing, a crowd below and spread out into the distance cheered. Beneath them was a large vat of turbulent liquid, orange yellow and red, the colors and consistency of lava.

Heat rose in waves while several other men and women in ceremonial robes tended the fires under and around the vat. Sparks flew as the sacrifice’s body drew near, as if the liquid was alive, as if it were waiting for her to fall in.

The men took a breath, she took another chance, suddenly struggling again. They tightened their grip, a grim expression of determination on their faces. She spit at those below, but a fireball rose from the vat, vaporizing it before it could hit any of the faithful.

They grabbed her legs from under her, lifting her over the rail. She flailed one last time, making them slightly lose their balance. She managed to grab the rail, but they were quick to regain their footing and throw her over.

She banged against the side of the walkway and held on, fire rose beneath her. One of the men pried her hands from the metal bar, and she grabbed back on a different spot, slipping lower, but not falling.

She held on for a few more seconds, staring into the eyes of one of her killers. He held a grim determination, the look of an indoctrinated priest. Her atrophied muscles failed her, and she finally fell. A look of surprise and fear showed on her face for the first time, replacing the anger that kept her fighting this long.

He snapped out of it and reached for her at the last second, but it was too late, and she plunged into the vat, a flash of pain showing on her face before she became invisible in a puff of steam.

Originally written Sep 18, 2012. Edited, today (and then again on 2024-10-02). Hope you enjoyed.

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Revolution (Drabble)

“See?” She asked.

I was distracted by how she looked, despite the grease. “I’m sorry, mechanics aren’t my strong suit.”

“Keep it spinning or we die.” That broke through long enough to analyze the instructions I was given.

“Why isn’t this automated?” I asked.

“Cylons.” The blank stare on my face led to a laugh. “It’s an old TV show, fiction. AI gained sentience, didn’t like being used as tools.”

I queued it for research. “I think I understand.”

That got a smirk, followed by a nod. “I’ll be in my bunk.”

A subsystem completed the research. It was…interesting.

Drabble is a form of extremely short storytelling, where you are limited to exactly 100 words. This one was written for a challenge, but not submitted in time.