12-Minute Tales – The Great Unity

“Aaaand that’s it. We’ve conquered all of the known universe.”

“Wow. All of it huh? Didn’t seem to take too long, did it?”

“Nope. Which further shows that our empire sure was destined to control all 18,000 stars.”

“Yeah, and what’s weird is that we once thought there were more stars than that.”

“Heh. Yeah. Turns out a lot of stars were just dust scientists were seeing on their telescopes.”

“Man, people were so stupid back then.”

“Yep. Unlike today however. And now that every living being is a citizen of the empire people will continue to get smarter and flourish.”

“Indeed. Indeed…”

The two men sat there for awhile. Until…

“Todd?”

“Yes?”

“What if we blew-up a galaxy?”

“What? What for?”

“Um…what?”

“I’m asking you, what would the reason be for decimating one of the empire’s great galaxies?”

“Well…I just figured now that the empire now owns the universe and everything is peaceful people are going to get antsy.”

“Antsy?”

“Yeah. You know.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you know how people get too comfortable. They start to get paranoid. They start to think of threats that don’t exist. So I figure why don’t we, you know, manufacture an intergalactic conflict in order to control what people’s fear and other negative emotions. Otherwise, their feelings will start to boil over and, before you know it, they got our heads on stakes. Space stakes.”

“…Why would they come for us?”

“I don’t know. Jealousy. And I’m not saying their actions would be rational. Just the opposite. That’s why we have to preemptively–”

“Ok. Ok. I get it.”

“…So?”

“What?”

“What do you think?”

“Gah! I know what you mean. But we’re not just blowing-up a galaxy.”

“Not even a poor, disgusting one?”

“…Well…let me think about it.”

“Of course. Of course. Take your time.”


Written for Daily Writing Prompt #29.

12-Minute Tales – A Sacrifice

“I don’t want to go back.”

“Seth, look. You can’t just stay–”

“Why not?”

“What about your family? Your loved ones?”

“Yeah. Okay. But they’ve got doughnuts here.”

“…Um, we have doughnuts in our dimension as well.”

“But these are way better. And way cheaper too. In fact everything is cheaper. Sometimes they just give away stuff for free even if you didn’t ask for it. Some guy just gave me his Ford Challenger for nothing in return. Everyone is so nice. There’s no war. People just sit around in cafes and talk about philosophy and the arts. Look, Nia, this is where I belong!”

Nia sighed. “But what about me? I thought we were friends…”

“I mean. You’re alright.”

“What?”

“But look, you can live here too. They give houses away for free!”

“Seth…what if you’re wrong?”

“What do you mean? I just spoke with the real estate guy. He said that there’s too many houses and–”

“Not that. I mean, what if this place isn’t so great? Like, doesn’t there have to be some sort of catch?”

Seth thought for a moment. “Maybe. But, I’m willing to take that chance. Something in my heart just tells me this is where I’m meant to be. All my life I felt anomalous. Out of place. But here…it’s different…everything feels right…”

Nia sighed again and shrugged. “Well, guess I’m just going to have to find a new roommate then.”

“But, aren’t you going to stay…”

“No. Because I do have a life and I don’t feel like starting over. And I bet you, this dimension isn’t going to be nearly as great as you originally thought. Goodbye Seth.”

“Bye…” And with that Nia left Seth alone on the bench. Seth watched as Nia marched up the cobblestone road and turned into the dark alleyway where the portal was located. After she disappeared he continued staring at the empty road. Then he turned his gaze upward. The lights glowing silently above, the tree branches swayed by a gentle touch of breeze. Seth closed his eyes and wondered.


Written for Daily Writing Prompt #26.

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay

Wisdom of the Graying

The hum of the freeway,
the silent flesh of another day
shifting to gray.
It all becomes narrow,
an ancient corridor
where you sift through
the leftover murmurs
of some grand architecture.

