Posts Tagged ‘Vincent Crampton’

Bombay Beach Trailer by perry on DeviantArt.com

Bombay Beach Trailer by perry on DeviantArt.com

The old couch had never felt so comfortable. Lazing for hours, Judge Judy on, sipping PBRs. The noon sun shone through the window. He hummed happily. The trailer hummed back, then whirred, then rumbled.

“The fuck!?”

He shot up, scattering empties.

The aluminum walls folded like origami

He grabbed a cold one and raced for the screen door.

The floor pitched. His knees gave. The carpet split.

A funnel opened in the slanting floor.

The couch slid downward. He leapt on it. The floor gave way.

“Well, shit.” He cracked his beer and chugged as the earth’s maw swallowed him.

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Twenty years of suckling drove Mama to abandon Baby Bron. He crawled from giant crib, club-sized rattle in hand, diaper reeking. He bludgeoned and ate the cat. Crawled into the street, fed on street dogs.

Urchins beat him until he snatched one. Crying “Mama,” he hugged the whelp with thick limbs, the bones cracking.

Slumdogs wailed, “Giant killer baby!”

Soldiers came with spears, poked at Baby Bron. He sobbed and toddled toward them, swinging his massive rattle. Spears and skulls shattered. One guard backed to the wall.

“Mama,” whimpered Baby Bron.

“Mama,” cried the guard, disappearing in a chunky embrace.

Supermarket Sunset by FramedByNature on DeviantArt.com

“Get in,” said Jeff, rocking the shopping cart.

Quentin gulped. “That’s steep.”

Downhill, Martin shouted, “Yo, chicken shit!” He removed his shirt, waggling it matador-style.

Quentin growled, “Douchebag.”

“C’mon pussy!” called Martin.

Huffing, Quentin climbed in the cart.

Jeff handed him two screwdrivers. “Your horns.” Then he kicked the cart.

Quentin lurched. The cart careered downhill.

Martin swept his cape.

The cart juddered. Screaming, Quentin clenched the screwdrivers.

The cart hit a pothole. Quentin flew.

Martin’s cackles stopped with an “Oof!”

Quentin rolled off Martin, who gurgled, a screwdriver piercing his heart.

Quentin whispered, “Don’t die.”

Obliviously, Jeff shouted, “Olé!”

 

 

Paizo monster – Mosquito Monster by DevBurmak on DevinatArt.com

The government’s solution to the mosquito pandemic buzzed in Dr. Meyer’s lab.

“Genetic manipulations, controlled releases, the parasites will soon be extinct,” said General Shaw, leading an assembly into the lab. “Right, doctor?”

Through his hazmat suit, Dr. Meyer said, “This plague will soon end.”

“When shall we release them?”

“Now.” Meyer pressed a remote. Dark swarms flew from trap doors. Huge, aggressive, bloodthirsty, they attacked the visitors. “You ask me to orchestrate their genocide?” shouted Meyer amidst screams. “This species predates the dinosaurs. The hubris!”

He stepped over desiccated corpses, opened a window, releasing the swarm. “Eliminate the parasites!”

Tanuki by jokneeappleseed on DeviantArt.com

The bandit Ishikawa wanders to a steep cliff, a prosperous village the other side. He steps onto a rope bridge hovering above the misty abyss.

Halfway across, Tanuki appears, scratching his big tummy and sipping sake.

Ishikawa draws a dagger.

“The village has nothing worth stealing,” says Tanuki, “except this bridge.” He tips his straw hat to the ropes. “They wove this bridge from gold fibers.”

“Trickster!” shouts Ishikawa. “That can’t be.”

Tanuki belches. “See for yourself.”

Ishikawa glances down. The ropes glisten gold.

“The bridge is yours,” says Tanuki.

Leering, Ishikawa’s dagger hacks at the rope, his bandit fortune.

A twang. The rope snaps. The bridge tips, hurling Ishikawa into the abyss.

Tanuki yawns. “Gotta fix the bridge again.”

 

Note: The Despot realizes this story has 120 words, not 100 words. The Despot makes the rules in this realm. The Despot will allow this small infraction, but only this once, for the sake of this story alone.

Monk by PointLineArea on DeviantArt.com

“I am bigger,” laughed Takamasa.
“True, but answer,” Masasada slashed, nicking Takamasa’s forearm, “how does one bring down Fuji-san?”
Takamasa winced and squinted as he considered the question. He thrust his sword forward, but it was knocked aside by Masasada’s thinner blade.
Masasada struck and drew blood. Before Takamasa could react, Masasada opened up another slit on Takamasa’s arm.
Masasada smiled. “One chop at a time. You see?” He slashed again and opened Takamasa’s shoulder. Blood sprayed and Takamasa dropped to his knees.
“Patience is a virtue,” whispered Takamasa, respectfully.
Masasada thrust down and inward. “Patience is a weapon.”

Fishing Swiftly by SpooningFairy on DeviantArt.com

Pondside, Mitsuo gripped his bamboo pole. Not a bite.

A soft tread from behind. Ronin bandit!

“Nothing here to steal,” said Mitsuo, not turning. “Haven’t even caught dinner.”

The footsteps neared. Mitsuo sighed. “Please. You’ll disturb the fish.”

The rasp of steel on scabbard.

Mitsuo rolled, a blade clipping his earlobe. Mitsuo spun the fishing pole, parrying another slash. The pole snapped. Mitsuo jabbed upward with the bamboo. The bandit grabbed his throat, croaking. Blood gushed from his windpipe. He splashed backward into the river.

Mitsuo watched bloody ripples rock the reeds. At this rate he’d never catch a fish.

Red Mantis Leader by nJoo on DeviantArt.com

Osculating an octogriff’s pedipalps. Bucket list, check!

However, its butyraceous secretions mimicked pheromones of its prime predator, a hermaphroditic mantoid. After ingesting the octogriff (and my chelipeds), the mantoid mounted me. Its mandibles nibbled my neck, stimulating my coiled embolus, which I thrust in its bursa. We copulated violently until my apical sclerite broke off – ensuring I’d be its sole mate!

It spun me, its claspers roughly gripping my uropods, and penetrated my cloaca with spined hemipenes, depositing millions of fertilized eggs in my abdomen.

Now parasitoid embryos gnaw my swollen insides for breakfast.

Practice safe mating. Cloak your embolus.

Collision Course by madfox43 on DeviantArt.com

I sigh.
Francine pops out of a waste disposal unit with a freaky alien mask.
I choke.
“Did I?” she asks.
“No,” I say.
Francine tells me a joke, a good one. I feel thirsty.
“What’s with you, Jack?”
“I must actually be dying of boredom.”
She smirks. “So even dying’s boring?”
“It might be the only exciting thing left.”
“I’ll cheer you up!”
Rolling my eyes, “Please, don’t try.”
She smiles. “Let’s—”
Alarms!
Our hands touch.
Boom! The sound of roaring metal!
I watch another ship tear into ours. It’s about to obliterate my face!
The hull looks dull.

Her Fall by moroka323 on DeviantArt.com

From behind, I cut her a wide, red smile – so angry was I that she had dared call me rogue. She is the daughter of my Lord’s enemy. Her blood now paints my forearm and leg. She exhales her last through folds of flesh parted by my blade. Blood-flecked spittle sprays, and the sound echoes in my mind. I am dead once word of my failure reaches the King. He’ll have my head boiled and spiked outside his gate, a warning to others about self control. There’s no place to hide. With one swift slash, two lives have ended.