Greenpeace

You may not remember your Uncle Vladimir – if ever there was a person at risk of being pounced on by a “Greenpeace Rescue Team” it was him; he was huge! especially on that day when he went down to that beach, just a little north of the Gold Coast, a place well known locally for nude bathing and whale sightings. He’d just finished swimming and was lying at the water’s edge; there was a moderate swell and the waves were gently breaking over his body. Enjoying the sun and water, he’d just closed his eyes, when they came.

The Cadaver

“Six drops of the essence of terror, Five drops of sinister sauce…” As the opening theme for Milton the Monster blared out from the console, something not so cartoonish was taking place. Frankensteinian castles, exchanged for Corporate Glasshousing – white coats and Teslarian laboratories pushed aside for clean room environments and holographic computational systems. The pink and purple cadaver in the gene pool, not some stitched up bag of decayed flesh, but a Japanese nanotech robotic marvel: “The Android of the Fucia!”

A Big Name

A drop of water, frozen in a moment of time, in it a teeming pool of microbial life. Another fraction of a second, frozen like a snapshot. The droplet has rotated. Now it is tinged with red, the red of blood that pollutes a watery splash that rises when an assassin’s victim falls in the rain. Its dark; and this victim had a name. A big name.

The Time Lords

“The keeping of stories is serious stuff,” said the Guild Master, not for the first time. Boergen just yawned, also not for the first time. “Stories, tales, legends, myths, these are the oral histories of our people, their beliefs, values and ideals.” A heavy book snapped closed, ominously close to Boergen’s ear. She came quickly to wakefulness with a start.

Breakdown

The Flats were hot, dry and dusty, the air shimmering in all directions with heat haze while small, dusty willy-willies danced back and forth along the side of the Princess Hwy. We’d broken down a kilometer and a half, or a bit more along the Maffra Road, from Kilmany – a ghostly speck of a town, devoid of all commercial venture. No water, in the middle of nowhere, the nearest soul a “cut lunch and water bottle” away. The heat can kill, still, even in 2007.

Replay

“…and he said, ‘There is but only one way! And George Bush is its messenger!’ with that he pushed a button, much like this one. A minute later he blew up! Just like that! Lucky for me, I’d walked far enough away, in time…” “Yes. Thank you for your time, some officers will be in…” For the second time in two days and explosion roared out, destroying government facilities, one minute after the push of a button, by a microbionuclear suicide, “Bushite,” bomber.

Cattle Class

The train left Chengdu at 5:56 PM. It’s Spring Festival Eve and we’re headed for Guangzhou. I leave the comfort of my “soft sleeper,” shared with three others I don’t know, nor can talk to and walk the corridors. The buffet car is almost deserted, the Hard Sleeper section – the usual crowd of six persons per bunk partition (open faced room). The Hard Seat area, what a shock! People everywhere, shoulder to shoulder, sitting at any available space on seats, bags, and each other. I partly force my way through to the end an meet a locked door. Beyond this portal, face after face, standing room only – “cattle class.” I wait for the next stop. Have a smoke, out, and walk back along the platform.

Eco-flict

Global warming had taken its toll on the human population by the mid 2050’s. Weather extremes had raged for years in what became known as a, “Battle for the Planet” between star-crossed lovers, El Nino and La Nina. The collateral damage was horrific, whole races of people in 2^nd and 3^rd world countries decimated to the point of extinction, while 1^st world countries, perpetrators of the effect, fought over near depleted resources, while struggling to protect their own: holding a “green card” became the difference, for many, between life and death.

Paperboy

Over night the rain had splashed down, leaving a damp, slippery wetness on every surface. A paperboy, over laden with the morning news, attending to each of his customer’s individual news needs, took a spill going around the corner. Buried under bike and paper, rapidly getting wetter from the sodden path, he shakes his head, mutters a curse and struggles towards his momentary resurrection, but, he’s stuck and cannot move. A street sweeper rounds the corner spraying more water before it. He cannot move.

Performance Art

Pods lie scattered over the floor. Pink casings intermingle with mangled purple petals and pale tipped stamens. Everywhere the sign of some unimaginable carnage and, in the middle of all this, she lies in serene state, a performance artist feigning death – pink frock coat over a purple skirt and pale trousers bleeding to white at the shoes: A sign to the side states: “I am the Fucia!”

The Homeland

“The terrain is difficult,” said the realtor blandly, “cliffs on most sides of a cul-de-sac cove, separated from the sea by a nasty and fickle set of heads: the gap is shallow and uncompromising, you can’t even get a biggish boat in there.” He continued with his litany of faults, but for my purpose, it was perfect, the homeland of my dreams.

The Garden

“Have you ever seen a garden, an old garden,” he asked, “one that’s been reclaimed by nature, but has yet to forget what it once was?” there were several shakes of heads but otherwise no-one broke the silence. He continued, “I have. It was a long time ago and far from here…”

Eyes

With a simple blink, they were gone; those florescent green, ‘glow in the dark’ eyes. They were the kind of eyes that seemed to hover, impassive, calculating, aware, unfearful of us or the darkness that enveloped us. Not for the first time did we, the hunters, feel we were being hunted, but by what?

Goodfellas

“A pinch and a punch for the first day of the month!” said Glenda, attaching with unusual vigor and playfulness; “A hit and a kick for being so quick!” countered Miranda, lashing out with her left foot and failing to connect. The two girls giggled and walked to the teahouse.