New setting or one-shot, just an idea that came to mind, slightly inspired by The Exiles Trilogy and slightly by my inability to stop singing Good King Wenceslas.
“So let today hereby be named the Day of the Martyr Baloran, with all due pomp and ceremony, and let us remember this day by, hrm, bu picking up rocks from our neighbors’ fields and using them to help build the walls between fields, on my authority and honor as the leader of this colony-”
“Ah, honored one?” Gerilip did not like interrupting the Leader, but her job lead her to need to quite often. “Today is the day of the Blessed Epolitie.”
“Ah. What about Baloran’s birthday?”
“The day of the Blood-Consecrated Delfikin.”
“Ah, hrm. The day Baloran joined the Service?”
“That’s the feast of the Holy One Relian. Honored One,” Gerilip cut in, before this could get quite silly, “there is only one day left open on the calendar.” Continue reading
Written to a prompt I found here.
Red wasn’t supposed to be out on his own yet. He was supposed to be a sidekick. He was supposed to be following Blue around still, maybe cracking wise and maybe just mopping up the henchmen that got away.
But that wasn’t what he’d signed up for. That wasn’t what he’d been training until all hours of the night for, sneaking out of study hall for, spending every minute he could in the lab for. No. No, he was a meta, a shining new example of the Modern Superhero – that h Continue reading
This is written to a prompt I encountered on Pinterest from here.
We had never come up with a cure.
Instead, we had come up with ways to deal with it. I say we, but it was my grandparents and their parents who did most of that work.
The rest of us just learned what we had to do and got on with the work of rebuilding the world. By the time I was an adult, you could barely tell that there had been a world-scarring, population-destroying mega war in my grandparents’ time.
And then, of course, the fucking aliens showed up.
They had spacefaring tech that we were only beginning to develop. They had weapons that were, frankly, amazing, and, from a biologist’s point of view, also horrifying. They had ships parked in our atmosphere.
We had zombies. Continue reading
He could have had any man or woman in the whole nation — probably in several of the adjacent nations as well. He was a brilliant man,a dashing pirate, and his airship was one of the finest known to navy nor fleet. He was a folk hero the likes of which had not come since Dywin Talizen in the age of stories and myths.
And his airship had ducked in, dodging the royal navy ships and the cannons, to visit a political prisoner in a quiet exile in a mountainous corner. He had brought her a rose, the sort of gift that fit the stories, risking everything for a romantic gesture.
He couldn’t stay long; he couldn’t even risk a kiss, even if she would have accepted it. But he brought her a rose.
And he brought her a key.
The big cat had been chasing Pren for heart-rending minutes when she managed to skid into a cave she’d never seen before. She shimmied through a hole that was barely big enough for her and scooted up into a little ledge area. The cat might wait for hours for her, so she made herself comfortably before she pulled out the flint and steel and lit her torch.
The walls of the cave glittered and shone the way that sometimes a small piece of rock would. The whole area was smooth, rounded, like she had scooted up from the cave into something even less natural than her tree-house.
On the far side of the room was a lever. Pren looked at the lever. At least, it was a stick poking out of the wall at an angle. Her mother had shown her how to use things like that to set traps for animals, when she had been small. When her mother had been around. It might dump her into a net or drop something on her, although both the floor and ceiling looked sturdy enough in the torchlight. It might drop something on the cat.
The cat was trying to get up the hole she had slipped through. One clawed paw batted upwards, bigger than Pren’s foot.
She scooted backwards and pulled the lever. Even a trap was better than being eaten by a cat.
She fell backwards as the wall opened up, into a brightly and smooth room full of strangers and shining lights.
When you listened to the old-timers talk, the problems were mostly space.
When you actually listened to them, the problem was space in specific areas, or space that someone wanted, or something like that.
But there was a “crowding issue”. There were issues with too many people in NYC. There were issues with lots and lots of people in places on the other side of the globe. There were problems with obsolete technology. As far as Rhini could tell, there had been a whole bunch of problems like that, or things people had thought were problems, and some really rich people had thought those problems were going to take over the world. Continue reading
“Class, can you tell me what this is representing?”
The VR diorama showed two women in early Space era outfits, the one in a tidy romper with a skirt-wrap of a style that was classic enough that it kept cycling around every generation or so, the other in a sloppy scientist’s jumpsuit. The classily-dressed woman had her back turned on a distraught scientist who was shaking a stapler.
“Oh! That’s the Stapler Revolution!” One of the know-it-all students bounced a little. “That’s when — when they changed all the laws about staplers? No, that’s not right. It’s…” Continue reading
Amalie had been studying science since she was old enough to scroll through a book reader. She had spent ten years studying astronomy before moving on to geology and then, in a move that surprised everyone, concentrated on botany for her secondary work.
Her younger brother had focused on astrology and astrogation the entire time, and could tell you from a two-second look at any star chart where they were and which way they were headed. He wanted to be part of the Navigation Team. He wanted to be part of the Rulers who got to go up onto the Bridge.
Amalie just wanted to know everything. She wanted, as she explained to her perplexed parents, to eat something more interesting, too, and to make something with a better protein balance that didn’t taste like the same old thing. And if high-end botany was going to get that, that’s what she was going to study. Continue reading
a story for my New Year’s Prompt Call, which you should go prompt at please, here.
Warning… a wee bit maudlin.
The snow had finally melted. It had been a long winter – slow-starting but then dumping buckets of snow on us all of February and March and most of April.
It was May 5th, and I could finally see all of the grass, or at least the parts that had survived. I could see, too, my poor bushes, which had not done well but which were, now, trying to put out the buds they normally would have put out in early March. Continue reading