Tag Archives: speculativefiction

Jogging Georgina’s Memory Pt. 1

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

The alarm was set for 5 am but Georgina Armstrong’s body clock woke her fifteen minutes earlier. Her jogging and work clothes had been laid out the night before, so all there was to do was get dressed and drink some water, not the suggested 16 ounces as that required a two-hour wait period before the jog, but enough to keep her body hydrated.

As Georgina reached for her cell phone to check the weather, she noticed the battery was nearly dead – a consequence of forgetting to recharge it before bed. Muttering a curse under her breath, she plugged it into the charger and left it behind on the kitchen counter. She didn’t like jogging with the added weight anyway.

Stepping out of 79 Earls Avenue, Georgina set off on her way. Meditation was a beast she could not tame so in order to reduce her daily stress levels, she jogged instead. No music, no affirmation audiobooks, just the sound of her own breathing and the rhythmic thud of her running shoes on pavement set against the background noise of the cityscape.

To avoid pedestrians and traffic, Georgina plotted a route down side streets to the avenue that ran along the river where all the industrial warehouses were situated. The crack of dawn was the perfect time for a peaceful run as the pre-workday streets were empty and the city was as quiet as a city could be.

Navigating the same route every single morning, Georgina knew this patch of the city like the back of her hand, down to the location of every crack in the pavement. Everything was the same as it ever was…except for the man blocking her path. No matter which way she maneuvered, the man stepped left or right to block her again.

“Excuse me,” Georgina said, jogging in place. “I need to get by.”

“You must go back,” said the man who had the appearance of someone with the ability to see straight through to your heart and freeze the entirety of your soul by blinking an eyelash. “This is no longer your path.”

“What are you talking about? Get out of my way, you loon!” Georgina pushed past the man, knocking him to the ground, and continued her jog.

“No! You must go back before it’s too late!” the man yelled repeatedly, his voice fading into the backdrop of the awakening city.

The incident unsettled Georgina, casting a shadow over the familiar streets. She quickened her pace, eager to return to the sanctuary of her home. As she turned the corner onto Earls Avenue, the first rays of the sun kissed the rooftops, casting long, stretching shadows across the pavement.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached for the door, only for it to be opened from the inside. A stranger stood before her, his expression a blend of confusion and irritation. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Georgina demanded, her voice seething with a mix of fear and anger.

Instinctively, Georgina’s hand went to her fanny pack, her mind racing to call the police. But as her fingers grasped at empty space, the stark reality hit her – her cell phone was back at home, left charging on the nightstand. A surge of helplessness washed over her, amplifying the surreal nightmare she found herself in.

The man, taken aback, replied defensively, “This is my home. Who are you?”

Refusing to back down, Georgina tried to push past him, insistent that this was some kind of bizarre mistake. But as she struggled, her gaze fell past the man into the house. The interior was completely different – unfamiliar furniture, unknown pictures on the walls, nothing that belonged to her.

Her movements faltered. She stopped pushing against the man and took a few steps back, her eyes scanning the exterior of the house. It looked like her home, yet it was distinctly different. A chilling realization washed over her. “This isn’t my house. I mean, it is my house, but it isn’t where I live.”

The man, observing her bewildered state, ventured a rational explanation, “Are you sure you’re on the right street? A lot of these houses look the same…”

“No, this is where I live.” Georgina’s voice was firm despite the growing turmoil inside her. She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out her ID, holding it out to the man. “Look, this is my address.”

The stranger inspected the ID, his brow furrowing in confusion. “That’s strange,” he murmured, handing it back to her and before she could respond, he extended a hand, though still blocking the doorway. “By the way, I’m Daniel, Georgina.”

Georgina blinked, taken aback for a moment. “How do you know my name?”

“It was on your license,” Daniel replied with a hint of a smile.

“Oh, right, yes, of course,” she mumbled, feeling a fresh wave of disorientation.

“Um, Daniel, I know that this is a strange thing to ask, especially given the weird circumstances, but would it be possible for me to use your phone?” Georgina asked, her voice quivering. “You see, I left my cell on the nightstand by my bed because I forgot to charge it last night…” She was on the verge of tears, the enormity of the situation threatening to overwhelm her.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” The man, now looking at her with a blend of sympathy and caution, hesitated. “But, you’re not a psycho maniac, are you? My family’s asleep inside and, well…I don’t want any trouble…”

“I swear I’m not crazy,” Georgina pleaded. “If I could just use your phone.”

After a moment’s consideration, Daniel nodded. “Okay, come in. But let’s make this quick.”

Stepping over the threshold, Georgina was immediately enveloped by an atmosphere that was disturbingly foreign. The air carried unfamiliar scents – a blend of spices and something floral, completely unlike the lemon-scented freshness she associated with her home. Her eyes darted around, taking in the decor that was utterly wrong. The walls, once a calming shade of blue, were now painted a stark, impersonal white. The furniture, which should have been her cozy, well-loved pieces, was all wrong – too sleek, too modern, placed in arrangements that made no sense to her.

The layout of the house was the same, but everything else was unrecognizable. Where her comfortable sofa should have been, there was a stark, angular couch, and the pictures on the walls were those of strangers, smiling mockingly in their frames. The ambiance was entirely different – not the warm, inviting space she knew, but something colder, more austere.

The subtle hum of a house that wasn’t hers filled her ears, a discordant soundtrack to the surreal experience. Even the way the light filtered through the curtains was different, casting unfamiliar shadows across the floor. It was as though she had stepped into a parallel version of her own home, one that echoed the structure but none of the soul.

