Sunday Photo Fiction: Rolling Stoners – Ep. 8

44 01 January 26th 2014


The pachycephalosaurs thumped along the bridge above a burbling mini-waterfall. Rick watched as an unconscious Terry inched closer to sliding off the dinosaur with every jostle. “Just a bit more.”

The knights reined their mounts back at another knight’s appearance. Terry hit the ground with a thud. “Don’t leave, Miley! I’ll twerk with you!” Terry cried. His ass gyrated on the stone.

“What does that mean?” Gabby asked.

He sighed and hopped down. “It means he’s an idiot.” He strode over and patted Terry’s face. “Wake up.”

Terry reached up and pulled Rick closer to puckered lips. Rick slapped him…hard. “Dude!”

Terry’s fist shot out and Rick collapsed, holding his just-punched junk. “AAAAHHHH! Dick!”

Terry rolled over on top of Rick, punches rising and falling. “Why’d you slap me, asshole?”

Rick flailed back and the two scuffled around the bridge. A whirring sound rose above the noise of the brouhaha as the new knight stomped over. He reached them as Terry rolled into a pile of dinosaur dung.

Strong hands separated the two. “A cyborg?” Rick said.

“Hey, is your dong metal?” Terry asked.

The cyborg threw Terry over the bridge. “Ha! Than-”

Rick flew into the water after his friend.

Word Count: 200

Sunday Photo Fiction


Sunday Photo Fiction Time! Every week Al posts a photo and every week I try to advance Rolling Stoners by shoe-horning it into the story somehow. It’s been working…so far (and depending on your definition of ‘working’). Head on over and join in the fun!

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn



Mythology Workshop #4: Creation of the Aivar

For Mythology Workshop #4 over at 13th Floor Paradigm the task is to create a Creation Myth. I have several worlds and fictional races that could use a little mythology to flesh them out, plus I just get a kick out of doing things like this. So I’ll do this as a series of posts.

First up: The Aivar from Pangaea

IC63 by Ken Crawford

IC63 by Ken Crawford

“Once…we soared.”

Flaxx shifted on his perch as the High Necros began his sermon. He glanced around the Aviary at hundreds of faces gazing in rapt attention. War loomed with the humans, driving his fellow Aivars to flock back into the waiting embrace of the Church. Perches, once half-empty, now groaned under the strain of rediscovered fervor by a frightened populace.

Even soldiers such as he were ordered to attend services.

“The Great Raptor, He who hatched us all, winged through the unformed cosmos, painting the skies with his Grace. Bless the Great Raptor.”

“May the Great Raptor bless us,” came the automatic response. Flaxx winced from the passion-filled caws.

“Yet, the Great Raptor found Himself unsatisfied with eternal solitude. He desired a companion. So He took the ether of the universe within His claws and formed His first creation, Columb.”

A chorus of derisive chirps greeted the name of the Great Raptor’s eternal foe. Flaxx watched some of the slaves make a quick sign of obeisance while their masters’ attention was diverted. A small smile tugged at his beak.

“As a gift, the Great Raptor gathered dust floating along the shears of the Eternal Sky and formed the least of his creations, Columb’s children.” The High Necros peered into the eyes of his followers and smirked. “Yes, even blunt-beaked seed-eaters once flew with greatness.”

Cries of laughter sounded as feathers ruffled in amusement. The slaves seemed to shrink from the attention, and Flaxx frowned.

“But Columb and her children soon grew jealous of the Great Raptor, always serving His will as we all must. As the Great Raptor drew plans for the universe as we know it, she sent her children to the Wondrous Nest to steal the Eggs of Creation.”

The High Necros’ stare fixed on one of the kneeling slaves. “They did not succeed.” A talon reached down as the poor unfortunate’s master cuffed the smaller Aivar in the back of the head.

“The Great Raptor banished Columb to the UnderSea, where she could no longer fly. Then He flung the Eggs into the void, creating the world and moons and stars. The broken shell became the ground we tread upon, His tears at Columb’s betrayal became the seas. Bless the Great Raptor.”

“May the Great Raptor bless us.”

“The Great Raptor, in His infinite mercy, did not banish Columb’s children to the UnderSea. Instead, He allowed them to walk the world, but forever denied the skies. He grabbed the stars within His mighty talons and created children of His own image, to watch over the vessels corrupted by Columb’s influence.”

“So we, the Prey-Hunters, came to be. So great was, and is, the Great Raptor’s love for us that He plucked His eye and placed it into the sky as the sun so it may warm and shelter us. A promise that we, His children, will once again soar alongside Him once our time on Pangaea is done and warning that He is ever watching that our deeds do Him justice. Bless the Great Raptor.”

“May the Great Raptor bless us.” Flaxx stirred, glad the sermon ended. He made to stand, but the High Necros screeched at the congregation.

“There is…more.”

Flaxx felt confused, but resumed his perch. His blood wiggled like a worm going down his gullet at the High Necros’ next words.

“Some have questioned the truth of the Great Raptor’s teachings with the arrival of the human interlopers.” A grey-feathered fist pounded the lectern. “But know this: The humans developed from the parasites found on Columb’s fallen children as they molested the Eggs of Creation. They too are the Great Raptor’s children, but are born of filth and disease. In His wisdom, He allowed them to develop…but they have gone against His plan for us all. They seek to conquer the home set aside for us after befouling their own world. This must not happen. Fear not war, my flock, for it is Holy in the eye of He Who Hatched Us. Bless the Great Raptor!

