Short Story: The Husband Who Drank The Sea

Once upon a time on these islands there was a man who loved his wife. Just like today, these islands were small, but there was one main island that the man and his wife lived on.

But one day the wife got lost and found herself on a seperate island. She did not know how she came to be on that other island, so she did not know how to get back to her husband, and in her heart she missed him.

Now you may think that she could have decided to swim back to the main island. Or you may think that if she was strong she could have cut down trees and built a boat. But she could not do either of those things, because in that age the sea was not made only of water but also of fire.

The sea had always burned with bright orange flames that would burn any boat foolish enough to set sail on it. The water was cool and smooth underneath but bright and hot on the surface. The fire kept all of the islands apart.

Despite the fire and distance, the husband could see his wife on the other island, for he was a strong man. He knew what he would do because he loved his wife.

The husband went  down to the beach of the main island. Then he waded into the sea until the water was up to his neck. The flames were burning all around his head.

Then he put his mouth in the water and began to drink the flames that were on top of the sea. He drank and he drank, and his throat became so hot but the flames from all of the sea began to shrink.

Eventually there was only a small amount of sea flame left. The strong man drank this last part of the flame, and then he died with the fire in his belly.

The sea was now cool and blue like it is today, so that the woman was free to swim back to the main island. But she was not sure if she wanted to swim back to the main island because she had seen her husband die in the water and had mourned him.

But the strong man had both died and not really died. He appeared again, full of life, at the center of the main island. He was whole and healthy, but his lips were now as red as fire.

The woman saw her husband alive on the shore of the main island and was full of joy. She went into the sea and swam back to him, and thanked him for drinking the fire for her sake, and their love was strong.

Now, think of this; if I told you that you are the woman in this story, do you know who the man is?

Journeys Across Two Types of Fictional Landscapes

Regarding the journeys taken across them, I think that the landscapes in a fantasy story can speak to and inspire us more than the settings of a science-fiction one.

The fictional genres of science-fiction and fantasy have very different types of generic landscapes or settings. Science-fiction is usually set in the depths of space, possibly across many planets and maybe galaxies, with vessels flying between the worlds. Fantasy, by contrast, is usually set on a single world, possibly across many countries and maybe continents, with characters trekking or riding between settlements.

Science-fiction, even if it is not set in an idea of our own future, is seen to be futuristic because of how advanced the technology is. Fantasy, even if it is not set in any real history, is seen to be like past ages, with simplicity serving as an adjective for much of the imagined world.

Short Story: It was The Day

While recently sorting through some security archives- the location of which I cannot name at this time- I found the following transcript. It is a record of a man the document calls "Mr. D Gulling" describing a strange experience to the authorities. It has never been released to the public for two reasons. First, it is obviously nonsense, it cannot be true. It is too ridiculous. Secondly, a note attached to the document records that a member of staff investigated the same location on a later date, and found no trace of the beings or items described by Mr. Gulling. The witness would obviously state that timing was crucial to catch the event, but this only shows how delusional he must have been.

Short Story: The 50 Year Dream (Part 3 of 3)

Read parts 1 and 2 first...

Ten years later...

Another decade had passed in nearly no time at all. Yvonne looked across to see the new man in patchwork, who was still sat on his chair, and on the other side of him, The Entertainer who was holding himself tightly. The Entertainer still wore his colourful green and orange jester suit, completed by his silly hat, but he was obviously not feeling in a jolly mood at that time.

He turned to Yvonne, and muttered, "It hurts when I'm still here and the time moves fast. I didn't know that..."

Yvonne now noticed that a few small wrinkles had now grown around The Entertainers eyes and cheeks. The usually jolly man was beginning to look frail in the girls eyes.

Short Story: The 50 Year Dream (Part 2 of 3)

Read Part 1 first...

Ten years later...

Yvonne slowly focussed again. She had not aged in the second that a decade took to pass, but Martha was still sitting in her deep purple gown, her face looking older again, but just a composed as before. Firgo was nowhere to be seen.

Yvonne noticed that she herself must have sat in one of the seats a moment ago. Her legs had obviously made their own decision that the room was safe enough to rest in. She also noticed that her ears had just heard the door open behind her, and she turned to see who had decided to join them. Yvonne froze when she saw that the figure who had walked through the door was Eric.

