Tag: Sci-fi

Flash Fiction Challenge Week 2: Securing Destiny

Bloggies News

A couple of things before I get to this week’s flash. If you read my last post, you’ll know that thedicepool.com was up for a Bloggie for best debut blog of 2024 in the TTRPG space. To those who voted for me, thanks so much! Your support means a lot. It honestly motivates me to keep working on this site and it’s obviously nice to know that someone enjoys what I write. Unfortunately, it was not to be. Murkmail won by a country mile, and deservedly so. You should go check out their blog. I came in seventh place, lower than I’d hoped but higher than I expected. For the full results, here’s a link to sachagoat’s blog. While you’re there, go and vote in the current round! It’s the Advice category right now and it’s down to the last 8 entries. They are all well worth your time to read if you’re interested in RPGs.

I redecorated

There were a few things missing from the very minimalist theme I was using. I really always wanted a sidebar. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned. Anyway, I switched themes so I could have one. I like it because I can keep useful stuff there, like my archives, lists of categories and tags, a blogroll of other blogs that I like or am subscribed to. That sort of thing. What do you think of the new look, dear reader?

Week 2

This one started with my head in a very contemporary office space and ended with something in a much more far future space space, if you know what I mean. I gave this a bit more time than the last one, but I’m not convinced it’s better for it. I’m happy with the plot I got in there and even the level of character development, but I’m not as satisfied with the quality of the writing. Here are the random words I challenged myself to fit into this 500 word piece:

Nouns

measurement
consequence
desk
winner
employer

Verbs

echo
influence
enquire
mix
pin

Securing Destiny

by Ronan McNamee

“Let’s put a pin in that.” Mr Grogan locked eyes with Terry and dared him to voice another concern. Terry, shook, broke first. “And move on to the next item, shall we?” Timpani thundering in his ears, Terry inhaled through his one unblocked nostril. A trick of his Mum’s, to calm him. The meeting continued, the others focusing on Grogan’s drone. Terry exhaled through an o. His pressure regulated with the cabin’s.

Why? His ghostly face, reflected in the void-dark porthole by his desk, echoed his confusion. Why had he opened his mouth? If his employer worried about the security of the life-support system, he’d have addressed it. Right? His mum beamed at him from her little holo-plinth. She winked conspiratorially. Secrets were her strength. She always said, say nothing and let the fools sing. Good advice, he always thought. So why had he ignored it today? To reassure himself that he wasn’t paranoid, he re-checked the firewall. There: a weakness. A hacker would need to know what they were seeking, but, surely, a weakness is a weakness. The consequences of such a key ship system being compromised defied measurement. Catastrophic.

Maybe Mr Grogan hadn’t wanted it discussed openly at the stand-up. Terry mixed up a lunchtime bowl of blue kibble on the mezzanine, and nodded. Made sense. But why? Security reasons? The other staff were trusted. Too distracting? It was a serious issue. So why? There was his mum again, with one of her sayings. Who stands to gain from it? Grogan? A play for control? Would he gamble with the lives of everyone aboard the Destiny? Did he think he could come out of that eventuality a winner?

Terry overthought everything. Everyone said so. He was pushed to enquire, he struggled to come to decisions, he had a tendency to catastrophise. Of course he did. Every scenario ended in catastrophe on a long enough time-line. That’s why his job was security for the engineering crew. It was why he was trusted, too. He took that trust seriously. Over a thousand souls depended on him.

In the depths of the ship, later, doing his rounds, Terry still debated his options. Grogan found him there, wiped his upper lip and drew close. “I know you think it’s me,” he had to shout his secret over the din down there, “the captain says there’s too many mouths to feed. Wants an… accident. She has… influence over me.” Terry nodded. He had heard rumours about Grogan’s indiscretions. The man sweated before him now in the greasy, red dullness. Terry told him he wouldn’t open his mouth.

Terry stayed late. Got in the back way through the firewall exploit. He selected the captain’s quarters and Grogan’s. Glanced at his mum before hitting EXECUTE. When he took the job, he told her he worried about this sort of situation arising. She’d said, if they don’t deserve your trust, then they don’t deserve Destiny. He tapped the button and listened for the klaxon.

Next week’s words

Random nouns and random verbs to attract those muses.

Next week’s nouns

expenditure
entertain
tablet
morsel
leader

Next week’s verbs

announce
stand
reverse
sue
decline

Please do let me know if you have been writing along with me, dear reader. I’m going to do this anyway, but misery loves company and all that.

Flash Fiction: Anthropology

Funerals

I used to have a hard time keeping a straight face at funerals. When I was young, the only kinds of funeral ceremonies I ever attended were Catholic ones. They are almost entirely devoid of light-hearted or even poignant moments, in my experience. Instead, such occasions are concerned mostly with priests warning you about the danger your immortal soul is in if you continue your sinful ways and telling you about Jesus. Anyway, the build-up of emotion caused by this unsatisfactory vehicle for sending off your loved one would inevitably explode in titters and giggles over silly little things. So this story is about, what if a time-traveler from a future free of permanent death attended a funeral like that? Without the necessary context? What would they think? Also, what if it was an assignment for an anthropology class?

Flash Fiction: Anthropology

By Ronan McNamee

Attendance at a funeral was felt to be the ideal introduction to a society. It was a shock, that’s what it was. Why did the man in the robes spend so much time talking about this Jesus fellow? I thought the death-victim’s name was Gary. Why did everyone keep sitting and standing and kneeling? Why was no-one attempting to revive the deceased? I honestly felt as though I should intervene when I realised they had locked the poor man in a little box. Call a Reviv Team!

