The Conquered

Photo by: Anshu Bhojnagarwala

General Al’Purathon slouched before the open fire pit. “We traveled four-hundred light-years as conquerors,” he murmured. “Our ships are indestructible, our weapons irresistible. Yet with our finest warriors, Earth has laid us low.”

Angrily, he placed a marshmallow on a stick.

Captain Agur’Tamal opened another package of graham crackers. “It’s not your fault, General. Who could anticipate Earth possessed such a terrifying weapon?”

Al’Purathon squished a flaming marshmallow into the chocolate with a graham cracker. “Wicked it is. So pernicious!”

Agur’Tamal took a bite and his face drooped. “Who could anticipate using our crippling s’mores addiction, as a weapon?”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Author’s Notes:

For those unfamiliar, S’mores are a traditional campfire food…and highly addictive.

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Overdoing It

Photo by: Dale Rogerson

Bryce Martinsyde, Chief Instructor of Espionage, gazed at the door with dismay. “Trainee Wilkinson habitually overdoes things,” he said. “I asked him to put tape on this door as a signal.”

Mr. Blumenthal, Director of Covert Education, looked at the mass of tape on the door, and turned pale. “Good Lord!”

“Are you alright, sir?”

Blumenthal shuddered. “I asked Wilkerson to help remove the door on my house down the street.”

An explosion shook the ground and a fireball rose over the neighborhood.

As bits of wood rained down, Martinsyde said, “Shall we delay training Wilkinson in nuclear weapons disposal?”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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The Hope

Photo By: Priya Bajpal

The consciousness of Nyar’Ka’Shaggonon waited in the clear ovoids. The last chance for the ancient god’s rebirth required only that the “eggs” be submerged in water. The monster would be reborn and conquer all humanity once more.

Then Mary-Lou Halbeck found the ovoids in the attic. A plan hatched.

After eons of waiting, Nyar’Ka’Shaggonon smiled. The time was nigh.

But then…

“I call the table, ‘Hope’,” said Mary-Lou to her husband. “Those beads matched the sea shells perfectly.”

“Glass tables though?” said Howie. “They break.”

She shook her head. “It’s made of adamantium and transparent aluminum. It should last…forever.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Author’s Notes:

If you’re unfamiliar with one of the great masters of horror, H.P. Lovecraft, you really should read his work.

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Rapid Evolution

Photo by: Randy Maize

Aboard an alien starship, Captain Xom mourned for Agent Yuwl. “The humans in Smithtown, Alabama mistook him for a goat and ate him.”

“Far worse than that,” howled Scientist Pewf. “His unusual DNA might’ve combined with humans to create a super-intellect.”

“Ridiculous,” said Xom.

“It could, and this recombining could finish within days. Humans might produce advanced tech hours later!”

“Pure hyperbole,” scoffed Xom.

“Incoming communication on the Scitubilating Halviwarbulator, sir,” said technician Pbut. “From Alabama.”

“That’s our super-advanced communications system,” shuddered Xom. “On speaker.”

The voice of Amy-Jo Jones echoed, “Liked yer goat, y’all. Send down some more…or else.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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The Signal

Photo by: Douglas M. MacIlroy

Gerald sat before his his laptop and patted the strange-looking ball beside it. “With my antennae, I’ve homed in on the signal.”

“What signal?” said Bryce, munching on Doritos.

“From the alien ship. I conducted a study and proved this signal renders humans inert on their couches, incapable of cognition. It’s an attempt to render humanity incapable of self-defense!”

“Blimey,” spluttered Bryce, Doritos flying. “It’s some kind of brain ray?”


“A signal that hacks the brain and crashes it?”


“Then what is it?”

“See for yourself,” said Gerald.

“Holy crap,” said Bryce. “Keeping up with the Karadashians reruns!”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

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Perfectly Ordinary

Photo by: Dawn M. Miller

The train sailed over the old tracks, hovering millimeters above them with superconductors.

Virgil’s great-grandfather, Bertram, groaned. “First you clone me, resurrecting me from cells, and now a hovering train. It’s too much for me, born in the 1800s!”

“Hovertrains are perfectly ordinary,” argued Virgil.

The train entered a tunnel in Wyoming.


The train reappeared in the Siberian railway.

Old Bertram moaned, “What the…?”

“Wormhole tunnel,” shrugged Virgil. “Perfectly ordinary.”

“One more crazy innovation,” spat Bertram. “And I’ll die of a heart attack!”

Brent held the soup that nanobots created in seconds. He grinned sheepishly. “Look! Perfectly ordinary stew.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers:

Author’s Notes:

Superconductors in trains:

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The Order

Photo by Jilly Funell

A month after the Wertiger Insititute opened with its Space Communications Array, the aliens contacted humanity.

“For one month, we will monitor Earth’s transmissions, then give our Final Order.”

That was it. What did it mean?

To be safe, TV channels sanitized their broadcasts. “The Sound of Music” and “Bambi” played thousands of times. Movies like “A Clockwork Orange” and “50 Shades of Gray” never played once.

No one thought about the commercial content.

The hour arrived and the entire Earth waited with baited breath.

At last the aliens spoke, “Our Order is: One thousand pepperoni pizzas with extra cheese!”
Written for the Friday Fictioners:

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