Georgina moved forward hesitantly, each step feeling heavier, as if she were wading through a dream. The dissonance between this house and her home created a chasm in her mind, widening with every mismatched detail she absorbed.

Daniel observed her warily, mistaking her disorientation for emotional distress. “The phone is this way,” he said, leading her to the kitchen, a room that, like the rest, bore no trace of the life she remembered.

Not The. End.

Unseen Visions: And a Blind Man Shall Lead Them

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Most people who inhabited bustling cities often failed to notice the myth that intertwined with reality, failed to hear the ancient tales whispered by the pavement and the forgotten lore sung by the wind. It was a realm unseen by most, but here, in the heart of this enigmatic world, lived Jacob, a blind man blessed with a vision beyond sight. His life was an ethereal tapestry, woven from the essence of sounds and scents, each thread a melody or fragrance that painted his world in spectral colors unknown to the sighted.

Jacob’s days were spent on a weathered park bench, a throne of sorts in his invisible kingdom. It was here, beneath a tree older than time, where the mundane and magical converged. The tree, a silent guardian, held within its gnarled bark secrets of the ages. The whispers of its leaves were not just rustling foliage but voices of ancient spirits discussing the fate of the world.

On a day that seemed ordinary but was anything but, Jacob encountered a melody that transcended the ordinary symphony of the city. It was a harmony woven from the threads of dreams and reality, a song that was unlike anything he had ever heard. As this unknowable music enveloped him, he felt a presence both formidable and gentle appear suddenly beside him.

The odd thing was that he wasn’t startled, mainly because the person impossibly smelled of serenity and warmth, of starlight and twilight, tinged with the sweet nostalgia of pumpkin pie and the mysterious allure of black licorice.

“You cannot see me,” the person’s voice was the whisper of falling stars, “but I have been your unseen companion since the moment of your birth.”

Jacob, unshaken by the revelation, felt a deep-seated connection with this stranger. “Why?” was the only question his overtaxed brain could manage.

“Jacob, I am, for lack of a better term, a guardian of sorts of forgotten truths, a keeper of a wisdom as old as existence,” the stranger, whose voice was neither male nor female yet somehow both began. “As to your query of why, as in why you and why am I here, you were born as part of an ancient and significant prophecy. The world in its present state stands on the brink of a monumental shift, an epochal change unseen in centuries.”

“A change?” Jacob queried, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “What kind of change?”

“It’s a shift that requires someone special, a seer who can look beyond the veil of reality,” the stranger explained. “Someone who perceives not just with eyes but with the soul.”

Jacob’s heart quickened. “And you think I’m this… seer?”

The stranger affirmed, “Yes, Jacob. With your unique perception, you are the chosen one. You are the bridge between the seen and the unseen, the light and the dark. Your journey is about to begin.”

Jacob felt a sense of destiny envelop him, a calling that resonated with the core of his being. The unseen world around him seemed to pulse with new potential, a realm of possibilities that only he could navigate.

In the days that unfolded after the meeting with the stranger, the city began to stir with a subtle yet undeniable undercurrent of change. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation, like the charged quiet before a storm. Jacob, guided by the ethereal whispers, found himself at the heart of this transformation.

The epochal change mentioned in the prophecy began to manifest in ways both small and significant. The city’s energy shifted, its rhythm altered. Disturbing and nightmarish dreams began plaguing people and vivid and strange daydreams of the road not taken triggered a restlessness that gripped their souls. In some, the thoughts were far darker. The repetitive senselessness of life made no longer living seem the better option, or it devalued the lives of others and subjected them to violence and misplaced vengeance. There was a sense that the very fabric of reality was thinning, revealing glimpses of something ancient and powerful stirring beneath.

Jacob’s encounters with the city’s inhabitants took on a new urgency. The unseen and unseeing man found his voice and became an orator. Each conversation, each shared story, seemed to weave a thread into a larger tapestry, a pattern that only he could sense. He spoke of balance and harmony, of the need to embrace the unseen and the unknown. His words, once dismissed by some as mere fanciful tales, now resonated with a profound truth.

The city, once a cacophony of disparate voices, began to find a new harmony. After hearing Jacob speak, people who had lived in apathy started to connect, to share, to look beyond their individual desires. They found unity in their diversity, strength in their shared humanity. This once overlooked blind man became a symbol of this newfound unity, a beacon guiding them toward a collective awakening.

But with change came resistance. Voices of skepticism and fear rose, challenging Jacob’s influence and the shifting tide he represented. Tensions grew, as did the sense of an impending climax. It was then that the stranger reappeared to Jacob, a presence calm amidst the brewing storm.

“The time has come, Jacob,” the stranger said. “Your role in this shift is crucial. You must be the anchor in the storm, the light in the darkness.”

Empowered by this, Jacob stood at the city’s central square, a confluence of the old and the new, the past and the future. He spoke, his voice not just heard but felt, a resonance that touched every soul present. He spoke of unity, of embracing change, of the beauty in the unseen. His words were a balm to the fears and a spark to the hopes of the people.

And then, as if in response, the city itself seemed to breathe, to shift. A wave of energy, warm and luminous, washed over the streets, through the buildings, into the hearts of the people. It was as if the city had awakened to a new consciousness, one that embraced the mystical truths Jacob had unveiled.

It was a slow process and by no mean a simple one, but in the aftermath, the reluctant city was transformed. People formerly without hope spoke of new beginnings, finally able to experience a world where the lines between the mundane and the magical blurred. Jacob’s role in this transformation was clear. He had not just foretold the change; he was the catalyst, the guide that led a troubled city into a new era.

