Author: R.

Shutdown

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Another fine tale from Andrew Ian Dodge, inspired by the shutdown of the London Transit System over New Year’s.

There was a group of men who thought they were clever; by shutting down the London Underground on New Years Eve. They ruined the night for many of their fellow Londoners; but probably expected sympathy. And annoyed a few more with their heartless smugness. In the coming year they will suffer much abuse and no doubt wonder why.
And those people who would normally be upset seeing an RMT member verbally abused will probably look away. There will no doubt even be some cheers.
The union member will probably not realise what they have wrought with their heartless holiday endeavor.

Fishtank

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Every so often, Susan filled the fish tank with Jell-O.
Bob, not one for confrontation, pretended not to notice.
“Notice anything different?” asked Susan.
“You… cut your hair?” said Bob. “I like it that way.”
“No…”
“Ah, okay,” said Bob. “Well, I still like it that way.”
Then Susan would scowl and stomp off.
Bob couldn’t remember when they got the fish tank, nor could he recall ever owning fish.
He looked through their wedding book: silverware… plates…guns… a dining table…
No fish tank.
The next morning, the Jell-O was gone.
Bob never asked where it went.
Better that way.

Cowering

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A young man sat cowering in his London flat, fearing for his life.

You see, he was a thrusting blogger who took his belief in free speech just a mite too far. For some.

The lad use his newfound voice, having been a a bit sheepish before to launch into a scathing critique of Islam and Mohammed.

His rants grew more biting, until he recorded a nice little kitty about the Quran.

He was praised all over, from New Zealand to Russia. His admirers however would not protect him from the angry mob outside, the ones yelling Allah Ackbhar!

The Flowers

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No matter how hard Frederick tried to keep them from covering his hill, the flowers always managed to grow.
The first message they spelled was “FREDERICK SUCKS.”
Frederick thought it was a prank, so he tore up the flowers and watched the hill.
When he woke the next morning, the flowers returned: “FREDERICK KILLED JENNY.”
Frederick panicked. “Demons!” he shouted.
Frederick tore up the flowers again, and hired some locals to guard the hill in shifts in case he fell asleep.
Which, of course, he did.
“Now he’s paying us,” said a guard. “Sweet. So, what shall we spell now?”

Truth

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There are those who spout utter crap and claim it to be true fact. Left or right it does not matter just as it long as it causes the media to natter. There are those who spend their time trying to correct this rubbish day after day. The end facts do matter don’t they?
Whether its something minor or major about war or your odd neighbour. The facts are what matter because they are what is the truth. Lies beget lies and can lead to lots of bother. I hope that I am in the group that pursues the latter.

Dull As Sandpaper

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“Let me go,” said the blindfolded reporter.
He struggled with the straps, but it was to no avail. There was no way he was getting up from the chair.
A giggle. A snicker.
“Who are you?” he whined into the darkness.
“Dull as sandpaper, are we?” said a voice.
The reporter instantly recognized the voice. It was someone he’d interviewed a few weeks ago, but he decided to “sex up” his story a bit for the readers.
“I was just trying to-”
“Do unto others,” said the voice. “As they’ve done to you.”
That’s when he heard the belt sander.

Trevor

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Trevor began reading out the words before him; clearly and precisely. He worded it as it was meant to be read. The room began to vibrate and the air became musty. The flames grew higher and higher as they turned blood red. Trevor concentrated on the script for all he was worth. His concentration meant he didn’t see what rose from the altar. The tentacle rose to full length before it focused on Trevor. He didn’t notice when it wrapped round him and pulled him towards the altar. By the time he noticed it was too late; he was gone.

The Tory

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There once was a young Tory guy who wanted to be an MP. He worked very hard for the party, became a counsellor, went to all the right conferences and followed the party line. Then one day a bright young Tory leader came along and told our hero was no longer needed. You see he was born white, straight and male; all things bad in the modern Conservative Party. Of course this is not a tale of fantasy or fiction but ever so true. Count yourself lucky you are this poor soul. What a terrible waste of a young life.

The Ghost Ship

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We matched velocity and docked with the luxury liner.
The alarm went off as we suited up. Damn, those things are annoying.
Floating throughout the ship we found dozens of lifesacks. Must have been sudden atmospheric failure.
Every one contained a passenger or a crewman. All dead. No survivors.
Was this a bad batch of lifesacks? The hole stabbed in each suggested no. Each victim was frozen in horror.
Who’s the murderer? We checked manifest… all accounted for.
Did they finish everyone off, then themselves?
Whatever. That’s the Orbital Navy’s problem. We’re pirates.
We robbed the cargo hold and left.

You’re Not Kong

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The gigantic squid crawled through the streets of Manhattan, dragging a bored blonde beauty in one of its slimy tentacles.
“It just isn’t the same,” she said. “It’s nothing personal, it’s just me.”
The gigantic squid stopped and clacked its beak.
“I don’t have anything against squid in particular,” said the woman. “I admire your radial symmetry and your color-shifting skills. But it’s just that ever since I had that little fling with Kong, I just can’t see myself with anything different than a gigantic simian.”
She and the gigantic squid parted ways. They wrote for a while, then nothing.