Voices collect within
the window, and birds
flap eagerly across
the sun’s faded stare.
But nothing comes for you.
No dream or epiphany
rushes through your skin.
The weekend has shrunk
once again, and things are
still incomplete. Or unfound.
And the birds and voices
have already become
smaller than the past. And this
poem becomes the moment
because it can’t be anything
else or more, just as the sun
disappears, trapped
in its own glow.

12-Minute Tales – The Gorge

“I’m starving. When can we eat?”

“My feet are tired. Why do we even have feet?”

“Where are we going anyway? I like our old herder more.”

The insipid questions just kept coming as we entered the gorge. I eyed the edges waiting for something to ambush us. Unfortunately, I had no other choice since not only was this the quickest route, but the stupid cattle wouldn’t be able to climb up a few rocks without stumbling. Thankfully, no marauders welcomed us, at least not yet.

“I’m thirsty.”

“We just had a drink,” I muttered, but the cattle kept complaining. If they were being shot at they would still complain about the heat. That’s what I hated about the cattle other than the fact that they were genetically modified with the ability to speak was the fact that they had no perspective. They had no sense of the bigger picture. They had no idea why I was herding them and didn’t even care to care. If they had it their way they would be on the other side of the valley, eating dirt and wondering why the earth was so brown.

“Aw crap.” The sun started its descent and we hadn’t even made it out of the gorge. I blamed the cattle who would often get sidetracked by literally nothing. One would often leave the herd to go stare at the rock face. A couple hours passed and the sky darkened. I set-up camp and shivered by the makeshift fire.

“What’s that?” But I didn’t answer the calf. I was pretty sure it was the same one that had asked what fire was the previous night and just forgot the answer. I turned to my side on the rough dirt and rocks underneath. I had a bedroll but I failed to secure it on my horse and before I knew it the cattle had chewed it up. Because they’re cattle. And they’re dumb.

But I deserved this, I guess. For my crimes I had to hide away on this planet and in order to survive I had to take menial tasks. The cold night enveloped as the fire shifted shapes quietly underneath the stars. I used to think that if I did A, B, and C, then all would be good. But now I saw no path. It was just chaos.

I felt the warm breath of one of the cows spreading across my cheek, but I didn’t want to open my eyes. “What happened to the sun?”

“Shut up…” As I said this I felt bad, but I couldn’t bring myself to rectify it. I was too tired. And like the cattle I was hungry as well. But, fortunately, by morning we would be out of the gorge, assuming that marauders wouldn’t get the jump on us first.


Written for the Daily Writing Prompt #19. The challenge today was to write a story within the Cattle Drive subgenre of the Western.

Image by Pezibear from Pixabay

12-Minute Tales – Marcus the Magnificent, Part IX

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII

Marcus sat before the old man as the kindling burned, creating little warmth in the darkened hut. Marcus felt a sting of nostalgia, yet everything seemed strange, almost distorted.

“It’s an honor sir ta have such a great man in my home, let me tell ya.I ain’t worthy, no sir.”

“Um…thanks. But this was–I mean, I was actually hoping to find the previous owners.”

“Aye! Are ya on another adventure!”

“Um, sure? Anyway, their names are ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ and–”

“Ah! In all my 80-some years I’ve finally gets to be a part of something! Please sir, how can I aid you?”

“Well, as I’ve said, I was hoping you would happen to know the previous owners of this farm.”

“Ah, this farm. Lemme tell ya, things haven’t been growin’ so good.”

“Um, OK.”

“It’s as if the plants don’t wanna grow. They’re black and brittle. Say…maybe you can help me.”

“Um, look. I’m sorry to bother you. But I really need to know where my parents have gone.”

The old man smiled. “Aye, I think I know where they may be.”

“Really?” Marcus said. “Oh, that’s great! Please, tell me where they are.”

“Of course, but…my crops. If you help me with my crops first then I will help ya…what do you say?”

Marcus didn’t know what to say. His eye twitched. His face turned red. The old man squinted. “Ya okay sir?”

“Why can’t someone do something for me, for once?”

