FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE VIEW FROM PLANET 9 - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDAPALUND

        THE VIEW FROM PLANET 9

          I promised George, the Laboratory's R7 Series Robot, that I would visit Planet 9 to see how his brothers were faring.   Since completing their project for Peachy Keen Technologies, the Robots had become despondent, even suicidal.          

          Exiled, they had lost the human companionship they required to fulfil their remit. They no longer had any useful function to perform. 

          How could I tell George we were too late? The exiled R7s had self destructed before I got here. All that remained of them floated within the hydrogen and nitrogen particles that make up the atmosphere of this beautiful, but lonely planet.

                       END

Forgive me, Doug and Fictioneers, my computer met with a terrible catastrophe (marble steps in Athens) and I am trying to use my phone. I could not figure out how to upload your inspiring photo, but I had this one in my phone , so had to substitute. I also can't answer any comments, but they are always welcome.

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - MAN AGAINST MACHINE - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND

MAN AGAINST MACHINE

            The bike was there every day, fastened to the tree where Jenny worked.  But when Jenny failed to show that day or the following, and the bike remained, they gave up calling her home and called me instead. 

            I found the note taped under the seat.

            ‘Dear Mom and Dad, I have gone to Mars with George. 

            Intermarriage with Robots is legal there. 

            We no longer have to live in sin.

            Please believe this is the happiest day of my life.

            Jenny’

            The Man Against Machine Act is pretty clear. The bike can stay, but the Robot has to go.   

This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/07/17/19-july-2013/

and you can comment on mine below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - TWO GUN GIRLIE GETS HER GOAT - MY NEXT 100 WORDS - BY LINDA PALUND

I said I wasn’t going to do this, but I have anyway.  Here's another Flash Fiction on this weeks prompt for Friday Fictioneers – totally cause I need to use this character in a novel…

TWO GUN GIRLIE GETS HER GOAT

            Peachy Keen Technologies catapults me everywhere to pick up packages. Tonight, I’m in one of the planet’s last graveyards.

            The package turns out to be a ’Goat’, an illegally engineered clone.  King Enterprises would love to get their hands on it.  Worse, we’ve heard the locals are preparing to eat it.

            “Hey, Girlie!” It calls.

            “Shush”

            “Talking goat, Girlie?” One of King’s men points a Chambers Pistol at me.  Without thinking, I draw my spitfire, zap him where he stands, grab the Goat’s collar and flip back to the lab.

            “Thanks,” sighs the Goat.  “It’s a real zoo out there.”

Brought to you by Friday Fictioneers.  Try it at:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/07/10/12-july-2013/

And Please leave a comment below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - GOATS & GRAVES - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND

Goats and Graves

            Goats and Graves surveyed the old graveyard through the chain-link fence.

            “Someone should really clean that place up,” remarked Goats.

            “Nah, it’s a waste of energy.”

            “But it’s disrespectful leaving it like that!”

            “Just some old white folks buried in there.  Let them clean it up.”

            They watched Bulldog climb through a hole in the fence and lead his small flock of goats inside to graze in the shade of the Magnolia trees.

            “Hey Bulldog!” shouted Graves, “What you think you’re doing?”

            “The only good grass ‘round here grows between these old gravestones. These white folks won’t mind.  They’s dead!”

For some reason, I don't know why, I couldn't really write a story, but I felt like writing these little pieces.  Forgive me, here is another:

Goats and Graves

            Daylight doesn’t show the old graveyard to its best advantage.  The chain-link fence couldn’t stop the vandals from knocking over as many tombstones as they could or smashing up the crypts and ripping holes in the fence to graze their livestock inside.

            It wasn’t so much an act of vandalism.  More like revenge.

            The old white folks graveyard sat smack in the middle of our neighbourhood, abandoned but not forgotten.

            It would have made a great park for our kids, with its trees and green lawn.  
            Someday, we’ll tear down the fence and bulldoze the place, obliterating its oppressive history forever.

This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/24-may-2013/

and you can comment on mine below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE VIEW - MY 100 WORDS - BY LINDA PALUND

The View

            It was a beautiful day. The wind blew softly in the direction of the Spaceship, less than a mile away.  Perhaps the fumes would be blown away from us.

            We had heard the news on Fred’s shortwave radio.  Spacecraft had landed everywhere, emitting a gas that drove people mad, committing suicide in staggering numbers.

            To get a better view, Fred climbed up the Sterling Building, the highest point in town. The Fire Company followed with a ladder.

            After the Fire Crew leapt to their deaths, I felt an irresistible urge to climb up there, too.  
            “Oh, look, there goes Fred!”