The stranger’s prophecy had come to fruition, not as a cataclysmic event, but as a gradual awakening, a shift in perception and understanding. And Jacob, once unseen, had been the seer who guided the city through the veil of the ordinary into the extraordinary realm of unity and understanding.

Once again on that weathered park bench the stranger came to Jacob. “You have shown them the way, Jacob. The journey continues, but now, they walk it with open eyes and open hearts,” said the stranger, and as the echoed inside him, Jacob’s world erupted in light and color.

For the first time in decades, things took shape before his eyes, none of it like he imagined. He saw the weathered grain of the park bench beneath him, the delicate fluttering of the leaves in the breeze overhead, the kind smile and deep celestial eyes of the otherworldly stranger before him, who glowed so brightly it was almost difficult to look at him or her. It was impossible to identify a gender as the stranger’s form was constantly shifting.

Tears streamed down Jacob’s cheeks as he beheld the beauty of the world he had only known through sound, smell and touch. He gazed in wonder at the setting sun, its warm hues dancing across the landscape. This gift of sight, bestowed in his final moments, was profoundly overwhelming. As Jacob’s heart beat its last, his eyes drank in the visual symphony around him, cherishing each vivid detail as the stranger faded into the background of this new world, with the spirit of Jacob as his new companion.

Author’s Note: Damn. I should have saved this for Christmas.

Stellar Fugitives Epilogue: A New Dawn

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Part 1 HERE * Part 2 HERE * Part 3 HERE * Part 4 HERE

Although it was physically impossible, Mechelle thought she could hear the galaxy breathe a collective sigh of relief. The difficult and laborious task of rebuilding began, stitching together the torn fabric of countless worlds. The Coalition, once a flickering candle in the vast darkness, now blazed like a beacon of hope. Its cause, bolstered by victory, became more vital than ever. Heroes emerged from the shadows of war, and she was among them, so was her wonderfully brave daughter Kira. Unbeknownst to Mechelle, both of their names echoed across the stars as symbols of resilience and courage.

Qys, a jewel of the galaxy, was returned to the Rahztli. The graceful, telepathic beings, once on the brink of extinction, now pledged their profound wisdom and telepathic might to the ongoing cause of peace. In the heart of their celestial forest, they found solace and a renewed purpose.

Amidst these monumental changes, Kira stood at a crossroads of destiny. Her journey, once a tapestry of trials and tribulations, had led her to this moment of profound realization. Her untapped potential, like a dormant star, had ignited, radiating promise and possibility. The Galactic Academy, a dream that had flickered in the distance, was now an open door, inviting her to step into a future she once thought impossible.

Mechelle, the steadfast matriarch, watched her daughter with a mix of pride and wistfulness. The scars of battles etched into her soul spoke of loss, love, and the unyielding strength of a mother’s resolve. Her eyes, reflecting the starlight, held stories of sacrifice and the unspoken fears of letting go.

As they stood together aboard the Nebula Runner, their gaze turned toward the endless sea of stars. Once a looming prison, the cosmos now stretched out before them, a vast canvas of possibility. They understood the fragility of peace; the galaxy’s wounds were deep, its shadows still lurking. Other tyrants would rise, and other battles would call. Yet, amidst these certainties, a quieter truth resonated within them.

They knew that the darkness could never fully extinguish the light, especially when kindled by the unbreakable spirit of those who dared to stand against it. In their shared glance, a silent vow was forged. Together, they would journey into the unknown, their resolve unshakable, their spirits unbound.

Setting a course towards the beckoning horizon, the Nebula Runner glided forward, a symbol of freedom’s enduring flame. In its trail, a message for all who sought refuge among the stars – that even in the darkest of times, there will always be those who carry the light.

The End (for now).

The Great Thanksgiving Heist

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

The midtown city’s heartbeat thrummed with the rhythm of the annual Thanksgiving Day parade, a kaleidoscope of hues splashed across the canvas of the urban sprawl. Towering balloons bobbed like gentle giants in the sky, their vibrant shades of cerulean, scarlet, and gold reflecting the morning sun that peeked through the high-rises. Marching bands, with their brass instruments glinting, cut through the crisp autumn air with lively fanfare, and the steady cadence of drums echoed off the pavement, setting the tempo for the dancers who twirled and shimmied with infectious energy.

Families and friends, bundled in layers to fend off the November chill, lined the crowded sidewalks, their breaths visible in the cool air. Children perched on the shoulders of parents, wide-eyed and pointing with mittened hands at the spectacle above. Vendors weaved through the crowd, the aroma of roasted chestnuts and hot cider mingling with the sounds of laughter and chatter.

And there, woven into the tapestry of revelry, was an assembly of individuals who appeared to be ordinary spectators. But beneath their autumn garments beat the hearts of adventurers, orchestrators of a plot that was anything but routine. This eclectic troupe was an alignment of unique talents: Alex, the strategist with a mind sharp as a tack; Sam, whose appearance was as ever-changing as the autumn leaves; Riley, agile as a cat with a gaze as piercing as an eagle; and Jordan, the digital maestro, fingers dancing over keys faster than the tap dancers on the parade route.

Their scheme was cloaked in secrecy, as they communicated with subtle glances and covert earpieces, blending seamlessly with the crowd. Their plan was bold, their target invaluable. Today, amidst the spectacle of celebration and under the watchful eyes of thousands, they would attempt to pull off a heist that would become the stuff of legends, etching their story into the fabric of the city’s history as indelibly as the parade itself.

