By John McDonnell
“Mom, your alien made Horst disappear!” Willow shrieked. “Get him to bring Horst back now!”
Dolores thought that Horst was probably fitting in very well with all the other hominids from 8 million years ago, and she was not thrilled with the idea of bringing him back, but Willow looked a bit flushed under her corpse-like Goth makeup, so Dolores said, “Larry, can you please bring Horst back from whatever epoch you sent him to?”
“Certainly,” Larry said, and in a flash Horst was back in the kitchen, breathing heavily, with scratches on his face and an assortment of twigs, leaves, and small animals in his hair.
“Whoo,” Horst said. “I didn’t know hippos could climb trees.” He had the look of someone who had seen entirely too much for one day.
“Come on, Baby,” Willow said, pushing him out the back door. “We know when we’re not wanted.” She came back long enough to grab two beer bottles out of the refrigerator and then slam the door behind her.
After they left, Dolores sat down across the kitchen table from Larry. “That’s my daughter,” she said. “She has terrible taste in men, her hair is purple, and she hasn’t said ‘Thank you’ to anyone in ten years.”
Larry looked pensive. “On my planet it is not uncommon for mothers to eat their young.”
“That alone tells me you’re an advanced civilization,” Dolores said.
“I miss my home,” Larry said, his eyes moistening.
Dolores didn’t want him to start crying again, because it took forever to get him calmed down.
“Say, why don’t we go out to dinner?” she said. “I haven’t had seafood in ages. What do you think?”
Larry thought it was a good idea, as did Murphy and Edna. Although Dolores had to tell Edna that her full length pink ballgown, white gloves, and feather boa was not appropriate attire for the seafood restaurant, and Murphy got Larry to promise he wouldn’t turn himself into anything more edgy than a Republican congressman for the duration of the evening.
Things did not go well at the seafood restaurant, however. While they were waiting for a table Larry noticed a large fish tank and went over to look at it. He pressed his face to the glass and seemed to be communing with a pinkish gray octopus for a few minutes. Suddenly he turned to Murphy and said, “My little friend here tells me this place has octopus on the menu. How barbaric!”
Murphy shrugged and said, “It’s a seafood restaurant. That’s what they serve.”
“This is an outrage,” Larry said. “I protest! This must stop!”
“What’s the matter?” Dolores said.
“Larry doesn’t like that there’s octopus on the menu,” Murphy said.
“Abomination!” Larry shouted. “What kind of people are you?” He had morphed into a cross between a Sumo wrestler and an 11th century Viking, and was going around the restaurant overturning tables, breaking glass, and causing the patrons to flee for their lives.
“Isn’t this darling?” Edna said. “I love it when someone takes a principled stand. What are we fighting for, dear?”
“The rights of octopi,” Dolores said, with a murderous look at Murphy.
“You’d better leave now,” Murphy said. “I’ll get him calmed down, I promise.”
“I really wanted seafood,” Dolores muttered, as she led Edna out of the restaurant just before a water glass whizzed by her ear and crashed into the cash register, shattering in a thousand pieces.
Later, after a spirited police chase through the mountains, Murphy stopped at a quaint little town and treated everyone to ice cream cones, and they sat on a bench by a pier and watched the sun set over the ocean.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said. He looked vaguely like a librarian now, and had a beard and wore a threadbare blue cardigan. “I get carried away sometimes.”
“It’s okay, dear,” Edna said. She looked out at the darkening sky. “Do you ever look at the stars at night and wonder if there’s anyone else out there?”
Murphy blinked twice rapidly, and said, “Larry is from out there, Edna.”
“Nonsense,” Edna said. “Larry is one of us. Aren’t you dear?” she said, patting Larry on the knee. “Why, all Larry needs is a girlfriend, and he’ll be all right.”
“A girlfriend,” Larry said. “There would be a certain strange logic in that.”
“Wonderful,” Murphy said. “Would this girlfriend be a vertebrate or an invertebrate?”
“Mother is right,” Dolores said. “Larry needs a relationship.”
“A bit of advice, Larry,” Murphy said. “Settle on one species, at least. Women like a little stability in that area.”
THE END
COPYRIGHT JOHN MCDONNELL, 2010. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Showing posts with label sci fi stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sci fi stories. Show all posts
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
No Place Like Home, a #fridayflash story
By John McDonnell
Although Murphy was reluctant to try flagging the alien again and risk getting zapped back to the Cretaceous era, he knew the creature was getting more intoxicated because it was morphing into an array of different body sizes, genders, and species.
"So," he said. "What's your name?"
"Larry," the alien said.
