Saturday, July 25, 2009

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Fifty Four

The starship Persea's crew met with an alien race that used vulgar language as a powersource. Negotiations with them were lively.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Fifty Three

Jeff's first day of lockup might have been better if hadn't pointed out his cellmate's swastika prison tat was backwards.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Fifty Two

"Foolish monster!" Fuego said, "You may be able to conceal your tiger claws and jaguar teeth but you can't hide your lion eyes!"

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Fifty One

In space no one can hear you scream so it was inevitable that someday the karaoke Olympics would be held on the moon.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Fifty One

Jack glared, "We'd have gotten away with it if not for those damn kids." Osrick glared back, "I can't believe you said that."

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Fifty

At long last Gary waded out onto the dance floor and tried all the moves he had dreamed about. Sometimes dreams are better.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Nine

Even as he bled out Marty appreciated the irony that the Kevin Bacon zombie had torn his foot loose.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Eight

She had never wanted to join the ranks of the undead but she had never been a morning person anyway.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Seven

The worldwide crisis brought out heroes of science and magic. Captain Hero just stood there, hands on his utility belt.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Six

Once again the Brotherhood of Virtue saved the kindgom. With the princess restored to the throne, the embezzling continued.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Five

Matt Moran of the space patrol defeated the hairy squids from Planet X but everyone still mispelled his name as 'Moron'.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Four

After all this time it was revealed- Rumpelstiltskin had simply been trying to form a boy band.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Three

He fell from the window into an industrial shredder. A crowd gathered around the remains. Someone asked, "Is he dead?"

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty Two

He sent her a series of highly erotic text messages, if only she hadn't loaned her cell phone to her mother that day.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty One

In the end the only real difference between SpaceFleet Academy and the School of Wizardry was the snugness of the uniforms.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Forty

Research found that dinosaurs had advanced technology but were too obsessed with social networking sites to avert their doom.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Nine

He survived war, hunger and cancer. At 90 years old he bought his first computer and Windows Vista was the death of him.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Eight

It was a town where hard liquor was cheap and soft water was mandatory.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Seven

A tear in reality dropped a group of civil war reenactors into the midst of a renaissance fair. Chaos ensued.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Six

Agent Krump bristled, "She's turning into a wild eyed sociopath!" Agent Quinn corrected, "The term now is bridezilla."

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Five

The accident left her aware of the things that slithered through the spaces between. Every glimpse was a blasphemy.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Four

No time traveller ever used the technology to become their own grandfather but it was a popular prank to play on friends.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Three

The Dolby virus was either fatal or it left you with the hairstyle you had in the 80's. The living envied the dead.

In The Shadow Of His Nemesis chapter twenty one


BY AL BRUNO III




Thursday November 14th 1996




Isobel had spent the better part of the last week hating herself and avoiding eye contact with Galen. She blamed him and she blamed herself for Cheryl, she blamed him and herself for her brother getting maimed but most of all she blamed herself for falling in love with Galen.

Guilt was the only thing keeping her from speaking more than two words to the man but it was killing her.

If not for Angie she might have locked herself in her room and never come out again. In fact that was what she had tried but Angie had been gently persistent, asking if she wanted to play checkers or gin rummy, offering her juice and wine. Finally Isobel had relented and allowed the woman in her room. They had talked for a time; Angie had been hungry for gossip stories of celebrities and general news of the Capital District. Isobel had been eager to learn about the world she had blundered into.

At first Angie had been reluctant; telling her that she was better off hearing what she needed to hear from Galen but Isobel had explained that she didn’t want to hear this from Galen. So over the next few days Angie doled out the information bit by bit, telling Isobel a story of hidden wars and secret enemies. Of the Monarchs, inscrutable beings trying to pollute the world with their hunger and of this place, Laurel House, a place as invisible to the Monarchs as it is to mundane eyes.

“Then how did we find it?” Isobel asked.