Alex’s gaze, veiled behind the opaque lenses of their sunglasses, was fixed intently not on the grandiose display that unfolded before him but on a single, mesmerizing point amidst the procession—a float that carried the weight of the city’s history on its ornate surface. This float was a mobile museum, adorned with relics and treasures that spoke of eras bygone, each piece whispering stories of the city’s past. But none of these could outshine the lustrous allure of the Centennial Diamond, cradled within a glass case, its facets catching the light and throwing prisms across the awed faces of the onlookers.

The Centennial Diamond was no ordinary gem; its mystery was as deep as the mines from which it had been unearthed a hundred years ago, during the city’s infancy. The gem had been discovered in a secluded vein of earth, untouched and hidden, its existence only revealed by a flicker of chance and the glint of a miner’s lamp. From that moment, it had become the city’s heart, beating in resplendent glory, a symbol of prosperity and of the indomitable spirit of those who toiled beneath the earth.

As much as it was admired for its beauty, the diamond was equally ensnared in legend. It was said that the gem was imbued with the essence of the city itself—the hopes of its founders, the dreams of its children, and the resolve of its leaders. Whispers of a curse also followed its brilliance, tales that misfortune would befall anyone who dared to sever it from its rightful place within the city’s embrace. Yet, such stories only heightened its allure, the diamond’s checkered history weaving an almost tangible aura around it.

It was this aura that had drawn Alex and his team to the gem. For them, the Centennial Diamond was not merely a stone to be admired—it was the ultimate challenge, a testament to their skills, and perhaps, a chance to become part of the gem’s storied history. As the float drew nearer, Alex felt the weight of the diamond’s past pressing upon the moment, the heist they were about to undertake a new chapter waiting to be written in the annals of the city’s enigmatic legacy.

Sam, a chameleon among the revelers, maneuvered his way into the heart of the parade, blending in with the cavalcade of acrobats and entertainers. Not merely a clown, his face, obscured by the intricate patterns of paint, was a canvas of vibrant hues—bold reds and deep blues—that transformed him into a living piece of parade artistry. He juggled with a flair that belied the concentration behind each precisely timed throw and catch, his balls arcing through the air like colorful meteors. But this performance was merely a facade, a cover for the sharp mind working behind the merry twinkle in his eye. Each toss of his juggling balls was a calculated part of the plan, a silent signal to his team as they edged closer to their prize.

Riley worked her way high above the street to a vantage point few would think to glance. Her form was coiled with the potential energy of a sprinter at the starting block. From her elevated position, she surveyed the scene with the focus of a falcon. The earpiece she wore was her lifeline to the others, her voice the guiding hand that would steer them through the tumult below. She watched the crowd with hawk-like intensity, noting the positions of the guards, the ebb and flow of the spectators, and the steady progress of the float carrying their quarry. Her fingers danced over the miniature controls strapped to her wrist, a discreet device that allowed her to signal her team without attracting attention.

Tucked away in the seclusion of a nondescript white van, nestled in the shadows of an alley just off the parade route, sat Jordan. This van was their mission control, its interior a stark contrast to the festive chaos outside. Walls of monitors bathed the space in a cold, blue light, each screen a window into the various security systems that safeguarded their target. Jordan’s fingers flew over the keys and trackpads with a maestro’s touch, orchestrating a symphony of bypassed firewalls and disabled alarms. With every keystroke, they peeled back layers of digital defense, ensuring that their heist remained invisible to all but the most discerning eyes. Jordan was the unseen guardian, the digital ghost who cleared the path for the physical artistry of their comrades in the field.

As the float carrying the Centennial Diamond drew near, Sam’s performance built up into a spectacle of its own when he ignited a dazzling display of pyrotechnics far grander than the parade’s own planned fireworks. The sudden eruption of light and sound drew gasps from the crowd, their attention snapping to the spectacle. It was grand, unexpected, a crescendo of color that painted the sky and reflected in the wide eyes of the onlookers. The guards, too, were momentarily dazzled, their eyes instinctively drawn to the brilliant display that turned the sky into a canvas.

It was the precise moment Alex had been meticulously orchestrating. With the crowd thick as a forest around the float, Alex moved like a shadow through the throng, his presence as fleeting as the chill wind that whipped through the parade route. He slipped past the distracted guards, a whisper of intent in the sea of oblivious revelry

Reaching the float, Alex found himself face to face with the gleaming diamond, its facets winking like a sly accomplice. The security measures were a puzzle only a few in the world could solve – a network of lasers, pressure sensors, and alarms, all silently guarding the gem. But hidden behind dark sunglasses designed with the latest tech, Alex could see the laser grid protecting the Centennial Diamond, which to everyone else remained invisible. The glasses outlined each beam in a stark, vivid color against the grayscale backdrop, allowing Alex to navigate through the web of light with the poise of a ballet dancer.

The pressure sensors he tricked with a modified bypass emulator, which caused the system to reset, giving Alex enough time to swap the real diamond with a replica so meticulously crafted it would fool even the most discerning eye. It was also the exact weight of the real diamond, so when the system came back online it wouldn’t trigger the alarm. The switch was seamless, and the weight sensors remained silent, so none the wiser to the theft.

But then, as if on cue, the unexpected occurred. A rival group, cloaked in the guise of parade performers, made their bold move. Their approach was less finesse, more force, and the crowd gasped as the previously seamless parade turned into a stage for pandemonium.

In the midst of the chaos, Alex’s hand found Sam’s in the crowd, the diamond passing between them with the sleight of hand only years of trust could perfect. Sam’s juggling didn’t falter, the gem now one with his performance, indistinguishable to the untrained eye.

