scardemon

[scardemon]

Scar Demon: The Silver Lining

Scar Demon: The Silver Lining- Chapter Four, Page 1

Everything is Wrong

  For the fourth day in a row, Tamryn Lowe was sitting shakily in his drab office, picking up phones and pretending nothing was wrong.

But of course everything was wrong. A young and popular socialite, a minister’s daughter no less, had disappeared apparently over night just two days before. And the Felduan government was in uproar. How could Earth be so clumsy as to lose such an important young woman? And it wasn’t the first time of course, so now it seemed like the entire human planet was managing to lose famous and important young Felduans left, right and centre. It was a diplomatic disaster.

No one wanted to travel to Earth anymore and now the Felduans were trying to call it “unsafe”. There was talk of Demon attacks and kidnappings, and that the evil Ven Diodatus had somehow returned, which was all nonsense of course.

But people were panicking. And as the Felduan ambassador on Earth, it was his job to sort it all out.

Tamryn Lowe picked up yet another phone.

“Hello? Yes, Mr. Gracious. No, Mr. Gracious. Yes of course I understand. No I haven’t spoken to the press at all, not even here in Faeria Dell.”

Another phone rang. Tamryn flipped papers out of his way, picking up each of the many telephones in turn as the ringing continued. He had upturned several large folders and a pencil pot before he had found the right one and answered it.

“Hello? Yes?” Tamryn waved away a young and pretty receptionist who had at that moment opened his door to bring in a hot drink.

“No I’m not going to give a statement. No comment. What? Well you can tell your editor that...Hello Mr. Gracious? Yes it’s the press on the other line.”

Earth had always been considered by faeries and Felduans to be a fairly wonderful place to live. Though it lacked the splendour and magic of native, faerie planets, it was not without it’s excitement and beauty, and as such, every year, thousands of holidaying faeries flocked towards it.

One such faerie was a young woman of twenty-five and the daughter of Bardon Fiyre. She was bubbly, kind, energetic and reliable. She was often in the spotlight for her charitable works, which made her well loved and admired by the public.

She was also missing.

The daughter of Bardon Fiyre had never even reached Faeria Dell and had disappeared within three hours of arriving on Earth. Who could feel safe on a planet like that?

“Look, I said I’m not commenting on the matter of Miss Fiyre,” Tamryn shouted through his beard and down the telephone.

“As for your crackpot theories, I can assure you sir, that no Demon attack has been recorded on Earth for months, they are simply not hunting at the moment! Come now! The Earth branch of The Service are the most loyal, most trustworthy and quite frankly the most advanced in the entire galaxy! I think I’d know if there was a Demon right under my very nose!” he yelled as Arxhan barged through the door.

[scardemon]

The Best Laid Plans

Stone Kent Reports: Part Seven

Stone didn’t miss a beat.

He had briefly been slowed in his tracks as the woman walked away from the ship, and he had slightly delayed the start of what would have been a convincing conversation.

He couldn’t help himself. She was more beautiful than his mind knew how to cope with.

 But all the same his brain had never stopped ticking; never stopped improvising new angles for his lie to take. And the sudden appearance of this tall, siren of a woman had not made him abandon his plans, simply alter them. He could get money and compensation any time he wanted. This woman was once in a lifetime.

He arranged a warm smile on his face as he stepped out from the shadow of the ship and brushed his hand backwards through his brownish, tousled hair. The walk was perfect, the friendly, cheeky grin could melt any heart. He strode with confidence as the woman continued to walk away from the ship with her back to him. She had reached the middle of his field, calm, composed and with a slight saunter as Stone prepared to launch himself into a conversation that could take him anywhere.

So close.

He took a deep breath and reached forward to tap her shoulder.

That’s when she started screaming furiously.

[scardemon]

Professional Lying

Stone Kent Reports: Part Six

The sky was the perfect shade of darkness now and Stone began to make use of the peace by plotting his next move. He had lied his way out of bad situations before, and then lied his way back into better ones. But no place that he had found was as exhilarating nor as welcoming as he would have liked and so he had kept himself moving boredly around the Universe hoping no one would ever call his bluff.

Now he had reached another dead end.

He had come up with the name Stone Kent whilst sneaking onto a train, parked at a loading station in Stone,on the Hallis meteor, having moments before been thrown off a different train traveling from the Kent star system. He had wondered how many names he had already used and since abandoned in his many years of professional lying. Ater, of course, his own, real name had become disgraced by the downfall of the science fiction industry.

His real name.

Stone Kent shuddered in the heat. His real name was unfortunately infamous. Everyone knew of the science fiction author who had become bankrupt in his attempts to keep his books alive. He was a fool who was fighting the future.

It was easier to lie if people didn’t know the truth about you in the place.

But where to now?

Where now?

Against the blackish sky, a bright orange speck began to at first twinkle in the stratosphere.

Then it stopped being orange and started being more bright yellow.

Shortly after that it wasn’t even twinkling so much as roaring towards the ground at an upsetting speed. Passing through the cloudless sky, the flames gave way to a gleaming silver craft, soaring into the near horizon, before slowing to a calm drift and coasting noisily above the earth.

Stone was more than familiar with space ships. He’d been writing about them since he was ten.

He rose slowly to his feet as, inexplicably the ship continued to skim over the farms and hedgerows in his direction, before stopping to hover mid air on the other end of his own field. It stayed motionless for a while, sending out heavy waves of hot air, rolling over the surface of the grass and extinguishing Stone’s bonfire. Stone frowned stupidly at the smoldering ashes for a moment before rounding on the ship with an irate but well calculated glare, as steadily it sank to the ground with a hum of dying engines.

Even before the cargo door opened with a hiss, and a shaft of white light split the darkness, Stone was already marching towards the ship with his new lie perfected. It was a splendid ship, very well maintained, fast, and reliable.

And expensive.

There was money to be had from these people. Especially if they needed to compensate a poor farmer like Stone Kent whose crops they had just destroyed.

As the staircase lowered from the door, Stone had every detail, every nuance of his lie, from his tone of voice, to his posture in place.

In years to come he would look back and wonder how well the lie would have worked had anyone else, at that moment, stepped off the ship. He would wonder where he would be in life, if he would even be alive at all. And what the state of the Universe would be. If it would even have continued to exist.

In the end, in the greater scheme of things, he would always have to conclude that it had probably been a good thing that at that moment, Georgia Sweetly had stormed down the staircase, and into the field.

[scardemon]

Science Reality

Stone Kent Reports: Part Five

The fire was part of the ensemble.

Flames jumped barely inches from the branches in the already muggy evening air and threatened to burn the sun-bleached grass. But if Stone was going to convince people that he was as free and, more importantly, as rugged as he was, he needed all the accessories.

And free and rugged people always had fires outside their poorly pitched tents.

Stone Kent could pitch a tent badly better than anyone. If you made a tent look nice, you could easily be mistaken for a recreational hiker or even a fisherman. But keep a slapdash, wild look to everything and people would know from the outset that you were the grittiest kind of rogue.

That’s the thing people always underestimated about the well-crafted lie. The props.

And Stone was more than happy to sit by a fire in the height of a Dromdoran summer if it meant he at least looked right.

He stared into the crackling flames, bright against the darkening, purple skies with his hands clasped together around his knees. There was little else to do now that there was no one else to lie to. It was all he was good at it.

Stone Kent had once made a fortune for himself telling the most elaborate and beautiful lies.

Well.

Stories.

He told the most elaborate and beautiful stories. Stories about far off planets, about leaps in science and technology, about the future. Stories where other creatures roamed the far reaches of space or leapt light years across the stars in giant ships.

But they didn’t stay lies or stories for long. The world had started moving faster than Stone Kent could write, and before he knew it science fiction was dead on its feet and he was out of a job.

After all, who needed science fiction when there was so much science-reality?

There were far off planets and there had been leaps in science and technology. People were popping across to the nearest nebular for weekend breaks. The creatures who roamed the far reaches of space had their own system of government and frequently made diplomatic visits to Earth.

No one needed to read about it in books anymore, they just needed to turn on the evening news.

[scardemon]

Georgia Sweetly

Stone Kent Reports: Part Four

As the reports finally concluded with a blast of fanfares, Georgia sat and reflected that if nothing else, it was nice that her boss hadn’t been in touch. It wasn’t entirely surprising as, much like everyone at Proton Productions, he was terrified of her. But all the same it was a relief that he’d apparently decided to leave the situation under her capable control.

She smiled grimly to herself as she twirled the nail file between her slender fingers.

On the hour, as expected, the next set of scheduled programmes announced they were about to be interrupted for a special report, and Georgia suppressed a grimace as once again Fletch Fetchingly was consumed almost whole.

Georgia had known her fair share of smarmy, vain reporters with egos bigger than their hair. She had worked through no fewer than fourteen “upcoming new talents” in her eight years at Star Gazer News, each as obnoxious as the last and with a charming, conceited personality as standard. Only one of them had not at some point tried, and failed, to flirt with her, and that was only because he was already cheating on his wife with Dennis Bleakly, the cameraman.

Naturally Georgia had hated him anyway, if only out of a stubborn desire to keep her unbroken record unbroken. She wasn’t going to be like any of those soppy workers in the offices who fawned and fainted every time another dashing, swathe, young reporter swanned into view. All reporters were the same, so she hated them all the same amount.

But now, Fletch Fetchingly was proving to be more irritating dead, than he ever had been alive. No, he wasn’t constantly finding excuses to put his arm around her anymore and he would certainly never be in another position to try and squeeze her knee under a table. But he was taking up a lot of her time and energy.

It was his final triumph. After months of chasing her, Fletch had finally forced Georgia to pay attention to him. Pity he would never know of his success.

Georgia smiled quietly. It did not last long.

“How far?” she called sharply at the co-pilot who flinched.

“Not much further Miss Sweetly. The nearest planet is Dromdoran,” she replied nervously. She gave a quick anxious look at the flight instruments and winced slightly.

Everyone knew Dromdoran was practically a wasteland. A small time, peasant planet in the middle of boring nowhere.

“Dromdoran. The farming planet?”

“Yes Miss Sweetly.”

“The farming planet with nothing but fields and deserts for miles around?”

“....Yes Miss Sweetly.”

“Perfect.”

[scardemon]

Stone Kent Reports

Stone Kent Reports: Part Three

  The Blunder soared as far as it could away from the brighter, more heavily populated corners of the universe so it could find a nice quiet place for Georgia Sweetly to stand still for a bit and scream.

As a rule Georgia Sweetly simply did not display emotion unless it was absolutely necessary.

Earlier that morning her colleague, as unbearable as he was, had been devoured by a Neptunian diva live on air. On her shift.

She had since calmly informed her pilot, who was also her cameraman, that she would quite like to go to a nice secluded spot.

Where she could stand still.

And scream.

Until then, it was business as normal.

Georgia sat on the flight deck with a clipboard and a nail file. She was using neither as she stared, expressionlessly up at the monitors which seemed to be looping over and over, the moment Fletch Fetchingly ceased to live, whilst news reporters in their droves explained that in all other respects it had been “a successful night.”

She seethed beneath her brunette curls, which were swept into an efficient ponytail. Her lips were painted a startling red; the only make up she ever afforded herself, and only then because it irritated her mother so much.

[scardemon]

Stone Kent Reports

Stone Kent Reports: Part Two

(Part one here: http://bit.ly/kqRyvf)

A little way across the galaxy, Stone Kent was standing in a mostly empty field, telling a lie.

The field was only mostly empty because he himself was in it, and he wasn’t in it alone.

The lie was quite a good one and had been going on for little over an hour, which was just long enough to confuse the farmer who owned the field, and make him forget that he only left his farmhouse in the first place to tell Stone Kent to go away.  This was exactly what Stone had been hoping for.

Actually it wasn’t.

What he had really been hoping for was a farm that wasn’t owned by anyone so he could set up his tent and bonfire in peace. But since that had quite obviously failed, he had decided to lie his way through the problem instead.

The lie had started fairly simply.

“Ah, good. I was hoping I’d find the owner of this estate,” he had declared, offering his hand for the farmer to shake.