And Angie had shrugged, “Because you needed to.”

Did she believe that? It was as good an explanation as any and she wasn’t going to question it, not when she’d just found a friend.

“There goes your brother.” Angie said. They were spending the morning by the fireplace swapping stories; somehow they had gotten onto the subject of Proms and high school boyfriends; a rich subject of conversation if ever there was one.

“Yeah.” Isobel said, “I thought he’d stop by. I worry he hates me, he wouldn’t have been… you know, if not for me.”

“He doesn’t seem the type.” They had pulled the thick leather chairs up as close to the fire as they dared and had thick blankets draped over their legs.

“You think? We kind of drifted apart after I left home. I know he had some bad stuff happen to him in high school. There was this kid Tristam…”

Angie nodded, “Yeah, he sounds like a real creep.”

“It must be something in the water.” Isobel found her eyes returning to the framed photographs that dotted the walls at irregular intervals. They were all in black and white and full of smiling strangers but there was something about the landscapes that surrounded them that seemed desolate. It made Isobel so curious, what were these places?

“It’s the Monarchs again.” Angie said, “At least that’s what I was told anyway. They’re very close to our world there.”

Someone cleared their throat, both women looked up to see an older man standing there; he was muscular, his silver-white hair was shorn close to his scalp and he had a thick moustache. There was something fierce about him. He was holding a tray with two steaming cups of hot chocolate, “Good morning.”

“Johnny.” Angie’s expression brightened. She was the only person who could call him that, to everyone else he was Sig, “How was your walk?”

“I didn’t go too far. Just enough to lose myself in the woods for a bit.” He brought the tray over and offered it to Angie, “I knew it was time for this.”

She brushed her hand over his before she took one of the mugs, “Any sign of you-know-who?”

“No but Zeth said he’s on his way.” An unpleasant look crossed his features, “Just what we need.”

Isobel took her mug when it was offered, “Is this that McGuire guy you’re talking about?”

Sig smiled at her, but only with his mouth; his eyes never smiled except when he was looking at Angie, then they positively twinkled. “Magwier.” He said, “He calls himself Jason Magwier these days.”

Isobel sipped her hot chocolate, “Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.” Sig turned back to Angie and have her and handful of huge looking pills, “These are the last. I have to go into town tonight.”

Angie took the first of them and then asked, “Can you wait until morning? I hate having that bed to myself.”

Spring December romances usually didn’t faze Isobel but this one that made her wonder, the way they seemed sad and sweet all at once. Isobel thought it had to be the loss of a child; no couple ever fully recovered from such a loss. Her parents had taught her that.

Sig slipped the tray under his arm, “All right. I’ll leave you two to talk now.”

Isobel said, “You can stay if you want. The more the merrier.”

“No.” Sig said, “No thank you. I was never much for long conversations.”

When he walked past Angie ran her fingers along the length of his arm with a casual tenderness that made Isobel feel a pang of envy. Would she ever be lucky enough to be so happy? She doubted it, not when she wasn’t sure if she was ever going to even let Galen back into her bed.

God damnit! How can I ever be thinking about sex now?

“If you need anything from town you should let him know before he heads out for Windham.” Angie drew her bare feet up under her blanket.

“Windham?” Isobel said, “Isn’t that about 15 miles out of the way?”

Angie took the first of her pills, grimacing when she swallowed it, “Yup. And he walks it.”

“What?” Isobel leaned forward in her chair, “Is that safe? Walking alone like that? I mean he’s got to be sixty or close to it.”

Her brother walked past her, actually he was more or less dragged past her by Hao the woman that- along with Jack- seemed to more or less run Laurel House. Warren flashed his sister a helpless smile, but it was a wide one. Angie was smiling too, almost chuckling into the back of her hand.

“What’s so funny?” Isobel asked.

“Oh what you said about John’s age. He’s older than that actually but he’ll be fine trust me.”

“You’re being coy again.”

