Archive for the Fiction Category

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Featuring this Weekend

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi on August 3, 2009 by GuNNhead

I’ve always been lonely, never finding anyone I could feel connected to on earth, I set out to simply connect with my own agendas, to search for more.

They way people described the connections they had with others always made me know that I lacked a certain propensity to connect with another human on this described level. The fervor of certainty towards another simply seemed distant and impossible to reach. I know there are those who have not felt this fervor, but I knew my situation went beyond that. The way that others felt it did not make me desire it; it created a cold and distant gap between me and those who did feel it. After a while, I realized that the connections that people had were anchors, but I was one of the few chosen ones, ones unable to be chained by a connection to another. Perhaps it is the media that creates the delusions of these feelings in others, or perhaps it is just how people are: inexplicable. No matter, it is now far too late for that.

My first flight in my craft resulted in a crash landing in the middle of a town. It made the news, and created a media frenzy. Luckily, I was able to take off again without exiting the craft. Unluckily, it was not fast enough to avoid the multitude of news vans swarming the site, reporting on the scene, live. They caught my take off and subsequent crash landing in the forest hills outside of town. It was there that I was stranded for a pair of days while search teams were sent. On the television monitors aboard my craft, I saw the sensationalism expand over the weekend. Supposed experts of all sorts coming out of the woodwork, speculating on the type of craft, the type of creature who pilots it, and even attempts to calculate where in the universe it came from via trajectory. All were completely false, of course. I am just a man who feels no connections. For lack of facts, they created their own news, and it was histrionic sensationalism. Reports went on for hours with nothing concrete; it was a parade of fools masquerading as information for the masses. Is anybody else aware of it? I wonder.

On the first night, knowing via this media spectacle that the search parties were supposedly close doubled my night ardency, and I was able to fix my craft before the location of my craft was discovered the next day. Swiftly and silently, my craft took to the air; I hovered close to the ground before rocketing up into the stratosphere. I returned to my hangar the following night. The television stations all settled upon their own agendas for the truth of my craft, and within a few days when the ratings began to wane for the tales of the craft from the void above, there was something new to report on, featuring this weekend.

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The Chemical Solution: Night Predator

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Sci-Fi, The Chemical Solution on July 31, 2009 by GuNNhead

“You need this chemical solution.”

That’s what he told me, my doctor. I came to him with cancer, and the entire time I was his patient, I never could tell that he was completely insane. He led me to believe that it was a new experimental test for a treatment to cancer. I was so excited to have such a high possibility of a cure, I started right away. I trusted my doctor so much; it never once crossed my mind to question him or the treatment at all.

Now, life’s different for everyone, but I really did start feeling better on the weekly injections, and I saw the x-rays, he said it was going away. Then, one day after an injection, he advised that I stay overnight in the hospital, because there was something that was worrying him about my x-ray. When I woke up the next day, I was tied to a wooden table with chains in a dingy cellar. I heard a large metal door slowly opening; the doctor came down the stairs, greeting me with a looming smile. I was still groggy at the time, and had not the wherewithal to ask what was going on, but I recall that he injected me with more of his chemical solution.

The next few months were a blur of excruciating pain. Medical tests and exams of all sorts, blood samples; fairly standard hospital procedures carried out in this stone and wood prison. Soon, however, he took samples of my flesh daily, and it grew back just as fast as he removed it, though this did not heal the agony of the procedures. Shortly thereafter, he became more bold in his tests, removing whole limbs and sitting there watching them grow back, just sitting and watching. I do not know if it was his in intentions from the beginning of the experiment, but he began to eat my flesh, cooking it, or sometimes eating it raw, in front of me; snacking on pieces while he performed further analysis of what has become of me. It got to a point where he had four meat-grinders attached to my arms and legs, working as fast my limbs could regrow. For this, he upped the dosage of the chemical solution.

