Justin’s Comments (group member since Mar 13, 2016)

Justin’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

Tom, your story really made me laugh! Loved how the images all resolved into those stereotypes.

Great story Jot! One small correction. You wrote "additions" and I'm sure you meant "addictions".

Good stories you two!

Yes, congratulations Tom!! Another great story!

Tom wrote: "Justin wrote: "I'm sorry friends, I just didn't have the spark this month. :("

Better luck next month, Justin."

Thanks Tom! I do get disappointed with myself when I don't get a story in.

I'm sorry friends, I just didn't have the spark this month. :(

Tom wrote: "Justin wrote: "I had a really wonderful Father's Day with my kids. I did something with each one of them (minus the two who were working) and it was a special time. I miss my own Dad. He passed awa..."

Thanks Tom! It was one of those rare moments of peace when the kids aren't antagonizing each other and I got to spend individual time with each one doing something. Which, when you have six kids, takes some doing! :)

Jeremy wrote: "Thanks Justin.

Disclaimer: Just in case somebody doesn't know, Blue/Red team are military terms of art (red = attack, blue = defense). Nothing to do with the traditional colors of any given politi..."

Indeed. And as an avid HALO player, I'm well acquainted with R v B. :)

Jeremy, I liked the Red vs. Blue idea. Funny but serious at the same time.

Tom wrote: "Interesting concept, Jot."

Very interesting story Tom. I liked the premise. Nicely done.

Jot wrote: "Pretty quiet out there. Posted a story and I hope no one takes it as a political statement, just a story...though I am voting for Kennedy."

I thought it was a good example of the perspective theme.

I had a really wonderful Father's Day with my kids. I did something with each one of them (minus the two who were working) and it was a special time. I miss my own Dad. He passed away last September suddenly. I am glad I was out in Chicago last Father's Day to spend time with him and my youngest brother.

Yes, outstanding story Tom!!

Thank you Paula!! I really appreciate it!! :)

Hi fellow writers! I hope you all have a great Memorial Day weekend!

Best to you all!

Justin

Tom wrote: "Bloody bril, Justin old mate! You've got the touch, you have!"

Thanks Tom! I have to credit a recent viewing of Disney's 1950 Treasure Island. I wanted my youngest son to watch it since he had just been in a school play/musical of Treasure Island. I had forgotten how Long John Silver spoke, around topics with lots of extra words of obfuscation. So, I tried to include that in my barkeep's persona. Once I started writing it, I could not figure out how to deal with the three characters, so I had the barkeep speak around them, keeping them as a conversation topic. I like the result, even if the ending is a little underwhelming. Atmosphere and character is what I was going for. LOL!

Circumlocution at the Staggering Nag

A human, an alien and a robot walk into a bar…
Well now, if that isn’t one of the biggest opening cliches I’ve ever ‘erd in my time here.
That place be the Staggering Nag Pub of course, one of the oldest pubs in the galaxy, or so the records claim. Brought here brick by brick from the old country – or planet I should say, and lovingly laid down here at the Five Points. Our list of famous patrons is a who’s who from ancient Earth history. Why, we’ve ‘ad Jack the Ripper sit right an’ proper in the very seat your posterior is placed, cross mi’ ‘eart he did. And a lot of rippin’ he did too. Makes me shudder to think there’s more than bricks as made their way to this locale so many years ago.

Durin’ the Blitz, Mister Churchill himself graced our establishment when caught out in an air raid. Said our fish n’ chips was the best he’d ever tasted, along with a whiskey and soda to wash it down. Gave the owner then one of his own cigars as a thank-you too. If it were me I would have preferred a few bob mind you, but then the famous sorts plays by different rules I guess.

An over in that booth there, the Fab Four wrote some of their earliest works over pints from across this bar. You can see how they etched their names in it here and here.
Of course it’s genuine! Blyme, you think I’d go on and on about the high and mighty just to drag a few gullible souls in off the streets to sample my ale and hospitality? Carbon dated it I did, along with finding a few bits of DNA from John, Paul, Ringo, and George. It’s all been certified, verified and added to the pub’s official history in the galactic registry of ancient buildings, as this ‘ere plaque will testify.

Per’aps, if you don’t mind me bendin’ your ear a bit more, you’ll be surprised to know that the dread pirate Blackbeard once ate here incognito, hiding in plain sight from His Majesty’s soldiers and sailors. Oh he never came back of course, too busy plunderin’ and flyin’ the Jolly Roger and causing terror near the Colonies before he lost his ‘ead. Our customers these days are a bit more genteel mind you, but you still have to watch your p’s and q’s around some of the feistier ones – excuse me one moment.

Hey you over there! No blasters! No blasters!
Harvey, take those things off ‘im before he hurts himself or some other properly payin’ gentlefolk.

Beggin’ your pardon sir. Some of those comin’ in off their shifts forget their manners and the house rules. Which brings me back to the human, an alien and a robot walkin’ into the Nag. Say, hold up a tick. You might want to go easy on that Arcturan brandy. Some folks just ain’t up to drinking that stuff if you don’t mind me sayin’ so. I’m just trying to spare you a headache or somethin’ worse. Them’s that imbibe too much of it get strange side effects, at least for your species, lessen you want extra eyes in places that don’t see much besides the inside of your sails, so to speak. ‘Ere, drink this, it counteracts anything that might cause ‘ou ‘arm.

