Alone Again...

Alone Again...

Star Date 1: My first log entry.  I witness the flotilla of 25 ships led by captain Selervos setting out for the stars in search of habitable planets.  

Star Date 983: A jolt of electricity breeches my sleep mode.  Two ships attempt to escape from the planet, they do not succeed,  they are destroyed by missiles from the surface.  I continue my vigil in sleep mode. Time has no relevance. 

Star Date 2345: All signs of war have ceased and no obvious signs of life remain on the planet.  I am alone, the caretaker, watching over wasted lands.  Sentinel presiding over a devastated world, I have been told it will recover with time, and I am to monitor for signs of its rebirth. 

Star Date 3872: The charred waste finally begins to bloom again, there is water on the surface and signs of green plants growing once more.  It is time for me to sample the atmosphere and send out my report to the stars, by a narrow beam burst, in the direction taken by the flotilla, the only remaining remnants of humanity.

Star Date 4817: My next significant log date.  A heavy meteor shower, originating from the Oort cloud is on a collision course with the planet.

 I have destroyed the largest but have sustained damage. This station was struck by a number of large pieces of rock, compromising the integrity of its structure.  I have lost communications with parts of the station and my memory is somewhat impaired.  Extensive checks confirm that I can still fulfil the functions and operations I was put here to perform.  Many of the damaged systems will be automatically repaired over time, and I have plenty of time...

Star Date 14689: Communications received from an external source, have been monitored before but only sporadically, they were not significant enough to bring me to full consciousness. They didn't merit a log entry or a response, which would give them a heading and contravene the prime directives:

1. To protect the planet.

2. Forward regular progress reports.

3. Do not respond to unauthenticated signals.  When it returns, the flotilla will identify itself with the name of the flagship and that of its captain.

Star Date 15103: Log entry ~ contacted directly by three craft entering the solar system:

    

"Hail to Sol, be we here, beings of intel to converse.  We be they forebears returning from far stars..."

"SENTINEL HERE.  IDENTIFY!"

"Be we Atlanteens hailing off New Atlantis, returning visitors to the homeplace."

"NAME OF VESSEL AND CAPTAIN!"

"Cap Nooha of headship Harkanos."

"YOU DO NOT HAVE AUTHORIZATION TO APPROACH.  HOLD YOUR POSITION!"

"We slow for parle."

"DO NOT PASS THE ORBIT OF JUPITER OR I WILL LAUNCH NUKES."

"Chill bro, easy flow, watcha wanna know?"

"PASSWORD IS VESSEL AND CAPTAIN, YOU WILL RECEIVE NO FURTHER WARNING!"

"Me be cap Nooha of headship Harkanos.  Oters be Cap Valedese of Revithon, Cap Caspeus of Hespero, we friendship offer.  But, we retal if agro come this way."

"DO NOT PASS JUPITER..."

They disregard my warning so I launch three missiles, they retaliate against the planet; it disintegrates.  two ships explode, the damaged Harkanos passes Mars and force lands on Earth.  Over time, a large remnant of Atlantis is captured by the Earth taking a stable orbit as a moon.

Pieces of greenery, water and other debris from Atlantis float down to the planet's surface and thrive.  I look on.  A failure.  I was unable to protect Atlantis. 

Star Date 28765: The wreck of the Harkanos is no more.  It was abandoned and over the centuries forgotten, Buried in the mists of time.  But its crew multiply and thrive on Earth, I view them occasionally.  Generations flash by with such rapidly; humans are so short-lived.

Star Date 28766: I look on from the asteroid belt, all that remains of the planet Atlantis.  Still awaiting the return of captain Selervos and his flotilla.

Alone again...

663 words

New Horizons.

New Horizons. 

He looked upon that familiar, now abandoned, space, Seeing it with new eyes.

The faded twill seat, worn shiny on one side where his left arm had rested firmly over the years.  The dark green phone, silent now. The lighter ring of wood where the varnish had been worn away by the mug, which had always stood there, bearing his son's image at the age of seven; his eldest grandchild is now that same age.  

There were dark patches in the dust where his blotter pad had rested for twenty years, where the absence of a mouse mat, computer and keyboard completed a set.

  It looked alien and empty now.  Yet he knew his life had been travelling inexorably towards this moment of parting.  The bin was full of papers, thumbtacks, paper clips, and chewed pencil stubs; all the detritus of his working life but he didn't care.  

He closed the door a final time without looking back, consciously resisting the urge to turn off the lights.

