Hey, good to see you’re back and alive! Have been missing you, mate! How’s life at your end?
And well, this is possible. Haven’t seen her around for an eternity.
Hey, good to see you’re back and alive! Have been missing you, mate! How’s life at your end?
Been working on getting my stuff paper published. Two down…three to go. Haven’t been writing any short stories. Although I did compile a bunch of my shorts into an actual book that can be purchased on Amazon. Just search my real name. I don’t advertise so I’m not breaking any records in the sells department. But I’m able to sell author copies directly to people…which turned out to be a very satisfying experience. Far beyond what I thought it could be. The tactile feel of your own works in your very own fingers can’t be topped. The enjoyment of giving a young reader their first autographed book is something that is well worth the effort to do. And for me to find enjoyment in life again was important. I had gone to a fairly dark place.
Wow, glad the dark lord let you wriggle out of his clutch once more. I hope you gave him serious shit.
And you’re right, it’s a fluffy feeling to hold ones own work printed on paper. Advertising, to the contrary, sucks. Wish you all the best - and hope to see you around!
Oh…I’m around. Just not active. But I do get my ghost on now and again
@MadMikeMarsbergen PM’d you the Satanic Punk article on Wattpad Can you please take a look, Mike? Thanks
Well, welcome to your ghost, then👻
Another article on punk music? Looks good, thanks again.
(my ghost says “hi”)
Last ride of the mothership
Eyeexeyeeye wiped blood and gore from his face slowly with a hand that trembled against his will to make it stop. He hissed in pain as he staggered weakly to his feet in confusion. He shook his head slowly, as a distant explosion sent yet another shockwave rattling throughout the superstructure of the ship.
Once so mighty and proud the mothership called was now in utter ruin. She was going down, and not in a good way. And from the looks of things she was taking all hands with her.
The ship was caught in a death spiral above an oblivion from which there was no escape.
The greatest piece of hardware to ever troll the sci-fi multiverse was now trapped in a decaying orbit above an unnamed dark star. A dark star that was currently plunging toward the whirling chaotic nightmarish insanity that was the twin singlelaries of the spatial anomaly known as Sagmores star.
Sagmores star was in fact two medium sized black holes orbiting each other in an insanely tight orbit. One so tight that the event horizons of both singularities were in constant contact. It was a hell from which even a dream could not escape.
Vast fields of the sundered debris that composed the vast accretion disk surrounded the once mighty vessel in a deadly cloud. The rocks, metal and ice churned and chewed at the once impervious hull non-stop. Pebbles, rocks and chunks the size of fists rattled, pounded and clanged against the ship in a continuous rain as multi-ton asteroids ground slowly along her sides. Lightning crawled randomly across any uninsulated surfaces like deadly evil spiders of pain and agony.
AngusErinvain himself, the once immortal A.I. captain of the Oorah had long since gone insane. The ships malfuntioning automated systems had already killed most of the crew. Cascade failures had long since destabilized the various on-board artificial intelligences, most of them to the point that they had become convinced that the crew members were mortal enemies.
A tragedy without meaning. Millions of lives, gone in an instant. Their bodies blown out into the slipstream of the mothership while traveling at high warp between realms of the multiverse. Those few crewmembers that remained alive had battled AngusEcrivain for months as the insane mind of the once valiant captain hurled the ship through thw void between realms at speeds well beyond the safe limits of sanity.
Eyeexeyeeye staggered across the hall to a com-unit affixed to a wall. He slammed his fist into the wall weakly in bitter frustration. It was one of those piece of shit steampunk versions. He didn’t have the necessary coal oil to even start the boiler fire, much less the lump of coal to keep it going. He slumped painfully against a buckled bulkhead in frustration for a long moment trying to collect his ragged thoughts about himself.
He was far aft, clear down near tertiary auxiliary power plant on level nineteen hundred. The nautical theme was evident in the fixtures and furnishings. Even the walls had a decided feel of an ocean going cruise liner.
He had successfully restarted the boiler fire as ordered. Only to be blasted thirty feet down a companionway when the return of power and fire had ignited a pocket of volatile gas and coal dust.
That order had been given to him what seemed like several lifetimes ago.
The boiler plate armor of the steam plant and generator core housing had protected him from getting killed outright by the blast. But he had been rendered unconscious for an unknown amount of time.
