Tag Archives: short story

Sci-fi flash fiction “Gilita Imagines Herself “

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You know how I said my cheek was swollen? Well, the dentist says he only gets  one or two cases a year when someone reacts to Novocaine like I did!! ARG! I am very irked!

Gilita Imagines Herself 

Gilita Imagines herself. She has purple skin with black and gold eyes. Her lips are the color of bricks, and she wears a smile just like the Mona Lisa’s.

“What Is Mona Lisa?” asked Pritte, her sister. “I mean, you know I like paintings, but I don’t remember that one”. Gilita jumped. “what? how not? we learned about it just yesterday! the girl with the curious smile behind the mountain scenery! Broloxxe Major told us during our lessons! Don’t you remember?” “no,” sighed Pritte, looking downcast, “I never do”. “then leave me alone. And stop tapping in! Who knows what I could be thinking of !If I  was thinking about Fonde and Gorith Majess or even Toine! You are too young to hear of such things, sister!” (the two girls had made a secret pact about it two years before, at the top of a Dandie tree by their old home in Restaltach, but Pritte was always forgetting) “yes, Gil” sighed  Pritte, who walked away. When Gilita was sure that her nosy sister had left the room completely, she continued on thinking. Her arms are graceful, like a noble swan’s, and her torso is neat and well proportioned. Her hair is three feet and jet black. “done” she said, looking back into the mirror.As she did , two green-orange eyes stared back into her like a mess of painted coals.

x x x  x  x  x  x  x x  x  x  x  x  x

The things contained in the next morning’s events were not to be desired. Firstly, It was tea for breakfast (never Earl Grey-NEVER an imported tea- always always the mud swamp herbal brew-the one Gilita absolutely DETESTED), lessons about the neighboring earth star and what-not with Broloxxe Major, another quite embarrassing “tapping-in” episode with Pritte (this time she really WAS musing about Toine), and no visits from either Elsa or Kianne, her two friends from Hitherschool. Pritte, she always liked to remember, was still in primer school, and only in her fourth year. The only thing that could cheer her up on such days was to go to the fish pond and grab earth-toads with her bare hands (and, to Gilita, the prospect of touching slimy foreign creatures seemed wholly unappetizing). What was she ever to do? The best cure was to take a casual stroll in the park, but Fahter had locked the gates, and Mahter was gone playing Bridge.

oh, what was one to do locked up in one’s own mansion on a lazy day in the Flanders star system?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

Office Workday (written in mid-2011)

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Mr. Richardson stood from his chair, put the note on the door, strode down the hallway, and descended the old rickety staircase that led to the main offices. Once on the ground floor, he walked to the meeting room where he held gatherings with the staff members once or twice a week, depending on the amount of issues there were to discuss.

He opened the door, and stepped in.

Chapter One

Slowly, Mr. Richardson walked to his chair. Once he was settled, he stared at the cushy chair in front of him, and glanced at his watch. He was 10 minutes early. Noticing his awkward emotions in that still, silent room, he was glad to find all the staff members shuffle in. He nodded and smiled. People finding their seats, a soft murmur. When everyone was in their places, he cleared his throat and spoke. The discussion was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The strange, monotonous day seemed to have doubled it’s length. The hot, un-air conditioned cubicles and desks were in a foul mood, and everyone was sticking to their seats. Even though  fans were brought in from the basement floor, nothing changed. The faint clacking of typewriters could plainly be heard. Everyone was quiet.

Chapter Three

Though most of the staff was quite tired, some decided to bring in cold drinks to the parched mouths of their brethren workers. The offer was greatly appreciated, and soon, everyone was back to chattering about, doing business on the telephone, and typing up important information. In short, the office had been brought back to life. Mr. Richardson kept an eye on everyone from his perch at the top of the banister. Putting on his spectacles, Mr. Richardson heaved a sigh and went back into his office.

x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x   x

Not moments later, a cry broke out from the first floor. Mr. Richardson stepped out and called “Hey! What’s going on?!” Immediately he could see what had happened. Betty, one of the best workers in the office, had spilled a cup of scouring hot coffee on her leg. The burn was huge. It was bleeding on the marble floor, and her friend Anna was caring for the wound with a damp cloth . All eyes turned to Mr. Richardson. He looked embarrassed  Suddenly, he blurted “out! Everybody out! ” Then to Anna he said “I’l call the paramedics, no need to worry-  you’re excused.” “and you, Mrs. Adams,” said Mr. Richardson, looking at Betty harshly “be more careful next time”. The damp cloth was abandoned, and Betty’s blood was seeping through. Mr. Richardson picked up the telephone. Looking away from Betty, he dialed Zero, said a few hushed words, and hung up. Betty was kneeling on the floor, weeping.

They both heard the sirens.

Copyright  2013 Golden Star Poetry

THE LAST SPY

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After the great boating accident of 1972, my friend  Therissa and her husband, John, moved out to a little farm in Indiana to escape from city life, and to prevent their identities from being revealed. It was an unpleasent  way to say goodbye, especially because they had managed to rid themselves of phone numbers, social security numbers, birth sertificates, and family history. I, on the other hand, grudgingly moved back to live with my mother, who had heard all about my misadventures with the government. She was the type of woman who would posses an AK-47 and not be afraid to use it; especially on her loved ones.

Copyright 2012 Golden Star Poetry