Posts Tagged ‘The Belt’

Hello out there all my beautifully creative people!

Generally on this blog i like to delve out precious pearls of wisdom and/or insanity — but today I’m busy editing, so how about a change of pace?

Today I’d just like to share with you all a small segment (of which I’ve recently edited), from my Book, “Welcome to the Future”: a Sci/Fi futuristic adventure. I welcome all comments, feedbacks, critiques, or praises, all that I ask of you is honesty.

Get ready,

I’m not going to even set this sucker up!

Please Enjoy 🙂




Chapter 3          


The kitchen light illuminated in anticipation of Holly entering the room — a neat trick of programming, considering that Holly, was a hologram.  Daniel had always wanted a hologram, and had always wanted to name it Holly, mostly because he thought the title, “Holly the Hologram” was an endearing one (and, not to mention, fun to say).  Holly, on the other hand, didn’t care much for titles, and cared even less for her name.

For a hologram, which is only an interactive 3D program with a finite (yet vast) string of predetermined responses, this type of self reflective thought simply didn’t exist.  So when Holly shared the contempt she held over her own name with Daniel, and suggested Jill as an alternative, Daniel was, needless to say, flabbergasted.

For a hologram to express dislike of it’s own name and suggest “Jill” as an alternative, is like having your DVD player tell you that it doesn’t care much for the movies you watch, and suggest that you go out and rent the Matrix trilogy instead.  Daniel spent the next few weeks after Holly’s confession scratching his head and trying to figure out what exactly he had done wrong with her programming, when finally it struck him.

Daniel figured there were two elements at play when you broke Holly down to her most simplistic components; her memory, and her personality.  He had intended on storing Holly’s personality on his apartment’s internal computer; thus giving her access to everything electronic in the house — allowing her to effectively become his maid, cook, and super all in one.  As for Holly’s memory, Daniel had planned to give up a large segment of unused space from his own brain chip.  Having this connection to her would give him access to all the things Holly saw and learned, and would in theory make him seemingly exist in two places at once.  It would appear though that in his haste, Daniel had mixed up the two.

This meant that Holly’s memory was now bound to the apartment’s main computer; a completely unsuitable and wholly inefficient place for it to be.  It also meant that her personality was stored deep within Daniel’s own brain.  Having Holly’s personality trapped in a place with human thoughts, desires, and emotions coursing through it, seemed to have had a profound effect on her programming.  The end result of which became a hologram — that acted, thought, and behaved, as if she were a human.

This implied two very important things about Holly; Firstly, it meant that Holly had access to something that the most sophisticated robots of the time, let alone simplest holograms, did not have access to — the full spectrum and scope of human emotion. Secondly it meant that Holly, were she to feel so inclined, could access whatever Daniel was viewing, thinking, or calculating, at any given moment, by simply interpreting the data streams that naturally flowed across the chip.  In this way Holly was one of a kind, really the first of her kind, and once Daniel realized what had happened, he certainly had no intention of “Fixing her”, or going back to the way things were.

So Daniel ordered a memory upgrade for his home — to provide Holly with a proper brain — and then he sealed off her section of his chip, so he might maintain a certain level of privacy.  Everything else he left alone.  Daniel was grateful for a companion that was more than a program, and Holly was ecstatic to learn that she was the first and only self aware non-humanoid living on (or around) planet earth.  So ecstatic, in fact, that she still tolerates the name, “Holly”, to this day and never again suggested that she instead be called “Jill”.

Thanks for dropping by everyone!

Hopefully this read well and kept you interested.

(Also, would anyone like to read/know more?)

Thanks again everyone, and have a great day!

A short story,

(Part 1 ... Part 2)

ood ladies and gentlemen of creativity, curiosity, and (crap… I’m out of “c” words), cacodemonomania- and might I say good luck with that – I now present to you, without further commercial interruption, the conclusion of,

“And so he ran…”

Chomp… Chomp…

A blinding sunburst of pain erupted from his elbow as the Droid-shark sank its generous rows of fresh teeth into his all too yielding flesh. Having not been adequately prepared for the sheer stunning immensity of agony that fell on him in this instant, George became surprised to such a degree that he simply forgot where he was. In his fragile, half conscious, already oxygen deprived state of mind he yielded to his terra-dwelling instincts and reacted in an exceptionally normal way for a creature that resides on land: he attempted to suck a sharp intake of oxygen into his lungs.

