The Bubble

The bubble slowly rose to the surface carrying all the hopes and aspirations of a planet. It was the first.

The Boy carried his wooden sword proudly. He had walked many miles away from the area of the devastation. The cities lay in ruins. All vestiges of technology were gone. Hulking wrecks that were once mighty, now collosus collections of smashed steel and concrete. Roaming gangs like packs of rats swarmed the land devouring stragglers and lone travellers and yet still the Boy walked proud.

Corpses, mostly human, scattered the land, filling the air with that sweet smell of putrefaction and occasionally the Boy gagged with the stench of it, but still he carried on.

They stood blocking the road. Five men, faces burnt by radiation. Clothes blackened by filth and flame. What weapons they carried were simple but effective. The boy saw a hammer, some form of club or bat, chains, a rake, even the broken remains of a metal chair.

The threat was more a growl than language but the Boy understood. His sword was smooth, curved and carved from white oak from another land. It shone in the evening light from it’s lovingly polished wood.

It’s first kiss was against the temple of the leader. There was a loud crack as the bone shattered but the Boy was in flight now. Spinning away from the falling body he brought the blade down in a cut on a shoulder, the wooden sword breaking rather than cutting the collar bone. A deflection inwards caught the line of the jaw and another dropped.

A roar behind him, caused him to pivot on the loose ground. A large wrench smashing down at his head. Moving subtly the Boy drifted like a wisp of smoke as the metal club crushed the empty air. Two small cuts of his blade almost like magic broke the descending arm at wrist and elbow and the wrench crashed down harmlessly hitting the ground almost simultaneously as the edge of the Boy’s sword ‘cut’ through the throat, crushing the thorax with it’s polished wooden edge.

A detached part of the Boy’s consciousness remembered his Master and the moment he had presenting him with this beautiful blade that had become a part of him. A symbiotic partner that together weaved a life of love, motion and magic.

“Remember my Son, it is a sword. Whether finest folded steel or gift of the forest the man and the blade become one.

The Boy continued on his journey. Behind him the scavengers remained, broken and quiet, and somewhere the bubble arrived at a surface, where it crossed into the emptiness and so, again, it began.

 

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2017

Original artwork by Faramond Frie

The Adventures Of Miss Ann Thrope

The sound of the explosion was deafening. Sanguine, Miss Ann Thrope gently squeezed her trigger and another merk evaporated. She never really understood the technical function of the futuristic weaponry her friend provided, just that they worked.
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Whipping around with a lightning speed that belied her appearance, she casually erased three more. That’s how she saw this space pistol, or ray gun as she told it to her grandchildren at their bedtime stories, like an erasure, rubbing out a smudge on her beautiful pencil drawings.
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Racing ahead at breakneck speed she dived low under a hatch to the left, coming out in a roll as her eraser led before her and sent a volley of precision shots into the troops trying to pin her down with their erratic fire.
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Silently Miss Thrope edged her way down the metallic corridor with the low level lighting. In this future age, security was controlled by the Station which was almost sentient. In the age Miss Thrope chose to make her home, they were just coming to terms with intelligent fridges and central heating that linked into the home computer network.
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In the distant future every surface, space, temperature gradient, any physical existence was controlled and monitored by the Station.
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The only way to possibly be covert was with some very special counter technology, like physical hacking. Miss Thrope walked down the corridor with complete confidence of, in essence, being an invisible undetectable physical virus.
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That was her first mistake.
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The creature that sank it’s huge claws into her shoulder pulled her back off balance. Sentient itself, it paused just a little too confidently before sinking it’s scything savage jaws into it’s victim.
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Having dropped her eraser Miss Thrope was surviving purely on instinct. The long bladed stiletto from her wrist sheath appeared in her hand and was thrust through the soft flesh below the lower jaw and hopefully into it’s tongue. With a roar of pain the great leviathan reared back opening up the wound and nearly tearing Miss Thrope’s arm out of it’s socket. Over-riding the terrible pain in both shoulders she took an incendiary grenade from her harness and activating it via her neural net, threw it down the roaring throat of the beast. Her friend’s grenades were very sophisticated. She picked “bang” on a scale from one to ten, of two.
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“Should have picked one,” she thought to herself as she limped down the metal passageway, completely deafened and covered in ribbons of stinking flesh.
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Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2016 2018
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To enjoy THE ADVENTURES OF MISS ANN THROPE you can buy it via my book page
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