Sunday, August 05, 2007

Belated Saturday Funnies (Volume 3)

Sorry, folks. I was at Diversicon/Consume on Saturday and didn't get a chance to post what I know you've all been waiting for.... Yes, because with your morning dark roast cup of coffee/tea/beverage of choice, you need some dialogue that will make you snort it out your nose.

Once again from the dark, dusty archives of vintage Lyda Morehouse, circa 1978:

My heart was pounding like the midnight rain that washed our faces. My only thought was on our escape; we had to get away, far away. I could hear them, they were close behind. I longed to jump to the safety of the trees, but I couldn’t leave the group, for they would surely fall behind. We ran on.

“To safety!” I called. “Look! Some shelter!” They couldn’t see as well I [could] in the dark, so I guided them to the hut I’d seen. We rushed inside.

“Terry, I don’t know how ya did it, but ya saved again!” Thomas said. I didn’t like that name, but he said it sounded more human than Terance. I wasn’t human.

They were here; I could sense them. I shot out into the cold night.

“What are you doing, they’ll see us,” Marion cried, her face was even paler in the silvery moon light.

“They are here,” I growled.

“I don’t see anyone,” Thomas said with authority. He thought himself leader after Marcus’ death.

“They are here,” I continued firing.

“I’m with Terry. You know he sees better in the dark than any of us.” Bran, too, began shooting randomly. Bran was the youngest, but in many ways older than all of us. Bran never called me inhuman, I think because he disliked off-worlders.

“What the hell,” and with that Thomas began shooting too.

Marion soon joined us. She was our prize marksman. Whatever she shot fell. I never saw her miss anything. We fought on, but I knew it was useless. We were surrounded.

Fighting controllers is different. One need not aim. Controllers form a sort of battle line, one behind the other. After you spot one, you know others are in the direct rear. The first impression is of shooting targets.

“Don’t they ever stop coming?” Bran questioned no one in particular.

The controllers are in a sense controlled -- mind and soul -- by an implant all receive as a child. We four never got one. We four are hunted.

“Behind us!” I screamed. Too late! The doors came crashing in. Surrounded by controllers. Blank men in gray and black – I had never seen one so close[ly].

Marion screamed, but it was muffled. We were taken out.

[This is where it ends. Did they die? What’s the deal? Our heroes didn’t get the implant? Does that mean they’re from this place? If that’s true, why is our p.o.v. character considered an alien? And what gender is it? What was I thinking? Could I have used more exclamation points, she questioned no one in particular?!]


Anonymous said...

To safety! Look! Some shelter!

:snort: Is it wrong that I was cracking up?

Kelly Swails said...

These are awesome. Ah, kids. Youth is wasted on the young.

lydamorehouse said...

Thanks. I had a hard time typing these without either trying to correct my silliness or just laughing too hard to type.