No Middle Name's Stories

Pirate

2007-10-28T00:14:26Z

“Who’s going to pay for the door?”, I asked the two goons, because there’s always two goons. One big, one small.
“Your kind don’t deserve doors”, spat the larger of the two goons. This confused me, and the other goon. “Shut up”, mumbled the big goon, “you know what I mean.”
“Right. You owe the company a lot of money. We’re here to collect”, said the smaller goon.
“What for?”
“Copyright infringement. You’ve cost our company a lot in lost revenue. We’re here to shut down your little operation.”
“What operation? I don’t copy anything, I’m not a pirate.”
“I’m talking about that sweet little stall you got goin’ at the market. Fresh, local produce – my ass. It’s stolen, and you know it.”
“I make all that stuff myself.”
“Our company says otherwise.”
“What?”
“Your yoghurt illegally reproduces the company’s intellectual property. You’ve been reproducing our company’s strain of lactobacillus without a licence.”
“Damn, I always knew you’d find me one day. You’ll never take me alive!”

Snailzilla Attacks!

2007-07-30T10:58:57Z

Leaving gooey destruction in its wake, Snailzilla oozed back into the turquoise depths from whence it came.

Who knows why it chose to erupt (slowly) from its watery slumbers? Who can tell what provoked it into the (rather sedate, and quite beautiful) mating frenzy with New York? Perhaps only Professor Limpopo Flatnat, international playboy and mollusc expert.

Even now, the National Guard are combing the sticky ruins, searching desperately for a trace of the gallant Professor. Last seen leaping onto the writhing gastropod from the top of the Empire State building, a rusty letter-opener in one hand and a salt shaker in the other, his last words screamed over his shoulder to his faithful assistant, Juan: “I’ve always loved you, you know!”

He gave his life for the city, and the assistant, he loved. Perhaps his rapid application of salt caused the great beast to retreat, or perhaps, its fearsome lust slaked (and slathered) on the back of Liberty herself, the creature lost interest. We shall never know.

Another passenger

2007-06-03T00:44:55Z

He is short. His suit is too big, he looks like a child dressing up as Daddy. Okay, so it would be a sinister, wiry child who looks as if he could force your nose out through your ear with one punch from his gold sovereign decorated knuckles, but you get the idea. Parted in the middle, his dark, wavy, bobbed hair gleams as it undulates to his shoulders.

He used to be an enforcer for the local Mafia, a job at which he excelled. Due to his small size he was often dismissed as an opponent before a fight. Few made this mistake twice. A midlife crisis made him re-evaluate his situation and he returned to school to pursue his first love, accountancy.

Passengers

2007-05-24T09:53:04Z

The 7:45 is on the platform already. Suits are bleating their way on board as she walks briskly towards the last carriage. She’s bent over to one side slightly, her bag is weighing her down. Her heels clack-clack, her flowery print dress ripples and sways in her wake, her sensible overcoat and cardigan keep her warm.

She finds a seat, near the aisle, not too far away from either set of exits. Her bag clanks a little as she sets it down between her feet. It’s the hunting knives. Normally they’d be strapped to the inside of her coat, but she’s running late and barely had time to put the sawn-off in the sleeve holster before leaving the house. The knives, the Glock, and the piano wire she scooped off the dining room table into the carpet bag.

Most unprofessional, she thinks, but there’s plenty of time to sort it out at the other end before starting work. She also decides to have a muffin and a coffee after the job is done. She gets off at South Yarra.

Jenny and the Robot Pirates

2007-04-23T01:11:20Z

“Is it raining?”, asked Jenny.
“No, that be nuts, boy”, replied Moulinex750, who was experimenting with a more nautical turn of phrase.
“I was only asking. No need to be rude.”
“No, those are nuts ye be hearin’, laddie.”
“Ow!” something small and pointy hit Jenny in the arm.
“Sharpened nuts”, said Moulinex as a little brown lump pinged off his polished carapace. “They used to have proper shuriken, but these later generations haven’t been trained, they’re just operating on the pre-programmed genetic imperatives that were bred into them. Er, yarr, laddie.”
“What are you – ow! – on about?”
“Ninja squirrels. You’d better get indoors before they start boarding. Ask the ship about them.”

