This is a revision of a post from April, 2016
I found the idea for the story that follows at: http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/. I included the idea from a second prompt (#1722) in the story as well.
Fiction Writing Prompt #1694: Write a story or scene about doomed freedom fighters.
Included was this photograph.
Here is my just plain fun response to the prompt. At the end is a link to the finished story:
Ghetto Uprising
Gnarnell looked down with one of her two stalk-eyes. The rough wooden box she focused on sat in the corner of the small room she and her fellow freedom fighters occupied. The two other stalk-eyes and her pair of inset-eyes remained focused on the evidence of her predicament. It was a mental challenge to focus a single ocular organ on something while her other four eyes were otherwise focused.
She grunted.
“Yes, Leader!” The closet of the twenty freedom fighters to her provided the required response to any and all directives from an officer. That was the expectation, even if the soldier wasn’t sure of the directive.
How foolish is our protocol? Gnarnell thought. This youth is willing to do something without even knowing what it is. I must devise a task.
“I require,” she said before pausing. I have the answer! “I require the box of ammunition and weaponry from that corner.” She pointed a prehensile finger toward the box.
“By your command!” The young male made his way through the crowd that filled the room. Gnarnell watched him with all three stalk-eyes. He’s so dedicated. I wish he lived at a better time. But, it isn’t even a good time.
The room was too small for all of them. It was also too poorly located to act as a shelter for any who championed their cause. In fact, it was too poorly built to provide adequate protection for anyone, regardless of the cause they championed.
The youth returned with the box held tightly against his scaly body. She noted that his fingers had yet to mature into the almost sentient digits she had. He sat the box close to where her tail circled her legs and clawed feet. She flashed the sign for a job well done. He beamed.
She gave a nod of dismissal. He nodded in respectful reply worked his way through the crowd, recounting the end of his successful mission to each companion as he passed.
Using her well-muscled tail, Gnarnell slid the box the youth delivered against the wall behind her. Turning her body, she shielded her movements, and the contents of the box, from prying eyes. It’s best that I know what we have before anyone else. I have neither time nor space for panic or celebration.
The lid lifted with minimal resistance. She leaned it up against the front of the wooden container. Inside she found much less than she’d hoped for. Her spirit plummeted.
I was told that this room had a supply of weapons. I assumed that at least some would be plasma or, at least laser pistols. This, this collection of antiques does not qualify as a supply of anything but disappointment. I fear we are doomed.
In the box were ten items. She recognized them all, from the history books she’d read in school years ago. She took inventory.
One grenade. Three canisters of noxious gas. One canister each of flammable liquid and explosive fluid. One detonator for a bomb. Two sacks of projectile ammunition. One bottle of what I assume is poisoned wine. This must be a twisted joke being played by fate herself.
“I need a volunteer,” she said with even less inflection than was usual for her species.
All heads turned in her direction. Twenty-seven quintets of her species' eyes found their point of focus on her.
It is what I suspected would be the case. They’ve all volunteered. How many do I send on this suicide mission?
This was the catalyst for a what is now a 10k word story. Titled "Freedom's Just a Word," it follows the subterfuge invasion of a planet by an alien species. The opening few pages is below after the cover. Notice that the above is now the opening scene. The story backfills from there.
This was the catalyst for a what is now a 10k word story. Titled "Freedom's Just a Word," it follows the subterfuge invasion of a planet by an alien species. The opening few pages is below after the cover. Notice that the above is now the opening scene. The story backfills from there.
Freedom’s Just A Word . . .
By C. R. Downing
Location: Frinyo City – Weapons Cache
Date: 38.442.02.13
Gnarnell looked down with one of her three stalk-eyes. The rough wooden box she focused on sat in the corner of the small room she and her fellow freedom fighters occupied. The two other stalk-eyes and her pair of inset-eyes remained focused on the evidence of her predicament. It was a mental challenge to focus a single ocular organ on something while the rest of her eyes were otherwise engaged.
She grunted.
“Yes, Captain!” The closest of the twenty-seven insurgents under her command provided the required response to any directive from an officer. That was the expectation, even when the soldier wasn’t sure of the directive.
How foolish is our protocol? Gnarnell thought. This youth is willing to do something without even knowing what it is. I must devise a task.
“I require,” she said before pausing. I have the answer! “The box of ammunition and weaponry from that corner.” She pointed a prehensile finger toward the box. “Bring it to me!”
“By your command!”
The young male made his way through the packed room. Gnarnell’s stalk-eyes followed his progress. He’s so dedicated. I wish he lived in a better time in our history.
The room was too small for them. It was too poorly located to act as a shelter for any who championed their cause. In fact, it was too poorly built to provide adequate protection for anyone, regardless of the cause they championed.
The room was never meant to be a sanctuary. It was listed on government manifestos as a weapons cache. That description convinced her to stage the end of the mission there.
The youth returned with the box held tight against his scaly body. She noted that his fingers had yet to mature into the almost sentient digits of mature Deloqkites. The boy’s no more than twelve-years-old. He sat the box close to where her tail circled her legs and clawed feet. She flashed the sign for a job well done. He beamed.
She gave a nod of dismissal. He nodded in respectful reply and worked his way through the crowd, recounting the end of his successful mission to each companion he passed.
