© 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Tales from The New Universe: The Guardian

All I had to do was save the world.

Her name is Alison. I met her ten years ago. We were married eighteen months later by a Priest without a flock on a mountain with the snow falling all around us and the sun hidden behind thick cloud cover. It wasn’t love at first site. We both had a lot of baggage.

Eventually, we had four children together; Ben, Ashley, Naomi and Jordan. I got to name the first born, Ben, but then I was told that I lacked the imagination for naming kids as each subsequent child was born. I didn’t care as long as they were healthy, which they were. They’re gone now.

I watch her from a distance, sipping her coffee in one of those little white cups with the lids that seem to be all the craze. I’d forgotten about those. And she doesn’t know me now. We haven’t met yet. Probably never will now.  The guy across from her is her husband.  James, I think.  Never met him.  He wasn’t in the picture when we first met.

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© 2009, Patrick Hester.  All Rights Reserved

Tales from The New Universe: In space, nobody knows which way is up

“Four minutes of reserve oxygen remains,” said the computer voice in my ear.

Mutiny. That’s what it was – mutiny!  Do you know what they did to mutineers in the old days? Do you? …yeah, me either – but I’m betting it was bad and that it hurt like a sonovabitch!

Floating in the empty space between places, abandoned, left for dead and for what? I’m not such a bad captain, am I?  Sure, I push the crew hard, but no harder than any other captain looking to make a profit these days. Times are hard; Raiders hitting ships of all sizes and shapes nowadays, and the Company is cracking down on freelancers anymore – they don’t like the competition (or the independence). Translates to there being fewer and fewer jobs available and if you don’t deliver more than what you promised and twice as quick, well, there’s no guarantee you’ll get paid, let alone get the next job.

Doesn’t mean I deserve to be left in the black of space no matter what I done!

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(Please tell me what you think.  Comments make the world go round...)

© 2009 Patrick Hester. All Rights Reserved.

Ghost Story

“Well, there it is! The most haunted house in the world!  Do you know, they say a hundred people died in there on the same night!  Poisoned!  And we’re gonna spend the night!” George grinned at his friend Aiden, who appeared to be turning a fine shade of green.  Without another word, George stalked up the stairs and into the condemned house, leaving Aiden alone in the over grown yard full of too-tall weeds and stickers.  He’d already gotten a couple in his socks and they hurt.

Aiden readjusted his rolled up sleeping bag under his arm and stared up at the old house, the oldest on the block.  It had sort of towers that rose up to little flat points surrounded by tiny versions of the iron fence that kept most people out.  The windows were all boarded up, the green paint chipped and fading, the porch wide and flat but with spider webs in the shadowy corners and weeds growing up through the cracks.  He scratched his cheek, sure he felt a spider crawling there.

George reappeared in the doorway.  “What are you waiting for?  Come on!” then disappeared...(click here to read more...[this will take you off LJ - fair warning])

This is an original work of Flash Fiction by Patrick Hester

© 2009 All Rights Reserved

Dungeon Master

“Um…  Okay.  You're standing at a crossroads.  You see before you a mist rising from the marsh.”

Duncan stared out above his screen, only his eyes visible to the players crowded around the too small table.  To his left was Mark; a Half-Elf Thief unimaginatively named ‘Marc’, a surly sort, always looking over his shoulder and muttering to himself, then came Xander as ‘Rogkar’ the Dwarf, a Warrior whose great battle-axe was nearly taller than he was.  On the right sat his brother, Aaron; playing an Elf Predator Druid named ‘Sinese’ currently in her Tiger form and next to him sat Bryon with his Human Paladin, ‘Adama’, complaining about both the Half-Elf and the Dwarf incessantly.

“I don’t want to go into the marsh.”  That from Mark.  Or ‘Marc’.  Sometimes it was difficult to tell which was doing the whining.

“Coward!” bellowed Adama, slamming his hand down on the table and causing everything to jump and shift slightly to the left.  Duncan hated that name.  He wanted to force Bryon to change it to something less Battlestarish but he was afraid that ‘Starbuck’ was next on his list of names, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Do you have to hit the table?” asked Xander as he scrambled to reset the minis on the...(click here to read more...[this will take you off LJ - fair warning])

This is an attempt at Flash Fiction.  Fairly random.

This is an original work of Flash Fiction by Patrick Hester

© 2009 All Rights Reserved

Free Falling

Falling from a thirtieth floor window sucks.

If you don’t have a parachute, it’s worse.  Still, I don’t panic.  I still have the crossbow and the bolt with the line.  Plus the automatic pistol.  I shoot down, shattering the windows below me, then pull the crossbow and shoot for the hole I’ve made as I pass it.  The ground is rushing up, or am I rushing down?

The line is attached to my harness and as soon as the bolt hits, I can feel the tug, feel the resistance.  I have no idea what the bolt has hit or how well it’s in place, so I have to make this count.  I pull the brake and start to swing in.  The machine pistol makes short work of the window and in I go.  I didn’t give myself enough slack though, so I have to cut the line or else get pulled back out the window which, as I already mentioned, sucks.

Luckily, my harness has a dead man’s switch; it slices right through my (click here to read more...[this will take you off LJ - fair warning])