The last of his kind

velociraptor
Velociraptor by Alex CF

He was the last of his kind.
Wearily he lay down,
waiting for the end.
He’d sensed it coming.

The heavens darkened,
flames filled the sky.
The celestial destructor bore down
upon his Mother Earth.

Would she survive?
Would others come after?
No answer came.

His body crisped to dust.

 


This wonderful piece of artwork was posted by Jason H. Abbott last week, as part of his science fiction art series. This was what I was moved to write.

Here’s the link to Jason’s original post: https://aetherealengineer.com/2019/05/10/10may19/

 

 

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Fury

Superpower by Chris Hall lunasonline

Sandra’s superpowers had come as a surprise. Caused by a faulty connection in her washing machine, the freak accident had dumped her on the floor. She’d felt rather odd after that, sending out electric shocks at the most inopportune moments. It was only when she’d touched the interactive display at the mall and the whole panel had exploded that she’d realised their potential.

So many wrongs which need righting, it was hard to know where to start; but the people who had rejected her writing were at the top of her list.

Hell hath no fury like an author scorned.


Written in response to The Haunted Wordsmith’s Prompt May 13, 2019

The Door

The Door by Chris Hall lunasonline
Source

Light, white-blinding, unable to move.  
Where am I?
Try to remember.

The Door.
I came through The Door.
I remember now.

Revelations.
Flying, over the earth, outside my body,
Outside everything.

Looking down upon myself
at the whiteness of the sheet
covering me.

No need for wine or water.
No need for bread or meat.
I have entered through The Door.

Seeing through the glass darkly,
the way ahead unclear,
but my mind (my soul?) is moving on.

No need for the corporeal,
Set adrift, cast aside,
Abandoned.

On the other side of The Door.

Can you look again?

000 HW Prompt 28.04.19
Source

What do you see, Tiger Lily?

I see the moon.
I see the path shining in front of me, illuminated in the bright moonlight.

What else?

Nothing else.

What do you feel, Tiger Lily?

I feel the dampness of the night.
I feel the ground, wet beneath my feet.

What do you hear, Tiger Lily?

I hear waves breaking on a shore far away.
Do I hear you breathing?
Why can’t I see you?

What do you smell, Tiger Lily?

I smell the dampness of the earth.
Nothing else.
Where are you?

What do you taste, Tiger Lily

I taste nothing.
Just emptiness.

What do you remember, Tiger Lily?

I remember when we first met; on a moon-bright night like this.
I remember… everything.

And what do you want, Tiger Lily?

I want you back.


Written in response to The Haunted Wordsmith’s Daily Prompt 28.04.19

The Fall of ‘The Sparrow’

 

The Sparrow by Chris Hall lunasonline
Source

Small, brown-clad, zip-lining across the city skyline, the bird-like acrobat would alight on the tiniest ledge. Clip on, push off, hurtling through the topmost branches of the urban jungle. But tempted, the bird became a cat, a peeping tom. His wings were clipped and now The Sparrow flies no more.


50 word story, written in response to Paula Light‘s Three Things Challenge: PL51

A Candlelit Evening

Candlelit evening by Chris Hall lunasinline photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash
Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

Wrapped in her fluffy pink robe she glides into the beautiful bathroom. Hot water gushes from swan-shaped tabs into a large claw-footed tub. The light is subdued. Rose-scented candles glow seductively, reflected in the slightly-smoked full length mirror with its glittering frame of hand-picked pink quartz tiles. She pauses and turns around. What has she forgotten?

Moments later she reappears carrying a large crystal glass containing her favourite mouth-filling red wine.

The white-tiled floor is glossy, and slippery with an unnoticed sheen of steam. She strides forward and suddenly…

She’s on the floor, prone on those pricey ice-white tiles. She hesitates for just a moment and then rises to her feet. She stands facing the mirror, but something’s wrong. Where’s her reflection? She focuses on the one missing tile on the far corner of the frame, still not mended, but when she looks back, her face is still absent.

Her gaze travels down the misting mirror. What’s that on the floor behind her? She turns and sees a pink robed figure. Spilled red blood mingles with spilled red wine. She raises her hand to her mouth to suppress a scream, but there is no hand, no mouth.

There is nothing.



Written in response to The Haunted Wordsmith’s
Main March Madness13 ‘A Ghost’
and with a nod to a scene from Michael Connelly’s ‘Dark Sacred Night’.

Space Cadets

Hanson Lu on Unsplash
Photo by Hanson Lu on Unsplash

We peer out at the blank, barren landscape. Having landed, we’re not sure where we are. Or for that matter, ‘when’ we are. That’s the problem if you borrow the Professor’s Special Space Machine without asking.

But she’d shown it to us, tempted us. That’s the problem with having someone like the Professor coaching you for entry to the Space Academy.

But hold on, who’s that up ahead? Look, she’s waving.

We hurry forward into the bleak barrenness, but before we reach her, there is an ear-splitting sound. Everything goes black.

Later, when we come round, we are strapped into hard, upright seats facing a large spherical console. The Professor is standing opposite us.

We start to speak, but she holds up her hand for silence. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to join the Space Academy, but I’m afraid the Great Zyborgatron has other plans.” She smiles weakly. “He did grant me one last request, however.”

Plates of burgers and chips materialize before us. We look at her; what did she say?

“Well go on,” she urges, indicating the food.

We eat. We devour the lot. It’s the best burger and chips we’ve ever had.

Then everything goes black.


 

Written in response to The Haunted Wordsmith’sMain March Madness‘