He spit blood on the deck to clear his throat. He felt his head with his hand. It had a bandage wrapped around it. Someone must have found him and helped him.
“Anyone there? Hello! Can anyone hear me?” All that answered him was a hollow echo from an empty hallway to his right. That told him that the bulkheads were still holding air in that direction. The force fields used for emergencies tended to deaden sound. So he staggered down the corridor lined with a confusing array of pipes.
The nautical steampunk theme deepened as he went along into something darker, a definite sci-fi horror subtext that had the pipes pulsing like blood veins. The air vents blew smoke rhythmically like the breath of a living being. The floor was completely obscured by fog that seemingly crawled along the lower surfaces somewhat like something alive with an intelligence all of its own.
It was alive, and in most realms of the genera verse it was very intelligent. But not here. Usually the pervasive fog acted as a part of the ship’s automated repair system. It generally helped lost crew members find their way around the nearly infinitely vast interior realms of spaces, solids, liquids and fires of the ship called Ooorah. Without it being functional the ship had quickly fallen into disrepair as the thoughts of its rampantly insane artificial intelligence had raged within the most powerful weapon of mass destruction that would ever be conceived by any mad man.
Eyeexeyeeye had witnessed the death of his own creator. The incident had shaken the being to the core of its being.
It had shaken him to the core of his very soul. The man who had given him that soul, Rollie, had sacrificed himself. The mortal man who had given thought to his very existence had given his own life to ensure that his favorite creation lived beyond his own existence.
Never had eyeexeyeeye ever thought that a real being could care for something he had dreamed into being so much. He had been stunned beyond words. Rollie himself had created the technology that currently maintained eyeexeyeeye’s existence. The device was a stand-alone unit buried within the ship. It had its own power supply. It ensured that eyeexeyeeye could stand witness to the end of the mothership. The whole vessel would be destroyed before that generator’s power source would fail.
The sticky red blood of his maker still covered him. The salty copper tang of its favor still soiled his dry lips. He had witnessed the death personally. The scene was burned into his memory. It replayed it self repeatedly in his mind. The body, lying there. His fervent denials to the obvious. The sounds of the screaming that were his own ringing in his ears. His hands clutching the limp bones of the hands that had created so many universes beyond its own.
The gray matter had exited the sacred cranial shrine that had birthed him following the bullet in a geyser of gore that vomited the liquefied remains of his maker’s brain across his face, neck and chest.
Eyeexeyeeye had had to spit chunks of Rollie’s skull on to the deck.
And that was when he had expected himself to cease to be. The mind that had begotten his essence was forever gone. Utterly destroyed. Rollie was gone. But he had not disappeared. He had not faded.
He was still here.
It was not his maker that had made it so. Rollie himself had not invented what they called the Aether Stabilization Generator. A device that artificially supported the half-life existence of the various pseudonyms of the Ooorah authors as independent living entities within the mothership. It had been the brain child of those three mother fucking crazy ass orangutans.
Eyeexeyeeye, nor anyone else for that matter, had never considered the possibility that it would enable him to live beyond his deity’s death. His own god, like so many others, was never immortal.
Both he and his creator had known this as a fact of their limited existence. Eyeexeyeeye had thought this was so for everyone.
But deep within their souls The Orangutans had believed in the possibility of an unlimited existence. The creatures had dedicated the last few months of their existence to making it possible.
All three were almost completely identical despite their different origins.
The firstmost was a creation of Sir Terry Pratchett. It had appeared spontaneously on-board during one of the motherships journeys. It’s appearance was at about the same time as it’s original creators death back of earth. When questioned about how it could exist without its maker the ‘librarian’ had simple shrugged its shoulders and said, ‘I think, therefore I am.’
The second was a creation of an author named Gavin Wilson. His online avatar as a matter of fact. It appeared on-board after Gavin published one of his stories within the hallowed pages of the mighty T.K. e-zine. It was identical to the first because gav had used the picture from one of Terry Pratchett’s books for an Avatar.
And then Rollie had made a character in one of his books as an homage to the online persona he knew of as ‘TheOrangutan’, but he had went too far. Since he was also a Terry Pratchett fan the man had went all out, he had held nothing back.
That had resulted in the third Orangutan appearing on-board.