"Larry? That's a funny name. I thought your name would be Zork, or Xargon Four, or something like that.”
The alien had changed from a giant yellow squidlike thing to a dead ringer for Mrs. Walsh, Murphy's first grade teacher, complete with a pencil tucked behind her ear, glasses, and a bun.
"It's not really Larry," Larry said. "There are too many glottal stops in my name for your larynx to handle. Larry is easier for you to say."
"Oh." Murphy mixed up another pink fruity drink and the alien sucked it down.
"By the way,” Murphy asked. “What are you doing here? You here to wipe out humanity from the planet, or maybe turn us all into your mindless slaves?"
Larry was now the size of a Clydesdale horse, chestnut brown, and he laughed ironically at that, showing his teeth and shaking his head. "That's hilarious," he said. "Me taking over your planet. Now I've heard everything. You have a great sense of humor." He stamped his feet, rattling the bottles on the wall behind the bar. "Another drink, please."
"What's so funny about that?" Murphy said. "I thought that's what you aliens did. Take over planets and all." He mixed the drink quickly and set it down on the bar.
Larry slurped it up and then turned into an adult male orangutan, upwards of 300 pounds, with a protruding lower lip and a melancholy expression on his droopy face. "It's not funny. It's sad. I'm a failure. Nobody is interested in conquering this penny ante planet. It's a back channel two bit dump that has no strategic importance, populated by a race of idiot primates who are rapidly turning it into a toxic wasteland. I was sent here to monitor you." He began scratching himself pensively. "There is no career advancement in this posting. I have been marooned here, because they don't think I can handle anything more important."
"I know the feeling," Murphy said. "I once had a job where--"
"It's enough to make you crazy," Larry said. "Can you put a banana in the next drink? But anyway, as I was saying, I'm so ashamed, and then I get angry, really angry.” In the blink of an eye he had turned into a scaly green dragon, with smoke coming out of his nostrils and a tail that was wagging back and forth and knocking tables and chairs over behind him.
"Calm down, Larry," Murphy said, not wanting the creature to start breathing fire in his bar. "Maybe you should think about going home and sleeping it off. What do you say? Sound like a good idea?"
Larry started crying, and big tears were dropping on the bar. He made a sniffling noise and his huge body shook with spasms of grief.
"I don't have a home," Larry said. "Oh, I have a place to stay on this miserable planet, sure. But that's not a home. I'm 12,000 light years from my planet, and I'm stuck here until somebody reassigns me. That will never happen, though, because I've dropped off the map. They've forgotten me." He put his head on the bar and started sobbing.
"Now, now," Murphy said, patting his head gingerly. "Why don't you come home and stay with me and the missus? I have a spare bedroom, and I'm sure it will be all right with Dolores."
"Really?" Larry said. "That's so nice of you."
"Don't mention it," Murphy said. "It's the least I can do, seeing as how you got rid of that hood Boom Boom for me.”
Now Larry had morphed into a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who looked like a Playboy centerfold. In fact, she was dressed like a centerfold.
"Uh, Larry," Murphy said, imagining the look on Dolores' face when he introduced Larry to her, "could you focus a bit better? I liked the UPS driver look you had before. I think that suits you better."
"Sure," Larry said, and in an instant he was the balding, pot-bellied guy who'd come in the bar several hours ago. Every once in awhile he'd hiccup, though, and for a second or two he'd transform into the orangutan, the centerfold, or some other creature, then immediately morph back into the middle aged man.
This is going to be interesting, Murphy thought, wondering how he was going to explain this to Dolores.
THE END
Copyright John McDonnell, 2010.
Although Murphy was reluctant to try flagging the alien again and risk getting zapped back to the Cretaceous era, he knew the creature was getting more intoxicated because it was morphing into an array of different body sizes, genders, and species.
"So," he said. "What's your name?"
"Larry," the alien said.
"Larry? That's a funny name. I thought your name would be Zork, or Xargon Four, or something like that.”
The alien had changed from a giant yellow squidlike thing to a dead ringer for Mrs. Walsh, Murphy's first grade teacher, complete with a pencil tucked behind her ear, glasses, and a bun.
"It's not really Larry," Larry said. "There are too many glottal stops in my name for your larynx to handle. Larry is easier for you to say."
"Oh." Murphy mixed up another pink fruity drink and the alien sucked it down.
"By the way,” Murphy asked. “What are you doing here? You here to wipe out humanity from the planet, or maybe turn us all into your mindless slaves?"
Larry was now the size of a Clydesdale horse, chestnut brown, and he laughed ironically at that, showing his teeth and shaking his head. "That's hilarious," he said. "Me taking over your planet. Now I've heard everything. You have a great sense of humor." He stamped his feet, rattling the bottles on the wall behind the bar. "Another drink, please."