The rival gang, aghast at being outsmarted, surged forward, their desperation clear as they attempted to correct their miscalculation. They reached for Sam, but their fingers grasped at air – they were performers, not thieves, and their timing was off.

Above, Riley had watched the drama unfold. With the grace of an avenging angel, she descended from her perch, her silhouette framed against the sky. A swing, a leap, and she landed with the poise of a gymnast, her distraction perfectly timed to draw the eyes away once more. The crowd erupted in cheers, thinking it all part of the show, as Riley made her dramatic descent into the parade, becoming part of the performance.

In that moment of orchestrated confusion, the diamond changed hands once more, slipping into the costume of a child watching the parade. This child, seemingly enthralled by the clowns and acrobats, was none other than the youngest member of their team, Alex’s son, Benji, an expert in the art of being underestimated.

With the prized Centennial Diamond now in their safekeeping, the team vanished into the labyrinth of the city, eventually converging at their sanctuary—a once grandiose building now wearing the patina of time. Within these walls, history was both made and kept. They huddled around an ancient wooden table that bore the scars and stories of past escapades, the Centennial Diamond casting a spectral dance of light across the weathered wood.

Alex, with a victor’s gleam in their eye, lifted a glass in a toast that was more than a celebration—it was a signal, the silent acknowledgment of the bond that held this band of outliers together. “Well, we did it!” he declared, his voice a mix of pride and exhilaration.

Riley, ever the pragmatic spirit, tilted her head, her eyes reflecting a glint of the stone’s luminance. “Is that it? Are we officially done?” She couldn’t mask the underlying hunger for the next challenge. “I mean, we have the freaking Centennial Diamond, what’s left?”

Alex’s response was a sly curve of the lips, a prelude to the revelation of their next grand scheme. “How about the most iconic and expensive work of art in the world?”

Sam, the chameleon, leaned in with interest sharpening his features. “Which is?”

Jordan, who lived in the realms of bytes and codes, balked at the suggestion that hung unspoken in the air. “You’re not talking about the Mona Lisa, are you?” The weight of history, of sheer audacity, pressed down upon the room.

Alex’s smile was the answer, a silent detonation of possibility that expanded in the cramped room. “That‘s right, the Mona Lisa,” he confirmed, his smile a challenge, a call to arms that beckoned to the very core of their adventurous spirits.

“So, who’s in?” Alex’s question hung there, not just an invitation, but a gauntlet thrown down before the capable crew. One by one, a silent affirmation passed among them—an unspoken oath sealing their fate to the pursuit of the audacious, the thrilling, the monumental.

In the muted glow of their hideout, with the Centennial Diamond now part of their legend, they already envisioned their next conquest. Not just a painting, but the painting, the very epitome of art and enigma. The night was still young, and their legacy was just beginning to be written.

Author’s Note: Yeah, yeah…this post is kind of long, but let’s face it, you’ve got some time on your hands right now. The turkey’s just about to come out of the oven (or the tofurkey for you vegans and I have no idea how you cook that) and it needs time to rest (Don’t you watch Gordon Ramsey?) and the game isn’t on yet and the tryptophan fatigue hasn’t set in yet, so settle in for a little read. This was intended to be a quickie but I kept going back and adding more details to it, because let’s face it, this heist wouldn’t have been successful in real life, but if you think that writing a new story every single day is easy then you’re out of your ever-loving mind… and you’re welcome!

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Wishing all who celebrate the holiday (and even those who don’t) good food that fills your belly, good health as you strive for your unique brand of success, and good times with family and friends. May you have all the best delights in a life filled with moments that are as sweet as pumpkin pie!

Gobble! Gobble!

Or Gooble Gobble (that means you’re one of us!)

Stellar Fugitives Ch 4: The Shadow’s Fall

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Part 1 HERE * Part 2 HERE * Part 3 HERE

The Coalition’s fleet, a mosaic of ships from a dozen worlds, hung in the silence of space, a declaration of unity against the darkness that had spread through their stars. At the heart of the fleet, the Nebula Runner throbbed with quiet power, its crew ready for the battle that loomed ahead.

Mechelle, with Kira and Qys by her side, stood on the bridge. The Coalition’s plan was simple: a direct assault on Corvus’s stronghold, a fortress hidden in the roiling gases of the Crimson Nebula. It was a fortress that had never been breached, but Mechelle had learned something from her time under Corvus’s heel—no stronghold was impregnable.

Kira’s hands were steady as she loaded the coordinates into the navigation system. “It’s now or never,” she said, a steely note in her voice that matched her mother’s resolve.

Qys, the Rahztli child, reached out, its touch like a whisper against their minds. Courage, it said, the concept resonating within them like a bell.

The fleet moved as one, a serpent slithering through space, and the stronghold loomed into view, a monstrous edifice carved from asteroids and black metal. Corvus’s ships swarmed like angry wasps, but the Coalition was ready.

The battle erupted in a cacophony of light and sound. Lasers lanced through the darkness, ships spiraled in deadly dances, and all the while, Mechelle piloted the Nebula Runner through the chaos with the grace of a comet.

Kira’s fingers danced across her console, bypassing firewalls and invading networks, her digital assault paving the way for the physical one. And Qys, their secret weapon, sent out ripples of confusion, turning Corvus’s troops against each other in disarray.

Then came the moment of truth. The Nebula Runner broke through the stronghold’s defenses, penetrating the heart of Corvus’s domain. The docking bay doors opened, and Mechelle led a boarding party of Coalition soldiers through the belly of the beast.

They fought corridor by corridor, pushing back Corvus’s forces, until they reached the command center. There, Marshal Corvus awaited, his visage a mask of fury and disbelief.

