Sunday Photo Fiction: Rolling Stoners – Ep. 9

This is the Beagle 2. Photograph taken in 2009 at the National Space Centre, Leicester, UK.  This was a machine designed to be sent to Mars and to use the instruments on board to send data back to Earth as to the composition and makeup of the red Planet. Of course, it could be anything at all for your fiction piece, it does not have to be the Beagle 2

Rick shivered from his impromptu swim as he rode into the small village. He glanced over at Terry, subdued after the cyborg told him if he didn’t shut-up limbs would start coming off.

Gabby purred and Rick followed the direction her furred-arm pointed. A white-haired woman stood outside a hut, arms open in greeting. “Welcome, newcomers. I won’t say it’s good to see you, since you’re here by terrible accident.” She grinned. “With luck, our stay will be ending soon. Come.”

She slipped inside and Rick’s ride ambled next to the door. Rick, Terry, Gabby, the cyborg, and a knight entered to see a small disc-shaped object with a metal arm. The woman gestured at it. “This is a dimensional transporter. I’ve been working on it for years, and, with a few tweaks, we’ll be ready to go.”

A shout sounded outside and the woman excused herself. Rick smiled at Gabby, but felt sorry he wouldn’t get to know her better. The knight and cyborg chatted about the village’s defenses.

Nobody paid attention to Terry, who muttered, “Screw this. I’m outta here.” He slapped the button on the machine and a glow encompassed all the occupants and the dinosaur outside.

Word Count: 200

Sunday Photo Fiction

Sunday Photo Fiction means Rolling Stoners time (or is it the other way around?)! Regardless, every week Al posts a photo that I try to hammer into my story with all the subtlety of a rampaging elephant. This week the photo inspired ideas of another transporter device. So where will the suddenly not alone boys end up?

You’ll know right after I do, ’cause I’m winging it as I go ūüėÄ

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

 

 

 

 

 

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Sunday Photo Fiction: Knights Riding Dinosaurs?

Stained Glass window on the old Town Hall in Dover. This building used to be Maison Dieu (house of God) when it was built in 1253. It was added to and added to, becoming a gaol, a hospital before becoming the Town Hall.  The stained glass is representative of the Cinque Ports.

Stained Glass window on the old Town Hall in Dover. This building used to be Maison Dieu (house of God) when it was built in 1253. It was added to and added to, becoming a gaol, a hospital before becoming the Town Hall.
The stained glass is representative of the Cinque Ports.

Rick stumbled when the Leono guard shoved him. Gabby, of the Tigro clan and fellow prisoner, snarled and tugged against the ropes binding her body to the firing-squad post. Terry slumped against his restraints, not-so-victim of a butt-stroke from an enraged Leoness after she caught the gist of his comment about her four nipples.

Rick took position against the purple-plank set aside for his demise. He closed his eyes as clawed hands wrapped him in his death-shroud.

A roar caused him to peek out of one eye. His jaw dropped. “Are…are those…knights¬†riding¬†dinosaurs?”

Gabby grinned, fangs gleaming. “It seems you shall meet your kinsmen after all.”

The ground rumbled as three lizards with solid bone domes trampled through the Leono village. A knight rode each monster, shields reflecting red bolts of energy back at the stupefied warriors.

The improbable combination stopped in front of the prisoners, and Rick winced as a sword flashed. His rescuer hauled him on the back of the pachycephalosaurus and headed out.

Terry, wakened by the commotion, called, “Kniggets? This world is awesome!”

“Python? Really?”

“If the hamster fits,” Terry said before a metal elbow knocked him unconscious again.

“Thanks for that,” Rick called.

Word Count: 200

Sunday Photo Fiction

The Seventh installment of the ongoing epic saga, Rolling Stoners, for Sunday Photo Fiction. Every week Al posts a photo for various writers to draw inspiration from. And every week I try to figure out a way to cram that photo prompt into this story somehow. Serendipity struck as I needed a way to rescue the “heroes” from doom (okay, two heroes and Terry), and knights fit the bill.

For you haibunophiles out there, Al’s starting a new challenge Tuesday: Haibun Thinking. Make sure to check it out!