Now mind you that this, under any normal circumstance, would be a perfectly reasonable thing to do (being that above land, where he was quite accustom to existing, there is a copious and voluminous quantity of the stuff for which to draw into your lungs whenever it may please you), however when you are underwater this action is phenomenally inadvisable.

Man is not a fish…

Fish have gills…

The bastards…

So because of this small bit of trivia which had fled Georges mind at quite possibly the most inopportune moment that anyone can conceive of, his body reacted to the water inside it (which had no place being there to begin with), in another perfectly reasonable way – had he been on land – it began to chough.

Consciousness quickly became a transient thing. Distantly George thought that he still sensed the layers of incisors sawing back and forth along the knob of bone that made up his elbow, and from across the sea he still heard the soft sound that the scraping teeth were making along the joint (which reminded of his classroom days – when people still went to school that is – and his peers would all run their nails along a chalkboard for its horrifically entertaining pitch), but even though these things seemed real, present, and happening to him, another reality had presented itself just beyond a freshly opened new horizon.

As Georges mind slipped away into nothingness, a bright white light opened up above, and with a meager bit of attention on his part towards the thing, George quickly discovered two distinct and separate states of being that he could inhabit. In one: he was being thrashed about by a shark that was dragging him to the surface of the bay – and twisting its torso in a pretty eager attempt to separate his arm from his shoulder – but in the other: he was being warmed to the core with a soothing, calming, radiant white light, he was listening to the sound of classical music, and the feeling in his phantom limbs had been restored.

Idly he flipped back and forth between the two. It reminded him of channel-surfing on the Holovision.

Channel 5 – pain…

Channel 72 – pleasure…





He wondered how long it would be until someone took his remote away on grounds of abuse

After mucking about with the very fabric of existence for a good bit (and actually finding himself rather bored with it, and wishing that there was something else on), George figured that it was high time he’d made his choice, and with pain being weighed against pleasure, there really wasn’t much of a choice to be made.

George welcomed in the light…

He felt his arm again…

His lungs tasted air…

He felt his hand again…

His feet hit feet hit the ground…

His mind was present…

His body was whole…

He peered intensely into the light…


“Why isn’t it working”


“I’m not sure sir”

“Are you operating on the proper frequency?”

“Yes sir I am”

“Well if you were on the right frequency I’m relatively certain that it would be working.”


“I’m sorry sir”

“You’re always sorry”





“Well I am”


“Perhaps he is not in possession of a cerebral implant.”

“They all have the cerebral implants, you’re just working on the wrong frequency, get out of my way, I’ll do it”


“Yes sir…”

“Is he reacting?”

“No sir not at all.”

“Well I’ve still got a heartbeat over here, so he’s alive at least”



“It would seem that something is happening”

“I told you that you were on the wrong frequency.”

“He’s not entered the interrogation reality sir”

“Than what’s going on?”

“His biorhythm and brainwave activity seemed to have spiked all of the sudden”

“He’s waking up?”

“It would seem so”




“Hey?.. Hey you, can you hear me… Any luck on finding out this guy’s name?”

“No sir, there seems to be no record of him on file.”

“Well check again.”

“Sir, I’ve checked both the new, and the old internet two hundred times apiece in the past ten seconds, there is no record”

“Check again”

“Sir, I earnestly believe that he doesn’t have a brain chip”

“What do you want to bet that he’s got a brain chip under that primitive skull of his?”


“3!?… 3 what?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it”


“He’s got a brain chip”

“He hasn’t, I can tell”

“He’s got one”

“He doesn’t”

“I don’t…”

“He does”

“Sir – I didn’t say that”


“Was that?”

“Yes sir”

“Hey buddy, you awake?”

“Am I dead?”

“He’s awake sir.”

“Thank you I could tell”

“Who are you two?”

“They always want to know who we are”

“Who we are is not important”

“Are you God?”

“If I said yes could we move on?”

“Sure, I suppose”



“Indeed. Now, I need you to answer a very important question.”

