That Bloody Sun

It was sunny again, bloody sun. Never knew when to bugger off, did it? There we'd be, enjoying a peaceful cloudy day when all of a sudden there it'd appear, shining in the sky and burning us into crisps. What an attention seeking ponce, eh? Just expecting us to drop whatever we're doing and applaud its presence as if Audrey Hepburn had entered our front room or something.
And what does it do? Does it say hello with a cheery wave? Does it make some polite conversation? No! It just stays there in the bloody sky all day long, not working, I might add. Why don't you just go home? You're not wanted here!

CATs

My cat is bigger than normal cats and I think she knows it. Every evening I see her on the streets, being alienated by her feline counterparts for her strange size. Living with her isn't bad, considering the circumstances. You certainly get used to it after a while and then you hardly notice that she's five times larger than she should be.
Her diet consists of what you would expect a cat to eat; fish, owls, shepherds, nothing out of the ordinary. But she'll drink nothing but wine.
Oh wait a minute that's not a cat, it's my girlfriend.

Trees and Stuff

The tree had existed forever, which rose a few questions. The man currently asking them was Lance Hoffer, a computer scientist from Detroit in space.
“So how is this possible?” he asked the tree.
“Look, shut up, I've told you and everyone else the answer to that a million times over” spoke the tree in an exasperated voice, ruffling in annoyance..
“No, you said that instead of actually answering the question” Lance corrected.
“I'll tell you what, I'll explain to you how this is at all possible when you tell me the true reason for your questions”
Lance sighed, rolling his eyes.

Hey, you know what?

If it's one thing I've found about making things habits it's that to take any given thing and make it into a habit it has to be somethhing that can be done easily. Blogging giant blocks of fiction isn't easy, especially when you get no views for your efforts.

So here's the plan. From now on I will post on this blog. However it will now be used to post microfiction. And not just any microfiction, microfiction of around 100 words which I like to call micromicrofiction (although the name might be a little generous). This is easy, doable and if someone actually sees it then awesomesauce.

This one's called Humble and Fetching

In a lost clearing in the Thousand-acre Wood, a humble bumble bee said down to drink its tea. It was hard to believe that no-one was as humble as the humble bumble bee. But it was more believable to think that the humble bumble bee's mother would be marginally more humble. But only slightly more humble than the humble bumble bee sitting down to drink its tea. It was eaten by a very fetching cat in a very fetching hat.
“Mrawr” said the cat.
“Roar” said the hat. And that was that. None were quite as fetching as the very fetching cat in the very fetching hat.

The Logic Factory

I entered this for some online competition. I'm not getting my hopes up or anything.


Long before the creation of common sense and the internet it was a lot harder to come across practical solutions. Leading the way in the pioneering field of sense-making was an aspiring logic enthusiast (his real aspirations were never fully revealed) and Physics graduate of the Great College in the Sky; Harry Soundford.
Harry led a double life, by day he had been a modest student in the sky, surviving on super-noodles and cheap lager. But by night he made his way down to the ground and toured the nearby town's club scene as the most risqué male escort ever to walk on both air and ground respectively. By which I mean he worked the night shift at the local supermarket.

But that was all put behind him when he took up the position of Senior Logic and Knowledge Research and Discovery Professor at his own government funded (this term was but a technicality, but the rumours that he had burgled all the houses of the governors were never proven) Institute of Absolute Logic.
Within days the institute had exponentially increased humanity's capacity for practical and easily applicable knowledge of solutions to daily problems. Problems such as why boiling water was so hot and what exactly was so wrong with treason. However it was only upon the visit of the Inspector of Institute Credibility that quite possibly the greatest discovery was made.

