Author: R.

Stairway To Heaven

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Lisa walked up the staircase for weeks until she reached Heaven.
She knocked twice on the door, waited for a moment, and then knocked three more times.
The door creaked open and a bearded man poked his head out.
“What is it?” asked the old man.
“Why?” asked Lisa.
The old man scratched his beard and thought for a moment.
“There was a lot left over from my first project, so I decided to build something with the scraps,” he said, and then he leaned back and closed the door.
Lisa sat on the staircase for a while and pondered.

War Game

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He had marshalled his forces carefully, exactingly, for just this moment. Patiently building his strength for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Troops massed along the borders. The supply chains were long, but the generals in charge knew the penalty for failure.
His early conquests had come easily, with only token opposition. But recently, his fortunes had taken a turn for the worse. Every battle, a bloody meatgrinder. Every skirmish, a near-disaster.
Retreat, regroup. Retreat again, regroup again.
Well, all that was going to change. Had to change. It was his turn now.
With the next roll, Yakutsk would be his!

Cruel and Unusual

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“Anything you want for a last meal, Rufus?” asked the warden.
Rufus thought. “I’d like peanuts,” he said.
“Your lawyers say they’ll get another stay,” said the warden. “That makes eleven. A new record.”
“I wish they wouldn’t” said Rufus. “I’m tired. I wish this was done.”
Rufus didn’t get his wishes.
“Making you wait for these would be cruel and unusual,” said the warden, sliding a bag of peanuts through the bars.
Rufus waited until the warden left before mashing them up, rubbing them on his skin, and swallowing the rest.
His allergies worked fast. Gone in an hour.

Gator

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Andrew Ian Dodge gets into the reptilian mind of…

Grraauug lay in the water by the canal resting in the mid-day Sun; trying not to sleep. His sleep was bothered by strange noises and visions; it had been for days. He kept feeling odd urges to eat things he never had before. His normal fear of humans was replaced by a desire to eat them. The strange noises proceeded the feeling; he tried to resist. He knew, that humans would come for him if he killed one. The noises began again in his brain; he saw a human across the canal near by. He felt himself moving towards it…hunting…

Crash

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It had been three full days since he had last slept.
Damn finals…and that thesis defense. One all-nighter in a row was bad enough, but two? Jesus. His teeth ached as he gulped another cup of the e-Quad’s stinking, bitter coffee.
Eyes…like baseballs of lean bacon. Crusty. Red.
The thesis defense was in two hours. Surely he would do a better job with a quick nap. He laid his head down on the cold carrel desk.
When he opened his eyes, the library windows were dark. How long had he been asleep?
Fuck this train wreck of a college career.

Dome

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Andrew Ian Dodge continues the creepy narrative from London with…

Mustafa stood at the edge of the Thames right next to the Dome, awaiting his fate. The building next to him was going to be a triumph for his master but never managed it. Mustafa arranged for 13 struts, until some Christians objected. He arranged to have Christian fundies take the place over to create the “right” cacophony; then secularists got upset. He arranged for it to be taken over by a casino interest and his master objected. It was meant to be a tribute and gate for Great Cthulhu; instead it was where Mustafa would be consumed. Religion eh?

The Infrared Baron

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“Can we improve upon the glorious The Red Baron?” growled Hitler to Göring,
Two weeks later, Göring’s scientists invented infra-red paint. Planes painted with it were totally invisible.
The next day, Hitler wanted a demonstration.
“A glorious day for the Reich,” he said. “I wish to see this invisible plane.”
A scientist whispered in Göring’s ear.
“What do you mean you can’t find it?” Göring hissed.
“Problem?” asked Hitler.
“The plane… just took off, fuhrer!” exclaimed Göring.
“Took off?” asked Hitler. “But I heard nothing.”
“Well…”
“Invisible and silent?” said Hitler. “Brilliant! The English will never know what hit them!”

Half Twist

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The commander wanted to give the enemy a chance to surrender before the bombing raid.
“We’re good people,” he said. “Can’t just kill them all.”
PsyOps argued over what the message should be.
The age-old “Surrender Now!” didn’t quite work with this kind of enemy.
The mathematics geek suggested putting an adhesive at one end and then giving instructions to half-twist the paper, then stick the ends together.
“It’s a Moebius Loop,” said the mathematician. “It only has one side.”
The commander pondered all of the options.
“Forget the warnings,” said the commander. “Just bomb the crap out of them.”

Say Uncle

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As usual, I’m in the middle of something when they come through.
Thursday, I was pressing a suit. Today, I was measuring Goldberg for a pair of pants. 38 waist, 30 inseam, dresses to the left, if you’re curious.
Hey, I don’t spend the whole day in here. But somebody has to be there to put up a good front, and I got picked. Maybe it’s because, in my other life, I really was a tailor.
But now, six hours a day, six days a week, I’m just the fucking doorman for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement.

City Father

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Gart snapped a fresh magazine into his pulse rifle, hoping the soft “click” would not be picked up by the enemy sensors. He raised one eyebrow, sniffing the dank cellar air. It wasn’t getting any fresher in here, not with Jones’s decomposing torso only ten paces away.
It had been a good three days, at least until Jonesy bit it. They had made some real progress, pushing back the Jeffersonians. The city limits were secure – for now, anyway – but someone had to work recon, and it was Gart’s turn to draw short straw.
Sometimes it was hell to be Mayor.