Grummenshift slid jerkily along the top of the palings round the cemetery. The cemetery was disused but no one had the reason or the nerve to just flatten everything and build a supermarket on top. So the palings stayed put in those places where the stone wall had collapsed or been vandalised by builders looking for cheap materials.
Grumm groaned. His colleagues called him Grumm because the rest of his name sounded lewd in their own language. He cursed his parents for this. They could have left it till he or she was adult and could place their own name into the Book of Paltries as the book of verified names was known. They groaned some more and wished that the hermaphrodite tendencies would either come or bloody go. As for the plurality, that was harder to bear it was like having two heads and only one pelranut.
"I mean," he thought, "How can I fornicate decently, or even indecently, with two sets of possible opposing dreams of erotica warbling around in my head - or should that be heads?"
He finished with what passed for a laugh in the hometown back on Feltrop.
Feltrop, the garden planet, lay somewhere near Ursa Major. Of course it wasn't Ursa Major in Feltropian but that would have to do. It was a green and blue kind of paradise that warmed the skin, raised the heartbeat and gave gentle satisfaction to all who iived there. So why this turdish visitation to what the mainly palefaced inhabitants called Earth?
Groans again as the palings changed direction, height and sharpness.
Grumm sang a little song of home to placate his sensory organs.
"Hail swift running hemslog
Praise sweet nature's felting bog
Rend the purdew long ornate
Keep the cattle behind the gate."
This sweet song had been taught to Grumm by his mother, or it may have been a surrogate - there was no way of telling; even Feltrop's equivalent of Earth's DNA tests were useless for any purpose never mind paternity.
He sang in his head for a time but then the soothing words and gentle music caused him to open up his throat and emit Feltropian keening.
The ship was invisible but Grumm could see it, that was the great benefit of a Feltropian single eye, the wavelengths of light were accepted and processed wherever and whatever they were. Cloaks worked for twin-eyed monstrosities like the Earthpeople but Grumm and his crew had no such problems.
Feltropians actually called Earth, Crap. This came about when Helgoslo the Chief Astronomer discovered Earth many flondits ago.
He called it Carp because he was a keen fisherman and, as it turned out and strangely enough, the word meant the same on Earth, or, actually, on Carp. However the Chief Scribe - a slimy individual or two called Brittleshaft, was a rotten writer despite his position and she wrote down Crap by mistake. This was no great problem as crap is Feltropian for dewdrops.
"Dewdrops!" said Grumm to himself with a grin - they'd never get the joke back home.
The door slithered open and Anncoron welcomed him back.
"Did you get it?" was the voiced question after the uncertain love signal had been telepathically tweaked into Grumm's willing heads. The packet was dragged into view. For Crap-people of a certain age the logo and words on the boxes - one hundred of them - were unmistakeable, "Fisherman's Friend"
Anncoron was fluent in American and looked suspiciously at the boxes. "SIND SIE ZU STARCK. BIST DU ZU SCHWACH." was emblazoned beneath the trade mark fishing trawler.
Her words were thick with anger, "What the slurry have you got here, these aren't right?"
Grumm laughed in his throat. "German," he said, "High strength German, 'for export only.' We 're better off with these."
The rest of the crew had listened and watched in a kind of gliding silence befitting their lowly position.
Grumm opened the engine casing and, with some difficulty, got all the menthol tablets out of their packets and into place. He smiled their enigmatic smile and said, "Those power packs should get us home with Crap Years to spare."
As she closed the door Anncoron wasn't so sure, "What if it all disappears in the shadows that reach for the stars?" she asked.
Author notes
An online translation suggested this as the slogan in English....."IF THEY ARE to STARCK. If YOU ARE TOO WEAK. " seems like baloney to me but just thought you'd like to know.
A contest entry
- what if it all disappears in the shadows that reach for the stars? by etoile.
700 points, ended March 20, 20 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Feel free.
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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Wonderful story! I love it!
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Great Story!
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this really held my attention. The imagery allowed me to see things and imagine I heard things too. Wonderful story. Three applauses.
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this was so interesting and unique! great take on the prompt. it was an interesting story to read, i didn't expect anything like this for this contest.
it was really funny i enjoyed reading it, especially the carp/crap part haha.
thanks for entering
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I am adoring the last line ... is that yours? The disappearing in the shadows that reach for the stars" what a brilliant piece of poetry!
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Thanks for kind thoughts - last line was the prompt for the contest, sad I only used it rather than writing it.
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I love this as a starting sci-fi story. It was funny, kind of kooky, but with a lovely ring-of-truth. Well written and very creative.
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Nice read
Great imegry. I like your style of writing. More more
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Interesting and quite funny. You held my interest.
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You have me in the floor at your feet oh great yoda.
How this made me laugh.
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I didn't know that I was a "wise master" and thank you for the accolade even tho' just now I really need a lemonade LOL.
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Excellent
A very fine story. I've been a fan of science fiction all of my life. You expressed your thoughts quite well. Thanks for sharing this one. -
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Thanks for your heads up as I think they say these days.
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Great write! I really enjoyed this - my only quibble (I love the sidetracks, the discourses of explanation) was not knowing how Grumm obtained the Fisherman's Friends; after the focus on the cemetery palings at the beginning, I expected some kind of tie-in.
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I have him/she/they coming back from the hunt for fuel - well, at least I thought I had. Thanks for dropping by so positively.
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Brilliant! I love it. You should submit this work for publication in an SF magazine.
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Thanks so much. You really are too kind in suggesting publication I don't think I can go that far.
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