Pachycephalosaurus (Bone-Head)

For those who may be unfamiliar with the end reference:

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

Trifecta 108: King’s Knights of Pangaea

“Old Father, what’s wrong?”

Tammy knelt before the village elder, hand grasping his knee. The wizened centenarian sighed and placed his hand over hers. His eyes lost focus as he watched the past. “I worry about the direction the kingdom is going, little daughter. The Aviar are massing, and our young flock to the King’s call.”

Her face reddened as she contemplated the wrinkled plas-sheet in her pocket, acknowledging her acceptance into the King’s Knights’ training program. She struggled to grasp the sense of pride that swelled her chest when she received it. “What would you have us do, Father? We must protect ourselves and our way of li-”

“To arms! To arms!” A small boy ran through the border village, bellowing out the hue and cry. “The Aviar are here! To arms!”

“Go, child!” The wise man stood and shuffled into his domicile, muttering, “Our peoples used to be friends. Why can’t we be that again?”

Tammy’s long legs carried her to her dwelling on the opposite side of the village. The sounds of plasma-fire, screams, and bird-screeches began behind her as she burst through the door. “Dad! I need the rifle!”

Her true father, already clad in thin armor and carrying the weapon she looked for, shook his head. “You are not a Knight yet, Tammy.” He pointed to the family blade, hanging in its place of honor on the wall. “Take that and protect your little brother.”

Tammy cried as her father strode with terrible purpose toward the sounds of chaos. She dried her eyes and gathered Paul with her into the shelter.

The sounds of battle seemed to last for eternity, in reality only an hour. Tammy peeked her head out at the shroud of silence. She held Paul’s hand and walked through the village.

The raid devastated the small town. Bodies lay everywhere, burned and broken. Old Father stared at her father with sightless eyes.

She squeezed Paul’s hand and started the long journey to the castle.

***

For Trifecta Week 108. This story plays off the world, Pangaea, I built for the Daily Post Prompt: Interplanet Janet. Hope you enjoy.

Happy Holidays and Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

Battle Brothers

Leftenant¬†Damon Forester of His Majesty’s Cavaliers yanked his blade out of a Tremalaine infantryman and continued to hack his way through their lines.

Blood flew, men and horses screamed, and the ground churned into a frothy morass of bloody mud.

Damon felt hands find purchase on his person. The desperate grasping and tugging overbalanced him and he tumbled to the ground.

Dirty faces surrounded him, while blades flashed in the dying sunlight. A cacophony of sound arose as sharpened edges quested for the fatal chink that would spell his doom.

He slashed back, ineffectually, until his enemies tore his sabre from his grasp. Weaponless, he kicked and screamed and flailed and prayed.

His hope fled when men pinned his arms and legs to the ground.

A Tremalaine soldier’s face twisted into a cruel sneer as he lifted his blade for the killing stroke.

Damon closed his eyes.

He opened them in confusion as death cries rattled in the air around him.

His fellow Cavalier, Yallo, reared his horse back; it’s ironshod¬†hooves¬†tore and pounded Damon’s would-be killers. Yallo’s blade flicked out to rend and maim flesh.

The Tremalaine¬†troops scattered, or died, depending on the speed of their reactions. Ironflank, Yallo’s warhorse, circled around Damon.

Yallo kicked himself free of the saddle and landed beside Damon. He reached down and Damon grasped his hand. Yallo heaved and pulled Damon off the ground.

Damon’s chest and shoulders shook, his breath came in ragged gasps. He looked at Yallo and his eyes widened.

Damon pulled his dagger, and¬†in one swift movement, sent it tumbling across the sky right beside Yallo’s face. A yell faded into a gurgle.

Yallo turned to see a Tremalaine soldier who attempted to stab him in the back sink to the ground, a dagger protruding from his eye socket.

Damon and Yallo¬†looked at each other and nodded. Yallo¬†remounted Ironflank, while Damon pursed his lips. A piercing whistle cut through the sounds of Hell to bring Wintergreen, Damon’s warhorse, to him at a gallop.

Damon grabbed his fallen sabre and remounted. A half-grin crossed his face and he gestured toward the archers and ballistae that kept the Drake Knights at bay.

Yallo grinned back. He made a sweeping gesture to indicate Damon should go first.

The two friends wheeled their horses together and charged into the thick of the fray once more.