Jenny ducked inside the conning tower, pulling the heavy steel door shut behind her with difficulty. She hopped down the open metal stairs two at a time, skipping along the corridor until she got to the mess.

Robot Pirates

2007-04-23T01:08:01Z

“Captain! Ninja squirrels off the port bow!”
“Thank you, Nautomatic_5t. Usual procedures, gentlemen. Detach all your easily detached parts, retract anything chewable. Ship, batten down the hatches, let’s make sure they don’t get inside this time.”
“Agreed, Captain”, said U.S.S. Step Lightly.
“Go to it, gentlemen. Let’s ride this out”, said Captain Thesperator (StudentEdition). “Ship, you have something on your mind?”
“Captain, if I may present this diagram showing the effects of squirrel teeth on human flesh.”
“Hmm, that looks like severe functional impairment. Relevance, Ship?”
“I suspect that crewman Wilson may have more meat-based components than she admits.”
“Ah, yes, our little stowaway. That plastic robot outfit she’s wearing hasn’t fooled anyone except herself. Still, we let her stay when she was found, she’s our responsibility now. Have her sent below.”
“Understood. I’ll have Midshipman Moulinex750 attend to it.”

The Last Unicorn

2007-03-29T06:55:49Z

Miriam stopped hacking her way through the undergrowth. She had seen something following her through the forest. It was always hovering in her peripheral vision, darting behind a bush when she turned. It had been there for about an hour now.

Miriam threw her machete to the ground, wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and sighed, loudly.

“All right, come out. I know you’re there”.
“Um, hello”, said the unicorn.
“Why are you following me?”
“You’re a virgin, and I have chosen you as my rider.”
“I’m not.”
“Not what?”
“A virgin.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty much.”
“Oh, bugger.”
“Yes, well. If that’s all, can you go away? I’ve got a lot of hacking to do.”
“I’m the last unicorn, you know.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, the last one in these parts.”
“No, I saw another one yesterday.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a rhino? Or an antelope?”
“In Essex?”
“Oh. You must be mistaken, I am quite definitely the last unicorn in this forest.”
“What’s that over there?”
“Bugger.”
“Bye, then.”

Miriam hacked on.

Happy talk

2007-03-26T03:23:53Z

It was ok when the guy in the mirror started talking to me. I could handle that, it almost made sense. He was me, after all. It was just my overactive imagination providing a visual component to my internal dialogue. Everybody gets that, right? Perfectly normal, nothing to worry about.

Then other things started joining in.

People on TV. Again, not so bad – old people regularly have conversations with the TV, although they were usually a bit more one-sided. But at least I could change channel when I didn’t want to talk to them.

The dog on Rex’s can of food. He was quite the raconteur, though. I didn’t mind him so much. For some reason he spoke with a Brooklyn accent, but I never did ask him where he was from or how he wound up being the dog on a tin of Pedigree Doggie Nosh. Rex himself never spoke to me.

I got quite freaked out by my morning coffee talking to me. That was just plain odd, and I got some strange looks at Starbucks. The screams it made as I slurped at it almost put me off.

Weddings

2007-03-22T22:06:52Z

I own a bridalwear shop. Women come to me to help them look beautiful on the most important day of their lives. I give them a glass of wine, entertain their friends while they struggle to get in and out of my fabulous creations.

My favourite dresses are the ones that make an ordinary woman look like those lacy toilet roll covers that you find in old ladies’ houses. A good day is when I can outfit an entire troupe of bridesmaids in peach or lilac, or any other colour that will cause them all to appear sickly.

I hate weddings.