“May the Great Raptor bless us!”

Flaxx left the sermon shaken, and wondering what would happen to him…and his people.



Click the knight to catch up with the rest of the story so far.

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

Sunday Photo Fiction: “Rolling Stoners” Epizodo Ses

42 01 January 12th 2014

Rick stirred, opening his eyes to see a metal gate with a rusted chain and lock keeping it closed. A rotten smell hit his nose. “Agh! God…Terry!”

“Wakey-wakey, asshole.” Terry’s mug peered down at him. “Remind you of that time in Tijuana?”

“I told you that donkey show looked shady.” A soft purr caused him to sit up and glance around the cell. A creature that looked like the tiger-woman they’d spied on slept curled in the corner.

Terry followed Rick’s gaze. “Heh. Our own naked alien. These guys rock!”

Rick glared at him. “You ever stop to think we might be this…whatever’s dinner?”

“I don’t eat junk-food,” floated a soft growl. “Especially that provided by the Leono sedimento.” Tiger-woman stretched, arching her back, then started licking her fur.

The “cat-bath” mesmerized Rick. He turned his head…his eyes taking in Terry’s pants pointing. “Dude!”

“I can’t help it, dick.”

Curious green-gold eyes watched. “You two are strange. Not like the others we’ve found.”

Rick kept his gaze averted. “There are others?”

“Yes, though I’m afraid our execution will keep you from meeting them.”

“E-execution?” Rick glared up at Terry, who leered at the alien. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

Sunday Photo Fiction

Another chapter in the ongoing saga of Rolling Stoners, for Sunday Photo Fiction. The host of Sunday Photo Fiction is creating a new blog for a new challenge: Haibun. He’s after photos and artwork, so if you are interested head over to the Sunday Photo Fiction page, leave a comment and he’ll contact you.

Hope you enjoyed this week’s installment of Rolling Stoners. Now I have to figure out how to write myself out of the execution corner 😉

By the way, some of the language is Esperanto.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn








Flash! Friday – Vol 2-5: The Breakup

Wawona Tree Road. Photo by the National Parks Service.

Wawona Tree Road. Photo by the National Parks Service.

“I want to go there.”

“Yosemite? Any particular period?”

“June 28th, 1929.”

An eyebrow raised at the specificity of the request. “I assume you have your Time Passport up to date?”

Phillipa shook back her sleeve, revealing the Special Bureau bracer underneath. The T-Travel agent’s eyes widened. “S-sorry, ma’am! I didn’t realize-”

“It’s okay.” Phillipa smiled at the flustered young woman. “You’re just doing your job.”

“Uh, any luggage?”

“One carry-on.” A card fluttered to the desk. “Pre-Approved,” Phillipa said, voice hard.

“Okay. Enjoy your trip. Don’t interact with the natives of the timeline, and thank you for choosing T-Travel for your time traveling today!”

Phillipa nodded and stepped to the transport pad. The world twisted and broke, depositing her in a wooded area. She checked her bracer: May 28th, 1929. Sighing, she looked for an area to set up camp, her high-powered rifle heavy in the bag.

She had a month to wait for her ex’s great-great grandparents to come through.

Word Count: 160

For Flash! Friday – 2-5. This week’s prompt is the photo above. The extra element to be incorporated:

Time Travel

The contest opens every Thursday at midnight Eastern Time and closes at 11:59 p.m. Eastern on Friday. Join in the fun!

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn

Sunday Photo Fiction: Greetings

Sea King Rescue Helicopter and Lifeboat at a Coastal Display July 2011

Sea King Rescue Helicopter and Lifeboat at a Coastal Display July 2011

Rick pushed his way through the thick under-foliage, the strange colors of the plants now wearily familiar. Quarter-remembered Boy Scout lessons about direction thrust the guide position on him as he and Terry searched for the city seen from the tower. Terry walked silently, his normal complaints absent. Rick hoped it would stay that way.

“Heh. Remember that time the Coast Guard had to rescue you, dumbass?”

Rick sighed. “That was you, Terry. You saw those girls nude-sunbathing and decided to stand up in the boat…without your suit on.”

Terry chuckled. “Good times.”

“I’m sure that nice blue-haired grandma walking with her grandkids along the beach thought so. Along with everyone else that saw your bare-ass when the chopper pulled you up.”

“What can I say, I’m a giver.”

Rick sighed again and turned to unload. “Those kids crie-”

A thick maned lion-man, nude except for weapon straps, appeared, stopping him short. Terry whirled around. “I got this, dude.” He stepped forward, holding his fingers in a V-shape. “Take me to your leader.”

The lion-man pulled a sleek-looking gun and red light buzzed out, engulfing the two boys. Lion-schlong. Why does my life suck so hard? Rick thought as darkness engulfed him.

Word Count: 200

Sunday Photo Fiction

Will our heroes survive? Why does everyone seem to be naked? Can I keep shoehorning totally unrelated pictures into the story? Stay tuned to “Rolling Stoners” on its new home: Sunday Photo Fiction! Every week, the shadowy over-lord, known simply as “Al,” posts a photo to lash his minions into creating works he collates and stores to use in his nefarious plans to take over the world!

Head on over and join the fun! I’m sure Al will bequeath you a sizeable land grant as he establishes his dark reign!

Hope you enjoy.

Happy Reading and Writing!

J. Milburn