Using her well-muscled tail, Gnarnell slid the box against the wall behind her. She turned her body to shield her movements and the contents of the box from prying eyes. It was best that she know what she had before anyone else. There was neither time nor space for panic or celebration.
The lid lifted with minimal resistance. She leaned it up against the front of the wooden container.
Inside she found much less than she’d hoped for.
Records indicate that this room holds a supply of weapons. I assumed that at least some would be plasma-based or laser pistols. This, this collection of antiques does not qualify as a supply of anything but disappointment.
In the box were ten items. She recognized them all from books on the history of Deloqk, her home planet. Despair crowded out other thoughts She gave her head a vicious shake to reset her feelings and began taking inventory.
One grenade. Three canisters of noxious gas. One canister each of flammable liquid and explosive fluid. One detonator for a bomb. Two sacks of projectile ammunition. One bottle of what I assume is wine.
Despair pushed against hope, trying to gain the upper hand in her mind. This is a twisted joke being played by fate.
“I need a volunteer,” she said with even less inflection than was usual for her species. Suppression of emotion was her preferred method of overcoming unwanted thoughts. She’d found the technique useful in times past.
All heads turned in her direction. Twenty-seven quintets of eyes found their point of focus on her. Twenty-seven first-fingers on twenty-seven hands of twenty-seven arms of revenge of twenty-seven guerillas pointed at her.
It is as I expected. They’ve all volunteered. How many do I take with me on this suicide mission?
§ § § §
Solar System: Quadrant 4/Red Dwarf 221
Planet: Deloqk
Personal Observations Log
Author: Gnarnell
Rank: Captain, Army of the Sovereign Nation of Cronoqk
Date: 38.435.15.24
The celebration is finally over. I was afraid it would never end.
The aliens called themselves explorers when they arrived on Deloqk. Civilians should have asked, “Why would an advanced civilization on a mission of exploration need an armada of spacecraft to survey a three-planet solar system at the fringe of the Andromeda Galaxy?”
But they didn’t. They were too busy enjoying the novelty.
I was glad when the aliens were greeted with cautious optimism by the governments of Deloqk. The hundreds of alien ships are sleek and fast, unlike the bulky cargo spaceships of the Deloqkian space fleet. The technology the aliens freely share is decades, perhaps centuries ahead of anything we’ve got. I’m fearful that the opportunities for improving the status quo are seen as goals by the populace and not the temptations they are.
Few Deloqkites outside the top military brass on Deloqk doubt their claim of a neighboring solar system as their home. From a military point of view, the alien ships’ design and number indicate hyper-light capability. No solar system close to ours would commit this many long-distance spacecraft for a drive through the neighborhood.
Unless exploration was not the primary motivation of that neighborhood jaunt.
The public refuses to doubt any alien claim regarding space travel. Our social media channels buzz with praise of the “spacemen.” I see their point. For the public, the proof of the alien claims regarding interstellar travel is orbiting our planet.
Deloqk has never been a major player in interplanetary commerce. Only four Deloqkian nations have access to materials and fuel sources needed to build and maintain rudimentary interplanetary craft. For that reason, the vast majority of our citizenry is naively unconcerned with interplanetary commerce or interstellar travel.
I know for a fact that the Ruling Council of Chronoqk withdraws support of anything when revenue drops below its predicted monetary benefit. The direct correlation between cost and benefit is especially true for a venture as expensive as space travel. I’ve heard the other governments involved in space commerce feel the same way.
Because of this known expense versus hypothetical gain or loss, all spacecraft produced on Deloqk are cargo-carries. ALL OF THEM! We don’t have a single spaceship equipped with offensive weapons. Our ships don't have even the most rudimentary of defensive shielding systems.
I’m seriously concerned about the last issue. Mark my words, the lack interest in space travel as anything more than an economic novelty will come back to bite us in our collective muscular tails.
Solar System: Quadrant 4/Red Dwarf 221
Planet: Deloqk
Personal Observations Log
Author: Gnarnell
Rank: Captain, Army of the Sovereign Nation of Cronoqk
Date: 38.436.05.37
It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost 5.25 months since my last Observation Log entry. It hasn’t been from the lack of observations of the aliens, that’s for certain.
Observation number 1. There are a lot of explorers. That’s what the aliens call themselves. Remember? The citizenry continues to overlook that. Only a few naysayers—like me—keep pointing out the large number of aliens on Deloqk. This is a concern.
Observation number 2. The vocal minority has pointed out on many occasions that every alien wears a uniform. To me, the conclusion is clear: all the explorers are members of the military. That’s a cause for concern in my book. The vast majority of Deloqkites don’t see it that way.
Observation number 3. The aliens refuse to allow Deloqkites to board any of their ships except those that landed on the surface. Big concern! What’s in the ships orbiting the planet that has to be kept secret?
That completes my trilogy of concerns and this entry.
Watch your tails, people! (That’s a reference to the end of my last entry. I may just end all these Personal Observations with a tail reference. We’ll see.)
END of Sample
While at one level, I'm sorry to do that to you, on another level, I hope you're hooked enough to follow this link and read the whole story. If you do, I would appreciate a short review sent to crd.author@gmail.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment