Room Service

Photo by: David Stewart

Sitting in their BnB room, two aliens plotted the end of the world.

Rijnyt gobbled down his asparagus and brie crepe and said, “This Earth food is so incredible. I will miss it!”

Caynajt tapped at his computer. “I know. When I press this key, there will be no more lobster linguine in the universe.”

“So sad, when we’ve got room service.”

“I know, but we’ve got to do this now, or the planetary alignment won’t be right for 128 years.”

“We could defect, but we’d never see home…and the Secret Police.”

Caynajt nodded. “You’re right. Let’s order the crab ceviche.”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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Ukraine under attack by Russia

I stand with Ukraine, and condemn Russia’s illegal war.

Below, a Ukrainian woman gives a Russian soldier a piece of her mind. God bless her, she’s got balls.

Rumors abound about “The Ghost of Kyiv”. A Ukrainian Mig-29 pilot apparently shot down 6 Russian planes in a single day, a feat not seen since WW2. Not sure I believe it yet. It’s more likely six different pilots shot down six Russian planes. It is possible, though, especially considering the Ukraine airspace is a very “target rich environment.” This video claims the Ghost of Kyiv is confirmed, but I will reserve judgement. I’m just glad Ukraine is fighting back…hard. See below:

The Ghost of Kyiv

Russia is encountering unexpected resistance. Good. Below, an Mi-24 Hind attack helicopter takes a stinger missile hit, and burns as it crashes.

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Photo by: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

The waiter said, “Welcome to Harrington’s Restaurant where anything is possible.” 

“Menus?” said Mitch as he and Sylvie sat.

“No need. Order anything.”



Mitch snorted. “I’ll have the rib of Woolly Rhino.”

“Stop it, Mitch,” groaned Sylvie.

“Very good, sir,” said the waiter. He took Sylvie’s order and left.

Sylvie hissed at Mitch. “Stop being a jerk!”

Ten minutes later, a huge man walked in splattered with blood and carrying a massive gun. He said, “Who ordered the Woolly rib?”

“Now you’ve done it, Mitch,” quavered Sylvie.

Timidly, Mitch said, “I was kidding, really.”

“No worries, mate. Your ribs will be done in a jiffy! Hope you’re hungry.” 


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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A Delayed Decision

Dalton Blakesley looked out over the English Coast. He turned to a tall fellow he knew as Jordan. 

“You can really fix this time loop I’m stuck in?”

“We can,” said Jordan. “Our technology is that advanced.”

Dalton had relived the same three days for a month already, and now the repeats could end. But that meant no more flying a Spitfire in a peacetime world, flying for the sheer joy of it. No longer would he meet Sharon, the sparks of love, flashing between them. No more waking up in bliss beside her. 

“Can you come back in another month?”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Author’s Notes:

I don’t know if anyone out there is unfamiliar with the Supermarine Spitfire. Here’s one just in case. This is a Mark XVI, a late model Spitfire still with a Merlin engine and its distinctive sound.

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Fat and Juicy

In an old Chinatown lab, Arleigh said, “This Universal Translator is incredible.”

A turkey wandering the lab said, “Gobble-gobble.”

The translator beeped and intoned, “More food!”

Preston held up a device. “That’s nothing. This Genifier will switch on the ancient genes of any organism. Soon we’ll have a bigger, fat and juicy turkey for Thanksgiving. Now the setting.”

“Not for 65-million,” warned Arleigh. “We don’t want a T-Rex.”

“Do I look stupid? 20-million, of course.”

“Wait, there’s still…”


In the turkey’s place stood an eight-foot tall Terror Bird. It gazed at them and squawked.

 The translator intoned, “Mmm. Fat and juicy!”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates it. 

Author’s Notes:

Terror Birds: “Phorusrhacids, colloquially known as terror birds, are an extinct clade of large carnivorous flightless birds that were one of the largest species of apex predators in South America during the Cenozoic era; their conventionally accepted temporal range covers from 62 to 1.8 million years (Ma) ago…They ranged in height from 1 to 3 m (3 to 10 ft).”

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The Battle Plan

General Hawkins spoke on the phone as he walked through the creche of Earth’s last-living humans. “We’re out of time. We’ll never survive the alien assault.”

Just then, a little girl pulled his sleeve and pointed to toys she’d arranged upon a geometric pattern.

“Joan, don’t bother the General.” Her father smiled shyly at Hawkins. “She plays ‘General’ with her toys.”

Hawkins squinted at the familiar topography, his heart beating faster. “Those aren’t toys.”


“They represent our only completed stealth tank, finding a gap in the alien defenses.”


Hawkins grinned. “Your daughter’s battle plan may have just saved all humanity.”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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An Overabundance Of Courage

Unmanned probes “maybe” found life in Jupiter. Nothing was certain, and this brought fearless entrepreneur and adventurer, Jeb Newcastle into the orbit of Jupiter.

The press took pictures as Newcastle stood before his probe.

“The first mission should be unmanned,” muttered Genelle.

“It’s too dangerous,” warned Chang.

Newcastle grinned for the cameras. “Because of what? Microbial life? Don’t be daft!”

Hours later, Genelle and Chang watched the camera feeds as Newcastle’s probe dove.

“There’s one now,” crowed Newcastle. “Lovely! Oh my, it’s quite lar…”

When the feed cut, Genelle sighed, “Well, Jupiter has life.”

Chang nodded, “And its got huge teeth.” 


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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Culture Shock

Evan had come a long way from his remote Appalachian home. Heck, as early as 2137, he was first in town to own a cell phone. And now he visited the big city of Harper’s Ferry to board a starship bound for Earth’s newest space colony. 

He stared up at the glass tubing and the lights in wonder. What incredible technology! Since the aliens shared their technology, humans traveled the stars. This spaceship demonstrated the aliens’ high tech. “Them aliens shoor make a mighty perty ship,” he said.

“Not yet,” said his guide, sighing. “This is just the shopping mall.”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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The Bane Of Communication

I haven’t been posting much lately. Sorry about that. I had been writing so intensely for so long, I guess I suffered from a certain amount of burnout. I needed a change for a little while. I didn’t have writer’s block, mind you, the creative juices still flow. I just needed to give them another outlet for bit. Add to it, I hate this new wordpress writing interface. It’s desperately inefficient, and it doesn’t make writing any more fun. I’ll try to get used to it.

Enough of that. On with the story!

Jace and Palmer stood at a place where heated water had broken through Europa’s icy crust. Earth’s colony to Jupiter’s moon was making a tremendous discovery.

“I’ve found intelligent life!” cheered Jace.

“No way,” said Palmer.

“It’s true, and we can communicate. Watch!” 

Jace held out his cell phone. A silvery tentacle reached out of the water and began typing. It wrote. “You back.”

“Incredible!” said Palmer. 

The tentacle typed more and wrote, “I hated you back.”

“But it hates us already,” groaned Palmer.

“But why?” Jace asked the creature.

The tentacle typed again, frantically. “Hoped, I mean. Damned spellcheck!”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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The Welcoming Present

Photo by: Anne Higa

Aliens Ixtlan and Yltec stood beneath the micro-brewery’s broken pipe, fish-like mouths agape to catch the torrent of fluid. Up until now, the highly touted human beer hadn’t impressed, but this was different.

“Amazing!” said Ixtlan. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” 

“Their best beer to date,” cheered Ytlec.

“And they’re just giving it away for free!”

“This is the best welcoming present humans have ever given us.”

Meanwhile, one floor above, Bill examined their work carefully. “I think we’ve almost got it now.”

“About perfect,” said Bob. 

Bill nodded. “Yep. Another flush and this toilet clog will be gone.”


Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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