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A Short Story by Eddie Fitzgerald
(Copyright 2010 by Eddie Fitzgerald)
It is I, Magog the hunter, daughter of Nartha the matriarch, and along with my fellow nogs I watched the metal thing emerge from the stars and, with fire roaring from its bottom, land on the surface of my cratered asteroid. None of us had ever seen anything like it, so we waited in practiced stillness to see what would happen. Who knows? Maybe there was a meal to be had here. Sure enough, after a bit, a hole appeared in its side and a creature emerged.
It walked on only two limbs, something none of us had ever seen before. How does it do that? Nogs have barely enough at twenty, twenty-two if you include the large mandibles which are for ripping and tearing, but are also useful as extra legs when running down prey. No need for that now, though. With no prompting from us the thing was slowly advancing right into the middle of us, cautiously shining a wide beam of light into the shadows that defined our still and rock-like bodies.
I was in favor of waiting another moment or two but one of the hungriest young nogs impetuously reared up and loomed over the creature, its mandibles opening and closing; hot, steaming acid dripping from its grinding mouth parts. The startled creature made a move to run back to the metal thing but was cut off by several adolescents who spat a corrosive fixing fluid that anchored the creature to the spot.
The thing was doomed, but was apparently determined to sell its life dearly. It reached into a pouch on its side and frantically withdrew a thing which shot out beams of light which vaporized whatever they touched. A big mistake. At the sight of a struggling victim nogs go into a feeding frenzy of inconceivable ferocity. The creature shot its beams this way and that, pouring the destructive force of its energy into us; maiming, killing, destroying, and for a moment appeared to be getting the upper hand. It was time for me, the chief, to enter the fray.
With a leap I jumped onto the transparent globe on top of its body and sank my fangs into the smooth surface. The top of the disk crumbled and there was a whoosh of gas and inside I could see a soft hairy thing which I immediately bit. The flavor was indescribably delicious but the thing was still alive and was able to bring its shooter up to my abdominal segment and fire.
In the silence of space I saw my body divide into two wildly flailing parts. My entrails unwound into the ether and large quantities of blood escaped in shimmering globules. My time was up. I only had a moment of consciousness left, but that's not important. For nogs it's the species that matters, not the individual. With my last instant of wakefulness I watched as my belly disgorged hundreds of small nogs which carried the feeding frenzy into the gaping hole in the shattered dome.
Life goes on.
17 comments:
Nice little space opera, Eddie! (And where did you get the illo from?)
Buzz: Thanks! The illustration is from a Russian sci-fi magazine from the 50s or early 60s.
Buzz: By the way, did you have the understanding that the creature from the spaceship was a human in a spacesuit and helmet? I just read the story again, and it occurred to me that people might think the victim was an alien of some sort.
That was weird, but interesting!
The sci-fi styled story was great. Nogs? What a classic! I can't wait for a funny story next. Real cartoonists always tell funny stories.
That's REAL science fiction!
Space commies! I love it! This is chillingly like the Korean War.
It seemed clear to me once I knew the narrator was an alien. The alien of my alien is myself. Besides, only Man builds spacecraft that phallic.
I don't think it matters too much if the space traveler is known to be human or not. Whether it's aliens attacking aliens or aliens attacking humans it's still entertaining.
Thanks for the story!
I was definitely under the impression the creature was a human. I've been waiting for this story ever since you mentioned the title a few weeks back!
Groovy!
That's the greatest title for a story since "Shoot to Kill the Wounded" and "I Spit on your Grave!"
Rooni, John, Pappy, Josh, Jorge: Many thanks!
Roberto: It's hard to think of traditional, written-out short stories that are as funny as comedic essays or sketches or funny autobiography. I love sketch comedy... I've done a number of photo sketches for this blog...but that's a different medium than the short story.
Woody Allen and Steve Martin could write funny short stories, but even they had to rely on word play and surreal plots, rather than traditional story structures.
Plain old non-illustrated short stories for the print media work best with sci-fi, horror and weird stuff. It's odd how the medium you use determines what you write. Short sketches favor comedy over drama: short stories favor drama. Novels and feature films also favor drama; short films favor comedy. Why? I don't know. Zeus has decreed it so.
Ben: It took me that long to think of a plot that actually fit the title.
Jorge: I Spit on Your Grave is a truly great title!
Yikes! That's gotta hurt!
I love the description at the end. I imagine his blood and guts gracefully leaving his body like the inside of a lava lamp!
Steve, Josh: Thanks!
That was great!! I hope you write more...and it's definitely obvious that the "creature" is human. :)
When I read stuff like this I make a point of only seeing the images that are clearly there, so as to more deeply experience the feeling the writer is trying to convey. As a result, when you said "two legs", I thought "two LIMBS, period". That's how I missed the fact that it was a human. But the title is one of the best single sentences I've ever read. Even though you wrote it, something about it feels like pure Jim Smith. Maybe because it reminds me of "Cling tenaciously to my buttocks"?
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