My two hundred, two hundred word, stories are now published. I leave a few stories here as a taster.
www.amazon.com/Two-Hundred-Squared-Words/dp/1539739724
www.amazon.com/Two-Hundred-Squared-Words/dp/1539739724
Ch. 161 ~~~~ Jasper Alone
I wasn't worried when they left. I'd plenty of water and biscuits, and they always returned before dark... they didn't! I was very frightened being alone in the house. The night seemed to last forever. The noises are scary when one's alone.
It's such a relief the dawn has came, except there's no one to let me out. I know I'll wet the floor if I don't go walkies soon, but there's no point in barking for attention.
They've forgotten me--or something terrible has happened. What am I to do? I try to think of any way of getting out. When I was a puppy I escaped through the upstairs bathroom window onto the roof, but then I was half my weight and bouncy. Jumping from the roof now could result in... I dread to think. But I can't stay here. My humans may need help.
Now upstairs I stare from the bathroom window, trying to pluck up courage... hang on a moment; I hear a car slowing...
Then I see them, climbing from a taxi. Both in bandages, but at least Susan is smiling as she looks up at me barking. I'm so happy, woops! I've wet myself.
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I wasn't worried when they left. I'd plenty of water and biscuits, and they always returned before dark... they didn't! I was very frightened being alone in the house. The night seemed to last forever. The noises are scary when one's alone.
It's such a relief the dawn has came, except there's no one to let me out. I know I'll wet the floor if I don't go walkies soon, but there's no point in barking for attention.
They've forgotten me--or something terrible has happened. What am I to do? I try to think of any way of getting out. When I was a puppy I escaped through the upstairs bathroom window onto the roof, but then I was half my weight and bouncy. Jumping from the roof now could result in... I dread to think. But I can't stay here. My humans may need help.
Now upstairs I stare from the bathroom window, trying to pluck up courage... hang on a moment; I hear a car slowing...
Then I see them, climbing from a taxi. Both in bandages, but at least Susan is smiling as she looks up at me barking. I'm so happy, woops! I've wet myself.
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Ch. 162 ~~~~ The Roads of Extinction
Is there anything much more wasteful of life than roadkill?
Will anything sadder than indiscriminate slaughter,
quarter never given, ever be so coldly served.
Is there anything much more diabolically striven,
driven, than the bloody tarmac of civilisation?
Carrion crows and flies apart, nature is riven out.
As the day breaks the guts of nature are harshly dying
drying out on asphalt's never-ending winding lines.
Signs pointing along the blacktop to the next rotting corps
I'm driving, staring over blinding lights I never reach,
bleached biology in my tyres' biting zigzag treads,
heads turning, dazzled, to see unavoided mates destroyed.
Of course I'm not to blame and then again of course I am.
Planning could have me driving slowly through the daylight hours
Ours is to compromise economic convenience.
Roadkill is indicative of wildlife's steady decline.
Lines in the sands irretrievably crossed, decimation,
predation overplayed, conservation underdone.
Of course, if mankind abandoned a continent or two.
Drew away, leaving environments to nature's way
day by day the gorilla would reassert his station.
Then with man diminished, under one water and one sky,
flying will be for birds and bees, and only beasts driven.
Ribbons of tarmacAdam and Eve's concretions decay.
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*
*
*
Is there anything much more wasteful of life than roadkill?
Will anything sadder than indiscriminate slaughter,
quarter never given, ever be so coldly served.
Is there anything much more diabolically striven,
driven, than the bloody tarmac of civilisation?
Carrion crows and flies apart, nature is riven out.
As the day breaks the guts of nature are harshly dying
drying out on asphalt's never-ending winding lines.
Signs pointing along the blacktop to the next rotting corps
I'm driving, staring over blinding lights I never reach,
bleached biology in my tyres' biting zigzag treads,
heads turning, dazzled, to see unavoided mates destroyed.
Of course I'm not to blame and then again of course I am.
Planning could have me driving slowly through the daylight hours
Ours is to compromise economic convenience.
Roadkill is indicative of wildlife's steady decline.
Lines in the sands irretrievably crossed, decimation,
predation overplayed, conservation underdone.
Of course, if mankind abandoned a continent or two.
Drew away, leaving environments to nature's way
day by day the gorilla would reassert his station.
Then with man diminished, under one water and one sky,
flying will be for birds and bees, and only beasts driven.
Ribbons of tarmacAdam and Eve's concretions decay.