“Direly important”

“Do you have a brain chip? And be honest, there’s “3” riding on it”

“Oh… “3” what?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, no I guess it doesn’t. Did you say you were God?”

“I thought we were moving on past that?”

“We were. But, well it’s just… I wouldn’t expect God to bet.”

“Well we swear and drink too up here so get used to it…”




“Oh, right, no i haven’t got a brain chip.”

“I told you”

“Oh shut up”

“You owe me “3” “

“Fine whatever, kill the light.”

All at once the blinding white light that had up until this point been filling Georges perspective neatly washed away, and he was finally allowed to gaze at heaven. Evidently it looked very much like the back seat of a flying car. No ordinary flying car mind you, as that would not be suitable for heaven, but nevertheless, despite the plush purple padded cloth seats, and the highly polished light brown leather trim, the space that George currently found himself in looked very similar, if not altogether identical, to the backseat of a flying car.

Out the window to his right a great blue flame surged out of a sturdy conical turbine, wherein little pixie-like bursts of what could only be described as miniature fireworks exploded, and set as the backdrop to it all, beyond the window of heaven directly to Georges right, was the vast all-encompassing vista of space.

“This isn’t heaven, is it?” George asked dejectedly

“No” offered a voice from the front right seat ahead of him, “certainly not, don’t be foolish. No such place.”

“I would be inclined to disagree”

“Well than you sir would be an idiot” to which he then added under his breath, “And likely are…”

“If i could interject for just a moment” A meeker voice from the front left seat interjected for just a moment, “I believe that if we were all thinking clearly, we would have to acknowledge the fact that there are more pressing matters at hand than a senseless debate about an all-powerful deity, which might or might not exist, and which consequently has no bearing on our actions. For instance, where did you happen to store the data that you stole from the Green Machine refrigerator production plant?”

“…………”, said George, adding after a bit, “Who are you two again?”

“They always want to know who we are”

“We told you before, it doesn’t matter”

“I say it does matter if you want that information.”

“Fine… you first”

Looking to his left George saw far out in the distance the planet Earth, and surrounding it as always was the Belt. It would seem that he was off the planet. The only significance that George could take from this observation (other than the fact that while he’d made it he couldn’t help but notice that his left arm was fully in tact, and hole-less), was that he was captive, in space, to these two men.

“How about a trade?” George offered

“I’ll need to hear it first”

“Fine. You tell me how it is that I have my arm back, and that I’m not dead, and I’ll tell you what you want to know, provided that you tell me who you are after – and then promptly drop me off at the nearest tree.”

“Deal – rubber teeth – now you.”

“Rubber teeth? I’m going to need a little more than that.”


“Should I sir?”

“No I’ve got it.”


“Well?” Pressed George

The man in the front right seat of the car turned around and George finally got a good look at his face. He was very tall, and exceptionally muscular, and dressed in a very neatly fitting black tailored suit. This guy had money. The stoic look in his eye said both that he’d seen more than any man should, and that, at the moment at least, he was trying to look as unassuming as possible… It wasn’t working.

“Droids, as you already know” He began, “literally are everywhere. They are constantly updated with the whole of human knowledge V.I.A. their streaming wireless link to the net, and even though they are microscopic and receive their signals individually – which is precisely what makes them impossible to control once they bind together and take the shape of whatever they need to be in order to succeed at the single-minded task that they are currently pursuing, in this case, “You” – we are not bound by the limits of mankind, as we are not of it, so we can control them quite at our leisure. The guns that had been fired at you were merely projectors, the shark that had bitten you had rubber teeth, and rather than chasing you to bring you back to civilization where you would have faced certain persecution, they had instead been controlled by me…”

“Us…” butted in the softer one from up front.

“Us” conceded the burly man, “and rather than bring you into the local authorities, or simply kill you, I had them instead haul your sorry sopping wet behind, to US…”

“………..” George paused as all this sunk in, “So my arm…”

“Never bitten”

“And the boiling water”

“Runoff from the plant”

“I see”

“Now then, I’ve held up my part of the bargain, where is the data that you’d stolen”

“I downloaded it to my shirt”

“But you’re topless”

“I know”



“So remind me, where is it again?”

“I dropped it in the bay.”



“Now if you don’t mind, i do have reservations with that tree, and I’d really hate to keep her waiting, shall we be off then?”