Angie nodded, “I suppose I am. Sometimes it feels like my whole life has become an inside joke.”

“Well how about letting me in on it?” Isobel took a sip of her hot chocolate.

“There are some things…” Angie paused as she swallowed another pill, “… that I think you need to hear from Galen. There are things I don’t feel I have the right to tell you.”

Isobel frowned, “If that’s how you feel about it.”

“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad ok?”

“Only if you finish telling me how you hid that hickie from your parents.” Isobel said with mock severity.

Angie laughed again, “Oh my God. I could have died…”



Tuesday, July 21, 2009

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty Two

"I'm a private eye and a gynecologist. I didn't know what Mother Superior wanted from me but I knew I wasn't gonna like it."

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty One

"I killed a vampire once," JT bragged. "At least I think it was a vampire... I mean he was wearing a cape..."

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Thirty

She had hoped a night with a movie star would be her life's main feature but it was all just another selected short.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Twenty Nine

"I had sex with a vampire once," he confessed, "she just laid there..."

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Twenty Eight

During year one of the starship Persea's journey arguments over which Gilbert and Sullivan musical was best led to riots.

5 Second Fiction One Hundred and Twenty-Seven

Lions and tigers and bears- it was the strangest buffet ever.

One of the places my daughter and I have been spending our time this week...

Infinity Acres Ranch







Take a virtual tour!

Ron Jeremy's John Carpenter's THE THING

Well not exactly...

But courtesy of brutalashell.com I have seen the trailer for the movie Bio-Slime. Now while to a large extent I have grown tired of the 'heroes trapped and under siege' plotline. I mean there are other plotlines in horror... I've seen them...

Still though this film does look interesting and the effects and general style seem to have a real 1980's vibe to it. But will it be a ReAnimator or a Breeders?

This may not be safe for work...

The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Artifacts And Heirlooms


The Nick Of Time
(and other abrasions)

Artifacts And Heirlooms
by
Al Bruno III


Mulrooney was the last one left alive.

He ran but the swamp clawed at his every step. The thick mire sucked at his feet, slowing him down. The bramble and thick roots made him stumble and fall leaving his hands and face bloodied. When he looked behind him he could only see the oily night.

But they were there. He could hear them moving through the mud and water, swatting branches aside with their withered, impossibly strong arms.

He'd seen those arms crush the skull of Banning, blood and splinters of bone slathering over gnarled, bandaged hands. The sight had sent the rest of the crew scattering into the swamp, abandoning the crates of priceless antiquities.

Everything abandoned except for one thing. Mulrooney reached into his pocket and felt the reassuring weight of the jeweled scarab. If he could just get to safety he would be a rich man, he could retire... or at least get into a more honest line of work.

Mulrooney blundered into a patch of thick, knee-deep mud and for a moment he was stuck fast. Squealing he clutched at a nearby tree, dragging himself forward, leaving one of his shoes behind. He didn't dare try and go back for it. Not when Whemple's horrified pleading still echoed in his ears. Mulrooney had turned away before Whemple had been torn limb from limb, but the sound of it had nearly driven him to madness.

Easy money.

They'd thought it would be easy money, just pick up the cargo and drop it off again a few miles down the coast. Smuggling was never a problem, smuggling was their stock and trade. Drugs, illegals from Cuba and weapons had all been stowed on their boat at one time or another. Their skipper Blake was ex-Coast Guard and he knew the Everglades like no other man. He had loved it in a strange way but that was no protection when the alligators took him screaming into the deep. Mulrooney had almost been envious.

That was a good sensible death. That was a death you could understand.

Slipping into the silhouette of a dead tree, Mulrooney took a moment to catch his breath and try to gain his bearings. No matter where he looked he could not find the lights of civilization and the low-hanging clouds kept him from navigating by the stars. He had no way of knowing what way led to land and what way led back to the ocean. He could wander around all night and not find his way back to safety.

