Tag Archives: Alastair’s Photo Fiction
This is a piece for the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. (The title is a take-off of Pigs in Space. If you don’t know what that is, click here.)
Bureaucracy…in Space
Bruce pulled himself to the bathroom and squeezed out a few painful, amber drops. The purifiers banged and vibrated and he waited with swollen throat for that tiny cupful of pure water to emerge. He was still twenty-two days away from Earth, far too long to survive like this.
There was a blip on his radar—another ship in range. With trembling hands, he hailed them.
“This is Scout eagle 45AZ. What type of ship are you?” he asked.
“Scout eagle 45AZ, this is Transport 50TS.”
“TS? You’re a terraforming ship? What are you carrying?”
“Water,” came the reply.
“50TS, I need water,” Bruce called. “My tank sprung a leak and I’ve been venting water. I just need a few gallons to get me back to Earth.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry 45AZ, but our tanks are all sealed. We need permission to open them.”
“Then get it!” Bruce shouted. “I’m dying here.” His voice cracked and he started coughing.
Several minutes passed before there was a reply. “45AZ, I’ve obtained conditional permission. I’m sending you the order now.”
A message flashed on Bruce’s screen.
FROM HIGH COMMAND:
Permission for water tanks to be opened is granted, contingent on the applicant appearing before a tribunal on Earth in two days time to explain the necessity. Thank you for your cooperation.
13 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, bureaucracy, fiction, flash fiction, science fiction, space, space travel, thirst, water | posted in Light
Narcissus’ Soul
I looked down into the pool and saw myself looking back. I stared, astonished, as that other self waved at me and then walked away. He climbed the trees and read quietly by the edge of the water.
I turned away and when I looked back, I was looking back at myself. Again though, that other me vanished and soon I saw the trees in the reflection ablaze. Then the other me appeared, holding a bloody sword, and sneered at me with wicked contempt. I jerked my eyes away.
The next time I looked, I watched my reflection build a castle of crystal and alabaster around the pool, its spires soaring up to Heaven. I could not tear away and watched as that other me built an empire of perfection greater than any human accomplishment. The majesty of it brought tears to my eyes.
I felt my strength fading but I could not look away and my final thought, before darkness overcame me, was how beautiful were the works of that other self, and how wonderful, how marvelous, my potential was.
19 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, death, dream, fiction, flash fiction, Narcissus, potential, vision | posted in Dusk
This story deals with somewhat disturbing material. Just a heads up. It’s a story for Al Forbes’ Sunday Photo Fiction. A bit over the word limit, but please forgive me this time.
All Wrung Out
I feel wrung out, with a soul like an old dishrag, flapping in the burning wind. But you gotta keep on, so I flip a smile, crack a joke and pretend. We all do.
“We got a drill hole on 10th Avenue,” Marc calls. “A real slip-n-slide.”
“And here I forgot my bathing suit,” I say, climbing into the truck.
There are no survivors, of course. The laser beam drilled a perfect hole down through the 20-story building, gutting it and disintegrating everything in its path. Nobody calls us when there are survivors, only when there is “organic material” to clean up. I don’t mind the “organic material”; it’s picking up the body parts I can recognize that gets to me. Nobody said war was pretty.
“Do you ever wish one of those lasers would get us?” Marc asks that evening. “Just erase the memories and nightmares forever.”
“What, and leave this dream job?” I say, laughing and taking a swig of beer.
He looks at me with pain in his eyes, pleading silently for me to be serious, just once. But I can’t do it, because I feel so thin inside that if I stop smiling, I’ll shatter.
I’m just all wrung out.
14 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, death, fiction, flash fiction, horror, violence, war | posted in Dark
Private Darkness
Felicity prided herself on her unflappability, and yet she was still shocked, one night, to see the moon being eaten away slowly, as if a gargantuan turtle were nibbling on the lettuce leaf that was the lunar disc.
“The moon is disappearing!” she screamed.
“It looks the same to me,” a passerby said, glancing up. “Full moon tonight.”
No one else say it. They insisted the moon was full even as Felicity watched the last silver sliver disappear from view. She watched the stars go dark as God’s spilled inkbottle continued gobbling up the sky.
The next day, the sun did not rise. The streetlights went off at their normal time and Felicity groped her way to work, using her phone as a flashlight. People eyed her strangely as they strode by.
From then on, she lived in a world of darkness and time became only a number on her watch. She began only going out at night, when artificial lights were lit. One evening, she was walking to the store when she heard someone scream, “The moon! It’s disappearing!”
Felicity smiled. It may be the end of the world, but at least she wasn’t crazy.
“Anything is bearable, when one does not have to endure it alone.” – R.W. Guy
10 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, apocalypse, catastrophe, darkness, fiction, flash fiction, moon | posted in Dusk
For those of you unfamiliar with the Bible, the most famous Lazarus was a man who died and whom Jesus brought back to life. However, there is also another Lazarus in the Bible. This story takes its title from both of them, although somewhat indirectly.
This is a story for Al Forbes’ Sunday Photo Fiction.
Thief! Mutt! Cur!
These were the only names the dog had ever been called. Born to a mongrel mother in a nest of refuse, he was filthy an hour out of the womb and stayed that way his whole life.
But he was a survivor. He quickly learned where to find the best garbage and how to get into small, warm places to survive the Russian winters. One night, he wormed his way under the chain link fence of a large lab and through a door left ajar, where light and delicious smells were waiting for him.
