Sci-Fi Story

Sorry for the long delay! I have been super busy with school. So all I've really written is school stuff, essays mainly. But also this short little sci-fi story. Enjoy!
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Sci-Fi Story
Two archeologists were picking their way around some tables filled with objects found in a recently excavated house. From tests they had run on a few of the objects, the house was from around the twenty-first century − nearly six thousand years ago now. It was the first house of that time period ever to be discovered, and they were eager to learn about the people of that time.

Much of the house had long since rotted away, such as most of the storage containers, which were probably made of wood. Many strange saucer-like objects with rubber-padded handles had been found, of differing depths. Izrael leaned over and gently touched one of these. Rust had eroded much of the original material. “What do you suppose this is?” he asked his companion Tara. “And why would the ancients need so many of them?”

Tara shrugged. “We don’t know. The only records we have of the twenty-first century are its entertainment volumes. It could be a sort of weapon. They talk about people hitting other people with heavy, copper pans or pots. Perhaps it was a weapon.”

“Interesting.” Izrael moved further down the line of tables. “There’s so much we can learn! What, for instance, are these?”

It was a small collection of silver cylinders, flat on one end and with a knob on the other end. They were crusted with white foam. Tara examined them closely. “It exploded,” she said, picking one up and examining the way the foam drizzled down one side. “That looks like some sort of chemical − the foam. It could be acid.”

“Acid…maybe these too were weapons? We should get them analyzed, see what chemical they were.”

“Acid bombs,” Tara speculated. “Hmm…”
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“We’ve finished analyzing the item,” the leader of the team of chemists said. “It’s battery acid.”

“Battery acid?”

“Yes − those were batteries. They powered the ancients’ small machines, like flashlights and portable CD players.” The chemist touched the screen and the example items came up. “An obscure little novel provided the knowledge. Fascinating, isn’t it? Now perhaps we could find one of these battery-powered items and recreate them for historical reference…?”

“Maybe,” Tara said, looking at the screen. “Maybe.

The Legend of the Crazy Cat Lady: Part Three

Part three
It’s a long walk and your paws are sore by the time you get there. The show cats follow a safe distance behind you, waiting for your grand adventure.

There it looms in the middle of nowhere: the Cat Lady’s house. This will be a piece of salmon, you fling at Henry and the others. I’m going to go in and come back in time to get tuna from my person while you are all sadly humiliated!

You swagger up her driveway, flicking your tail back and forth aggressively. The show cats sit down just before the Cat Lady’s yard starts and wait for you there.

Her yard is weedy and run-down. Clearly she doesn’t care enough to take care of it. There is no cat-scent and you wonder why. You know the Crazy Cat Lady has hundreds, thousands of cats, and they should all be out here as often as they can, leaving their scent over everything.

Your tail is beginning to bristle with the familiar prickling sensation and your collar is feeling tighter than usual. And that’s when you know you’re really scared. You’ve heard the tales. The Cat Lady snatches kittens from their mothers and keeps them forever. The Cat Lady is crazy and no cat will purposely go near a crazy person.

They’re only nursery tails, you tell yourself, and hop up onto her porch. But still you hesitate. You feel yourself prickling all over, and you know you’re already twice your normal size.

Listen, you don’t really have to do this! Angie calls from the edge of the Cat Lady’s yard. Come back and we’ll share a mouse. Henry was just being stupid.

But you flick your tail. You have decided to do this, so you will. Such a remark deserves no reply. You search the front wall to find a way in. You’re going to have to go in if you want to best Henry. There’s a window there. You decide that for your purposes it will do, and you choose a launching point directly below it.

Jumping up onto the windowsill, you shove the window with your paw. It swings inwards slightly.

I am going in, you say, and you do.
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Author's note: I made it nursery tails instead of tales on purpose. Just saying.

The Legend of the Crazy Cat Lady: Part Two

Part two
This place is the park. You like it because so many squirrels and birds like to hang around here. It’s great practice for hunting. There are always a lot of other cats here, but you don’t mind. Most of them are purebred ‘show cats’ like Henry from down the road and don’t actually take advantage of the great hunting, just strut around and show off.

And Henry is in the park today. He’s still fat, fluffy, and boastful. Really boastful. In fact, he’s in the middle of boasting to a group of other, less fluffy, purebred cats. You decide to see what the topic is today and find out that it’s how brave the Persian breed is. And in the process, implying that a cat of no particular breed like yourself is somewhat less than adequate.

Being a cat, you cannot take that sort of thing lying down. You sidle into their group with your tail up. Then you say, Maybe the Persian breed is brave, but have you got any proof?

