Sunday Brunch

The snow fell like it had a point to prove. The world was a fury of white.

Dave opened the curtains of his bedroom window.

"Crap," groaned Dave to the world in general.

Doing his best not to fall into the heaps of laundry and trash that littered the floor, Dave rushed over to his night stand and grabbed his phone. Dave swiped away his latest updates and messages, and frantically mashed in his bosses phone number and the speaker button.

After several rings a robotic voice answered, "The mailbox for the number five, one, eight-" Dave hung up the phone.

"Double crap," moaned Dave while hitting himself over the head with his phone.

In the blink of an eye (roughly five minutes) Dave was rinsed, clothed, fed, and out the door. In another blink of an eye (roughly .2 seconds) Dave was fell down the snow covered front steps. He landed in a graceful pile of tangled limbs with a few bruises thrown in for variety.

Dave pulled himself up from the snowy ground and squinted through the blinding storm.

"I know I left my car here," said Dave as he walked blindly forward. The sound of a metallic bag, and pain blossoming from Dave's knee attested to the car still being there.

"Damnit," yelped Dave. He leaned down to rub his knee and managed to hit his head on the side-view mirror. "Come on!"

After several numbing minutes Dave's keys refused to exist as keys, but rather as key-cicles that refused to fit in the lock. A great burst of steam bellowed from Dave's clenched teeth as he rammed the keys home, ripped the door open, and jumped inside the car.

A was safe.

He took a deep breath.

He looked next to him in the car.

"Crap," sighed Dave.

A man sat next to him. His frozen body showed bloodless signs of where flesh had been carved, or in some places bitten, out.

"I guess brunch is on you, John," said Dave.

From The Top

    'Well, this is just great,' intoned a disembodied voice from the infinite blackness. 'What the hell do I do now?'

    The void that berthed that great booming voice grew in size, but that didn't make any difference. When you’re the essence of nothing floating around in a nothing of nothingness, there’s no decisive way to tell the size ratio of said nothing.

    'I guess I should make something,' the speaker thought for a milli-second. 'I know!'

    And it started.

    First came the brightness of gases forming. They gathered together in a ballet, so grand in scale that if a human had even existed to witness the event, their brain would have boiled from the sheer unimaginable grandeur.

    Slowly, at least in the cosmic sense that a million years goes by in the blink of an eye, the gasses formed together. At first they swirled around each other, like a bathtub emptying backwards (emptying normally if you’re reading this in the southern hemisphere) and then they took shape as the first primordial suns. The light they gave off was blinding in comparison to the void that had reigned before their formation.

    Next, the remaining particles, later classified by humans to be the building blocks of all things in the universe, but to the universe itself they were nothing more than the left over over bits of cosmic hot dog fillings, came together and formed the planets that would populate the galaxies from one end of the heavens to the other.

    The floating voice was happy. Now it had company. There was light for it to see, minus the fact that it didn't have eyes. It had places it could go for a nice quiet stroll, nevermind the fact that it had no feet, or legs for them to be perched on.

    'Now, lets play a game,' the voice told the expanding space. The galaxies, filled with more suns and planets then sand on all the beaches of the modern world (even including the man-made places filled with whining tourists, complaining that their weekend getaways to sun filled resorts consisted of entirely too much sand) noded in agreement and started the game of life.

    Out in first place was an unregarded solar system in the forgotten western arm of the milky way galaxy. First a proto-plasm began to bubble in the ooze that covered most of the planet. To the naked eye, it would seem nothing more than a gray spunk, spewing from pools of super heated water, bubbling forth from the cooling lava. But on a microscopic scale, the ooze was teaming with life.

    'Good start Milky Way, but be careful,' the voice chided. 'The Andromeda Galaxy is fast on your heels. I think it might already have a quadra-pedal creature roaming its surfaces.'

    And so the game of life began.

© 2014 Mark Fiske

The End Of The World… as we know it

1

Roger holds his breath, and begins to count in his head.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi.

BWARRRRRRRR an air raid siren blasts from hidden speakers.

Four Mississippi, five Mississippi, six Mississippi.

Roger watches a missile drop through the clouds.

Seven Mississippi, eight Mississippi, nine Mississippi.

Next to Roger, a mother screams while her child looks on uncomprehendingly.

Ten Mississi-

Everything turns white and heat.

2

From two hundred miles above the Earth, the blast that consumed Roger resembles nothing more than the small flame of a candle.

Other flames begin erupting all over the globe.

The Earth burned.

Eyes watch the world turn to ash through a small porthole in the International Space Station.

Those eyes belonged to two astronauts who turned to each other.