The burly man with the gruff voice whipped around in his chair and slumped moodily into it.

“To earth sir?” Asked the voice from the front left seat

“To earth…” Responded the burly man from the right.

Heaven – that is, the flying car – banked a quick left, and took off steadily down toward earth. George, who had never possessed the type of money necessary to buy such a luxury vehicle as this (capable of interplanetary travel), sat slack-jawed the entire duration of the silent trip, and stared out the window with awe and wonder.

After a long while they finally broke through the atmosphere and George was snapped out of his stupor. He couldn’t help but to ask.

“So… before I go, I’d still like to know who you people are. You saved my life.”



“Should I tell him sir?”

“No, I’ll do it”

Once again the juggernaut from the front right seat swiveled his posture, and adjusted himself so that he was turned toward George. He smiled what he thought was a friendly and welcoming smile, but was in reality the type of smile that would make small children cry, and hardened criminals laugh in fear, and began to tell George his story.

“I’ll give you the short version, as we’re almost there” He began, ” I am not of Earth. I am not of the Belt. I am of a planet with a name that I’d doubt you could pronounce, and by that same token I won’t tell you my name as I doubt you could pronounce it either. The person sitting next to me is a hologram who embodies a side of me that I was better off without, and I won’t tell you his name either as surely you…”

“Couldn’t pronounce it?”


“Can I try?”


After a deep sigh he continued;

“Mankind was not given his due course of evolution. That is not to say that you hadn’t evolved, you did, it’s just that we helped you along a bit. At the time we were a very intelligent society, with a wealth of knowledge to share, and you’d been the first sign of life we’d ever found in the vast emptiness of space. We came across your planet by sheer coincidence, as it was inhabited by a common species of hostile lizards and we nearly ignored it altogether, but our scientists had placed a great emphasis on species classification so we came down to have a look around, and – much to our surprise – we found mammals, as you call them. Being the young excitable species that we were, descendants from a type of mammal ourselves and anxious for any sort of company in the cosmos, we spliced in a portion of our own DNA into yours with hopes to accelerate your progress, and returned home for a time.”

Here he took a deep breath and readjusted in his seat yet again.

“When we’d returned, much to our chagrin, we discovered a species that was not only barbaric and hostile, but astonishingly stupid. You had placed some people in higher regard to others, and were completely obedient to them regardless of how horribly they’d treated you. We saw you kill each other over ore, trinkets, even over food – which was abounding, and as such not a very good reason to kill for – and we watched you wage wars over foolhardy reasons, mostly over an insubstantial imaginary figure that ruled you from the sky. Our scientists said that the rushed evolution which we’d imposed on you must not have given your species ample time to evolve out these traits, which were characteristic of a primitive society, and suggested that another splicing of DNA was in order to fix what had gone wrong. We visited many cultures around the globe, the Aztecs, the Incas, the Egyptians, the Atlanteans, and sporadic tribes that we found along the way, and interjected our DNA once more.”

The ship easily coasted to a stop, right in front of a large, full tree which was stunningly back-lit by the bright night sky. The Alien in the front seat (who’d looked so much like a man to George that he couldn’t make out any difference –  even if that man could have easily been a linebacker), took an exceptionally deep sigh, and continued on with his story.

“That is when we saw you use the bomb. The debate on our planet had been raging fiercely: should we destroy our failed experiment, or should we give it some more time? This was the event that had tipped the scales. Now my other and I are your last hope. We gave up everything we knew back at home and choose to come here instead. We’d convinced the whole of our society that we would serve as your caretakers until you’d reached the enlightened stage of your evolution – which is taking much longer than we’d hoped –  and we have been here ever since. Whenever there is a problem, we fix it. Whenever you do something that might jeopardize yourselves, and in turn your planet as a whole, we get in the way. Because we should have not played god, and because every life is important. Do you remember the story of Roswell New Mexico?”

“The air balloon from the 20th century?”

“That was no air balloon, and we were there. Remember when the sun burnt out and needed to be re-lit because you had been stupidly hauling garbage at it for years?”