It had since taken on a life of its own.

“...And whilst dust-dragon moss is harmless to most bi-pedal life forms, without the correct anti-jelly-massage-therapy the hydrogen could habibble and then we’d all be in a lot of danger,” Stone concluded with a wild waving of his hands.

Naturally, this was all rubbish and the poor farmer felt even more confused and now slightly scared. He didn’t understand most of the words or various plant names that Stone had used, but it sounded like there had been a lot of punctuation and that was always a worry. 

He exhaled heavily as he held his cap firmly to his head. Not because his cap was making any immediate threat to leave but more because it was the only shred of reality he now felt he had any grasp on.

Stone Kent was still smiling good naturedly, wishing, through his gleaming white teeth, that the old miser would hurry up and admit defeat.

The farmer let out a low whistle and stared at the middle distance between himself and Stone.

“You could maybe stay three nights?”

Stone Kent's smiled did not waver.

“Four perhaps?” the Farmer continued nervously. Stone Kent blinked slowly.

“The stars bless you,” he said and gripped the farmer’s hand with a sincerely insincere handshake. The farmer nodded vaguely and then wagged his finger.

“But no longer mind!” he warned.

“Of course,” said Stone still beaming. The farmer puffed out his chest and gave what he hoped was a curt nod before turning on his heel and marching back to his home on the other side of a purple hedgerow.

 And in this way the Farmer left with his head reeling slightly, but at least feeling as though he had won.

Meanwhile, unemployed, bankrupt and homeless, Stone Kent began to set up his elaborate tent and bonfire, free of charge. He settled deep into his many covers and blankets and tuned his microvision screen to the evening news.

[scardemon]

Not Welcome

Scar Demon, Chapter Two: Continued

After a while, the bar had fallen eerily quiet. The single, red eye darted back and forth, and the customers shuddered as the man took a single step forward.

Dim light washed over him and he blinked angrily in it as the door slammed shut behind him. Now in the comforting warm glow of the lights, where he could be properly seen, the customers’ fear turned quickly to snobbery. People like him simply didn’t belong in places like The King’s Gate Pub.

 The man could not have been much older than twenty, and yet he stood with the air of one of who had seen more and suffered longer than anyone else in the room. Where his shirt had become damp from the rain, it clung to his body, and his tousled, jet-black hair was spiked and stuck up in odd places whilst falling across his face in others. A silver hoop glinted from his left ear and two more from his right. He would have been handsome if he didn’t look so absolutely furious.

He could even have looked vaguely charming.

Were he not covered from head to foot in his own blood.

The people closest to him recoiled slightly and grimaced, hoping he would not be staying long. One middle aged woman cupped her hand over her mouth to hide her shock, and another went pale and shrank so far back into her seat that she almost fell backwards.

There was a gruesome splattering sound as a large drop of blood trickled off the end of the man’s chin and fell onto the rough carpet at his feet. The customers flinched.

Arxhan Angel hadn’t expected a warm welcome, and even when he still had both eyes he was more than used to people looking at him with hatred and scorn. Now thick, pale scars ran in their hundreds over his body and face, and a black patch covered an empty, bloody hole where his right eye had been just hours before. The wound was still fresh, and was causing Arxhan more grief and agony than he cared to admit.

With his remaining eye, he glared steadily around the room, his skin twitching with pain and irritation, as he silently judged and hated all of the faces staring back at him.

The air in the room was tight and tense. The customers were perched on the edge of their seats, hovering somewhere between the decision to settle back down or run away.

Arxhan wondered briefly whether he should just leave them alone and let them all relax and finish their drinks. But a sudden and painful flash of memories made him realise they probably didn’t deserve it, and it would be far more entertaining to make everyone as miserable as he was. Besides, he had a job to do, and the longer he could avoid doing it, the better.

Arxhan smiled grimly as more thick, warm blood gushed out from under the eye-patch and streamed down his cheek.

“Don’t worry,” he announced boredly, gesturing his stained clothes as he crossed the room, “It’s mostly my blood.”