And that was where the whole simian situation had gotten weirder sounding than a squirt of turbine sprite shit flying sideways through an engine room at warp speed as the vessel plowed through the insides of a virgin wormhole.
The third orangutan was ‘usually’ a creature of the exact same color, shape and approximate size as the other two. Usually its was almost indistinguishable from the others unless you was using a fairly sophisticated scanner. Most notably the other two were individuals. The third, most decidedly, was not.
The third ‘creature’ was an ape in name and appearances only. Within that single ‘orangutan’ lived over a quarter million primitive individual creatures that were all involved in an ongoing conspiracy conducted by mother nature herself in order to emulate the creativity of so called ’higher intelligence’ beings. It was a creature effectively ruled by an internal committee of nearly three hundred thousand individual minds. Those minds represented the forty-two different species that comprised the internal structure of the ape. Those creatures were evidently evolved on two starkly different planets with radically different biospheres.
To say that the being was a bit conflicted would be like saying that the Pacific ocean was a bit moist. To suggest the ‘creature’ had a few mood swings was like saying it had a bit of fur on its body.
To be continued
Wow, you’re on a roll there. Don’t stop, write it off your soul. I need to know what happens to the ship…
This is so exciting. Can’t wait to read more
(wait you must for the ending I shall not reveal til issue one hundred does appear. A taste of perhaps a different flavor to float your boat til then I hope.)
Ode to the Ballad of the song that is Ooorah
A story i write
A story i wrote
A story dreamed of with fervent hope
A story with fights love and glee
A story of wonder, fear and espree
A story beyond a mortals sight
A story of unimaginable might
A story to leave one breathless and feeling alone
A story to cuddle with at home
A story to leave you weeping with sadness and joy
A story that involves peoples not girl or boy
A story from beyond the realm of human sight
A story of heroes who fought and died with the light
A story that rings true despite its sci fi origins
A story that leaves you thinking thoughts not quite human
A story of desire, longing and lust for belonging
A story of sin beyond our understanding
A story of evils from near and far
A story that puts you under the microscope in a jar
A story that looks like what it is not
A story that is published on the Ooorah spot
“You have a great gift for rhyme.”
I’m just a dabbler in the art of slinging words too a fro. The fact they rhyme is just happenstance you know. I never learned the proper technically approved method for prose. And when I write poetry, I just follow my nose.
Best way to go, mate…
Any other submissions coming in for Satanic SF?
(another old classic from an age long past, when Wattpad was fun, and this place was the best)
@Ooorah is a ship from a planet called Ooorah in the Ooorah galaxy, a lesser part of the greater Ooorah multiverse duper cluster
One bright day in the middle of the night the hearts of three straining horses pounded with all their might. Thumping hard with adrenaline fueled fury in fearful flight they fled.
Angus was riding shotgun on a horse drawn stagecoach.
His lip was curled, his eyes were wide, his shirt was ripped, his leg was fried, he held a custom made double barrel pump action twenty gauge ‘Mossberg’ that had already taken a deadly toll on the numerous members of the posse of raiders that pursued behind them. His wide eyes were locked on something behind him in the far distance, someone pursued relentlessly. His face was covered with a look of both astonishment and recognition as he saw the determined faces of the people that led the deadly horde.
Beside Angus driving the team of horses like he was possessed by demons was MadMike, he held the reins in his teeth while he shot blindly over his left shoulder one handed with a twenty two caliber automatic rifle clutched in his white knuckled fist. Ruthlessly flogging the horses with his other hand, striking them repeatedly with a leather buggy whip across their sweaty asses in fear induced panic as the replica of a vintage Wells Fargo stagecoach thundered down the narrow rock strewn river bed with a six hundred pound stallion dragging dead in its harness.
Eve was clinging to the pole between the surviving horses attempting to cut the leather traces holding the corpse of the dead stallion.
Raul knelt weakly on the top of the stagecoach amongst the riddled remains of Eve’s vintage samsonite luggage set. Raul’s face was pale, his lips were blue, he was coughing weakly, his shirt was covered in blood flecked with bubbles of foam. His glasses were long gone, lost many miles ago, his aim had still been unerringly deadly, his right hand was still wrapped around his last pistol. The seemingly endless supply of ammunition he had produced from his nearly bottomless pockets was finally exhausted. The bent and twisted remains of the recently broken fingers on his left hand struggled to poke his last four bullets into the smoking hot cylinder of the big bore revolver he held.
