Everywhere Norman went in Outer Space, it was always the same. Rocks, ice and boredom. Then back to suspended animation and off to another dull solar system. Continue reading
He spent years honing copious martial skills, studying to think like a dragon. He learned to track a dwarf by sense of smell. To leap from rock to rock like a mountain goat. To swing a pole ax like a plastic knife wielding whirling dervish. Continue reading
The blonde was Princess and liked pink. She was the only pilot in the Space Rangers with a pink suit and helmet. Rank had privileges.
She furrowed her brow and ripped off her helmet. How dare those space zombies shoot at her X-wing fighter! She’d teach them. She didn’t wear pink jack boots for nothing! Continue reading
A manic clown approached with a whip cream pie. Monsters swarmed out of the murk. The clown cackled loudly. Continue reading
The store was packed like a tub of multicolored blocks. An oily, cheerful voice boomed: “Snowmageddon! Fire sale! Buy now!”
Walso felt uncomfortable in his ubertight snowsuit. Only yesterday they’d had the global warming celebration. Continue reading
“No! I am the King!” Anger pulsed in his neck. He reached for his eleven-foot long sword.
The hag cackled, like grinding stones. “Gyrpe is too late. What’s done cannot be undone.” Continue reading
“So this is the place. We see plenty of native wildlife from this vantage. You’re lucky. Nice weather,” said the tour guide.
“Jolly good!” said the professor. Continue reading
The croissants never turned out light and fluffy. The chef despaired at their waxy, plastic texture. Nobody ate them.
His life goal turned brick. The Food Network was fantastic, distant. He plunked in a playful pit of gloom. Perhaps if he learned how to use this frying pan. Continue reading
For our class trip our brilliant adviser Mr. Bailey decided it would be fun to go camping. We looked around at one another, everyone had that laid-back whatever-dude look on their faces. Camping? Seriously?
He had to be joking. Only Continue reading
I’ve paddled over snow-capped mountain tops, the granite face rippling over blue. The embrace of the sun warms my shoulders, your face. Hats would be good there. Where else would you rather be than right here, right now?
The bass greet the blue canoe as a spectacle. Something blown out of proportion, long and dark, hovering overhead.
We peer back, down through water as clear as the air we breathe. Aliens from the world above the water world, we have achieved harmony and sit suspended in perfect space.
One soft stroke followed by another. Gliding like flying. The firs of the Great Northwest make pilgrimage over the rolling hills and down to the Creator’s Mirror. Welcome to Banff. It is good.