Where was I? Oh yes, a human, an alien and a robot came walkin’ into the Nag one night when it was pouring acid rain. A usual occurrence here at the Five Points. We’re shielded of course, but the poor stones as make up the Nag just aren’t up to that kind of stuff and it comes drippin’ onto the floor from those seeking respite and a pint. Besides, it’s bad for the carpet and hardwoods. Did you know that some of those planks are from Earth ships that used to ply the seven seas with nought but the wind to drive ‘em? Imagine that! No propulsion at all! Bad food, brutal discipline – no women. Makes a twelve parsec freighter run look like a walk in the park it does.

Oh I’m sorry sir, I do go on. It’s just that there’s so much about the Nag I likes to share with me patrons, it’s hard to stop jawin’ and start servin’ if you understand my meanin’. A plate of bangers n’ mash comin’ right up, with another ale on the house to chase it!

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2024
Reviews/critiques welcome

It's been a busy month. I don't know if I'll get one in. I've been thinking about the elements since they were first posted. :(

Great story Tom! Wow! Very vivid imagery and great concept!

Jack wrote: "Sorry, my daughter just had a baby - first grandchild - and I am swamped. So, I am doubtful"

Congratulations Jack!!

A Doctor’s Work is Never Done

Doctor Jonathan Smythe stumbled out of the Staggering Nag public house. His performance was so nuanced and calculated, that not even the best of Scotland Yard, nor even Sherlock Holmes himself, would have deduced his lack of inebriation. Oh, there was the smell of ale on his breath from the one he allowed himself to enjoy at his usual back bench within the Nag, and the second he had liberally sprinkled on his greatcoat and scarf. But Smythe was decidedly, deceitfully, and devilishly sober as he made his way to London’s East End. Having sated one vice, he moved through the gathering fog to indulge another - one that burned hot within his breast. It made his fingers twitch in anticipation against the cold metal of the scalpel concealed deep within the right pocket of his greatcoat.

Quickening his pace, he skillfully avoided the roaming policemen who were oblivious to his very existence. But soon, very soon, all of London – and perhaps the world – would see the results of his handiwork. After many twists and turns in the ever-increasing fog, Doctor Smythe arrived at the parish of Whitechapel. There, he drew the collar of his greatcoat up around his neck and slackened his pace. Withdrawing a gentleman’s cane hanging from yet another hidden fold within his coat, he proceeded to stride confidently along the main street. It was feebly lit by flickering gaslight and populated by desperate women trying to carve out a meager living as vessels for men desperate for a moment’s use. Smythe was hyper-alert, salivating in anticipation. Everything stood out in sharp relief as his eyes refocused in the dim light. People seemed to move in slow-motion as apparitions in the mist that enveloped them all, muffled every sound, and in which Smythe swam as an apex predator.

As he approached one diminutive figure that swayed suggestively before him, the night was rent by a blinding light that tore across the London sky. An orb of flames passed directly over Smythe, shedding sparks that cascaded upon all those that walked the streets and alleys of Whitechapel. So great was the deluge that it was a wonder to Smythe that no fires erupted where the sparks landed. He followed its path, and like a moth to a flame, he found himself walking, then running, to see where it landed. It was not long before the sound of thunder erupted, shattering the weaker glass of many lesser buildings, and causing Smythe to stagger as it beat upon the very core of his being.

Undaunted he pressed on, sticking to the shadows and assiduously avoiding contact with the other nocturnal denizens of questionable character. Smythe felt this was an occurrence of great importance, but if pressed he could not say why other than to note he felt a certain pull deep down. Whether by fortune or fate he soon came across a great, steaming furrow, further hidden by the now full London fog. He descended into it and followed it until he found a massive cylinder with its nose buried deep in the earth. Despite the flames he had seen earlier, the cylinder radiated no heat, and as he drew nearer he could hear a sound like a sewer grate being dragged across cobblestones. Smythe searched for handholds but found none. How to get inside? As if in response, Smythe was suddenly surrounded by a column of blinding white light. He felt as if he was melting away into nothing until the light vanished and he found himself standing in a darkened, circular room covered with small flashing lights. A being with moist gray skin and large black eyes stood before him, and though it seemed to have no mouth, Smythe clearly heard a voice in his mind.
“Sorry about that old chap, but you appeared to be looking for a door, which my vessel does not have, so I beamed you aboard.”
“Beamed?” asked Smythe
“You know, teleported. How should I say it? Blast, your language is deucedly primitive. Well, never mind my good man. I was hoping you could point me to the nearest…alchemist. I’m in need of some special elements to fix my ship.”
“Elements? Like what?” asked Smythe.
“Gold, silver, metals like that. You do have them on this planet don’t you?”
“Oh yes guv’nah, we have those in abundance. I’d be happy to help you,” said Smythe, his fingers clenching the scalpel.
“Smashing! So what do I call you old boy?”
“Just call me… Jack…”

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2024
Reviews/critiques welcome

Good story Jeremy!