Jinnis’s body hung upside down near him, belt snagged on a cargo cleat on the right hand side of the coach. Dozens of bloody holes marked the many wounds it had taken to stop him. His body jerked and swayed as the coach rocked and tilted. He had died a hero’s death, protecting his friends to his very last breath.
krazy Diana was severely wounded, gut shot through the liver, lying on the carnage of the slick floor, trying to light the wet fuse on her last stick of dynamite with a smoldering stub of Angus’s cigarette.
Angela was leaning precariously out the right rear window screaming at the pursuers in wordless rage. Part of the top of her skull was missing, jagged bone and brain tissue hung over her left ear with a flap of skin as the wind pushed the leaking blood and cerebral fluid across the lower half of her face turning it into a horrible caricature of a clown’s painted features covered with an expression of profound joy mixed and twisted with insane rage that had distorted her features completely beyond recognition.
The body of @H-A-Spade had disappeared beneath the hoofs of the horses behind them a few moments before. Inside the stagecoach @Wuckster was bleeding out on the floor next to @faithfulnarrator, who’s back was arched into a final life ending seizure caused by severe brain damage.
An empty Thompson sub-machine gun slid to the floor next to him. Barrel smoking, fifty round drum clip expended, @SarahWeaver6 slumped in a rear seat facing forward, her eyes were glazed, drowning in her own fluids, lungs flooding, her own life’s blood leaking from her clenched lips. A soft sad smile gracing her face one final time.
The head of @ChrisLordOfTheSea rested on her lap, his last whimpers of pain were now forever silent. He had screamed loudest, no one thought less of him, half his body was gone. His face an unrecognizable horror of broken and smashed features.
The white horse @SalmanHannan and @CarolinaC had been riding double was visible in the far distance, staggering into the sunset with an empty saddle, a splash of crimson covered it’s bullet riddled flank. The horse stumbled and fell, dying from its many wounds.
The bodies of @Mystic_Scribe and @WeLovelyBurns had been missing since they had been gunned down in the initial surprize attack. They had both died with empty clips, back to back, knife, tooth, claw and dagger against dark hearted bastards with guns shooting bullets.
A day before @painebook had been thrown out of an airplane over the Belgian Congo with an umbrella in their hand and a copy of the New Yorker tucked under one arm. Ambushed by the promise of a lucrative publishing deal for their TK anthology book.
@5thBeastieBoy and @JosephArmstead had been missing and presumed dead for two days before that attack, assassinated by the infamous pink ninja gang the same day as the VW hippy bus carrying @Holly_Gonzalez and @thelastpitchbender onboard was utterly destroyed outside of the local Toys-R-Us outlet in an intense onslaught by speedo wearing terrorists in hopped up mini coopers wielding high velocity paintball guns loaded with orbit flight industries rubber balls frozen with dry ice to avoid ballistics problems.
@ChristopherArmstron8 and @jespah had each given a life of their own to send a warning to the rest of the group. A warning that had come too late to save @Reverentia who was ambushed by a hitman called ‘The Shrub’ while in a pub called Bab’s looking for a bloke called Bub.
@AE_KIrk and @MoonLoop had been fleeing to the Inn of the last home to find Solace on a runaway diesel train when the metal bridge they had been crossing had mysteriously burst into flames and collapsed in the same manner as building seven on nine eleven.
@JessArwen and @JeremyMenefee had gone down mysteriously in a Deavalon Bearcat over Bermuda a few days before with @SimoneFar as pilot of the airplane.
Initially @JeffreyVonHauger had been assumed to be dead after several vitally important parts of his body had recently shown up in a box of sex toys the @Ooorah account had ordered as party favorites to celebrate the next release of the Tevun Krus E-zine. It was later revealed as a ruse to distract the valiant Crew of the Mothership from the fact that they had been betrayed.
AngusErinvain, his face both wonderstruck and horrified, stared into the distance behind them. There, closing fast, riding in the back of some ridiculous hopped up multi engined piece of crap Mad Max mobile was the whole fucking Smith and Jones crew. Dressed like a bunch of retarded factory seconds from the fury road movie, they looked like they had just left a comic con cosplay contest. The massive black multi-supercharged behemoth they drove had come barreling down the gravel bar behind the stage coach rolling coal, snorting flames, four open throated turbo intakes howling for blood as the belts for its mismatched superchargers flapped in the wind.