“Champaigne?” asks one.

“Da,” answers the other.

Their eyes drift back to watch an ash cloud spread across the sky below.

© 2014 Mark Fiske

Mighty Mike

“Help!” screams a helpless victim. “I’ve been robbed! They took my purse! Police!”

Footsteps thunder down a dark ally.

“He’s getting away,” cries out the victim. “Won’t someone help me?”

With a rush of wind, a man clad in bright spandex drops in front of the helpless victim.

“Fear not, helpless victim,” exclaims spandex. “For it is I, Mighty Mike, here to help you”

Mighty Mike strikes a Mighty Pose.

“What’s your name, victim?” asks Mighty Mike.

“Pete,” says Pete. “How in Jacobs mouth did you drop from that roof?”

“Ha ha-ha,” laughs Mighty Mike. “I am a superhero, my fragile friend. Now tell me about the fiend who made off with your purse.”

“I didn’t really get a good look at him,” says Pete.

“Try,” sooths Mighty Mike’s voice, as he places a hand reassuringly on Pete’s shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll try,” says Pete. “He was a five-foot-nothing weenie with beady eyes, ears like an elephant, and thin angry lips.”

Pete shakes his head, as if clearing out the cobwebs.

“Woah,” says Pete. “Did you just use some kind-ah super-power mind jobber on me?”

“Ha, hah,” laughs Mighty Mike. “Of course I did, for I am Mighty Mike. As for the doer of evil, I’d know that description anywhere. He is none other than Bad Boss, my arch-nemesis.”

Mighty Mike slams his fist into his hand, causing a Mighty shock wave.

“Darn,” yells Mighty Mike. “Bad Boss has plagued me for years, it’s about time I teach him a Mighty lesson.”

“Well, now’s your chance, Mister Henderson,” says a voice behind Mighty Mike. “And if you could please be so kind as to stop narrating everything, that would be great.”

Mike Henderson cleared his throat and put the six inch action figures he was playing with, down on his desk. Mike swiveled in his chair, and looked at the man standing in his cubicle’s entrance. Staring back at Mike, with beady black eyes, was Edward Booth, Mike’s boss.

“How long have you been standing there?” asked Mike.

“My pachyderm-esq ears may have picked up one or two of your little adventures,” said Edward.

“I take it this means…?” questioned Mike.

“This means your little adventures are over,” said Edward. “Pack up your fortress of solis, and be out of the building within the hour, or I’ll have to call security.”

Edward turned, his lips thinner than ever, and left with a HRUMPH of indignation.

Mike picked up the figure of the old man, and began talking to it.

“I swear to you, my petrified pal,” says Mighty Mike. “Mighty Mike will avenge your stolen purse, Pete. Fear not!”

Mike tossed the figures into a box. A head poked around the cubicle’s entrance.

“Sorry about that, Mike” said an old man who resembled the figure Pete. “We're still on for Dragons & Dungeons later, right?”

Mike sighed, and placed the rest of his meager belongings into his box.

“Yeah, Pete,” said Mike. “We're still on. I’ll see you tonight.”

© 2014 Mark Fiske

Makeshift Floating Walkway Thingy

Amanda stood on the edge of a cliff over looking a snow-covered mountain. The wind played with her hair while snow collected on her exposed skin. Thomas stood next to Amanda sharing the breathtaking view.  A hundred feet above them an island floated in mid-air.

“How the hell are we suppose to get there?” screamed Amanda.

“Exactly how I said we would,” said Thomas as he shrugged out of his climbing gear.

“We’re going to float, right?” said Amanda oozing sarcasm.

“That’s right,” said Thomas with a smile.

“What? Are you cracked in the head? Do you need some oxygen, old man?” Mocked Amanda. “You can’t just invent a floating-thingy and then WHOOSH, you’re all floating around straight up to an impossible island in the middle of nowhere!”

Amanda threw her arms up in disgust and attempted to walk away from Thomas. When the drop to the mountain below presents itself for the final walk away, Amanda turned and glared at Thomas.

“I don’t have to invent anything,” said Thomas while he reached into his backpack. “Not if someone invented it before me.”

From the deep recesses of his pack, Thomas produced an object about the size of a bread box. Amanda was opening her mouth to laugh at Thomas, but instead her jaw just dropped.

The object burst from Thomas’ hand and flew into the sky where it instantly began to change shape. Spheres, cubes, dodecahedrons, every shape of both science and the imagination. After a few seconds of this fantastic display, the object disappeared.

“Where did it-” began Amanda until a flash of pure white and a sound like falling tuna sandwiches made her stop.