Inspector Ian Irk stepped across the threshold and landed upon a red doormat.
“I say, Professor” he addressed Soundford with an entirely confused tone “What is this I am standing upon presently?”
“That, Mr. Irk, is a doormat” he answered with a face which could only be more smug if it were a ferret. He waited for the inevitable question which would allow him to stroke his ego to such an extent that its fur would become stuck down.
“What does it do?” there it was. There was the question. Following it was a warm and fuzzy feeling Harry hadn't felt since he had tipped a waiter with a five-pence piece. Harry was easily pleased. He was also a cheapskate.
“It captures the dirt from the soles of your shoes so that it doesn't dirty the floor” he responded, not trying in the slightest to hide his joy as Ian's mouth gaped in awe.

After a laborious and slightly tedious walk around the reception hall, Harry led his visitor down to the research labs. They walked through pristine white corridors, passing panoramic viewing windows showing the researchers in white coats going about their research.

“Here we are experimenting with urine” Harry gestured to a white-coat-clad man considering a number of beakers and containers.
“What exactly is he doing?” asked Ian asked, brushing greying eyebrows out of his eyes.
“He is finding which container would be optimum for storing the urine, so that he can research more efficiently”
“Ah, I see” his last word trailed off dreamily as he fondled his grey beard. Behind the researcher was a blackboard completely littered with notes and equations referring to various research and throwaway ideas. Harry squinted to view it more clearly before pushing the button next to the window, activating the intercom.

“Urine is yellow, Barry” the professor's voice echoed through the room, causing the researcher to dart a look upward and then to the board. He went to it, taking some chalk from his pocket. An equation on the corner of the board read 'Urine = Green'. Barry drew a diagonal line through the equals sign and returned to work.

“Well, Professor, I am very impressed with what I have seen today. I think I can safely say that this institute has proved beyond doubt its own credibility and there is no possibility of its forced closure” Ian smiled.
Later that week, the institute was handed its order of forced closure, destroying all of the world's logic and creating the positively insane world we live in presently. In my opinion, if the birds had just flown east for the winter instead of south, I don't think any of this would have worked out quite so badly. But if you have any ideas for practical systems of logic, Blue Peter would like to hear from you.

Zed in Paradise 6

Screens rose up from the ground, surrounding the arena and letting the audience see what was happening in their conflict. First there was black. Then there was black with two figures standing on nothing.

“So here we are, Earthican, what do you intend to do now?” Vengeance folded his arms.
“I intend to win this game for all the humans of the Earth. And to not pay for a meal I received fair and square”
“Heh, I see, but know this-”
“Hold on, did you actually just say 'heh'?”
“Yeah, I-”
“That doesn't happen, stop it”

“Right” Johnson made sure he was finished by pausing “well whatever the case, whether in the real world or here, I'll still beat you to a mushy, bloody pulp” he uncrossed his arms, curled his hands into fists and then grew to ten times his own size “This place works by using our mental power to fight” he slammed down with his massive fist, completely missing Zed by several miles, or so it looked, anyway.

“Not really” said Zed, appearing in front of Johnson's face “it uses our imaginations” he split into millions of versions of himself “Which is very bad for you” they said.

“Never shall I perish” said The Vindicator, gargling on his own blood “Oh deary me” he fell downwards into the black void they currently inhabited. A version of Zed stepped out of the corpse's giant mouth as it descended.

“Please nobody ask me how I got here” the version requested.
“Never!” shouted one, transforming into an octopus and garotting him with three tentacles.
“I can see this turning very bad, indeed” another Zed nodded to himself.
“Me too” said a version who had become a woman “because I am a woman”

In the outside realm of Gameworld, the audience stood in shock, awe and a range of other impressive exasperated emotions in response to the horrific and oh-so confusing images they had witnessed on the screens. But by far, the most disgusted was the emperor himself, who had taken time away from his meaninglessly important schedule to watch a completely pointless fight for no real reason. It was his presence that drove the bullet of hatred into the skulls of his people. It wasn't good.

“Things weren't like that in my day” said he, wrapping his long beard around his hand.
“With all due respect, sir” said a royal guard to the emperor's right, before being shot in the face.
“Sir?” asked another “I'd like to challenge you to Dice”
“That's better” said the emperor, remembering the time he himself had instated the game. It had been a sunny day, just like any other, since the walls of his royal chambers had been painted with a permanently smiling and yet somehow terrifying sunshine.