"What's so funny about that?" Murphy said. "I thought that's what you aliens did. Take over planets and all." He mixed the drink quickly and set it down on the bar.
Larry slurped it up and then turned into an adult male orangutan, upwards of 300 pounds, with a protruding lower lip and a melancholy expression on his droopy face. "It's not funny. It's sad. I'm a failure. Nobody is interested in conquering this penny ante planet. It's a back channel two bit dump that has no strategic importance, populated by a race of idiot primates who are rapidly turning it into a toxic wasteland. I was sent here to monitor you." He began scratching himself pensively. "There is no career advancement in this posting. I have been marooned here, because they don't think I can handle anything more important."
"I know the feeling," Murphy said. "I once had a job where--"
"It's enough to make you crazy," Larry said. "Can you put a banana in the next drink? But anyway, as I was saying, I'm so ashamed, and then I get angry, really angry.” In the blink of an eye he had turned into a scaly green dragon, with smoke coming out of his nostrils and a tail that was wagging back and forth and knocking tables and chairs over behind him.
"Calm down, Larry," Murphy said, not wanting the creature to start breathing fire in his bar. "Maybe you should think about going home and sleeping it off. What do you say? Sound like a good idea?"
Larry started crying, and big tears were dropping on the bar. He made a sniffling noise and his huge body shook with spasms of grief.
"I don't have a home," Larry said. "Oh, I have a place to stay on this miserable planet, sure. But that's not a home. I'm 12,000 light years from my planet, and I'm stuck here until somebody reassigns me. That will never happen, though, because I've dropped off the map. They've forgotten me." He put his head on the bar and started sobbing.
"Now, now," Murphy said, patting his head gingerly. "Why don't you come home and stay with me and the missus? I have a spare bedroom, and I'm sure it will be all right with Dolores."
"Really?" Larry said. "That's so nice of you."
"Don't mention it," Murphy said. "It's the least I can do, seeing as how you got rid of that hood Boom Boom for me.”
Now Larry had morphed into a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman who looked like a Playboy centerfold. In fact, she was dressed like a centerfold.
"Uh, Larry," Murphy said, imagining the look on Dolores' face when he introduced Larry to her, "could you focus a bit better? I liked the UPS driver look you had before. I think that suits you better."
"Sure," Larry said, and in an instant he was the balding, pot-bellied guy who'd come in the bar several hours ago. Every once in awhile he'd hiccup, though, and for a second or two he'd transform into the orangutan, the centerfold, or some other creature, then immediately morph back into the middle aged man.
This is going to be interesting, Murphy thought, wondering how he was going to explain this to Dolores.
THE END
Copyright John McDonnell, 2010.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Your Mother Is An Alien, a #fridayflash story
Murphy didn’t realize the guy at the end of the bar was an alien until he tried to flag him. The guy had been drinking for hours and was pretty scuppered at this point, but when Murphy said, “You’ve had enough, pal,” he suddenly found himself standing knee deep in a Cretaceous swamp, with the largest crocodile he’d ever seen staring at him from 50 feet away. He took a step back, then heard a thunderous roar behind him and turned to see a Tyrannosaurus Rex’s head above the treetops, heading this way fast. He probably would have been the T. Rex’s breakfast if the alien hadn’t zapped him back to the bar just in time.
“Bloody hell!” Murphy said, holding on to the bar for dear life.
“Is that what I have to do to get another drink?” the alien said.
“N-no,” Murphy said. “Not at all. Coming right up.” He mixed another one of those fruity drinks the alien was drinking, put a little pink umbrella in it, and gave it to him.
It was almost closing time, and the only people left in the bar were the alien and Sal “Boom Boom” Putzinato, who’d come to break Murphy’s kneecaps for not paying the weekly protection fee the Marsala Family imposed on all the businesses in the neighborhood. Boom Boom was not as big as a T. Rex, but he was just as scary. Right now he was sitting at a table cracking his very large knuckles and staring at Murphy.
The alien wasn’t slurring its words or anything -- actually, it wasn’t speaking at all, it was doing some kind of thought transference -- but the way Murphy knew it had had too much to drink was that it was losing its ability to cloak its true form. When it came in the bar it had looked like a middle-aged UPS driver with a potbelly. Now it looked more like a giant yellow squid with a pink mouth and green eyes. The mouth functioned like a straw, so the alien was able to drain its drink in seconds and demand another one. It had run up a huge bar tab, but at this point Murphy didn’t care about collecting the money.