Short Story: The 50 Year Dream (Part 1 of 3)

Yvonne opened her eyes to darkness. She was standing upright on more darkness. She was a shy girl who had a hidden, wonderful imagination. She had learned to listen more often than talk, and remained remarkably calm in strange situations. Yvonne already knew that she didn't know how she had arrived in this place. She looked around the darkness in case there was a clue. She couldn't see one, so she tried looking at herself instead. She knew that her name was Yvonne, she knew that she was a 9 year old girl, and she knew exactly where she was- she was nowhere. But as a feeling of peace settled in her, she realised that it was only nowhere to start with...

Short Story: Passengers

Several dozen buses were at a bus stop. They were waiting for passengers. There hadn't been a passenger for a long time, and one was due at least 23 minutes ago, according to the timetable. They sat in silence, watched by a single detatched house with eyes in it's two upper floor windows.

Typically, 3 passengers arrived at the same time.

As soon as one bus spotted them he raced up to let them on. But the other buses, no less eager, revved themselves up and hurried to do the same. A clamour of buses of various sizes surrounded the poor humans, honking their horns, waving with their windscreen wipers, and growling "Pick me! Pick me!"

Short Story: Of Family

I was once on a plane, flying from America back to London. I didn't have much to occupy myself with for the flight, but fortunately was sat near to an old austrian man, and beside him was a well-dressed business woman. He introduced himself to her, and in a friendly and polite way asked her whether she was on an outgoing or return trip, and what she was looking forward to on the other end.

She answered, with a quiet and reserved voice, that she was returning home, and looked ahead to seeing her children. She suddenly seemed to open a barrier, and admitted to the old man that she had recently withheld help for her friend in order to spend more energy on her family. But although she regretted this, she had promised herself that she would help her friend later, when she had more to give, and believed this was the right thing to do. After all, she said, friends come and go- but family is special.

Short Story: A Vision and A View

Wisley hopped out of the shop, his stubby boyish hands almost dropping his new toy camera. But no, he would say, it wasn't a toy. It was how he was going to become famous, and no-one would be allowed to call him names! Just like the latop with which he created the world-renowned social website, and the spare parts with which he had invented a new kind of bicycle that became the latest must-have at the back of thousands of other kid's sheds. Except that this idea would work. And happen. In real life, not just in his daydreams.

It was going to happen because last night he had accidentally found- whilst not looking for anything other than innocent and appropriate television, by the way- a documentary about the amazing life of the celebrity photographer, Kent Kildroy.

Short Story: The Myth of Khu

Before time began, was Khu.

Khu said to part of himself, "Be other than myself," and it was so.

The second Khu was called the World. Khu walked on the World, and tested how spongy it felt under his feet. The World felt himself pressed down by Khu, and said, "Ow."

So the World thought to itself, "Khu walks all over me, as if I am dirt! Well, I suppose I am dirt, but that's not the point... I will change myself, so that part of me Khu can walk upon, and this will be called Ground. But the other part of me, Khu will not be able to walk upon- instead, he will sink, and be submerged so that I will be over him. This will be called Water."

And so it was that the world was divided into Ground that seeks to help, and Water that seeks to dominate.

Short story: Screwj

It is not the night before Christmas. Instead, it is a nicely warm night in the middle of spring. The rich Mr. Evan E. R. Screwj has just settled into bed, when the ghost of his old workmate, Matthew Scrimp, appears in room.

Scrimp warns Evan that he has not given to charity, friends or family in his life enough, especially friends, nudge nudge, and will be visited by three ghosts over the night. Evan mentions in a cautious voice that Scrimp kept on loosing all his money on cards.

But the ghost of Matthew Scrimp has gone now, and is replaced by a fat, jolly ghost who calls himself the Past. He takes Evan through time to see a piece of his own history. They observe a large gathering where his family met for a large meal. He sees his cousin, Phil, stuffing everything he can lay a hand on down his gullet, and remembers that he died of heart failure later that year. His family, who were all quite large, had practically been proud.