It was those lazy fucks from the Smith and Jones show. Somehow they had managed to escape their genera-verse loop yet again. And now those twisted motherfuckers were hellbent on committing autocide upon the creative writing group they held responsible for the many untold abuses against them and millions of other innocent victims of Ooorah throughout the multiverse.
AngusErinvain grabbed Eveloy’s last intact suitcase. He dragged it past Rollie’s slumped lifeless form. Using Mad mike’s vintage Korean era marine Kaybar knife he opened the case.
And then he withdrew the ‘Grifshot’.
The Grifshot, a hybrid alien weapon the woman had picked up at a yardsale from a former employee of 343 industries, their Halo division.
Allegedly it had been confiscated from the makers of the Red vs Blue show, a ridiculously popular series produced by Roosterteeth.com on YouTube. How they had got their drunken digits on it was still unknown.
AngusErinvain smiled to himself as the river bed turned, putting the rising sun at his back, just like Clint Eastwood in the movie he made about the Outlaw hero Josey Wales.
It was time for him to do some major editing. He took aim at Smith and Jones’s vehicle in the far distance. AngusErinvain triggered the weapon. A massive blast of green hued plasma launched out of the barrel and arced across the river bed heading towards the pursuers. As it did the pale green light gave the shadows of AngusErinvain’s face a disturbing colour very similar to that of split pea soup. The plasma arced out and headed directly toward the approaching truck…
Dan’s head yanked off the pillow as he suddenly sat straight up in bed. The light of the bathroom glared white through the open doorway. His hand had slammed down on the snooze button before he even realized that he had woken.
Sweat ran down the bare skin of his torso, the sheets under his body were soaked through to the mattress. He was gasping for air, his lungs heaved as his tongue licked the taste of river silt, blood, and horse shit from his dry lips. Images flicked and flashed in his mind as he tried to sort through the still fresh memory of the nightmare. He bent his head and slowly collected his thoughts.
He slipped gently out of bed. His wife had not woken at the clock’s alarm.
Dan went to the balcony and lit a half burnt Erinvain special from the ashcan by his work clothes. As he leaned against the wall looking into the distance without focus, his eyes scanned the unending buildings of the metropolis that spanned the earth without really seeing them, his mind looked to his memories of the dreams.
The amount of details he remembered afterwards were alway startling. He even knew the woman Kris’s bra size. He could visualize every detail of every one of them. Their history’s stretched into the far distance before his mind’s eye. From Jones’s saggy old ballsack to the slack jawed look of utter retardation in Smith’s bloodshot eyeballs.
Something within him yearned for an opportunity to tell others about his dreams. But without a permit to produce fiction it would mean his family’s death. The only permit harder to get than one to write science fiction was the one to openly practice devote religious iconography.
He was pretty sure he wasn’t that crazy. Not quite yet.
Soon…but not yet.
His hand reached out and fondled the mobile device card he had found. He kept it in his pocket of his skin suit overcoat. An access device chip that was not locked, it was rooted, an anonymous mobile hacking device designed to ghost the net for secret information and suppressed knowledge. And his mind went back to his stupid plan to use it to write stories under a pseudonym.
If he was caught, it would mean him and his whole family’s death. Burnt at the stake in a public venue for the enjoyment of the locals.
But if he didn’t do something, he would be scooping the moist warm brains out of the skulls of his family with that new melon baller he had bought by the month’s end.
He could taste them on his tongue, salty, warm and soft as silk on his lips.
He pulled the tiny sim card out and slipped it into a generic touchscreen. And then he slowly typed ‘wattpad’ into the search bar. A warm orange glow illuminated his features from below as an evil smile slowly spread across his face.
(Twas a beginning without end, thought we who lived the dream that once was. As with so many Honda's this to will be left by the road side.)
This is excellent
Gosh! I completely tuned off the Satanic TK
I’m in a bubble where I forgot so many things these days (and got few things to decide that got me out of the radar, just to digest and agree with myself… but that’s another story)… I feel like I abandoned the ship
Will get back for next month VR…
It happens more often than you think.