When they informed us all we were to proceed to the graveyard outside the pointy building I grew truly scared. They intended to bury the poor man! Perhaps he had been a criminal; perhaps this was his punishment. What sort of crime could warrant such barbaric cruelty, though? How could these people (some of them
called themselves Gary’s family for crying out loud!) sustain such a desire for vengeance once the man had already died. He must have been a terrible dictator or CEO of some kind, like Aldorf Hipler or Donal Drumpf? Perhaps he deserved it?
Outside, I discovered many marked graves. By the dates of death many of the incarcerated had been buried for decades. Far past their sell-by dates; no chance of reviving them anymore. I felt sick. I gave my left clavicle a rub to release some Calm. I relaxed and smiled at the woman next to me. “Did he steal something valuable?” I asked her as we shuffled together out of the pointy building into the rain. Her eyes, previously quivering with sympathy and sadness, turned hard and grey, her mouth drooped and she shook her head, turning to speak to the man beside her.

“What did you say to my wife?” said the tall, shiny-headed man to me. I looked to either side but he was definitely looking at me. I pointed at myself. He glared, tears streaking his face.
“What did you say about Gary?”
“I simply wished to understand his crime,” I wished I had read the preparatory pamphlet before I got myself into this.
“Crime?! You little toerag,” said the man lunging at my face with his fist, his fist! I had been struck by a human being at a funeral. I felt that I was beginning to understand the culture. It was one of violence and vengeance and lies.
“I just wanted to understand this funeral ritual!” I screamed. I feared for my own life now. The bald man was gaining allies from the crowd of brutes collected there by the graveyard.
“Understand it? I’ll give you one of your own, you fucker!” I turned and ran down the lane with the mob following. I rounded a corner and whispered, out of breath and scared witless, “Return, please, please please, Return.

And here I am, making this report to you.
What do you mean, failed? You can’t fail me for that! They were out for blood! Unfair test!

Flash Fiction: Potential

Competition

I used to love to take part in the flash fiction competitions held on the Escape Artists Forums. I think I have mentioned that before. I would read and re-read every entry, and vote in each round. The work of writing the actual flash fiction stories was instrumental in my development as a writer but reading and critiquing literally hundreds of flash stories over the years also helped me understand what to avoid and what to emulate. If you are an aspiring writer, you could do a lot worse than to take part in contests like this. It looks like the last one they held was a couple of years ago so they are about due for another one soon. Also, if you win, they reproduce it on one of their podcasts! Check them out at the link above.

Anyway, this is one of my more successful efforts. “Potential” got to the semi-finals of the contest for Escape Pod in 2018. I hope you enjoy it, dear reader.

Potential

by Ronan McNamee

“Do you remember the Earth, Momma?” Kevin bounced between ceiling and floor. Liberty couldn’t watch without nausea nibbling. She stood before their darkened porthole, preparing silver-packed lunches.

She sighed. “How many times, Kev? Why keep asking this question?”

Kevin’s reflection shrugged in the porthole.

Liberty knew why: he didn’t believe her answer. To her son, Earth was Heaven, the Happy Hunting Grounds, Valhalla; but he believed in it utterly. Of course he didn’t believe her.

“Did you ever see a bison, Momma?” Kevin performed his final dismount from the ceiling, not with a flourish but with a fart.

“Kevin!”

“I couldn’t help it!”

Shaking her head, suppressing giggles, Liberty rhymed off her standard response: “The bisons are all gone, my love, just like the pandas, turtles, codfishes. That Earth is dying, but we’re still here, L’il Kev. Our future is out there.”

Kevin shook his head and smiled wide. Wink! And he pushed off to the back of their cozy capsule. He began boxing a teddy in the face.

She would never convince him.

No need, she thought, in two more years, we’ll be out of here and escaping this graveyard. He’ll have to believe it. Or will he? Even then? Is there anything I can show him, or anything those scientists can say to make him understand the truth.

“It’s my own fault,” said Liberty softly into her panini. “I shouldn’t have told you this was a spaceship. But you’re my only company: had to console you somehow.” Louder, “Come and eat your lunch, L’il Kev.”

Kevin looked upon his defeated enemy, nodded once and floated over to her.

She handed him his panini, “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry I got us into this but it’ll be worth it in the end.” He gave her a cocked head and a scrunched-up puzzled face, grabbed the package and flew off again, laughing, waving his lunch at the porthole. Globs of mayonnaise and molten emmental exploded from it. Liberty winced. She knew the equipment was delicate but Kevin’s potential energy was often released in damaging ways; he was a bored six-year-old. Knuckling her eyes, she began her mantra, “It’ll be worth it in the end, it’ll be worth it in the end, it’ll b-“ Liberty’s nostrils twitched: smoke…

Kevin had abandoned his sandwich mid-capsule while he pretended to shoot her with a defunct thermoglue gun. “Pchew! Pchew!” He noticed nothing.

Liberty floated around, sniffing. She strained to listen but Kevin was too loud. Pleading was futile.

Liberty retrieved the extinguisher and flew about, blindly. The cabin filled with smoke. She began to panic when she heard, “Simulation ended.” Her son bawled. She looked around at him in the next booth.

A white coat loomed above her, “The trial is over, Liberty.” She shook her head, tears stinging.

“You were unable to maintain your capsule… your ticket off world is revoked.”

“No,” she whispered.

“You’ll be staying here on Earth. We thank you for your time.”