“Of course you don’t, because we took care of it. Zombie crisis of 98′, teleportation of organic matter 07′, invention of wormhole technology of 13′ – any major happening on earth that has occurred within the past two-hundred-fifty years was of under our supervision, and was carefully controlled so that a species you have never met, on a planet you’ll never see, won’t kill you all for being primitive.”



“What was that?”

“You two are behind every conspiracy theory that I know of… You are “The Conspirators”


“Perhaps we are. But whatever we are, we’re your protectors.”

“The Half-Breeds can help you, we found out that they’ve been controlling the masses minds on a global scale by using the device…”

“We know that. We put it there. And now, because the GM corporation has found this out and is using it to influence the minds of the world, I have to now find a way to get a shirt scrapped off the bottom of the bay so that I can do my job.”

“He hates swimming”

“I hate swimming”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Well, for two reasons I guess. For one, I’d made a deal with you, and a deal’s a deal. And for another, you won’t be remembering any of it.”

“How can you realistically expect me to forget a thing like…”

The brilliant white light in the back seat of the car had turned back on with a flash, and George quickly gave in to the soporific effects that it’d had on his mind. The Conspirators, yes… that name suits them just fine… Carefully unloaded George from the back seat of the car, and left him in an open field next to a tree so that he might have his date.

“You know, I rather liked that fellow.”

“I could tell sir”

“There might be hope for the human race yet, you know that?”

“You’d never doubted it.”



“I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not going swimming”

“But sir.”

“You heard him, we’ve got help on Earth now, this could be our ticket back home… Let’s see how they do”



I DID IT! Wow! I mean, I really did it. It might have come out better, given unlimited time and resources, but I’m very happy with the ending here. Plus did you notice the custom artwork? stylish ;-D.

This project was particularly trying because I have to think so intricately about what’s said (as the characterizations have to be consistent), and what happens (as this too has to line up), as a lot of what happened here is integral to my forthcoming trilogy, “Welcome to the Future”, but, all-in-all, I’m happy, and I think I’ve succeeded.

I hope that this works as a stand alone short, and that you’ve all liked it well enough (plenty of people have subscribed because of it, or at least it would seem), but wowie-wow-oh am I tired.

Beddie by time……

As always my awesome Creative Peoples, be ever Observant, never Judgmental, Strive to create every day, and make sure to trust yourself; because if you can’t, how can you expect anyone else to?


P.S.- sorry it ran so long!

A short story,

*Pro tip*: Read part I first 🙂


It’s very likely that swimming would have come perfectly naturally to George – had he not currently had a sizable hole in his right tricep. So rather than swimming, he sank – in fact quite rapidly.

Of course he knew that it was inevitable at moments like these to become painfully aware that if he had only ticked off a little, “Yes” box some years ago, rather than the, “No” which he’d so valiantly chosen (because of some silly ideal that seemed direly important at the time, but that for the life of him he couldn’t presently remember), at the moment his brain might be recommending his best possible actionable strategy – rather than drawing a large blank like it was.

It would say;

Try to do what comes naturally…

Synchronize your limbs…

Think like a frog…

Tread Water…

George’s mind had never said a word to him before, and he’d always been just fine with that. Well, all up until now that is… Now he’d wish it would speak up with some timely words of wisdom for both their sakes…

Perfectly inept at the task of swimming, George flailed about helplessly as he descended into the murky depths of the polluted bay beneath him (looking all the while like he was feverishly attempting to dance without any innate sense of rhythm whatsoever), fighting dearly to hold on to his breath, and praying that he’d sort all this swimming business out neatly before he’d drowned.

Motivation is a funny thing. It always comes when you’d least expect it, and it never fails to evoke transformation just as soon as you welcome it into your life. For instance, if you were to grab George from the water at this point, offer him a towel and a warm beverage, and tell him that all would be forgiven so long as he answered this one question, “Could you have been any more motivated to swim at this point”, he would have answered with an instantaneous and resounding “No!”. But, as it turns out, he’d be lying. Unintentionally mind you, but he would. Before this moment he’d woefully underestimated the power of motivation, which often can come from the most unlikely of places – certainly that won’t happen again anytime soon.

In this instance, motivation came in the form of a litter of laser beams – one of which missed his head by mere inches,

(They’re taking pot shots at me… and their aim is improving…)

The red tinted beams shot downward into the water beneath him at the speed of light, and disappeared in a flash,

(Why haven’t any of them come in after me yet?)