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - ROADSIDE ATTRACTION - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND - AKA Laura Dunlap

ROADSIDE ATTRACTION

          “Jeez, look what they tossed from that bus!”

            “Is she dead?”

            “I don’t think so.”

            “Don’t touch her, man!”

            “I’m just going to feel for that pulse in her throat.

            “Don’t turn her over! What if her neck’s broken?”

            “Look at that, her shirt’s torn open!

            “I don’t care, man.  Leave her alone!” 

            “She’s down for the count. I’ll just feel for any broken bones.  Hmmm, that’s nice...”

            That’s when Two Gun Girlie opened her eyes.  Her leg shot up and her steel-toed cowgirl boot caught him under the chin. 

            She’d lost her guns, but not her pride.

This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/24-may-2013/

and you can comment on mine below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - CRY FOR HELP - MY 100 WORDS - by LINDA PALUND

CRY FOR HELP

            He had one huge hand around my throat, the other tore open my blouse. Intent on pulling my shorts down, he was oblivious to my clawing and scratching.

            Finally, he made the mistake of trying to kiss me.  I bit his disgusting lip and twisted away.

            Up on my feet, I ran screaming toward the phone box I remembered passing, hearing him close behind me, spitting the blood from his mouth.

            My fault for running so late? Running alone?

            The goddamn phone box was broken.  Then I picked up the rock.

            It’s not my fault his skull cracked so easily.

This Dabble in FLASH FICTION is from FRIDAY FICTIONEERS courtesy of:

http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/24-may-2013/
and you can comment on mine below:

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - IN MEMORY OF A TREE - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND

In Memory of a Tree

            Paco told us there would be a tree.  I couldn’t wait to see it.  I sneaked over the ridge, the vision of the tree in my head; tall trunk, sturdy branches, green leaves blotting out the scorching sun.

            This tree was ugly; gnarled, and twisted, broken bits all over. I turned away in disgust.

            “You’re disappointed.”  I turned to see a creature as unlike the tree as a butterfly from a caterpillar.

             “It’s ugly! And Paco said it was the last one!”

            “Paco was wrong.  There are no more trees.  This is what he remembers.  It's his tree, not yours.”

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - THE DIRTY BOMB - MY 100 WORDS, BY LINDA PALUND

THE DIRTY BOMB

            In daylight, the neighbourhood looks perfectly normal, like nothing had happened.

            When the bombs hit, the power went out.  People panicked.  Our neighbourhood went all to hell. Literally.

            We’re the only ones left.

            We’re not from around here. We’re aliens, but our neighbours never knew, even though the kids gave Marie a hard time at school, calling her a “Vampire” because of her pale skin. Called her weird.

            We liked them anyway and meant them no harm. 

            They did this on their own. 

            They invented a “Dirty Bomb”, killed each other off and left their structures intact. 

            Talk about weird!

FRIDAY FICTIONEERS - A DAY IN THE LIFE - MY 100 WORDS BY LINDA PALUND

New Version 1.

Day and Night

            People don’t understand what happens in these fields at night, behind these fences.  

            Fences cannot stop the big cats.  They slither under like snakes.

            In terror, we run like the wind, pursued by the speed of death.  

            Leaping from the darkness onto our backs, their teeth sink into our necks; their claws pierce our shoulders. 

            We carry them until our great hearts give out and we fall, pumping the last of our blood into the grass.

            We lost Gypsy last night.  The people found her by the fence. 

            They left the hose running, but it won't wash away her memory.

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These are my first ideas, but I was not up to myself on Friday and should have waited, but they are part of a horse diary also:

A Day in the Life

            I slept under the oak tree, shivering thorough the chill desert night.

            I woke with the dawn and nibbled at the few green shoots sprouting around the watering trough, waiting for the kid to bring breakfast. When I heard the rumble of his truck, I headed for the gate.

            He liked to rub my ears before dropping the chunks of alfalfa that would hold me until dinner.

            He filled the trough, but forgot to turn off the hose.

            After he left, I dragged the hose around, feeding the dry grass.             

            Humans are so stupid. Haven’t they heard about drip irrigation?

After reading about Doug and Mystic, I added these notes from the horse's diary:

Version 2:

            I wake with the dawn and rise up on all fours. Horses prefer to sleep lying down, but we can only do that when we feel safe. 

            This field is small and dry, but it’s safe. 

            I don’t get many visitors. Just a kid, who brings me alfalfa, and the nice man called Doug.

            I summon Doug with my hoof against the wire of my fence. He brings me apples and he’s good company in the evening. 

            He knows how dry the grass is so he leaves the hose running.  Now I’ll have fresh green shoots to nibble before breakfast.