PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Morgs are from Venus
The creature was here.
Malky dusted the frost from his Morg Detector.
The reading showed ten in a thousand parts of nitrogen dioxide
and traces of nitric oxide.
Malky locked his visor, sealed his suit and turned on its heater.
His knees began to shake.
He saw the frosted roses in a vase of water pellets.
What was the Morg after?
Was this a Valentine’s gift and attempt at amorous flattery?
Or a trap.
Were there frosted chocolates?
A lyrical voice called, ‘Malky’.
His detector bleeped nitric warning. Too late.
She was beautiful. He was frozen in love.
Posted in Blog, Friday Fictioneers, Uncategorized
Tagged Gedichte, Horror, Humour, Morgs from Venus, Relationships, ScFi, SciFi, Short Stories, Writing
PHOTO PROMPT © Priorhouse
Where is everyone! Such diplomatic bad manners.
The Ehevan envoy, Sil Chasack, switched to transmit, she strode around
No sign of the humanoids, she reported. Typical arrogance.
She was sent by the Galactic Federation to instruct ‘Earth’ on environmental sustainability for their survival.
Where were they, don’t they care about trading coffee?
Measurements showed the Blue Planet was deteriorating in a self-consuming infestation, the Mollaks are considering a cleansing cull; as a warning.
Sil wiped the window and looked out, there were no signs of biological life in the dark poisonous atmosphere.
Pity, this Mocha Djimmah tastes superb.
It’s okay Malcolm, if you want to cry.
I’m so scared.
Tell me, Malcolm, what makes you feel so afraid?
I see colours, following me.
Now Malcolm, I am here to help, tell me what things?
I can’t, you’ll think I am . . .
Here’s a tissue, Malcolm. I understand. I am here to help.
Do you? I think you are one of THEM!
Don’t shout, Malcolm, we are all the same.
No, we’re not, you’re weird.
Malcolm, you are the one who is different.
SEE! am I the only one?
Please Malcolm, join us, be an umbrella person.
My new book cover – The Listener (0.99p)
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson
The Trappist Zone
George, the transporter is landing.
Will I miss this place?
We did our best George, we must start over, a new beginning.
I feel a failure; all the destruction and greed.
Oh, George, remember the woolly mammoth.
Downhill since then. Where did we go wrong?
We gave them dreams and intelligence. Our experiment had potential.
Yes, we did very well, but should we just abandon them?
It’s too late, they are out of control; a self-consuming infestation.
George, the bag?
Yes, all human goodness, fully packed.
Think of our next creation; “Mensch”.
A perfect ideal; the Trappist Zone is ready.
Posted in Blog, Flash Fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Short Story, Uncategorized
Tagged 100 word story, Creationism, Friday Fictioneers, Futuristic hope, Interstellar Aspirations, micro-fiction, SciFi, Short Stories, Space Travel, spiritual, Writing
PHOTO PROMPT © Jean L. Hays
It was hot and stuffy hiding in the cellar and after days of waiting Marcie saw one.
It sauntered past, composed, confident and majestic in a fine metallic plumage.
Marcie and Mary shuddered, the trap was set.
The Pheasant paced back and forth guarding the building, it had alerted Species Control about the find. Hurry, it had reported, before the humans attempt an escape.
Mary gripped Marcie’s hand, to stop her shaking. Why did these giant Pheasants find female flesh such an addictive delicacy?
Worse; why had they volunteered to bait them?
A man’s idea! The last women on Earth.