“You can’t win, Mechelle,” he spat, his blaster trained on her. “I’m the law here.”

“No,” Mechelle countered, her own weapon drawn. “What you were was a tyrant, but now your reign’s come to an end.”

The standoff was brief. Kira’s sabotage of the stronghold’s systems left Corvus vulnerable, and when the final blow came, it was not from Mechelle’s hand, but from within—his own people, the ones he had oppressed and used, turned against him. As Corvus fell, the Coalition’s cheer echoed through the stronghold, a sound that carried hope and victory. The shadow that had loomed over them had been lifted, and as they returned to the Nebula Runner, Mechelle knew they had changed the course of the galaxy.

Almost. The. End. (an Epilogue awaits)

Stellar Fugitives Ch 3: The Constellation’s Veil

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Part 1 HERE * Part 2 HERE

The Nebula Runner sliced through the fabric of space, leaving Talos Station and the chaos far behind. In the relative safety of the cockpit, Mechelle watched Kira and the Rahztli child, Qys, with a protective gaze. Qys was curled up on a seat, its delicate form still trembling from the ordeal, its eyes wide and luminous. They whispered silent thoughts directly into Kira’s mind, a private conversation in a language of emotion and imagery.

Kira’s expression was one of awe and empathy as she communicated with Qys. “They’re scared,” she relayed to her mother, “but they understand we’re trying to help.”

Mechelle nodded, her heart aching for the young creature. “We’ll get Qys home,” she promised, “and Corvus will pay for what he’s done.”

But promises in the void were as fleeting as comets, and Mechelle knew the road ahead was fraught with peril. Corvus would be on their trail, and the evidence they needed to expose him was still locked in the Marshal’s encrypted files, files that Kira was working tirelessly to crack.

“We need to make some allies,” Mechelle mused aloud. “We can’t do this alone.”

Kira looked up, her eyes reflecting the starlight. “The Coalition,” she said. “They stand against trafficking and corruption. If we can prove what Corvus is doing…”

The Coalition. A collective of races and planets united for peace and justice. It was a long shot, but their best hope. Mechelle set the course for the nearest Coalition outpost, hidden away in an asteroid field where the nebula’s colors danced like spirits.

As they traveled, Mechelle trained Kira and Qys on the ship’s defenses, not knowing when they might need to fend off an attack. Kira proved to be a natural, her understanding of technology extending to the art of space combat. Qys, though frightened, showed a remarkable aptitude for sensing intentions, a skill that could warn them of danger before it appeared on their scanners.

Days turned to nights, and stars to blurs as they approached the Coalition’s hidden sanctuary. The Nebula Runner slipped through the asteroid field, its hull occasionally scraping against rock, a reminder of the precarious line they walked between survival and destruction.

When they finally docked at the Coalition outpost, a team of diverse beings greeted them. Mechelle stepped forward, Qys at her side, and presented their case to the Coalition’s council. The evidence Kira had extracted was damning—transactions, communications, all pointing to Corvus’s empire of shadows.

The council was silent as they absorbed the truth, their eyes turning to Qys, whose presence was testimony enough to the Marshal’s crimes.

“We will stand with you,” the Coalition’s leader finally declared, their voice a chorus of solidarity. “Corvus’s reign ends with us.”

The relief that washed over Mechelle was palpable, but it was quickly tempered by the realization that the hardest battle was yet to come. They had allies, a plan, and the element of surprise, but Corvus was cunning and ruthless.

As they prepared for the confrontation, Mechelle felt the weight of leadership heavy on her shoulders. She looked at Kira, her brilliant, brave daughter, and Qys, the child who had unwittingly sparked a revolution, and she knew they were the reason she fought.

For freedom, for the future, for the stars that held their hopes and dreams, they would bring an end to the tyranny that had cast a shadow over their lives.

And as the Nebula Runner and the Coalition fleet set course for the showdown with Corvus, Mechelle held onto the belief that the light of justice would pierce through the darkness, no matter how dense the veil of the cosmos might be.

Not. The. End.

Stellar Fugitives Ch 2: Echoes of the Rahztli

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Part 1 HERE

Talos Station loomed ahead, a hulking mass of metal and flickering lights, orbiting a lonely planetoid. It was a place where the dregs of the galaxy converged—a melting pot for mercenaries, smugglers, and those who sought the shadows over the light. As the Nebula Runner approached, Mechelle couldn’t help but feel the weight of what was to come. This was the fulcrum upon which their fates would balance.

Kira disconnected from the console, her youthful face etched with lines of concern and determination. “We need a plan,” she said, “We can’t just barge in and take the Rahztli. Corvus will be there, and he’ll be armed.”

Mechelle nodded, her mind a whirlwind of tactics and trajectories. “We need a distraction,” she replied, her eyes scanning the station’s schematics. “Something to draw Corvus and his goons away from the exchange.”

“What about the station’s security systems?” Kira suggested, her eyes alight with the fires of rebellion. “If I can tap into their network, I might be able to trigger a false alarm—get them chasing ghosts.”

It was risky. Talos’s security was notoriously unforgiving, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Do it,” Mechelle said. “But be careful. If they trace it back to us, we’re finished.”

As Kira set to work, Mechelle piloted the ship into a docking bay, the thrum of the engines giving way to the clank of metal as the Runner latched onto the station. They were in the viper’s nest now, surrounded by danger on all sides.

With the ship secured, they made their way to the market district, the heart of Talos’s shadow economy. Here, amidst the throngs of alien species and the cacophony of a hundred languages, was where the Rahztli child would be sold.