“My mother was a saint,” the alien said. “I haven’t seen her in ten thousand of your years. I was a terrible reproductive unit for her.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Murphy said. “Everybody disappoints their mother.”
“You’re a good Earth person,” the alien said. “You made me feel better.”
“Don’t mention it,” Murphy said. “Here’s another drink, on the house. Why don’t you call home? I’m sure your Mom would love to hear from you.”
“Do you think so? I haven’t done a mind meld in centuries. I don’t think my maternal unit would remember me.”
“Of course she would,” Murphy said. “Mothers never forget their children.”
“She had four thousand of us.”
“Oh.” Murphy reflected on that for a second. “Well, do it anyway. I’m sure she’ll be able to form at least a vague picture of who you are.”
“Okay.” The alien went into a sort of suspended animation for several minutes, during which it was so still it seemed to be in a coma.
When it came to, it said: “She was glad to hear from me. And she did remember me! Thank you, Earth person, for making me do that. I feel better. What can I do to repay you?”
“Nothing,” Murphy said.
“No, really.”
“Nothing.”
“I insist! It is part of our culture that we must pay back every good deed. If we are not allowed to do that, we must kill the creature who befriended us.”
“Well, under those circumstances,” Murphy said. He didn’t want to go back to the Cretaceous. “You know that thing you did to me before? Where I went back in time?”
“Yes?”
“Could you do that to someone else?” he nodded in the direction of Boom Boom.
“Of course. It is no problem at all.”
And that was how Boom Boom Putzinato, and later the entire Marsala crime family, disappeared, never to be seen again.
Murphy wondered how fast they could run from a T. Rex in those expensive leather shoes they favored.
THE END
Copyright John McDonnell 2010. All rights reserved.
“Bloody hell!” Murphy said, holding on to the bar for dear life.
“Is that what I have to do to get another drink?” the alien said.
“N-no,” Murphy said. “Not at all. Coming right up.” He mixed another one of those fruity drinks the alien was drinking, put a little pink umbrella in it, and gave it to him.
It was almost closing time, and the only people left in the bar were the alien and Sal “Boom Boom” Putzinato, who’d come to break Murphy’s kneecaps for not paying the weekly protection fee the Marsala Family imposed on all the businesses in the neighborhood. Boom Boom was not as big as a T. Rex, but he was just as scary. Right now he was sitting at a table cracking his very large knuckles and staring at Murphy.
The alien wasn’t slurring its words or anything -- actually, it wasn’t speaking at all, it was doing some kind of thought transference -- but the way Murphy knew it had had too much to drink was that it was losing its ability to cloak its true form. When it came in the bar it had looked like a middle-aged UPS driver with a potbelly. Now it looked more like a giant yellow squid with a pink mouth and green eyes. The mouth functioned like a straw, so the alien was able to drain its drink in seconds and demand another one. It had run up a huge bar tab, but at this point Murphy didn’t care about collecting the money.
“My mother was a saint,” the alien said. “I haven’t seen her in ten thousand of your years. I was a terrible reproductive unit for her.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Murphy said. “Everybody disappoints their mother.”
“You’re a good Earth person,” the alien said. “You made me feel better.”
“Don’t mention it,” Murphy said. “Here’s another drink, on the house. Why don’t you call home? I’m sure your Mom would love to hear from you.”
“Do you think so? I haven’t done a mind meld in centuries. I don’t think my maternal unit would remember me.”
“Of course she would,” Murphy said. “Mothers never forget their children.”
“She had four thousand of us.”
“Oh.” Murphy reflected on that for a second. “Well, do it anyway. I’m sure she’ll be able to form at least a vague picture of who you are.”
“Okay.” The alien went into a sort of suspended animation for several minutes, during which it was so still it seemed to be in a coma.
When it came to, it said: “She was glad to hear from me. And she did remember me! Thank you, Earth person, for making me do that. I feel better. What can I do to repay you?”
“Nothing,” Murphy said.
“No, really.”
“Nothing.”
“I insist! It is part of our culture that we must pay back every good deed. If we are not allowed to do that, we must kill the creature who befriended us.”
“Well, under those circumstances,” Murphy said. He didn’t want to go back to the Cretaceous. “You know that thing you did to me before? Where I went back in time?”
“Yes?”
“Could you do that to someone else?” he nodded in the direction of Boom Boom.
“Of course. It is no problem at all.”
And that was how Boom Boom Putzinato, and later the entire Marsala crime family, disappeared, never to be seen again.
Murphy wondered how fast they could run from a T. Rex in those expensive leather shoes they favored.
THE END
Copyright John McDonnell 2010. All rights reserved.
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