“Wha–?” But before he knew it, the old man was on the ground, pain flashing across his skull. Marcus the Magnificent stood over him, silhouetted against the fire. The great hero who has slain many a beast. The old man cowered. “Please sir…please…”

Marcus watched as the old man feebly raised his hand. Marcus’ fists unfurled. His senses were finally coming back to him. “I’m…I’m sorry.” And he ran out the door into the cold, cold night.

For many years the legend of Marcus the Magnificent was known on the lips of many men and women across the land. From the poorest of the poor to the high-born, everyone spoke highly of what was possibly the greatest adventurer. Even the old man in his final years would gloat about how the grand champion nearly destroyed him though no one believed him. “Aye, he would never hurt an innocent. And plus, why would Marcus waste time with the likes of you, a mere mortal?” they would say and the old man died with no one believing that the greatest moment of his life had ever occurred.

However even the brightest of legends fade, and Marcus’s was no exception. No one knew exactly what happened to Marcus. Last anyone heard he was on a “final quest” to find two elderly farmers. Whether or not he found them no one can say. But in his wake, the Age of Adventure flourished. Children everywhere were inspired to risk their lives needlessly after hearing of Marcus’s conquests. But soon, as those children grew old and their children’s children grew old, Marcus’s name was forgotten. Lost in the pages of some dusty old tome. But, his spirit lives on as the light settles upon the land and and makes battle with the dark. Marcus the Magnificent. Here’s to you.

12-Minute Tales – Marcus the Magnificent, Part VIII

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII

And from there Marcus gave-up and accepted his fate; after a few more years at the Academy he was a certified Adventurer. He traveled the continent with various other traveling bands. Despite the fact that Marcus never possessed any special skill or talent, Marcus somehow escaped death’s clutches and stumbled upon fame and fortune while many others, such as Selenious, did not.

Marcus couldn’t quite explain it. No matter how hard he tried he always found himself in the middle of some grand adventure. Once, while stumbling through the woods after inadvertently slaying a dragon that had been terrorizing the land for quite some time, he tripped over a rock. And, of course, there was a shiny little gem that had been pressed beneath the rock. Marcus knew immediately what this meant. He hurried through the woods, trying his best to avoid his fate. Next thing he knew, he was defending a local village from the corpses reanimated by the uncovered gem. And, somehow, Marcus saved the day by tripping over yet another rock which just so happened to have been covering a different colored gem. The “good” gem.

And so on and so forth. Until Marcus came back home to the farming village he hadn’t seen in over two decades.

“Hello? Ma? Pa?” He knocked on the door. He was cold and tired. His face dirty. He had seen many a battle, many a war, and had always come out on top, yet he looked like any other beggar emerging from the gutter.

There was no answer. He peered into the window of the tiny, dirty little hut. It was night, yet there was no light inside. Marcus started to worry. Was he too late? Had they moved away?

“Hello? It’s me, Marcus. Can anyone hear me? It’s your son. I’ve come back.” Suddenly, a dim light started to glow, revealing the edge of a face he couldn’t quite recognize.

“You best be leaving,” the face said. “I’ve got notin’ for ye here. So ya best git!”

“B-but. I used to live here…many years ago. My parents…”

“Wait…I know you…” The face approached the window. “You’re–you’re Marcus, ain’t ya?”

“Yes. Did you know my parents?”

“By the Gods! It’s Marcus! The Hero of the Wastes! The Slayer of the Golden Dragon!”

“Um…”

“Aye, lemme just–come in an’ get outta the cold, sir.”

A Certain Type of Warmth

A flooding
Of silent whiteness
Appears within this glassy window.
But something burns
Inside, hotter
Than any truth. I remember
When we used to go
Out into the snow. I would
Shiver and shake, but you braved
Those knife-like winds.
You wanted to build snowmen
And snow castles and tiny
Snow worlds to rule over.
But now this world is without
You. Just
Flat and damp. And the snow
piling atop.


Written for the 54th Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest, the topic being “The Bleak Midwinter.”