By John McDonnell
It was Dolores who came up with the idea that Murphy should give Larry a job in his bar.
“It’s no good having an alien in the house all day,” she said. “I never know what he’s going to turn into. Yesterday he was a walrus. Now my living room sofa stinks of clams. And my mother thinks she can fix him up with her favorite soap opera actresses. Her hold on reality is getting shakier since he’s been around.”
So Murphy reluctantly hired Larry as a bartender. Larry was a quick study, and in no time he was a master mixologist, sometimes turning himself into a four-armed Hindu deity in order to keep up with drink orders on busy nights. He was a good listener, and could converse on any subject except chaos theory and modern Art, so he was popular with Murphy’s clientele.
Larry was adept at handling misunderstandings among the patrons, too. Once, when two inebriated men started arguing, Larry changed into a large, red-bearded Viking warrior, and when he split their table in half with his battle axe they suddenly decided to make up.
Larry’s only drawback was that he tended to mix himself pink fruity drinks while on the job, and after a few of these he had less control over the physical details of his existence. You never knew if he was going to change into a life form that was charming, curious, or toxic, and anything could set him off.
Murphy found a way to deal with that by hiding the little paper umbrellas that Larry put in his drinks, since Larry thought the umbrellas were essential and wouldn’t take a snootful without them.
Business improved, because people liked Larry. Murphy even came up with theme nights, where Larry would turn into famous people from the past and answer questions while he tended bar. Babe Ruth was a popular one, as was Sigmund Freud, although Murphy had to tell him no more Marilyn Monroe after he nearly caused a riot in the bar.
Larry met several women at the bar and even went out on a date or two, but nothing came of it. Dating was awkward for Larry; he was prone to creating mini black holes in restaurants if his meal was undercooked, or turning himself into an ostrich when he didn’t know what to say.
Murphy began to think that Larry would never find a girlfriend, until one day when he had to call a pest control company after he found a rat in the kitchen. When the exterminator showed up it was a woman named Myra who had pasty white skin, a lumpy body, and Coke bottle glasses. She wore a dark green uniform and was a little too interested in rodents.
“Rats are highly intelligent,” she said. “They form communities just like humans, and they are highly efficient breeders. One male and female rat can have over a million descendants in less than two years.”
Murphy shuddered at the thought of a million rats running around his bar, but Larry, who was currently in the form of a toothless, gray-bearded prospector from the Old West, perked up.
“Yes ma’am,” he cackled, “and don’t you know that rats regulate their body temperature through their tails. And, by cracky, they can stay afloat for three days. Not only that. . .”
“You have an interest in rats?” Myra said. Her glasses were steaming up.
“Why yes,” Larry said, changing into a myopic professor in a cable knit sweater. “I happen to think they are an extremely well-adapted life form.”
“Agreed,” Myra said. “They are fascinating animals. Much more so than humans.”
“I concur,” said Larry. “Highly evolved.”
Myra coughed. “I, uh, never met anyone like you,” she said. “Would you, er, would you want to go out to lunch?”
“I suppose that would be a highly useful thing to do, since we could discuss rats.”
“Yes,” she said. “Highly useful.”
“I’m a vegan,” Larry said.
“Oh, me too!” Myra said. “I know a great place down the street. They make the best burgers out of broccoli and kale.”
They walked out the door and left Murphy wondering at the strangeness of love.
THE END
COPYRIGHT JOHN MCDONNELL, 2010. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Showing posts with label sci fi writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sci fi writing. Show all posts
Friday, July 2, 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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