The bartender who was cleaning the pint glasses had hoped that crossing the room was exactly what Arxhan wouldn’t do. But before he could think of a way to stop him, he had managed to not only reach the bar, but to lean casually on it too, with his damp clothes smearing the surface.

Arxhan stood, picking his teeth in the awkward silence. A few chairs creaked as people leant further round for a better look.

But after a few minutes of stunned silence it became apparent that Arxhan really wasn’t doing anything of interest. And so, slowly but surely, the customers began to nervously accept the strange situation and settled back into their seats. Before long, an uneasy whirr of chatter rose up again and the bartender breathed a silent sigh of relief. The one-eyed stranger hadn’t said anything or even moved for a while and now at least the bartender felt sure that he had not arrived to cause trouble.

Naturally, he was wrong.

[scardemon]

From Above

From Chapter Two of Scar Demon

Night arrived in its usual way and without incident. The rain tore at the ground in heavy black drops and the quiet street was still a quiet street.

It was nearly midnight when a streak of lightening arched downwards from the sky and lit up the road. When the light had gone the shadows returned and settled comfortably against the darkened buildings. A second streak of lightening split the sky and struck the ground hard.

There was a dull thud and an angry grunt of pain, as a tall figure fell onto the pavement.

All down the street the windows were dark and lifeless, and the rain drummed with loud echoes on the rooftops of sleeping houses.

The only signs of life and light in the warm, drizzly night were the pools of comforting glow that spilled from the windows of the local tavern, and glittered in the puddles below.

Fresh blood spattered the ground.

The road had been named King’s Gate Road since the day it had been built, and no one could say for sure how long ago that was. All they knew was that this fairly shabby little road- across from a lake and two streets over from the more pristine Elmslie Close- was home to the King’s Gate Pub. It was a particular favourite amongst the locals and the late night drinkers, and much like the road it was on, it seemed to have been around forever. It was a comfortable, familiar place, which never quite stopped smelling of beer.

But the squashy chairs were comfortable, the rickety wooden beams were charming, and the carpet was so orange and so hideous that people never ran out of things to talk about.

“You’re always welcome at the King’s Gate!” they told one another. And even in the lateness of the hour and the darkness of the night, a low, bubbly hum of chatter mumbled through the cosy air inside, as small groups of people hung around the tables and barstools, deep in conversation.

None of them had really noticed what had just happened outside their windows, and probably none of them would have cared. They hardly even realised that probably the angriest man on the planet had just fallen from the sky.

A gentlemanly bartender stood cleaning pint glasses behind the bar, humming absent-mindedly to himself and wearing the expression of someone who knew exactly what was going on.

He didn’t know what was going on, of course.

He didn’t have a clue.

But when there had been a flash of bright light in the car park, followed shortly by a thud and an angry cry of pain, he’d decided that the best way to keep the customers from panicking was to pretend that it was perfectly normal.

He had shrugged. He had even smiled warmly at his everyone.

“Sounds like someone’s had a bit too much to drink,” he chuckled heartily. Except since no one had noticed what had happened outside anyway, they simply chuckled back and quietly wondered what the hell he was talking about.

That’s when the door flew open.

A gust of warm wind blew through the bar as the door swung inwards and crashed into the wall, rattling on its hinges and making the windows shudder in their frames.

 A few people jumped at the sudden noise, and turned their heads curiously towards the door, leaning around beams and barstools for a better look. Others began to moan and complain about the small flecks of rain that had started to drift in from the outside, and covered their drinks with coasters.

 Soon everyone was peering irritably around to see what all the fuss was about, but their grumbles and complaints died in their throats as a looming shadow stepped in from the rain and towered like a statue in the doorway.

A tall and impossibly slender man stood frozen and menacing, silhouetted against the amber glow of the streetlights, which seeped around him like a halo. Shadows fell across him, and the customers began to squint against the bright lamplight to get a better look. But all they could see of the man was the single blood red eye, which stared back at them, glowing from out of the shadows.

[scardemon]

LHC 24: Twenty Minutes Left

Panic improvisation.

It was in silence and something much like cold, could they have felt anything at all, that the lonely hikers waited with anticipation at a safe distance. The collosal sphere, a great planet turning slowly on its axis, travelling around the star sol, moved with both intense speed and infinite patience before their eyes.