A guttural whispering joined the chorus of frogs, insects and birds. Mulrooney started moving again, knowing they would never tire that they would run him to ground, just like they had done to Patrick. Patrick had never been in the best of shape and though he tried to keep pace with Mulrooney he soon began to fall a step behind. Then two steps. Then a dozen. Then they caught up with him as he was doubled over gasping.

Poor old Patrick, he tried to fight. He always tried to give as good as he got but his blows only raised clouds of dust and grime, his gunfire only tore holes through bloodless flesh.

Thoughts of what had happened then gave Mulrooney renewed strength. He urged himself to move faster. Mulrooney vowed that if he ever found his way out of here he would find the man that had hired them and dispense harsh justice. They should have been warned.

Their employer had been well dressed and smarmy, he called himself Jack Diamond. He smoked expensive cigars and liked to rest his snakeskin boots on other people's furniture.

Jack Diamond. Mulrooney had thought that was a ludicrous name, like something out of a cartoon. When Banning asked him what they were bringing through Jack Diamond had smiled and said "Artifacts… well heirlooms really."

No one in the crew had believed him but the money he was offering was enough to buy a fleet of ships to replace the BRADY HEAT.

What Mulrooney wouldn't give to be able to find that boat now. The name had been a gag, taken from the titles of one of the many pornographic movies Whemple had owned.

They'd all been watching one of those movies just a week ago, as they waited outside US territorial waters for Jack Diamond's yacht the Rhiannon.

The 'yacht' had been awe-inspiring; almost five times the size of the BRADY HEAT and equipped with its own helicopter landing pad.

Mulrooney remembered wondering aloud why a man with such wealth would need their help. The whole crew had agreed but there had been no turning back. Most of them men had already begun spending their shares of the payoff.

The soft marshy earth gave way beneath Mulrooney's feet and he found himself waist deep in dark water. He squealed with fear and stumbled back. Blake had only been knee deep when the alligators had taken him, snapping and rolling as they fought over every morsel. They had been strange looking creatures too. Mulrooney remembered how odd their heads had looked- long and narrow almost spear-like. Not like proper alligators at all.

Shivering Mulrooney doubled back and made his way along the ragged shoreline.

The trip back had been easy, the Brady Heat had slipped into US territorial waters like a shadow. They followed the directions Jack Diamond had given them precisely making their way from the ocean to the Everglades, to where a third boat would be waiting for them.

During the time it took to make the trip Mulrooney and the others became curious. He, Patrick and Banning had made their way down to the hold, chuckling and half-drunk with greed.

Exhausted, Mulrooney fell to his knees, he shivered with shame and revulsion at the memories that came next. What had he been thinking? Why had he let the others goad him?

There had been seven crates, most had been nailed shut but a pair of them relied on hinges and padlocks. Patrick had always been a good with locks, before joining the crew burglary had been his primary vocation. Soon both crates were wide open. One was full of statues, rings and necklaces, the sight of all the gold and gemstones dazzled them. Beautiful as it had been, it had all looked worn and in need of a good cleaning. Whemple wondered if Jack Diamond had robbed a museum. Patrick replied that it was more likely he had robbed some pharaoh's tomb.

To prove his point he showed them the other crate, the one the size of a piano crate that had shifted unevenly when it had been moved from the Rhiannon to the Brady Heat.

When Mulrooney drew close to the crate a strange odor had filled his nostrils, the smell of dust, dead flowers and salts. The scent of a funeral home long abandoned. The crate was packed was with straw to protect its strange cargo but under that layer of material there were mummies.

Five mummies, ancient and decayed and stacked atop one another. The sight left the three men speechless. The twisted frames the thick layers of sallow, half-rotted wrappings and the tangible aura of the antediluvian. Where would they see something like this outside of a television show, or a bad movie?