Unbeknownst to George, as the highly charged photons shed energy in the water below – they boiled it.

(I should probably listen for a splash…)

The water he drifted into was now cooking his skin…

~Motivation: teaching us to swim away from boiling patches of water since the birth of man.~

As George continued to thrash his arms about in an arrhythmic nonsensical matter (which was quickly proving not only to be utterly pointless – as he’d accomplished nothing thus far save for turning slightly from left to right – but also a wholly wasteful expenditure of his rapidly dwindling energy reserves), he began to feel a curious coldness envelop his body.

Logically he deducted that the deeper water he’d drifted into must be the culprit, and, for the moment at least, he appreciated it; he let it soothe him. He closed his eyes and relaxed his arms – putting aside for the immediate future his aspirations to be a swimmer – and let the cool water thoroughly ease his aching muscles and calm his throbbing brain. Before now, his whole body had been aflame with the negative aftereffects his surging adrenalin had left him with, and he thought that if only he could regain his wit for a moment (in this cooler more temperate water), that he might be able to take on the daunting task of swimming anew in but a moment.

The moment transpired like this;

Cold turned quickly to cool…

Cool, to hot…

Hot neatly became uncomfortable…

And uncomfortable transitioned hastily to boiling…

Danger”, screamed his brain, “DANGER

Sure… now it was talking…

His eyes cracked open in a flash, and his surprised lungs expelled half his oxygen reserves in a shocked, soggy scream, as he quickly realized that his all too logical deduction (which intuitively and wrongly related his depth, to coldness of the water), was entirely off the mark. Forget about broad side of a barn, this was somewhere off in the next galaxy.

Miraculously however, it was in this very moment – just as soon as his brain disengaged from the task at hand and his survival instincts had room to kick in – that George learned to swim!


It’s only too bad that he’d lost most of his oxygen in the process.

Not so awesome…

He quickly vacated the area (where he’d just been willingly cooking like a lobster), with a surprisingly efficient and completely impromptu left-handed underwater version of the breast stroke. His heart raced, and though there was obviously no oxygen around him to draw in (a fish passed him by and became insanely jealous of its gills), he nevertheless pictured himself leaning heavily on some sturdy object and heaving in air for dear life. His lungs were burning, and heart was thrumming with tremendous gusto, but it would seem that – for now at least – he was safe.

He had to think it…


Oh great…

He wasn’t exactly sure what had taken the Droids so long up there on the surface to finally decide to make up their minds about entering the water, but whatever had transpired was now immaterial – it had resulted in only one thing as far as he was concerned – he now had company.

Despite the fact that the polluted water around him was murky and burned at his eyes, George nevertheless fought through the pain and turned to glare up at his pursuers. He needed to know how many had entered the water. If all three, than he might have a brief window of time for which to swim past them as they sank, to effectively make his escape on dry land (where he’d obviously belonged if his swimming lesson had taught him anything). He strained his eyes to see up through the great volume of murky water above him, and had to push himself (and his poor peepers), near to his threshold of pain before he’d spotted anything significant – but what he’d eventually seen through the harshly shaded water, made his heart sink below his feet.

The lights of the GM building (that he had just raided), back-lit the dock on the surface, and George could clearly see two figures silhouetted there on the pier; standing side by side and having their blackened physique illuminated intermittently by bursts of sparking light from where their wrists might be (if they were human). The third however, and this was the part that had made him lose his cowardly heart out of the bottom of his firmly soled black shoes, seemed to be in the shape of a large fish, and was swimming quickly and expertly down into the waters in search of him.

His pursuer had changed shape BEFORE entering the water…

The other two Droids must have thrown the third in…

No record had ever cited of this type of behavior…

George hadn’t anticipated this at all…

Surely this was very bad news…

Gasp! (there goes the air)


He instinctively began to swim down and away from the unknown (but likely to be hostile), form above, before quickly remembering that unlike some creatures (like that show-off fish from before with the gills, the bastard), he actually required oxygen to continue operating his body. At this realization he made a quick *180 in the water and headed instead up toward the surface of the bay, knowing full-well that he was likely to be shot, more likely to be killed, and even more likely yet to have his shirt stolen, but despite the likelihood of all these things, he simply didn’t care: George wanted to live.