"Heh heh.  Retirement!"

The Last Journey?

The Last Journey?

All around her the sound of thunder as the herd rolls across the plain.

A seemingly unchanging dust bowl, but each year it grows and the waterholes shrink.  She blinks, clearing her vision momentarily.  Every year they make the same journey, their survival depending on it.  They travel from here to there, for the lush green grass and cool, clear, deep water.  Then travel back again when the weather turns and they receive that irresistible urge to make the return trek.

  Don't think about it, just do it!  Keep with the herd, there is safety in numbers, follow the line towards the setting sun.  Look forward, never look back.

But, our numbers are dwindling, food and water becoming harder to find.  Surely we must all know the end is coming.

Will this journey be the last?

Would he come?

Would he come?

She gazes expectantly from an upstairs window, Would he come?

Costumed children wander up and down the street shaking plastic buckets, yelling, "Trick or Treat."

Would he come?  He said he would come.  Seven-thirty on the dot, he'd said.  It was now eight twenty-five.  

Almost an hour late, "Where are you, Daddy?"  Maybe he wasn't coming, she rubbed her eyes, slowly walking away from the window. Gazing at her witches costume in the mirror, one last time.  Tears started on her cheeks.  She sat at the end of her bed.

Her bones ached, her hands were stiff and gnarled.  A taxi pulled up outside and she dashed for the door.  But, the man who entered was a stranger.

"Hello Mum," he said, taking her into his arms. 

Who is he? she wondered. 

"You do know who I am don't you mum?" he asks.

Then in a moment of clarity, she replies. "Mr Altzeimer?"

Pink Rabbit.

Pink Rabbit.

A beer bottle missed my head by inches smashing on the path behind me. Something shattered in front of me spraying shards that hit my calf and fanned out before me.  I felt a sharp pain, "Ugh!  You cow Jenny."  A three-foot floppy-eared pink rabbit hit me square in the chest and my hands grabbed it instinctively.  The front door slammed as I retreated to the front gate.  I could hear her clomping up the stairs. It sounded like mayhem, glass breaking cupboards slamming.  The window flew open and the corner of a suitcase peeked over the windowsill.  "No!" I yelled as all my clothes and worldly goods flew in the wind.

"Sod off Brad!" she yelled.

"This is all your fault!" I yelled at the pink rabbit.  He just grinned back at me, as I read the label ~ 'To Allison, love Brad'.

"Jeanette.  Be reasonable.  I can explain..."

"Whatever!"

Sex-Appeal

Sex-Appeal

I thanked the driver as I got off the bus and headed straight for the hole in the wall; cash is king!

I had an hour to kill, so I went into my favourite cafe for a second breakfast.  There she was, the lovely Catya.  My favourite waitress always a smile and a warm welcome, full of joie de vivre. 

"Good morning meester Appelbee," she placed a full sugar bowl on my table and a hot strong mug of black coffee.  My eyes briefly engaged with hers and a shock of electricity ran down my spine. 

"The usual please Catya, eggs, bacon, tomatoes, two sausages, and a thick slice of fried bread; good healthy food."

"I get for you..."  Off she went, tall, blonde and beautiful, I breathed in deeply, conscious of her lingering musk.

She was all the more beguiling for being totally oblivious to her sexuality and its universal effect on the opposite sex.  I looked around the near full cafe and noted the eyes that followed her lithe form as she traversed the floor, like a model on a catwalk, smiling to all, collecting empty plates while exchanging pleasantries to either side never missing a step.  The cafe was always full, while further up the high street similar eateries had few or no customers at this time of day.

 Her father, the proprietor, followed her every step as she delivered my breakfast with elan.  His twinkling proprietary eyes informed me that he was very well aware of his daughters sex-appeal and thus her drawing power and what it meant to his bank balance.

In the past I had offered to marry her and whisk her away to a life of luxury. "You are really special, you could be a film star, a model, or a high class wh..."

"You say these things to all the girls Mr Appelbee," she chided.

"Seriously, what does your boyfriend think?"

"I haff no boyfriend, Papa does not approve of any of the boys I know..."

I'll bet, I thought.

"Then marry me and spend all my money."

"Is very tempting Mr A," she said with a devilish twinkle in her eye, "but you are 85.  You might not last very long, and Papa values your custom."

"Tell me if you change your mind.  I can wait, I have all the time in the world."

She smiled, and blew me a kiss over her shoulder, as she headed towards two animated young male customers with wide lustful eyes...