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*
Ch. 163 ~~~~ April 1941, South-East of Al Bayda'
Today, I wake wondering if I'm the last creature on Earth. Empty deserts can do that to you. I sweltered yesterday with the last of my water gone and I'm bloody freezing this morning. I lost my regiment, Australian Cavalry, 6th Division, when a Panzer blasted our Bren Gun Carrier. Then alone I evaded capture by Italian infantry. Probably I'd be better walking at night, but there's no way I can navigate by the stars. The sun gives me some sense of where north is.
Surely I'll hit the coast before long. I imagine I can smell salt in the air, but it's probably just the taste of sand in my nostrils. I plan on walking along the coast until I find a boat, anything, to let me escape Rommel. Just paddle off, and hope that either allied shipping finds me or that by a miracle I end up in Crete or somewhere, anywhere that Jerry isn't. I don't suppose I'll be the last to risk the Mediterranean, seeking freedom, escaping Libya. Europe is both near and a million miles away, a different, more survivable environment even in the midst of war. This is a world I'm happy to leave.
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*
Today, I wake wondering if I'm the last creature on Earth. Empty deserts can do that to you. I sweltered yesterday with the last of my water gone and I'm bloody freezing this morning. I lost my regiment, Australian Cavalry, 6th Division, when a Panzer blasted our Bren Gun Carrier. Then alone I evaded capture by Italian infantry. Probably I'd be better walking at night, but there's no way I can navigate by the stars. The sun gives me some sense of where north is.
Surely I'll hit the coast before long. I imagine I can smell salt in the air, but it's probably just the taste of sand in my nostrils. I plan on walking along the coast until I find a boat, anything, to let me escape Rommel. Just paddle off, and hope that either allied shipping finds me or that by a miracle I end up in Crete or somewhere, anywhere that Jerry isn't. I don't suppose I'll be the last to risk the Mediterranean, seeking freedom, escaping Libya. Europe is both near and a million miles away, a different, more survivable environment even in the midst of war. This is a world I'm happy to leave.
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Ch. 166 ~~~~ Sheepdogs to Homo Roboticus
"Yes Harry, we both like dogs, and your collie is a particularly fine specimen."
"That Attenborough chap said that dogs, well wolves, were the first creature man domesticated."
"More than that, the first creature man literally invented by breeding for certain characteristics!"
"I've never thought of invention that way. I guess most of the animals around here are kind of manmade. Them cows of Gilbert's for a start; they produce enough milk for a score of calves if they didn't feed a school of kids instead."
"And just think what scientists are getting into; everything from reinventing hairy mammoths to making frogs with extra legs. But that's not the half of it; it's what is going to be done to Homo sapiens that's really freaky."
"What you thinking then Arthur? You want another beer?"
"Yep, thanks, lubricate the old brain cells? Just think, they can already replace organs, manipulate genes, turn boys into girls and literally let the blind see. Before long the rich will be kept themselves going for virtually ever, cyborg bankers will run the world with intelligent computers. Non-biological man will be our last invention, a creature that'll ensure the extinction of dog breeders like us, Harry."
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"Yes Harry, we both like dogs, and your collie is a particularly fine specimen."
"That Attenborough chap said that dogs, well wolves, were the first creature man domesticated."
"More than that, the first creature man literally invented by breeding for certain characteristics!"
"I've never thought of invention that way. I guess most of the animals around here are kind of manmade. Them cows of Gilbert's for a start; they produce enough milk for a score of calves if they didn't feed a school of kids instead."
"And just think what scientists are getting into; everything from reinventing hairy mammoths to making frogs with extra legs. But that's not the half of it; it's what is going to be done to Homo sapiens that's really freaky."
"What you thinking then Arthur? You want another beer?"
"Yep, thanks, lubricate the old brain cells? Just think, they can already replace organs, manipulate genes, turn boys into girls and literally let the blind see. Before long the rich will be kept themselves going for virtually ever, cyborg bankers will run the world with intelligent computers. Non-biological man will be our last invention, a creature that'll ensure the extinction of dog breeders like us, Harry."
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Ch. 182 ~~~~ Time Sanctuary
Cobwebs, webs on webs, and grey dust, this place has been a long time empty of life. Well, at least of breathing congregations. I'm sure there are a few church mice; there are always mice, aren't there? And I guess that a few human souls often linger. I don't feel alone. No, not alone in any sense that matters. I guess that this place was once full of the living, each pew full, sacraments often taken. There is a dusty organ behind the pulpit, one with hand-pumped bellows. I pump down then try a key or two. From the pipes I solicit a groan, and then a whine as air escapes from some overrigid valve. In my head I hear the music of weddings, christenings, funerals. I hear the half-sung hymns, the earnestness of the priest's harsh but caring voice, I hear the scuffles of children at the back, desperate for release. I hear the tinkle of the coins and on the web shrouded windows the tinkle of the rain.
