50 Word Stories: They

50 Word Stories: They

They slid over us like the stars the night, white ghosts stalking the cosmos. Albinos, as like us as not, They confronted us in nightmares and found us wanting. Nameless, They took our everything in intangible truths and left us with nothing. They, we called them, those reflections of us. 

The Space Between

The Space Between

The space between

Dark blue and black

Differing shades of forever

Where pointing fingers linger

And eyes do blink

The stuff of dreams gathering

Like nocturnal memories

No lights required

Just open minds

Stardust and magic

Little parcels of eternity

Destiny and hope

Children praying for shooting stars

Adults too

Never has nothing held such value

Here, dwelling in held breaths

And wishes

We wait

Surfing Stars

Every boat had a captain, ours just happened to surf stars. Instead of water, he had the universal currents of space, riding the night in endless gravitational waves. We had no idea how he knew where to head, (it all looked the same to us,) but he did.

One day, or night, or evening, it was so hard to tell, I took a once around the deck. Pointing at comets was a hobby I’d procured; I never dreamt I’d see new life instead. But I did. How I did!

The sun coalesced from vermillion dust cast amongst the star stuff. Right there before my eyes, it sprung into blazing life. I gasped. Who wouldn’t have?

When I felt a tap on my shoulder, I almost jumped overboard, only the ship’s crystal balustrade held me back.

“What do you think, son?”

It was the captain, a strange glint in his ageless eyes.

“It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. And it was.

“Life,” he said almost to himself, “doesn’t get any better than this.”

“But don’t you see such things every trip?” I blurted.

“Yes,” he replied and slowly walked away.

50 Word Stories: Like Lichen

The night sparkled with star stuff, the colours of possibility like lichen on a cosmic rock. Creation manifested before my eyes, all those endless suns and endless worlds spinning through the universal vastness of space. Somewhere in that void a girl looked back, I just had to go find her.

50 Word Stories: Eagle, Ferryman To The Stars

Eagle, a proud king, wished to prove his worth. Unaware of passengers, he took flight for worlds beyond our own. Alas, too far. As his wings touched heaven, he had to return, but crab and scorpion jumped free.
That’s how the Zodiac gained two signs and all Eagle would admit.

Astrofloozies (A tale that isn’t true)

Three eyes winked at me in alternating eyelash battings. It was mesmerising, hypnotic, and disgusting in its vulgarity. I hadn’t flown halfway across the universe to be hailed by such as she. The woman-thing wriggled her hips; waves of fat rolled around her midriff. She stuck out a forked-tongue, very un-enticingly, and wriggled it at me. A passing humanoid whistled, but she only had eyes (eyes, do you get it) for me. 

I scratched at my unruly hair. I was too tired for this. So in an attempt to be polite, despite not wanting to be, I smiled and headed off down the spaceport plaza. 

To be stalked by a woman might be some men’s fantasy: not mine. I was happily married, especially when away from home, (you might need to think about that one) and to have a womanoid hooker hissing in pursuit of me on a faraway world just wasn’t my thing. I hurried. She slithered faster.

Almost at a jog, I made a dash for the nearest bar: The Wayward Monk. I was neither wayward nor a monk but couldn’t have cared less at the time. The place was heaving, packed full of intergalactic space types all drinking the latest cool beverages, but the bar itself was suspiciously clear. So I wandered up to a surly looking barbot and ordered a pint. The robot dispensed a drink from its chest just as I heard a hissing come from the open doors. I didn’t look up.

Taking a long draught of my dirty-glassed beverage, I was surprised by the barbot slamming his metal fist on the counter beside me, ( no wonder the bar was empty). Who the hell manufactured a miserable barman? What good was that to anyone? Why would you even think it a good idea? You can tell I was in a bad mood.

Anger rose then, I had a short fuse at the best of times, and was about to shove my beer where the sun don’t shine, (if a robot has that place) when I saw the dollar signs flashing in its mirror-like eyes. Of course, money! 

My hands reached into plastic pockets just as I felt the four breasts of the hooker press into my back. It just wasn’t my day. 

I won’t bore you with the torrent of abuse that got hurled at the shivering wreck of a womanoid thing, after all, she was just trying to earn a space dollar or two, but it wasn’t pleasant. And throughout my two minute rampage not one fellow drinker offered to help either of us. Goddamn space scum!

When the barbot gave me another shove it was the hooker that came to his rescue by paying for my drink. Paying from a small, leather wallet. My wallet. The wallet she had wanted to return. The wallet I had dropped.

I didn’t know what to say. What could you say to a space hooker just trying to help? I took back the proffered wallet from my fork-tongued female and was about to put it back in my pocket when she suddenly got nasty. 

“You’re short,” she hissed. “The contents of your wallet, plus your watch, plus a lift of this godforsaken world should do it. I’ve got a room upstairs and plenty of everything to spare.” She ended her spiel by hoisting up her bosom and giving me another triumvirate of winks.

Goddamn astrofloozy!