“Prince?” asked the maid who had just entered the room.
“I believe you need to win a game before you make a point, my faithful woman of the cloth” said the prince, not looking up from his annoyingly messy colouring.

“I'm not sure you quite know what that means, but I challenge you to a race, the finish line is the corpse in the attic” and with that they were off, their feet clashing the floor with a passion inflamed by the wordplay involved between the words 'sole' and 'soul'. And before you could say 'why is there a corpse in the attic?' the maid won the race. The Prince panted with stolen breath and rested his hands upon his knees in a bent-over type fashion.

“You win” he conceded “But only because of your advantageous height” he straightened his posture to one fit for a prince “Now lay down your point, good woman”
“I needed to tell you” she paused for some reason, the reason for which the Prince would find out in the next sentence “that your father is dead” wait, no, that doesn't explain the pause.
“I see” he looked on with a face which looked like it could possibly be made of stone. Or not, whatever “So why did you pause?” okay, here we go. Then she explained to him why she had paused.

“We hung his corpse up here” she motioned to the corpse they were standing in front of. “just in case you wanted to say any last words to him”
“Of course” he looked at the corpse and then back to the maid “But I cannot forgive your reason for the pause” he curled his fists. I mean he curled his hands into fists. He had fists, okay?

“But it was perfectly reasonable” she jumped backwards in shock.
“Almost” The Prince rubbed his chin thoughtfully “But what isn't acceptable is the fact that you've made four points without winning a game. Please execute yourself after I've left” and with that he walked back down to his bedroom.

“Balls” the maid cursed to herself, travelling down to the kitchen where she ate a piece of toast covered in salt, thus closing all the pores in her body and in turn choking her inside out. Or that was what the Prince had been told, anyway.
“Yes, much better in my day” The emperor mumbled. The surrounding king's men shuffled awkwardly.

The Issue

Now you get to view an essay in the style of a lecture. Or something, I don't know.

