Posted in Flash Fiction

Cluttered Space

“It’s all looking a bit of a mess sir.”

“I quite agree Peter. It looks ghastly. When I created the sun and the moon and the stars and…. What’s the name of that planet Peter?”

“Earth sir. It was one of your speedier creations.”

“That’s right, Earth. Well, when I created that place and its people I didn’t think they would end up littering space with their satellites and space stations. It’s all too much. Something needs to be done.”

“What did sir have in mind? Destroy the planet maybe? Start again with a race that is not so technically minded?”

“I am inclined to obliterate the place and start again. The trouble is I’d have to go to the other Gods if I wanted to start all over again. Such hard work getting these ideas through committee. No, we need a simpler solution.”

“What about getting rid of the clutter instead sir. I could pop out tonight and cut the strings tethering them to Earth. They would then simply drift away.”

“Excellent idea Peter! I don’t know what I’d do without you. Sounds like fun. I might even join you. Can you lend me a pair of scissors?”


A story for Sunday Photo Fiction.

Posted in Flash Fiction, Micro Fiction


Damn! Bloody thing’s broken again! Third time this year, what’s wrong with these people. I told them last time it needed updating but nobody took any notice. I must make a note to send a stern letter of complaint to the authorities when I get home. That’s assuming I ever get home.

This is the third time this year. What’s wrong with these people. I told them last time it needed updating but nobody took any notice. I must make a note to send a stern letter of complaint to the authorities when I get home. That’s assuming I ever get home.
I could try travelling across town and see if the portal outside the library is working but I doubt I’ve got time. That thing shuts at seven and it’s gone six already. What with this heavy holiday traffic I’d never make it.

So it looks as if I’m going to have to spend this holiday season in this god-forsaken world stuck in this ghastly human body. I must check my data base and see what grotesque food and excruciatingly boring entertainment awaits me.

I do hope my human host hasn’t made too many arrangements.


Posted in Flash Fiction

Tin Pot Planets and Jumped Up Leaders

“Our shuttle has landed sir but there’s  problem.”

“We don’t have time for problems Jenkins, we have a Universe to conquer. What’s the hold-up?”

“It would appear Earth’s leader is temporarily unavailable sir.”

“Unavailable! What is it with these tin pot planets and their jumped up rulers. If he’s not there get someone else to sign the papers.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that sir. It has to be the Earth’s leader or the document is invalid. Intergalactic Commission Order No. 134531 states we cannot invade, occupy or destroy any known planet unless a treaty of surrender has first been signed by the legitimate leader of that said planet.”

“Damn the Commission and their bureaucracy! Have we any idea when this person will be available?”

“Apparently his diary is free all day Wednesday sir.”

“Better make an appointment for first thing then. And as soon as the damned document is signed Jenkins, I want this grimy little planet obliterated.”

“Yes, sir. In the meantime can I suggest we use this down time to deal with Mars and Saturn. The paperwork has been cleared. We can easily destroy them both and be back in Earth’s orbit by late Tuesday.”


Posted in Flash Fiction

I’m From Royal Blood You Know

“You expect me to live here? I’m sorry but I have my reputation to think about.”

“Sorry Johnny, this is the best I could do. It’s better than a lot of the places I’ve looked at. At least this one’s still standing.”

“Sir Johnathon, if you don’t mind Peter.Remember, you’re my agent, not a long lost friend. I’m from royal blood, you know. Did I ever tell you about that descendant of mine, Sir Horace Fitzgerald? He fought alongside William the Conqueror.”

“Yes Johnny, sorry, Sir Johnathon, you’ve told me that story a number of times. Now, about this place, you in or not?”

“I suppose so. But only until you find something more up market. More me. By the way, what happened to the last occupant?”

“He got exorcised by some local vicar. Apparently he…”

“Spare me the details Peter, there’s a good fellow.”

“Don’t worry Sir Jonathan, you’re made of firmer stuff than that. Now, I’ve got a party coming in at midnight. Make a good job of frightening them and this could be a nice little earner. Maybe a couple of appearance with your bloody head under your arm. That always finishes off any sceptics”


A 199-word story for Sunday Photo Fiction.

Photo courtesy of Mike Vore.