Angie, a Bengal, looks at Henry. Yeah, Henry. Prove the fluffy cats have as much bravery as they have fur.

The others nod. Some are Bengals like Angie, others are Japanese bobtails, and a few are Abyssinians. Show us, Henry, they say.

Henry turns to me. So you doubt the courage of the Persian breed? Why not test the courage of a mix, such as you?

And immediately the others are with Henry. It is time for a quick decision. Do you want to possibly risk one of your nine lives for your dignity? You’re not feeling particularly cautious today. But you are always aware of your dignity. And the last time you had a bruised dignity, it took you weeks to heal.

It wouldn’t bother me. You sit down and wrap your tail over your paws, looking supremely unconcerned. You are you, and therefore you are braver, stronger, and more deserving than any of these other cats.

Very well. Then you’ll accept a dare? Henry’s round eyes start glinting. You wonder if this dare might very well cause you to lose a life.

Yes I will. You flick your tail contemptuously and perform a Disconcerting Glare on Henry.

He doesn’t look disconcerted. So you flick your tail again and say, Get on with it, Henry.

I dare you to go to the Crazy Cat Lady’s house and then go inside. His flat face is smug as he says it.

You try another Disconcerting Glare. But now you are feeling disconcerted yourself. The Crazy Cat Lady is something known by everybody. Everybody knows at least two things: she is crazy. And she has a lot of cats. Her house is far out of town and very spooky.

Your dignity is at stake here. And being a cat, you can’t just let it be burned there. I accept your dare, you say, and saunter off immediately. You are going to go to the Crazy Cat Lady’s house and come back in time to greet Suzy when she comes back so she can get out some of that delicious tuna you’ve been smelling for weeks but couldn’t get because she put it in the refrigerator.

The show cats follow you. You don’t look at them. They do not bother you. They are simply spectators, creatures for you to show off for. And of course you can’t miss a chance to show off. You change your saunter to a swagger and crook your tail at the tip.

You are feeling very confident.

The Legend of the Crazy Cat Lady: Part One

Part one
The sun sparkles on your fur as you rise to your paws. You are a cat and you have a human named Suzy. It’s early Monday morning as you decide whether whatever woke you up is worth investigating or if you should just go right back to sleep in the warm patch of sun.

The sun was behind you when you first lay down on the cushion − now it’s glaring in your eyes. You decide it’s not worth finding a new position and get up. Where is Suzy? It is time for lunch and you are hungry! An earsplitting meow will probably bring her running from any corner of the house. So you scream for her.

She doesn’t come. You begin to get worried. What has happened to Suzy? Usually around this time she’s staring, fascinated, at one of the leafy things she calls a book while you nap somewhere on the floor nearby. But today she is missing.

You go and walk around the house. You don’t search in all your favorite nooks and crannies to see if she’s hiding there because you know that Suzy is only a human and can’t fit into your special places. When you can’t find her, you decide to look out the window to see if her car is there.

You sit on your favorite front-facing windowsill and look out on your yard. It is perfect, with long grass perfect for stalking. You’re glad that Suzy doesn’t know one end of a lawnmower from the other and doesn’t particularly want to. Your yard may not be as big as Henry’s down the road, but at least you can actually defend all of it. Henry doesn’t even know that he has five or six stray tabbies living on his yard. Now you, you would know if another cat moved in before it could even sit down if not sooner!

You realize in all of your territorial thinking you have forgotten what you came up to this windowsill to do − look for Suzy’s car. Since you can’t see it, she must have gone out on an errand or something. The problem is solved. Now you think you will go out for a stroll and see what that sparrow you noticed yesterday is doing.

You hop off the window sill and over to the back door. There’s your cat flap, and it swings invitingly. You slip through it and saunter through your yard.

There’s that sparrow, and he’s in his tree. Unfortunately it’s a springy sapling, with really thin branches that bounce when you walk on them. Sometimes they bounce you right off. If you really wanted to, you could get that annoying sparrow. And his little family of chicks for dessert. But you don’t think a couple of lean sparrows is worth getting flung up and down until you lose your kitty chow, so you check the fence.

The fence is an excellent boundary. You like it. It shows other cats that this is your main place, the heart of your territory! Of course, you can always get over it and extend your hunting territory as far as you like past the fence.

Today you’re not feeling solitary, so you find your favorite launching point to get over the fence − a low-arching tree branch − and scale it. If looking for more of a challenge, you could always use a corner of the fence to get over, or just go straight up it. Even though the fence doesn’t have any gaps in it, like some fences you’ve seen, it wouldn’t be that hard for an experienced climber.
Once you’re over, you ramble off to the place where no cat can claim as territory, but where every cat can meet.
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Short story in five parts. I wrote it as an experiment with the 'you' point of view.