The lower four of the embalmed figures were tall and stocky; they reminded Mulrooney of the physiques found on older cops and prison guards. The one that lay atop them was different, it was smaller and more carefully preserved than the others. The layers of weathered linen could not disguise the feminine curves of the body.

Whemple had a gleeful laugh at that. A girl mummy! And she was just the way Mulrooney liked them, slender, coltish and not quite in the full bloom of womanhood. How he loved to gaze into fresh innocent eyes and watch them change, as they were educated in the ways of adulthood. It was a desire that had gotten Mulrooney into trouble into more than one occasion.

He stared at it wondering. Was this some lost princess or a king's wife? Questions he knew would never have answered.

It was Patrick who noticed Mulrooney blushing and staring but it was Whemple who made the dare.
Go on! He had urged. Who will ever know? Do you think she's going to complain?

Several dares and counter-dares later Mulrooney found himself leaning into the oversized crate. When he let his lips brush the frayed wrappings that covered the mummy's sunken mouth his friends cried out and clapped. When Mulrooney reached out and gave the girlish shape's breast a playful squeeze they fell silent.

Mulrooney woke with a start, face first in the muddy ground. He didn't remember passing out. He didn't even know how long he had been unconscious. Everything ached and blood was roaring in his ears. Groaning he pulled himself back to his knees to find her staring down at him. The chase had left her linen wrappings mud-spattered and torn, loose ends flapped around her in the warm Gulf breeze. She raised her one hand on her hip and cocked her head. She had been waiting.

Hands shaking he reached into his pocket, pulled out the jeweled scarab and offered it with a mewling apology.

The scarab had been an afterthought, a bit of mischief. Mulrooney had pocketed it as they closed the crates back up. There were seven boxes of Jack Diamond's artifacts and heirlooms, surely he wouldn't miss one thing?

Mulrooney barely had time to rethink his theft. Less than an hour later the monsters tore their way from the Brady Heat's hold. Blake panicked and ran the ship aground. The whole crew scrambled for safety. They knew the movies from childhood, they knew how a living mummy would shamble and shuffle. They knew they could outrun the danger.

But the mummies did not shamble. They moved steadily and silently, wafting along the ground like fog. Alone and in groups they had picked off the crew until only Mulrooney was left.

"Please..." He begged, "...take it..."

The mummy swatted his hand away; the jeweled scarab plopped into the dark water and was lost. She drew closer, her motions fluid and predatory. Her hand was on his shoulder, holding him with impossible strength. The linen wrappings had fallen away from the bottom of her face revealing flesh the color of rancid fruit and a smile brimming with uneven black teeth. And her eyes, when Mulrooney saw what was in her eyes he had to look away. He found his stare resting on her beast. The wrappings and flesh were still dimpled around where her fingers had touched her.

The mummy tried to speak her voice a guttural purr. She pushed him back into the mud, her touch shredding his clothes and his sanity.

In his madness Mulrooney realized it had not been theft or blasphemy that had woken her- it had been an invitation.

His unwitting invitation.

Monday, July 20, 2009

And a few more pictures of Doctor 11

As far as I am concered this is a great time to be a fan!






More of his cutie companion...



And who is THIS pray tell?




Is that you River Song? And the new companion is named Amy Pond... I guess the new Doctor makes the ladies pretty wet.

Nyuck Nyuck Nyuck...

Well not only do I have internet access after all but I also got my first glimpse of the 11th Doctor!

What a way for a fanboy to start out his morning!



And interesting choice for a costume I think. It is eccentric but doesn't look out of place.



In some ways it reminds me of the first three Doctors...



And his new companion is a redhead. Redheads are nothing but trouble I tells ya! I speak from experience.

Anyway... Long Live The 11th Doctor!

Sunday, July 19, 2009

I am on the road... in about an hour or so...

OK I am out of town with my daughter for a week or so... I am not sure how good my Internet access will be but I've got my flash drive and will try to keep the serial novel rolling along.

Otherwise see you next week!