My body eventually began to change shape, into something monstrous. He noticed this, and soon stopped injecting his chemical solution or eating my body. Once I had regrown fully, I felt completely energized again, though I was not eating. It was when I felt my own hunger for the first time in a long time that I began to gain the mental capacity to attempt an escape. To my surprise, the chains snapped easily by the force of my new might. I ran up the stairs, smashing out the door. It was night, and I quickly made my way out of his house, into the city. Seeing my own reflection in a store window was disturbing to say the least. I had become a huge, hulking figure, my teeth were long and jagged, with my canines being the most exaggerated, the bottom two fully escaping my mouth and up past my sunken-in nose. I spent two weeks on the streets, killing and eating two men approximately my size for their clothes. I could not help myself, every human I saw at that point was as tempting as a cheeseburger or pizza used to be. After finishing my second meal in one sitting instead of rationing it over a period of time, though, my head become clear once more, and I made the realization that I must travel back to the Doctor’s house, so that he can not do what he has done to me again, or, worse, make himself into such a creature. No, I must be the only one. Sneaking in once more at night, I had returned to find him downstairs in his lab, a misshapen and malformed creature that could barely move under its own strength. Perhaps it was a side-effect from eating my already body tainted by the chemical solution, though evidence suggested that during the two weeks I was gone, he had been injecting himself.

I tore him to pieces.

I buried his pieces miles apart.

I took his house for myself; there is no cure for me, just like there are no cures for the ills of humanity. There is too much evil in the world, in my city; from now on, I will feast upon the evil of this city, I will be her mighty night predator.

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No Name on the Bullet

Posted in Fiction, Western on July 30, 2009 by GuNNhead

I’ve walked for days now, this was supposed to be my last ride, I was quittin’ the gun-fer-hire gig, and startin’ up again, settlin’ down, forgettin’ my shady past.

Then my gawd-danged horse kicked the bucket up out in the middle o’ nowherr. Danged varmint just up and keeled over without so much as a toodle-oo. Sent my keester off in a hurry, knocked my head but good, lost the trail too, leaving me lost and stranded in the desert. I don’t see nothin’ o’er this next ridge, I strongly doubt that I’ll be seein’ my way outta this pickle. Makes me remember my life’n’how I got started on this crazy path that’ll end in a way I ain’t never expected. I always expected a bullit in the gut ter end it fer me. That’s why I quit, hung up my guns, so to speak. My pappy was a gunsmith, made guns fer a livin, don’t know if he ever knew how to use ‘em hisself, but dang did he make a high quality weapon. People all o’er the wild west came to get themselves one o’ m’dad’s guns. He tought me how to make ‘em just like him. I trained myself to become a trick shooter, makin’ some extra cash by doin’ shows in the surroundin’ towns. One night when I came back, I found my dear ol’ pappy shot dead o’er one of his guns, some no good rustler came by and shot my pappy o’er a gun. From that day, I ain’t had nothin’ to live for, and used my trick shootin’ skills to outdraw any man who looked at me crossed, hopin’ that one day, I may just axerdently kill the dirt what killed my pappy.

Give me one more day.

Now, I just feel there’s too much blood on these hands, and that ain’t the life I want no more. I want to settle down, ain’t no one gunna know me, and I’m gunna open a shop, and make toy guns, ones that can’t hurt no-one. I’m gunna use air pressure, t’make guns that fire nothin’ but water, and ones that send sand flyin’ out, fer simple self defence. Life was gunna be good.

Nothing will come between me and my success.

Suddenly, I see lights on the horizon, could be nothin’, could be my new life, I made it. I make it to the top of the ridge, and see it, it’s glorious, more amazin’ than I ever could have imagined. Acturlly, it don’t look like no town I ever seen. It’s teensy, about the size of a single house, only. A large, silver bullit, just floatin’. It’s glowin’ green unnerneath it something fierce. I approach it, slowly.

N’that’s alls I kin remember.