“Don’t close your eyes,” warned Thomas “This is the best part!”

Braving the brightness, Amanda looked back at the object. It was now a spiral staircase, each step floating just above the last, reaching up to the floating island.

“When I say go, you run,” said Thomas looking at Amanda. “Got it?”

“What? No!” said Amanda taking a step away from “This has to be some sort of hallucination, or something. There’s nothing there; there can’t be. Did you drug me, you sicko?”

“I’ll say this once,” said Thomas as he took Amanda’s hand. “You can come with me, and I’ll explain, or head back down the mountain alone.”

Amanda looked from the stairs to Thomas.

“Go,” said Thomas with a wink. He squeezed Amanda’s hand, let go and ran up the stairway.

After a brief thought about her personal safety, and what she would tell her best friend Shelly if she didn't see this adventure through, Amanda rushed after Thomas. As they ran up towards the island, the stairs began fading from sight behind them. 

© 2014 Mark Fiske

Save Point

BEEP BEEP chirped a digital alarm clock. With the grace of a turkey, a man's arm flew from the recesses of his blankets, slamming down on the snooze button. The arm retreated into the warmth of the blanket, and the man was just snuggling back into his pillows when the phone rang.

"Damn it," the man groaned while flinging the blanket off of him. With a grunt, he swung his large hairy feet onto the cold wooden floor.

"I'm coming," the man muttered as he crossed the room. "What's the damn rush? Calling a guy before he's had a proper breakfast."

"Hullo?" The man questioned with authority.

"Is this General Malcolm Roberts?" Said the voice on the other lin.

"Of course it is, damn it," spat General Malcolm Roberts. "Now Who the hell is this?"

"I apologize General," said the voice. "This is The President."

"What the hell do you mean by 'this is The President'?" Said Roberts with confusion in his voice.

"General Roberts," said The President. "I need you to believe me, and listen. This is of the utmost importance. Do you understand Roberts?"

"Yes, um, yes. Certainly Mr. President," said Roberts as he sat down on the bed before his legs gave out in fear of what he thought might be coming next.

"Good," said The President. "Now Roberts, listen carefully. I've heard from mutual friends that you have a dated Save Point from your younger days, correct?"

"Yes sir," said Roberts with sweat rolling down his face. "My save is from the day I met my late wife. I always wanted to return there, when I got Game Over that is. Why do you ask, sir?"

“Well Roberts," said The President. "In exactly 30 minutes, every nuke in the world will be fired. We are talking about a 90% casualty rate. The only way to stop this is by changing history through someone's Save Point, but you're the only member of Staff who has a Save from earlier than this year, let alone earlier this century."

"I understand sir," said Roberts running his fingers through his sweat soaked hair. "What is it exactly that I must do?"

"Well... Shit, this is hard to say," said The President with a catch in his throat. "I need to you to have me assassinated. But after I've become President. Do you understand General?"

"Yes, sir," said General Malcolm Roberts, Brigadier General of the first rank while saluting the small flag taped to his bedroom mirror. 

"Thank you General," said The President. "And my God have mercy on us both."

Roberts hung up the phone, and reached into his nightstand, producing his 9mm pistol. Thinking  only of his wife and being able to see her face for the first time in years, Roberts used the gun to get Game Over.

Continue Game: Yes/No

© 2014 Mark Fiske

The Waiting Game

BANG! A gun fired in the darkness, it's blinding light illuminating the inside of a cavernous space. The noise startled a colony of sleeping bats that took to the air screeching in protest of the loud noise. As the bats receded deeper into the cave, a silence fell. Somewhere a drop of water landed in a stagnate pool, causing silent ripples to spread out unobserved.

From the darkest shadow, two glowing red eyes opened, banishing the darkness, but what they revealed was a nightmare come to life; it's scales shimmered, it's claws gleamed. When it smiled, teeth like swords glowed in the red light.

On the ground, a bloodied, dismembered corpse of a man lay twisted and broken. A gun rested in the man's hand; the only fully intact body part left. The gruesome beast used a broken stalagmite and pushed the gun away from the man. It's massive jaw broke apart with a sound that drove the bats even further into the cave. The creature's jaw reformed into a man-sized hole, surrounded by thousands of teeth and an impossibly deep throat. In one gulp the man was devoured, his gun the only remaining sign of his existence. HICUP the creature blurted, causing something distasteful to pop into it's mouth. After a moment's thoughtful chew, the beast spit out a bullet in disgust; it landed next to the gun.

With a hell of a grin the monster closed its eyes and waited.

© 2014 Mark Fiske