“Ah! A stray!” Something shiny and round whistled through the air, the last thing the dog ever saw.
* * *
“Are you crazy? That mechanism costs more than your house!”
“It’s fine. See? No damage.” The scientist wiped the dog’s blood off the metal circle, then fitted it into the deep-space probe.
Years later, after billions of miles in the icy void of space, the probe was picked up, scanned, and the residual DNA aboard coaxed into life, tail wagging, bright eyes gleaming. The new species Dog lives there in peace and luxury, the countless millions of copies pampered like the original never was.
17 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, aliens, cloning, death, dog, fiction, flash fiction, Lazarus, science fiction, stray | posted in Dusk
This is a story for Al Forbes Sunday Photo Fiction. If you don’t know what Poohsticks are, you can read about them here.
Poohsticks Evolution
When I was young, my sister and I played Poohsticks behind our house.
Then Chemicorp moved in and soon the stream smoked with acidic fog. We’d grab our gas masks and go play on the bridge with altered rules: last stick to dissolve was the winner.
Then the Earth was destroyed, thank you very much Vogons, and we lived on a small asteroid, spinning wildly around the sun, waving at our neighbors if we passed close by in the debris field. We’d throw pebbles off; first one to orbit the asteroid and hit us in the back of the head was the winner.
Now that we’ve gotten scooped up by space giants and put in a zoo, they throw us into a river of mud and shoot mutant ferrets at us as we float under a bridge a mile high.
But I still beat my sister more than half the time.
16 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, asteroid, chemicals, destruction, evolution, fiction, games, Poohsticks, quirky, Vogons | posted in Light
Thanks to my friend at A Dragon Year for the inadvertent inspiration for this story.
Life in the Sun
It took a while to figure out that the mermaid wasn’t hostile. It took even longer to figure out it wasn’t a maid, it was a mer-dude. Then it took forever to find out what he wanted when he swam up the Thames and stared intently at Parliament. Mer-people could apparently understand English, but were not able to speak.
The press conference was conducted with a type of sign language, made more complicated by the merman’s webbed hands.
“Why are you here?” they asked.
“I am here because I have lived in British waters for my whole life but where has my representation been? You tax us by taking our fish but what do we get out of it? Give representation to the undersea inhabitants of the realm or there will be revolution!”
A year later, the mer-man, Sirenio, was elected the first MP from newly-created constituency of the Solent.
The next day, the Sun’s headline screamed: NEWLY ELECTED MERMAN MP CAUGHT EMBEZZLING SAND DOLLARS!
29 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, British, fantasy, fiction, funny, mermaid, ocean, Parliament, politics, quirky, scandal, tabloid, the Solent, the Sun, UK | posted in Light
The Importance of Legends
It was a badly-kept secret among intellectuals that the vaults under the British Museum held a portal to another world. It was a jade gate that had been stolen from China in 1840. When its secret was discovered in 1848, a stream of explorers and archaeologists had entered it, never to reappear. Eventually, the gate was locked up.
Until 2012 . . .
Cameras clicked and flashed as Dr. Forbes stood in front of the jade gate.
“I discovered the map in our archives,” he said. “The corner was torn off, but I managed to decipher the ancient Chinese to see that it is a map of the land beyond. It shows where the dangers are, as well as a magnificent treasure, across this plain and beyond these mountains.” He pointed to a reproduction of the three-foot square map. “I will now enter the gate with my team. We plan to be gone a week.”
The next day, a janitor was cleaning up the archive room and found a scrap of paper under a desk. It said 一寸是一万里*, not even English. He threw it away.
*(1 inch = 3600 miles)
18 Comments | tags: adventure, Alastair's Photo Fiction, British Museum, China, Chinese, exploration, fiction, flash fiction, legend, map, misunderstanding, other worlds | posted in Light
A piece for Al Forbes’ Sunday Photo Fiction.
The Golden Circle
“He’s the king.”
“We can’t trust him.”
“But he’s the king.”
“He killed eight people.”
“He’s the king.”
In the nation of Vallakha, there was no way to remove a monarch. He was installed by God and was above the law. So when King Jerome III began roaming the palace halls, killing servants and courtiers, there was intense discussion about to what to do.
“Execute him?”
“Impossible.”
“Imprisonment?”
“He controls the prisons. Nothing is higher than the king, except God himself.”
“Nothing but God . . .”
On the first day of summer, the king was imprisoned in his bedroom, surrounded by golden bars, which were blessed and made part of the Church. His guards were priests. His rule remained absolute through the whole nation, except for a circle, four inches wide, that surrounded him.
13 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, church, fiction, flash fiction, king, monarchy, murder, prison | posted in Dusk
Mug Party
I went to my first Mug Party last night. I thought it was about coffee and I even brought my own mug. That wasn’t what it was about.
The invitation said it was a costume party. I came as Pikachu. Everyone else wore fancy dresses and ornate opera masks.
Someone really should have told me.
Everyone was given a small bag of coins and a rubber hammer and it soon became apparent that a Mug Party was where people flitted around, politely knocking each other on the head and stealing their money.
I quickly lost all my money. Half an hour into the party, I had a splitting headache and was handing out IOUs to my muggers. I was so easy to mug, they were queuing up. By the end of the night, I was $182 in the hole.
That is the last time I let my mad Uncle Kent plan my birthday party.
10 Comments | tags: Alastair's Photo Fiction, birthday party, Costume, fiction, flash fiction, mug, party, Pikachu, theft, theme | posted in Light
The Green-Walled Tower 