Kira’s fingers flew across her portable hacking device, a symphony of clicks and beeps that was the prelude to their ruse. Meanwhile, Mechelle kept her eyes peeled, watching for any sign of Corvus or his cronies. She had a disruptor pistol concealed beneath her jacket, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

Then, Kira nodded. “It’s done,” she whispered. “In two minutes, every security drone on this station is going to converge on the opposite side. We’ll have a small window.”

“Let’s move,” Mechelle said, her voice barely above a murmur.

They navigated through the crowds, each step bringing them closer to the moment of truth. Mechelle could feel the tension coiling in her stomach, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. This was it.

As they reached the designated meeting spot, they saw them—the Rahztli child, a delicate, ethereal creature with skin that shimmered like starlight, and Marshal Corvus, flanked by armed guards. The buyer, a shady figure from the Outer Rim, was inspecting the Rahztli, oblivious to the imminent chaos.

Then the alarms blared. Lights flashed, and the crowd erupted into panic as security drones zipped overhead, drawn to the phantom threat Kira had conjured.

In the confusion, Mechelle and Kira moved. They darted forward, Mechelle’s hand finding the child’s, whispering promises of safety. Kira covered their retreat, her device sending out jamming signals to keep the drones at bay.

Corvus’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Mechelle’s just as she pushed the Rahztli into the Nebula Runner. Their gazes were a clash of wills, a silent battle amidst the chaos.

“Go!” Mechelle shouted to Kira, and together, they sealed the ship, the engines roaring to life.

As they blasted away from Talos, Mechelle didn’t look back. They had the Rahztli, they had their evidence, and they had a new course—one that pointed towards freedom and justice.

But as the stars streaked past, Mechelle knew that Corvus would come after them. He was a man who thrived on control, and they had just dealt him the ultimate insult.

This was far from over. It was just the beginning.

Not. The. End.

Stellar Fugitives Ch 1: Chains of the Cosmos

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

Mechelle’s fingers danced over the holographic controls with a grace that belied her turmoil. The cockpit of the Nebula Runner was alive with the hum of a thousand distant stars, each one a silent witness to the oppressive void she navigated—not just outside, but within. The vast expanse of space could be a sanctuary for those who sought freedom among the stars, but for Mechelle and her daughter, Kira, it had become a prison fashioned by Marshal Corvus, the man they were forced to call master.

Kira, her features a unique blend of her mother’s Caucasian traits and her absent father’s Hispanic lineage, was hunched over a makeshift console, her fingers flying across its surface. She was planting seeds of rebellion through code and whispers of a revolution that could shatter their chains. They were a symphony of silent resistance, each keystroke a note in their impending crescendo of freedom.

“You find anything?” Mechelle’s voice was a whisper, a habit formed from years of caution.

Kira didn’t look up, her eyes reflecting the cascade of data. “I’m in their comms,” she murmured. “But we need more to take down Corvus. We need proof.”

Mechelle’s gaze hardened, a steely resolve flickering within. She had once marveled at the wonders of the universe, had once dreamt of showing Kira the kaleidoscope of cultures and civilizations that thrived beyond Earth’s embrace. But Corvus’s cruelty had eclipsed those dreams. Now, her resolve was her compass, her love for Kira the fuel that propelled them forward.

As the ship skirted the edge of an asteroid belt, Mechelle pondered their next move. They were bound for the Talos Station, a waypoint on the fringe of civilized space and a cesspool for the galaxy’s most unsavory characters. It was also, as fate would have it, a beacon of hope. Rumors whispered of a Rahztli child, a being of pure telepathy, taken by Corvus to broker in the dark market. If they could find this child…

A sudden chirp from the console snapped Mechelle from her reverie. Kira’s triumphant grin was infectious. “Got it, mom. I got something big.”

The words coursed through Mechelle like a surge of plasma. This could be it—their chance to ignite the fire of rebellion and burn away the darkness.

“Let’s hear it,” Mechelle said, her voice steady, the pilot in her ready to navigate the storm they were about to unleash.

Kira’s hands paused, and she met her mother’s eyes, a silent exchange passing between them. They were in this together, until the stars went dark.

“Corvus has a deal going down on Talos,” Kira explained, her voice a mix of excitement and fear. “He’s selling the Rahztli child to a buyer from the Outer Rim. If we can expose him…”

Mechelle nodded, her mind racing. “We save the Rahztli, expose Corvus, and end his reign of terror.”

“And free ourselves,” Kira added, a spark of the old fire, the dream of the Academy, flickering in her gaze. The Nebula Runner veered closer to Talos Station, the asteroid belt a mere shadow against the stars. The course was set; their rebellion had begun.

Not. The. End.

The Hauntening Ch: 3 – The Shadowed Wing

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

A Penny Dreadful Style Tale

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Part 1 HERE * Part 2 HERE

The abandoned wing of the academy loomed before Miss Evilene Wraithsyde, its once-grand visage now marred by the creeping hands of decay and the weight of a sorrowful past. The moon, a silent sentinel in the heavens, cast an otherworldly light upon the forsaken annex, its pallor reflecting off the broken windows and casting shadows that danced like wraiths upon the walls.

Evilene’s breath formed clouds of vapor in the chill air as she ascended the creaking staircase, each step a mournful note in the symphony of the night. The ancient tome lay heavy in her arms, its pages fluttering as if agitated by the proximity to the unrestful spirits it spoke of.

