Must Read Sci-Fi Novellas

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Boomers For The Stars

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Flash Fiction

Deadly Dark

It was a dark and stormy night.

But inside the flying saucer all was calm and bright.  And all the other conditions absolutely essential to survival for the man-eating aliens aboard were also in perfect working order, including the exact right mix of atmosphere and air pressure.

Floodor pecked at the controls with its teeth.

“Stop showing off!” snapped Mishtor, its partner at the helm.  “My teeth are as big and long as yours!”

“You,” returned Floodor with a dismissive wave of a tentacle that sprayed its lethal acid all over a display panel, “are just being fussy because you haven’t been fed.”

Mishtor spun about, tentacles sprouting the hundreds of hooks that held its food writhing in agony while it fed.  “You,” it hissed, “will be my next meal if you don’t stop pecking those controls.”

“Touchy, touchy,” Floodor said, casually swiping its acid off the display panel.  “You always get so distracted when you’re hungry.  Remember that planet where you told another ship it was safe to go outside?”

“Not my fault their air pressure gauge was broken.”

Floodor smirked.  “Even when you told them you’d checked with our air pressure gauge, and it was okay?”

“I thought I’d checked.”

“Yeah?  Like you thought you’d checked to be sure all our sensors were working before landing on this planet?”

“Not my fault we can no longer see outside or detect the weather conditions.  The air pressure gauge is working, and the air pressure is fine.  And the atmosphere is well within acceptable limits.”  Mishtor oozed away from its station in the direction of the hatch, tentacles again sprouting their feeding hooks.

“Mishtor!  When we don’t even know if it’s day or night?”

Mishtor sounded dreamy, hypnotic.  “Remember when all our sensors were still working from orbit?  When we spotted this landing site?  Right next to the box of a building labelled ‘Orphanage,’ whatever that means?  All the succulent little lifeforms outside?  Standing on two appendages while they threw round objects back and forth that they caught with their remaining two appendages?”

“Mishtor!  No!  Don’t open that hatch!  We don’t know whether the air is calm and bright!”

The hatch slithered open.  Mishtor was the first to die, writhing in agony until the very end.  Floodor, further away, had just enough time to ask itself why it ever agreed to Mishtor as a partner.  A sweet little girl, standing at the orphanage window amidst her equally sweet but sleeping companions, didn’t notice…amidst the other dramatic occurrences outside…when a flying saucer parked in their playground self-destructed.

Like I say…

It was a dark and stormy night.

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