Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2018/02/27

“Well.” I stood in my bulky environmental suit. “They do say different strokes for different folks.”

I thought the five Bungees I was with were going to fall over from laughter. So, I pointed to the strangest looking structure I’d ever seen, and asked, “What the heck is that?”

The little Google translator in my ear went nuts trying to translate what I’d said into their language, and then spoke lots of gibberish trying to translate what my Bungee friends had said in response. Something to the effect of, “That’s one of the apartment complexes we live in.”

Thing was huge. The Bungee people average nine feet tall. The science teams explained it was because of their weaker gravity. “They grow taller because they can. Given enough generations, we’d grow taller here too.”

Nine feet tall. So the floors would have been maybe twelve feet. And there were twenty floors in each leg of the structure. Over forty stories tall. “What’s that part that sticks out?”

After more gibberish, I pieced together it was something like a gymnasium, and shopping center, and an architectural balancing act. “Without them, the whole thing would fall down.”

As we approached the complex, we chatted. The Bungee loved to talk. They never really stopped. “You guys know, right?” I had to make sure they knew, “About the Kosmaj Monument in Serbia, on our world, right?”

Again, they all laughed so hard I thought they’d fall over. And the gibberish translated to roughly, “Oh, yes. It’s a bad imitation.”

“Imitation?”

“Yes. We sent the architectural team pictures of one of these. We served as their inspiration.” Which I thought rather nicely explained why the Serbs had made such a wacky monument.

We chatted as we walked between each of the five sections of the complex. “I sometimes wonder, how long have you guys been visiting Earth?”

“Oh, for tens of thousands of your years,” the one to my left answered.

“That long?”

“Oh, yes. We have watched your people grow,” the one to my right answered.

“Watched us?”

The one behind me answered, “We’ve explained it all to your scientists.”

The one to the front left of me giggled, “They said, ‘You mean, it’s true? All the stories about aliens?’.”

The one to the front right of me grinned, “Yes, it’s all true.”

Then they told me the story of how they tried to keep others from interfering in our natural evolutionary path. “It is not good to interfere with the natural progression.”

Talking with the Bungee was an experience in confusion, as they took turns speaking, always in the same order, with each of them saying one sentence. We spoke about the history of their watching Earth. Of different races that went to Earth, and deliberately acted to accelerate our development. “That acceleration is what caused the wars, and the lopsided economies, and the rich and poor problem.”

As we walked among the parts of the complex I finally realized, there were five Bungee in each group I had encountered in my time on their world. And there were five separate parts of the complex.

“Guys. Why five parts?”

They looked at each other. They nodded at each other. All five smiled at the same time. And they spoke, one at a time, in the same order as always, “Because each of us has five parts.”

“It’s why we watched your people develop. You are the only people we’ve ever encountered that exist in only one part.”

I stopped walking, “Wait. Wait. Guys. You mean, there’s not five of you? There’s only one of you?”

They all five nodded. “Yes. We are five parts.”

“We never get lonely.”

“We have always been fascinated by your people.”

“Because. All your parts are independent. You only have one part.”

As they guided me through the complex, I had to make one comment. “So. Perhaps this explains why we all live in boxes.”

I was actually kind of fun to hear the Bungee laugh. Especially knowing that all five of them were one Bungee. “Y’all are going to take some getting used to.”

“Indeed, Earthling. Indeed.”

“I can’t wait until you meet the Swarm.”

“They each have millions of parts.”

I couldn’t imagine that. One being. With millions of parts.

This exploring the galaxy thing was going to be rather interesting. I wondered how the science team would react to what Bungees really were.

Remember, people. The universe is weird. Much weirder than you can imagine. “I don’t think we’re ready to meet the Swarm.”

The Bungee spoke once more. “They will show themselves when they think you are ready.” It paused. “And no one is ever ready to meet them.”

784 Words
@mysoulstears


This is written for Week 43 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge. This week, I managed to beat the deadline. Barely. You can read about Miranda’s small fiction challenge here. Please, go read Miranda’s short tale this week, and any others that showed up. The tales are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed. And many of them are amazing.

 

#FTT 15 : When The Moon Exploded…

“When the moon exploded…”

“No!” I screamed. “Not another apocalypse tale!” I shook my head, and slammed my fists on my desk. “We’re done!”

The writer laughed. “It’s not an apocalypse tale.”

“Then how does the moon explode?”

“As I was saying. When the moon exploded with colors, everyone knew Graphsans had pulled off the most impressive, audacious, and artistic graffiti stunt of all time.”

I stared at him, “Graffiti?”

“Yes. The moon explodes with color. Yellow, red, orange and pink. In a tie-dyed pattern,”

“Tie-dyed?”

“Yes”, he grinned. “It’s the story of the greatest graffiti artist in history performing his greatest work. Painting the moon, so everyone can see it. A work of art that lasts for centuries, slowly fading as the solar wind erodes the paints.”

I shook my head, “But, how would you explain the paint? The artwork?”

“A private rocket, launched at the moon.”

I wrote a few quick notes in my notebook. “Thank you.” I nodded at him, “Your idea is certainly different.” I stood, and held out my hand. “We’ll make our decision in the next couple of week, and we’ll be in touch.”

After he left, I sat there, “A graffiti artist paints the moon?” I shook my head. “Really?” I wrote a few notes to put into a more detailed review to present to the board. Then I used push-to-talk to have the next writer sent in.

After he introduced himself, I asked what his proposal was.

“When the moon exploded…”

What was it with these people? Did everyone want something with the moon exploding in some way? I interrupted him, “Not another story about the moon exploding.”

The writer sighed, “When the moon exploded, its surface covered with mushroom clouds, destroying the invading robot armada’s solar system base, everyone rejoices. It is a turning point in the war, when we take the war to the aliens.”

Once more, I took a few quick notes, thanked the writer for his time, said we’d be in touch, and had the next writer sent in. As I waited for her to enter, I wondered I my mother was right, and I should have picked a sensible career, like explosives technician, or underwater safety inspector.

But like any son, I’d ignored my mother’s advice, and entered show business.

I shook my head. “Gods, but I’m such an idiot sometimes.” And I wondered what other insane ideas for a science fiction movie I’d have to wade through before it was quitting time.

415 words
@LurchMunster


I wrote this for Week 15 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought. Please, go read all the creatively shared stories in this week’s challenge.

#FSF : Ringing

If I pay attention, I hear the ringing, no matter where I am, or what I’m doing, and even in my sleep. I know many people who couldn’t live with the constant ringing I hear, the constant high-pitched ringing that never ends, never fades, never lets up; it would drive them crazy. They’re not me, I know, and they lack the ability to decide the ringing is normal, to decide it’s supposed to be there all the time, to decide to ignore it like I do. I can make it so many things, like crickets singing in the night, an invasion of cicadas, the sound of fluorescent lights, aliens that are talking to me, if I could only understand them. The endless ringing is tinnitus, there is no cure, so I have chosen to live with it, to make it part of life, to worry if I don’t hear the unending ringing in my ears, knowing something will have changed if that ringing ever goes away.


Here’s my second attempt at Lillie McFerrin‘s weekly flash fiction challenge, Five Sentence Fiction. This week, the prompt is ringing.

Please, go read all the other entries to this weeks Five Sentence Fiction. It’s amazing what creative people can do with just five sentences.