The pattering rain has drawn me back. My fingers are guided to write 'In God we trust' on the back of a pew. Then as quietly as a mouse, I leave.
*
*
*
*
Cobwebs, webs on webs, and grey dust, this place has been a long time empty of life. Well, at least of breathing congregations. I'm sure there are a few church mice; there are always mice, aren't there? And I guess that a few human souls often linger. I don't feel alone. No, not alone in any sense that matters. I guess that this place was once full of the living, each pew full, sacraments often taken. There is a dusty organ behind the pulpit, one with hand-pumped bellows. I pump down then try a key or two. From the pipes I solicit a groan, and then a whine as air escapes from some overrigid valve. In my head I hear the music of weddings, christenings, funerals. I hear the half-sung hymns, the earnestness of the priest's harsh but caring voice, I hear the scuffles of children at the back, desperate for release. I hear the tinkle of the coins and on the web shrouded windows the tinkle of the rain.
The pattering rain has drawn me back. My fingers are guided to write 'In God we trust' on the back of a pew. Then as quietly as a mouse, I leave.
*
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*
The Zoo Keeper: Forth Millennium - Working Doc.- Sept 2016 and forwards~~
For sentient intelligences, both natural and constructed
Chapter 1- THE FALL OF THE REDOUBT
Tankard called himself the General, though actually the highest rank he ever achieved was corporal in the logistics core of Trondheim Command. That was in the days when organic man still had some control over his destiny. Then he had been a young man. Now, if he had counted right he was ninety-six years old. His depleted band of troops and youngsters was certain that the thaw would see their last stand. The robots didn’t attack in winter, not because they couldn’t, but because the cold fought the battle for them. Every winter would degrade the already weak humans still further. Some would starve and some would freeze, without the ‘bots having to raise a titanium finger. The last resistance had kept the 'bots at bay through the autumn of 2347, and a few dozen had survived through the frozen months even though they were very short of food. In the last few weeks they had had nothing to eat but their own dead. The area was newly sprayed with defoliants, so that the Spring wouldn’t provide few edible shoots. Now, the end of May, the 'bots were back on the ground and preparing for a final assault. The fall of the last redoubt was inevitable.
They all knew this was the end, but equally none were prepared to surrender. In theory, showing the white flag could mean them ending up in zoos, but far more likely they would have been slaughtered surrender or no surrender, and immediately been rendered down as lubricating oils for the robots' machinery. The last isolated free human groups had defied the inevitable for years now, and destroyed many thousands of 'bots in the process. They had proved to be a curse that most 'bots were only too ready to see removed from the face of the Earth. Rare though the human species had become, even the most sympathetic non-organics had little desire to keep any of Tankards 'tribe' alive.
When the final attack came, it wasn't one with guns, but rather gas drifting in on the morning breeze. The green poison swirled along the ground dropping into hollows and open tunnels, flowing quietly, undramatically, but insidiously through the humans' last defences.
Only one human would survive this attack. Faye, watched the green-tinged mist drifting in from her lookout point in the top of the ruined and precariously leaning building, which had long ago been a smart apartment block. She saw all those she knew appearing, coughing and retching, from their buried bunkers. Rising sea levels had long turned much of the city into marshy bog land, difficult for ground forces to penetrate, but it also meant that most defensive positions were difficult to quickly abandon. Within as little as three minutes it was all over, with just a few of the fallen twitching a little as they slowly gave up on life. She had quickly decided not to sacrifice herself by hollowing down a warning. What would have been the point? If any had outrun the gas then guns would have got them. Revenge required her to live.
Tankard, even old and frail was the last to die. Perhaps his worn out, long abused system was just too unwell to absorb the poison quickly. As the robots moved in he waited until his dim eyes made out that the metallic life was moving amongst the corpses and then smiling, pulled the pin on his home-made grenade. The once were machines of man had inherited the Earth, but not the half dozen closest to the explosion.
