Tag: science fiction

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.

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!”

The Odd Daughter

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Doctor Odd looked at the destruction in the yard, sighed, and kneeled down to talk to his daughter.
“Pumpkin,” he said. “Remember when Daddy taught you about grafting?”
Pumpkin nodded her head.
“Well, there’s a good kind of grafting and a bad kind. Good grafting is when you combine plant varieties to make bug-resistant species or crops that survive droughts.”
Pumpkin smiled.
“Bad grafting is what you did with your friend Bobby, the lawnmower, and your dog.”
Pumpkin frowned.
“Daddy will clean up this mess. Now go wash up for dinner.”
Pumpkin ran inside and squealed happily for tater tots.

The Monkeys

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Bill bred the monkeys specifically for manual dexterity and docile temperament.
The typewriters, hauled out of some warehouse, just needed dusting and fresh ribbons.
Writers Guild representatives caught wind of Bill’s plan and used everything short of poisoning the banana supply to stop him.
Despite these evil schemes, Bill persevered, and his simian legions grew.
And produced.
At first, random garbage was the result. Lots of stained, crumbled sheets of typing paper covered with garble.
Then, smashed typewriters and the occasional dead monkey.
They never did manage to produce Shakespeare, but made a fine line in Bill’s obituary years later.

Below Average

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Unlike our neighbors’ kids, all of the children in Lake Whybehere are below average. They’re all good children, but just a little behind the curve. A few seconds late off the starting blocks in the game of life.
Their conversations are enthusiastic, but babble. Their play is confused and often ends in medical treatment.
Most suffer from lethargy, but a few demonstrate occasional spunkiness. Like running in circles with scissors faster than usual.
Maybe there’s something in the water. The power plant dumps an awful lot of crap into Lake Whybehere.
Perhaps we’ll dump it in Wobegone from now on.

Some stains

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Some stains don’t come out easily.
No, I’m not talking about grape juice stains. We get enough of those in the clothes people donate through us.
I’m talking about spiritual stains. Echoes of misery and agony, soaked into the fabric beyond the reach of any detergent.
Put on a haunted suit, the wedding goes bad.
Put on a haunted ball cap, you get headaches.
Put on a haunted dress, your tits sag.
That’s why we use a laundry that has a full-time exorcist on staff. Removes the curses.
But if you don’t pay, we can always put them back in.

Radio Free Hell

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Silvia’s parents thought she was retarded, but her inattentiveness was due to constant buzzing in her ears.
Despite the doctors’ many treatments, it grew worse over time.
Many years later, Silvia learned about meditation, slowing herself down to manage pain.
The buzzing slowed to a ringing, and then… a stream of voices.
‘Why did you kill me, Arthur?”
“It’s not fair.”
“The pain!”
“I’ll see you in Hell.”
Radio Free Hell. In her skull.
Then, she heard them…
“We wasted our lives worrying for her.”
Her parents. In Hell.
She drove knitting needles into her ears and embraced the silence.

The Hottest Girl In Class

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By far, Veronica was the hottest girl in the class. She’ll really make you sweat.
At 900 degrees, ordinary desks would melt or burst into flame at her slightest touch. So she sat at the back of the class in a massive heat-sink, uncomfortable in her tungsten gown, taking notes with a ceramic stylus.
On most days, the air handlers barely kept up with her, but today we’ve got all the windows open in January.
Nobody sits next to her at lunch, although some occasionally approach her asking if she’ll reheat their soup or grill their sandwiches between her palms.

Headache pills

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Jennie pulled open the mirror and fumbled through the bottles of pills.
“Where are you… where are you…” she muttered, pulling bottle after bottle off of the shelves, looking at their labels, and dropping them in the sink.
“Where are my headache pills?” she whined.
She then looked in each of the drawers, sliding each one out and then slamming them shut.
No headache pills.
She turned out the light, went back to bed, and felt a lump under the pillow.
The pills!
She shook one out of the bottle and dry-swallowed it.
Pain filled her skull.
“Not tonight, dear…”

Ulysses grants

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Ulysses sold Inspiration in a bottle.
Sure, it was ordinary tap water, and the bottles dingy beer bottles with cheap laser-printed labels glued on them crooked-like, but people desperate for Inspiration will pay anything for it.
Ulysses does his best bsiness on Artist’s Row in Midtown. He goes around collecting up empties like an old-fashioned milkman, leaving full bottles on the doorstep.
“I need a lot of Inspiration for tomorrow,” says a painter. “Twice the normal order.”
Ulysses grunts, marks a pad with a nub of a pencil, and pushes his cart down the alley.
Inspiration waits for no one.