His ascension toward the surface was hasty, and brightened sporadically by short-lived luminous bursts of light resulting from the near misses of the laser shots that rained down on him from the dock above. One grazed his shoulder and he rolled to the right. Another tagged his toe and he moved to the left. A third hit his hand dead through the center – and that stopped his momentum cold.

Without all of its initial heat, the normally humane laser shot (which would both pierce you and cauterize the wound all at once), had left George bleeding openly in the water. Frozen, hopeless, and full of regret, George watched as the shadow of the large fish-like thing that the third droid had taken the shape of, halted its serpentine sweep of the area it was in, and rapidly descended into the water – aiming it’s nose in his direction.

His lungs screamed at him to swim, but he just didn’t have the will to do it,

(So this was it…)

George knew at this point, with absolute certainty, that he was about to die,

(Was all my hard work and effort for nothing…)

He thought of his lovely wife, and his two darling children, and wished that he could hug his lost son once more,

(Is this the end…)

He hated the world for what it had become, but was proud at all the progress the Half-Breeds had achieved,

(It’s not so bad…)

The evidence existed, and he had found it,

(At least I fought for what I believed in…)

Someone else would soon champion the cause,

(Surely the world will soon know the truth…)

George took off his shirt, and let it sink into the depths below,

(They are controlling our minds…)

The Droid-fish approached George in the water, and opened its terrifying jaws…


Hey there my creative troupe!

Hopefully you’re all thoroughly enjoying the story of George thus far, and you’re all so very inspired by his harrowing tale that you’ve not only subscribed (seriously, subscribe, what are you waiting for?) so that you might hear the conclusion (I’m excited, are you?), but that you’ve also been inspired to work on your own creative endeavors as a result.

I have to say, this has been fun! I’m fleshing out a part of my book that I hadn’t paid much attention to before, and I’m learning a lot about my characters and their past… This experience has been invaluable to me, and I only can hope that you’ve all enjoyed taking the trip along with me as well.

Anyway, as I’ve been working on this for the better part of my day, I have in turn been ignoring the edits on my novel, and now I must get back to them. So, good creative lot, it is at this point that I regrettably must bid you all adieu, and resume my necessary (but laborious), task.

As always; strive to live without judgment, but never stop being observant, and make sure to create every day!


And remember!

Not every day will be your best, but if you just keep at it (creating that is), some days will be!


A short story,

He ran…

Even though the violent bursts of charged light which championed his pursuit traveled at the staggering speed of 186,000 miles per second, and he (even on his best day, and only after he’d gone to the restroom), could barely muster a brisk 8 miles per hour, he ran with the fervor of a man whose life was on the line.

Coincidentally it was…

And so he ran…

George was an idealist. He stubbornly believed that human beings should remain human, and not become some freakish race of technologically enhanced cyborgs. The rest of the world made it clear that they disagreed, or at least the elite who’d been chosen for the program had, as out of the millions who’d been offered that clandestine deal George was only one of fifty people who’d ticked off the “No” box on that year’s census.

For the fifty of them there would be no silent surgeon in the dead of night…

For the fifty of them there would be no scar on the brain…

For the fifty of them there would be no chip…

Melding with the machine was not their destiny…

He, and the rest of the group along with him, had opted out of mankind’s greatest evolutionary leap (that’s what the news called it anyway), and would come to be called by the masses in the years that followed as: “The Half-Breeds”.

Generally as a rule, society shuns those that are different. They take comfort in drawing their pathetic lines in the sand: “Black or White”, “Fat or Skinny”, “Conservative or Liberal”, “Good or Bad”, and perhaps most of all; “Us or Them”… It’s imperative to their shallow state of being that these sheep know where “they” end, and “others” (frightening for their uniqueness, and unpredictability), begin. This is why people like to be part of a herd; they like to believe that by being circumscribed within the accepted societal norms of the zeitgeist that they’re safe.