“Oh my, that’s quite the story.” Said the nasally voice.

“Indeed it is,” said the phlegmatic voice, “for a head in a jar.”

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Exploration: Cosmos

Posted in Exploration: Cosmos, Fiction, Sci-Fi on July 29, 2009 by GuNNhead

I’m farfamed across the known universe for my adventures and exploration. I’ve discovered more new worlds than most of the original explorers now, with only a few to go to catch up to all others. The trick is all in the technology, as it’s no longer about simply seeing a planet and naming it, one must implant a recognizable beacon so that the Network of Communicating Planets can map its coordinates, and continue to track the planet’s trajectory, path and other such information after the initial terrain scan, which I also do. This determines what the planet consists of, as well as its potential for life and other projects that may be of interest.

Of course, in the continuity of my travels, I have encountered many forms of life as well. In these instances, one may think that it is the one who ‘discovers’ the life on the planet, but this is not the case. A universal translator is used to analyze, approximate, and aide me in communications with the life, to determine what they call the planet or refer to themselves as, and that is what is used. It is only when the entire solar system is completely barren that I am given the opportunity to name the planetoids. However, it has been seen that on planets where the beings had not assigned names to their surrounding planets in their solar system, that, once they had become advanced enough to do so, their names were chosen over that of the explorer, it being a simple matter of jurisdiction.

Now, if you are seeking to become an explorer such as myself, another handy tip is that if your spaceship needs power heedless: you must give your ardor engine the right fuel, with prescription and no psydefects. I recall one time, when I was just beginning my adventures, there was an ambush awaiting me upon my arrival to an uncharted planet. Now, because I was still an abecedarian, my ardor engine’s fuel that I had amalgamated had multiple psydefects, making a getaway from this telegraphic population a problematic issue for my survival. Their cloaks and capes incited them nerveless, while their Fluorographic weapons were a beyond vehement technology than I had not anticipated in my relative novitiate. Luckily, I had my emergency supplies along, and was able to supply my ardor engine with pre-amalgamated fuel. Though this fuel is actualized and conglomerated in mass quantities and procured in markets, it can get the job done, not as well as the fuel I now amalgamate myself, but it was able to bestow escape in this instance.

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Time Mistaken

Posted in Fiction, Sci-Fi on July 28, 2009 by GuNNhead

Our men have been working around the clock to solve the problem we’ve been having with time. Studying the time carefully, we’re trying to devise a way to even out and ensmoothen the flow of time. Using our technology we have been able to create a passage of time between these two parties. In our limited experiments, we’ve been able to provide those without enough time with the time they require directly from those with time on their hands with this passage. Time marches on, however, and despite our success in these isolated, contained experiments, our funding will be cut soon, just before we are able to fully unravel the mystery of the dimension known as time. It is with great excitement as well as great fear, then, that I have given the order to expand our experiment to the entire compound. We will effectively be syphoning time from the entire outside world, if the experiment succeeds, that is.

It has been weeks now, and the experiments are not working as planned inside of the Time-Syphon. The entire lab personnel have long since noticed that their metabolic cycle has completely shut down, and that no one has grown any hair since the machine was turned on around the compound. It seems after a lot of commotion outside of the protective time shield, the compound has long since been forgotten about. We are surrounded completely by nature and foliage that blocks our view of the distant cities we could once see.

Though we still continued our experiments for years, we eventually began to realize that our goal is impossible, and since we set the completion detector to sense when we had accomplished our task to unravel the secret of time, the syphon completely halted time here in the compound, and sapped so much time from the world itself to create infinite time, or, rather, as near to infinite it can get to by syphoning all of the surrounding time. After seeing the world become completely dried out and eventually destroyed around our sole encapsulated area at what felt like 8 years, we began a betting pool as to whether us and our sapper would become a black hole or not, though, due to such a strong leaning towards the former, there was a bonus jackpot for correctly determining how long it would take.

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