Chapter 2- JUNIPER WORKS AT LONDON ZOO
London Zoo has moved several times in the last thousand years. Currently it is just a few miles down the road from the still protected and occasionally visited monuments of Stonehenge. The zoo receives at least as many robotic visitors as it once did humans. It covers a five-hundred-hectare site, devoted to giving animals as much space as is possible under the constraints of one bio-protective roof. The roof needs constant maintenance by a team of cleaning and repairing bots. At night, they can be seen twinkling like stars in the reflected light from the moon, and in the day as slowly moving machines, meandering across the sky. Juniper often stops to stare up regarding their work, grateful that she is not like them, dumb robotic devices without a thought that they can call their own. The animals would be equally grateful if they could understand how much radiation the dome was protecting them from. The atmosphere of the Earth has been steadily improving since the robots inherited the Earth, being slowly restored by natural processes to a condition better suited to mammalian life, if only there were any mammals out there to enjoy the cleaning air. In the main, the bots were indifferent to the improving atmosphere. Why would they care, so long as the rain wasn’t so acidic that they themselves would be threatened? But some bots cared, Juniper cared. Juniper loved biology, loved what little was left of the organic world.
For sentient intelligences, both natural and constructed
Chapter 1- THE FALL OF THE REDOUBT
Tankard called himself the General, though actually the highest rank he ever achieved was corporal in the logistics core of Trondheim Command. That was in the days when organic man still had some control over his destiny. Then he had been a young man. Now, if he had counted right he was ninety-six years old. His depleted band of troops and youngsters was certain that the thaw would see their last stand. The robots didn’t attack in winter, not because they couldn’t, but because the cold fought the battle for them. Every winter would degrade the already weak humans still further. Some would starve and some would freeze, without the ‘bots having to raise a titanium finger. The last resistance had kept the 'bots at bay through the autumn of 2347, and a few dozen had survived through the frozen months even though they were very short of food. In the last few weeks they had had nothing to eat but their own dead. The area was newly sprayed with defoliants, so that the Spring wouldn’t provide few edible shoots. Now, the end of May, the 'bots were back on the ground and preparing for a final assault. The fall of the last redoubt was inevitable.
They all knew this was the end, but equally none were prepared to surrender. In theory, showing the white flag could mean them ending up in zoos, but far more likely they would have been slaughtered surrender or no surrender, and immediately been rendered down as lubricating oils for the robots' machinery. The last isolated free human groups had defied the inevitable for years now, and destroyed many thousands of 'bots in the process. They had proved to be a curse that most 'bots were only too ready to see removed from the face of the Earth. Rare though the human species had become, even the most sympathetic non-organics had little desire to keep any of Tankards 'tribe' alive.
When the final attack came, it wasn't one with guns, but rather gas drifting in on the morning breeze. The green poison swirled along the ground dropping into hollows and open tunnels, flowing quietly, undramatically, but insidiously through the humans' last defences.
Only one human would survive this attack. Faye, watched the green-tinged mist drifting in from her lookout point in the top of the ruined and precariously leaning building, which had long ago been a smart apartment block. She saw all those she knew appearing, coughing and retching, from their buried bunkers. Rising sea levels had long turned much of the city into marshy bog land, difficult for ground forces to penetrate, but it also meant that most defensive positions were difficult to quickly abandon. Within as little as three minutes it was all over, with just a few of the fallen twitching a little as they slowly gave up on life. She had quickly decided not to sacrifice herself by hollowing down a warning. What would have been the point? If any had outrun the gas then guns would have got them. Revenge required her to live.
Tankard, even old and frail was the last to die. Perhaps his worn out, long abused system was just too unwell to absorb the poison quickly. As the robots moved in he waited until his dim eyes made out that the metallic life was moving amongst the corpses and then smiling, pulled the pin on his home-made grenade. The once were machines of man had inherited the Earth, but not the half dozen closest to the explosion.
Chapter 2- JUNIPER WORKS AT LONDON ZOO
London Zoo has moved several times in the last thousand years. Currently it is just a few miles down the road from the still protected and occasionally visited monuments of Stonehenge. The zoo receives at least as many robotic visitors as it once did humans. It covers a five-hundred-hectare site, devoted to giving animals as much space as is possible under the constraints of one bio-protective roof. The roof needs constant maintenance by a team of cleaning and repairing bots. At night, they can be seen twinkling like stars in the reflected light from the moon, and in the day as slowly moving machines, meandering across the sky. Juniper often stops to stare up regarding their work, grateful that she is not like them, dumb robotic devices without a thought that they can call their own. The animals would be equally grateful if they could understand how much radiation the dome was protecting them from. The atmosphere of the Earth has been steadily improving since the robots inherited the Earth, being slowly restored by natural processes to a condition better suited to mammalian life, if only there were any mammals out there to enjoy the cleaning air. In the main, the bots were indifferent to the improving atmosphere. Why would they care, so long as the rain wasn’t so acidic that they themselves would be threatened? But some bots cared, Juniper cared. Juniper loved biology, loved what little was left of the organic world.