At the top of the stairs, a corridor stretched into darkness, its end lost to shadow. The whispers of the dead were more pronounced here, a tapestry of tragedy woven from their unending laments. The air was thick with the electricity of unseen energies, and the hairs upon Evilene’s nape stood on end, as though charged by the anticipation of the specters.

Summoning her courage, Evilene ventured forth, her own supernatural essence responding to the call of the spirits. The mark upon her skin, a sigil of her ancient lineage, glowed with a light not of this world, a beacon in the oppressive dark.

The rooms she passed were like mouths of the abyss, gaping and silent, save for the occasional skitter of a rat or the flutter of a disturbed bat’s wings. Evilene’s destination was the heart of the wing, the Founder’s Study, where the pact had been struck and the curse had been born.

As she entered the study, the air grew colder, her breath now a frost that lingered before her lips. The room was a mausoleum of knowledge, with books and scrolls scattered haphazardly, a testament to the chaos that had reigned at the curse’s inception.

In the center of the room stood a desk, its surface a map of arcane etchings and alchemical symbols. Above it hung a portrait, the founder of the academy, his visage twisted into a smirk that bordered on the malevolent. Evilene felt the eyes of the portrait upon her, as if the founder himself were watching from beyond the grave, mocking her efforts to undo what he had wrought.

With the ancient tome as her guide, Evilene began the ritual. She spoke words of power that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the room, the language arcane and otherworldly. The sigil upon her flesh blazed brighter, casting the study into a realm of half-light, where the boundaries of time and space became blurred.

The spirits, drawn to the ritual, began to manifest. They were phantoms of every shape and hue, some clothed in the garb of teachers long passed, others the uniforms of students whose laughter had long since been silenced. They encircled Evilene, a vortex of the damned, their eyes pleading for the release they had been denied for centuries.

As the ritual reached its zenith, a tempest of supernatural force filled the room. The portrait of the founder writhed as if in agony, and a scream that was not of this earth shook the very foundations of the academy. Evilene stood firm, her voice unwavering as she completed the incantation.

And then, silence.

The spirits, one by one, began to dissipate, their forms becoming motes of light that drifted upwards, passing through the ceiling and into the night sky. The mark upon Evilene’s skin dimmed, its purpose fulfilled.

As dawn broke over the academy, the sun’s rays pierced the darkness of the abandoned wing. The oppressive atmosphere had lifted, and the air was filled with the sounds of life once more.

Evilene Wraithsyde, her strength waning, descended the staircase of the shadowed wing, her heart lightened by the knowledge that she had freed the souls bound to the academy. Yet the portrait of the founder, with its twisted smirk, remained a sentinel over the study, a reminder that some secrets are never fully unraveled, and some shadows never fully banished. The Hauntening had been quelled, but the tale of Evilene Wraithsyde and the cursed academy would live on, whispered in the annals of penny dreadfuls for generations to come. For in the world of gothic horror, the end is never truly the end, and the specter of the past can always rise once more.

The End (for now)

The Hauntening Ch: 2 – Whispers in the Walls

Posted by Madd_Fictional on

A Penny Dreadful Style Tale

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Part 1 HERE

As the silvery disc of the moon ascended to its nocturnal throne, casting an ethereal glow over the cobblestones and ivy-clad walls of the academy, Miss Evilene Wraithsyde found herself drawn to the heart of the labyrinthine library. Its towering shelves, laden with tomes of forgotten lore and forbidden knowledge, seemed to beckon her with a spectral finger, as if entreating her to uncover the secrets that lay within their leather-bound breasts.

The air was thick with the dust of ages, and the scent of mildew clung to the air like a desperate spirit. As Evilene’s candle cast dancing shadows upon the walls, she could not shake the sensation that the very books themselves were regarding her with an air of ancient expectation.

With trepidation lacing each step, Evilene ventured deeper into the literary catacomb. It was here, amid the silence punctuated only by the distant tolling of the clock tower, that she chanced upon a volume most peculiar. Its cover, adorned with symbols arcane and inscrutable, seemed to pulse beneath her fingertips, as if it contained a heartbeat of its own.

As she opened the book, a gust of wind snuffed out her candle, plunging her into darkness. Yet the pages before her were illuminated by a phosphorescent gleam, casting a ghostly light in the gloom. The words within spoke of rituals and powers beyond the ken of mortals, of a founder whose soul had been twisted by the pursuit of immortality.

The founder, it was said, had made a pact with a force dark and eldritch, binding the spirits of those who perished within the school’s domain to its very foundation. These lost souls, the volume revealed, could be freed only by one who bore the mark of the ancients, a mark that Evilene felt burning upon her own flesh as the truth dawned upon her.

As the night deepened, Evilene heard the whispers grow louder, a cacophony of voices that pleaded for release, for salvation. The walls themselves seemed to shift and groan, as if the building was a living entity, pained by the centuries of sorrow it had absorbed.

With the book clutched close to her breast, Evilene resolved to confront the spectral forces that roamed the school’s hallowed halls. She would seek out the places where the veil was thinnest, where the echoes of the past were loudest, and there she would perform the rites that the ancient tome had described.

Her journey would take her to the abandoned wing of the school, where the shadows lay thickest and the fabric of reality was frayed and worn. It was there that the boundary between the living and the dead could be traversed, and where Evilene would find herself face-to-face with the tormented specters of The Hauntening.

With each step, she felt the pull of destiny tugging at her soul, leading her towards a fate that was inextricably linked with the dark history of the academy. The next chapter of her tale would be one of either redemption or ruin, and as the clock struck midnight, Evilene Wraithsyde crossed the threshold into the unknown, her heart aflutter with both fear and a grim determination.

Not. The. End.