They’re not – Shepherds abound

Ironically the Half-Breeds had been cast out of society not because they were inherently different from the others (although that element had played at center stage throughout the duration of the ongoing drama), but because they hadn’t the proper equipment to enable them to move on to the next great frontier with the rest of society. Now, because of their ideals and lack of circuitry, twelve of them were dead, and it would seem – as the energetic beams of light shattered the pavement in the wake of his step and the collective of Droids which pursued him actively adjusted their trajectory as they rapidly learned to become on-the-fly security guards – that George was next.

He needed to get away, for the sake of the sheep, the shepherds, and the Half-Breeds alike…

Many had tried – and they had all failed – but he had to succeed…

The World needed to know what he had learned…

This could change everything…

And so he ran…

He had found it; it was in his hands (well, technically it was woven into his shirt). After all their tireless years of searching he was the one who’d finally found the damming evidence that would surely crumble this sinister establishment in an instant like the mighty wrecking balls of yore. He envisioned himself standing at the heart of a mighty tower, crafted of charcoal tinted glass and flimsy metal, as it splintered, cracked, and collapsed in all around him, shattering into a million pieces as he cried tears of joy, never to be put together again.

Mankind would know its freedom again, and the Half-Breeds would be their unlikely savior. Their kind would be vindicated once and for all – praised even for their foresight – and would no longer be hunted. Collectively the people of Earth and The Belt above would once again remember the feeling of a breeze, the smell of the air, the look of a sky, and the taste of the ocean.

But only if he could escape…

Right now that was a big if

George was running an unusual (hopefully unpredictable), back and forth, juke-like pattern to try to do just that…

He glanced over his shoulder at his enshrouded pursuers hoping to see the same three lumbering amorphic blobs that had begun chasing him as he’d escaped the facility, but found instead that they’d finally taken shape and had grown wheels. Fantastic… Their approach hastened greatly in the brief moment that he watched (they were undeniably adept at mastering the physics behind their new shapes), and it terrified him to his core. Not that it assuaged his fears whatsoever, but he knew to expect this: The Droids were ubiquitous things in the modern world – they worked for everyone and no one at once – and right now he was technically a criminal, so he guessed that they were presently working for the “everyone” category.


He wondered idly which bit of technology the multitaskers had mimicked and perverted from our wealth of preordained knowledge to take their current form, as they knew nothing of creativity and could only craft something which had been established before them.

Not that it mattered, he just wanted to know what it was from our past that was going to kill him

The sound of his heavy footfall had been, up until this point, mostly silent, but as he boarded the dock (which was crafted of wood rather than concrete), the pitch changed, and the beating of his heart redoubled in response as he let himself believe that he just might make it after all. If he could only get into the sanctity of the waters (as polluted and corrupted as they were, the term “Water” had to be taken loosely here), off the end of the pier, than he might have a chance to escape with his life in tact and his critical information in tow. Sure the Droids might take to the sea after him, but they would be forced to sink to the bottom before changing their shape, and the bay was deep. Surely within the time-frame of this transition he could affect his escape.

Then again they might split up…

One in, two out…


Oh well, there was no time for second guessing his one and only plan. He was nearly at the edge of the pier now, and was certain that he would make it into the bay, whether or not he would be alive upon hitting the water was still up for debate, but up until this point the fledgling marksman behind him had been woefully off their game.

He had to think it…

The charged bolt might have sliced through his midsection to intersect with his heart had he not been running his insane juke-like pattern from left to right, but luckily for George he had and the beam instead pierced through the jiggly bit of fat that resided happily (up until this point at least), under his right bicep. He prayed that his sleeve was not the particular bit of his fabric that had held the information which the world needed to see, but knew there was nothing he could do about it now: he had reached the end of the pier.

He knew that it was now or never…

He had never learned to swim…

He dove into the Bay…


Hey there creative peeps, how’s everyone doing? So sorry that it’s been so long since I’d updated, I’ve been working a bit since the “Your Mom’s a liar” post was added (yay!), and haven’t really been home for a few days. This short story is one brief episode in the life of a couple of characters from my forthcoming novel, “Welcome to the Future”, and will have more installments added as I find the time. With any luck you’ve not only been entertained, but inspired, and if you find yourself yearning for more George, Droids, and cryptic language: subscribe, and also instantly grow an inch taller!

(*Individual results may vary*)

As always; be observant, never judgmental, and strive to create something every day!