Short Story: Drought

Drought

The waterhole has still precious liquid, but for how much longer will any survive?

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WE ARE STARVING. There are thirty of us, all fit lions. But for how much longer will the fitness last, in this awful drought? At least we have water. The pride is staying by one of the waterholes that still has water in it, so none die of thirst. Desperate yowls split the air of the night. My pride starves, for our prey has left to find water. Is it better to die quickly with the agony of a dry throat, or a slower death with the gnawing bite of hunger in your belly? If there was even a mouse, I might snap it up, but there is none. Birds are too fast for us, and the gazelle have stayed well away from this hole. It seems barren of animals.

Dawn breaks, blinding me for an instant. Then my eyes adjust, and I see all of my lions. They are scuffling briefly over a good place at the waterhole, coming to no real struggles. I lazily saunter to the hole to get a drink, and three of the lionesses follow me. Then I hear the pounding of gigantic feet, in the distance.

Elephants.

I leap back with a hiss. One of the lionesses looks at me solemnly and continues drinking the precious water. I swing my head from side to side, trying to find out where the elephants would appear. I do not like the idea that the grey mountains of flesh would come and take the water from my lions. Then my stomach growls, and I am reminded of hunger. I know the rest of the savannah predators left their usual grounds to find water, but couldn’t we have stayed, finding food if not water?

No. Our instinct was to get water first, and all animals put water before food. Food was going to come second, whether we liked it now or not. I retreat to where the body of the pride is lying in the shade of a few trees. They too heard the elephants, but they did not seem alarmed by it. That was good—I could not deal with a frightened pride.

The elephants do not seem bothered by our presence, either. I lift my head as if they disturbed my sleep, and lie back down. The day lags on. Every so often, I take a drink. The elephants are filling up the best spaces, forcing every other animal at the hole to come second. If it was not daytime, the time when the elephants are most powerful, then my pride would attack at once, for the slight chance of a meal.
It seems as if the scorching heat will never end, but then it begins to cool off as the smooth dark of night envelopes the elephants. My pride grows restless, knowing that as soon as full dark falls, they will have a chance for a meal.

As I prepare some of my lionesses for the hunt, the elephants trumpet back and forth. I watch them, but they cannot watch me, for they cannot see effectively in the darkness like we can. The pride roars back and forth to each other, showing their hunger by a few small scuffles. Straggling elephants are still arriving, but now my hunger and theirs is unbearable.

I rise, and call the lionesses to me. Sensing that food may be at the end, they gather around me. I signal to my lionesses by flicking my tail silently towards the calves of the elephants, and instantly a small patrol, two or three lionesses at most, is off. Although I take no part in the hunt, I admire them.
They try, I will give them that. But the main body of the elephant herd closes in upon their calves, keeping my lions out and the calves in. Not even one calf is left behind in the confusion. I hiss in frustration, wanting to cover my ears against the deafening trumpets of the elephants. Will we never have a bite of food? But stragglers—some of them lone stragglers!—are still arriving.

I signal to a few lionesses still beside me, and they break away to check out this lone elephant. One of them lopes back immediately. The look in her eyes says clearly that this one is too big for even my pride to tackle.

I am willing to wait. If one showed up alone, more will. Now there is a ray of hope, a sunbeam in a dark world. And I am right. Soon enough, another loner appears, pushing its way through the bushes. I don’t try to alarm it. It’s definitely smaller than the first, but it could still kill a single lion. I beckon my pride to me, and they leave off their fruitless efforts. I point to the small loner, and they are off. A single lion would die—but there are thirty of us!

The elephant brays in dismay as my lionesses close in. They form a close pack by its heels, nipping and biting. Every so often one of them leaps up and claws at its flanks. The elephant trumpets ferociously, obviously afraid. The lionesses are not even exerting themselves. We may be hungry and weakened, but we have had water instead of food. This elephant likely has not had either for a long time.

I yowl in triumph. The elephant is tiring quickly. I lope after my pride. When I reach them, the elephant is down. My lionesses have not yet begun the feast, but I can see their hungry gazes as their eyes flick from the downed prey to my still body. I dip my head to take a bite. They join me around the kill. We eat and are full, roaring softly across at each other. Now that our bellies are full, our ragged pelts are already beginning to fill out.

Now we are grace. We are power. We are the LION PRIDE, and we rule the waterhole.
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A break from The Mirror On The Wall. Just a short little story - completely true by the way - about lions. Comments, anyone?