This issue has been around for too long. In 1996 I went to dinner with a certain politician who would later on turn out to be dead. After a series of conversational exchange with the waitress and an awkward moment as she adjusted her blouse, noticing that we had both took a peak at her breasts, I asked him.
“My friend” I said with curiosity “How can you explain this issue” and the words he said would stick with me to this very day.
“Good chum” he replied with a confident knowledgeable stride “If I knew that, I'd be a millionaire”
And that really summed up the issue well. The solution was and is, to this day, unknown. And how could anyone know of it? The issue itself is so obscure and little known that nobody has been able to ponder it long enough. But that is hardly an excuse, of course, we just haven't met anyone who has. And why? Because the funding my research institute (Think inc.) and that of any other establishment, government-owned or otherwise, has not been substantial enough to even begin to think about doing so.
This is a real problem and one which only perpetuates the issue in question. Since the economic downturn in recent years, all research laboratories have been hit hard, both in the wallet and workforce. This all adds up to one swift kick in the genitalia of this limb of the economy.
After my politician friend had finished his third beer, he turned to me, his eyes dancing in all directions as if he were about to vomit. But he did not. Right away, anyway. He told me “Look, I know you do a great job, I've seen you work, you're like a gazelle being ridden by an obese child from southern England. But the point I'm getting at isn't that the government is terrible. It's that everyone who ever existed is terrible” As I sat with a piece of steak suspended a few inches from my mouth, my mind was blown. Then he vomited everywhere. And I mean everywhere, which only impressed me further.
But I realised he was right. The blame for this issue cannot be placed so easily because there is no direct culprit. People, in general, are evil. This kept me awake for days on end. Soon I began foraging for food in my own garden, because it seemed to me to be easier than finding a shop. And as I was about to eat a squashed snail I realised that I needed to research the issue.
The library was less than helpful. The records of evil activity in mankind only went back around two years and they charged me for the privilege of even looking at those. It was then that I realised I had become a victim of evil behaviour. The fact that I had been charged by someone who didn't even work there was just a coincidence.
The earliest entry in the records was dated January 5th 1994 and explained that upon this day the library had chosen to keep a record of evil actions. There were no more entries for that year.
“Bullshit” said I, loud enough to be shushed. But then it hit me, after I got up I rubbed the lump on my head, kicked the child away and had a thought. The reason for the lack of recording of evil could be for one of three reasons. One: nothing evil happened that year. Two: the owners of the library or someone else had removed the records that were there. Or Three: the library staff simply hadn't registered any act as evil. I felt that the third was most likely.
Outside the library was a sandpit in which the children made poor quality castles and such. I lifted out the children, picked up a stick and drew a series of diagrams. After a few minutes of doodling a parent approached my, inquiring as to why I had removed her child from the pit, thereby causing it to cry.
“Madame” I addressed her, not looking up from my work “I am conducting research. It is my job, you know. Not all of us can make money from the pubic tax” at this point she gave up and took her child home. Without any more interruptions from the people around me who had either contracted a mental illness, had a career in economics or had had a sufficient amount of sleep, contrary to myself, I was able to make a significant amount of progress. So much so that I had drawn a summoning circle, causing Satan to appear to me. It was Halle Berry.
“Keep searching” she commanded, waking me from my slumber. Yes, most of the outing had been a dream, but it had still inspired me to continue my research. And I didn't want to anger Miss. Berry, of course, I had seen what she did to those who disobeyed her. I was there the night she brought judgement upon The Men in Black. It was not pretty.
Keen though I was to continue the search, I had met a dead end. With no-one and nowhere else to turn to, I visited the emperor of Japan.
“Mr. Emperor” I implored of him after explaining my predicament to him “Please impart your wisdom upon me” a few minutes past before he answered me. It was a relief when he finally did, I had thought he was dead.
“Kawaii desu” he had said, blowing my mind once more. Then he vomited, causing a fire to break out. The roaring of the ceiling collapsing blocked out the sound of the screams which ensued, though the approving laughter of Halle Berry was thumping through my ears like a heartbeat.
I continued to wonder why such extraordinary yet oh-so-terrible things continued to happen to me. I put it down to misfortune. And the opium. But drug-fuelled experience or not, I had at least found a clear definition of what I was looking for; the beginning of evil. It was because of this that I went to America.
America, as I soon found, was entirely dissimilar to the country that had been portrayed in the media and Back to the Future. For one thing, there was no time-travel yet. The source of the world's research funding and they hadn't been able to create a true flux capacitor yet? I was outraged. So outraged that I decided to stay awake for five days straight. This brought me to a 'coffee house' in the backstreet of some city.
I was downtrodden. It was now three months since my politician friend had told me what I needed to hear and I was no closer to the answer of the issue than anyone was. Since I only had a week to live according to the newspaper I was reading, I knew I had to act fast. Even more so, I mean.
In the coffee house was the weekly meeting of the local blood cult, The Seven Red Knives, who told me I was in the wrong place. They changed their tone as I showed them the revolvers I had installed into my fingers. They showed me the origin of their cult, an ancient scroll stuck to the ceiling of a 'basement' in a house in Detroit. As I removed it and wiped its dust away, it revealed a number. That number was 2055.
That's right, I had found the origin of evil. It was the future. At some point in less than a century from the day I found the scroll, evil would be created in order to be sent back in time to the beginning of Earth so that it could be possessed by humans when they came to be.
A tear was brought to my eye, I would be and am now able to die in peace. My politician friend had been right, there was no solution to the issue because it wouldn't be brought about until the introduction of evil in the future.
Unfortunately the scroll that proves this, as well as the cult it belonged to have now been eradicated from existence, not that it matter of course because the scroll will be created a little while after the creation of evil.
As for me, I died. But thanks to my own bond connecting me to both the scroll and Halle Berry, I was brought back to life and sent back in time with evil. It was myself who was my politician friend. I have served my use, I think it is safe to say.
So, in conclusion. The issue? There is no solution. Yet. Just wait a while. And give me some more research funding, damn it!