Thestin held his breath as gradually, but as expected, the thin crescent of light rose blindingly to one side of the great mass. He shielded his eyes against the glare, barely moving even as Ennas took his hand.

The sun seeped into view, flaring in their visors. As Ennas averted her eyes to her feet she cried out with delight and tugged at Thestin's hand, pointing.

In this new light a fresh world was revealed to them.They had not waited in vain.

The greatest walk in the galaxy.

A narrow trail, glittering and fragile, that looped crookedly around the rings of saturn.

[scardemon]

LHC 23: Three sentences.

PANIC FOUR MINUTE WRITING

The clouds rose up over the neatly paved ramp. For a moment the nearby hillocks were shrouded in the wooly vapour. When the skies were once again clear, the young man smiled backwards to his companions, before he jumped clear over the mountains.

[scardemon]

LHC 22: Possessed, Part Two

 Ultimatum, Diary, Soothing, Staircase, Citrus

  (Continued)

  Five minutes earlier:

   “I’m giving you an ultimatum,” Caitlin said to her diary in forced, soothing tones.

“Give me nicer things to experience, or I will throw you away.”

She was pacing with some frustration around her house, and the diary was taking its time answering. Caitlin growled and headed towards her room. That’s when the diary made its move.

“Dear Diary,” sprawled the ink, “Today I tripped on the staircase.”

The girl had very little time to be annoyed until, true to the wretched book’s word, she tripped heavily on the staircase.

She grunted angrily as she gripped the banister and pulled herself upright.

Citrus Bomb could have easily been any old stationary shop. Except it only ever sold things second hand. Things that had never been used...yet been quickly surrendered by the previous owners. Why?

Caitlin felt like she knew why. Pens, pencils, books, paper. They could be as easily haunted as a house.

“You can’t write my life for me! I write you!” she cried with frustration. The diary did nothing. She shook it. Still nothing.

“I’m going to shred you!” she shouted.

“Dear Diary, today I was expelled.”

“Stop it!” Caitlin shrieked. She held the book firmly with one hand and with the other, began to tear frantically at the pages. Whole sheets and tiny scraps of paper flew up all around her. Old sheets with not a word on them. Blank, empty, unthreatening.

When every page was ripped away, Caitlin dropped the leafless binding and turned on her heel. She should have done it much sooner. But for a while it had been exciting, magical.  

She didn’t have to put up with that any more though.

A single page was the last to drift to the ground. An inky scrawl crept across it.

“Dear Diary, Today I died.”

Words chosen by Bown

[scardemon]

LHC 21: Possessed, Part One

Maniacal, Cake, Bomb, Slow, Wisconsin

  A slow, maniacal scream ripped through the air over Abbie Wisconsin’s house. She shuddered where she stood, the hairs prickling on the back of her neck.

All the windows in the house had been opened to let the heat out, but now, disturbed by the cry, Abbie let the cake sit in the hot oven, forgotten.

She cautiously opened the door and leant into the warm air that drifted through the now silent street, unsure of what she expecting to find. Nothing revealed itself.

She was worrying herself over nothing.

The scream could have been any silly old urban fox.

It had not been Caitlin.

Citrus Bomb was not cursed.

  (To be continued...)

Words chosen by Zach

[scardemon]

LHC 20: Challenge Accepted

 Angrily, Stupidly, Ball, Rocket, Bubblegum, Taser

  Fernando Maximum snatched the small ball of bubblegum away from the child, which had been whining stupidly for at least a minute.

“Fernando Maximum is not afraid to take candy from babies,” he quipped abruptly and tossed the offending item over his shoulder. The child looked at Fernando angrily, but Fernando stared so coolly back that the child nearly died from the awesomeness.

“And now I will travel to my private island. I think today I shall go by rocket.”

Fernando Maximum got in his rocket and soared to his island of ladies.

It was altogether very impressive. Taser.

Fernando Maximum for President.

Words chosen by Jamie.

Fernando Maximum is the property of Jamie. (Even though Fernando Maximum is really free like the Puma, and answers to nobody. Not even Fernando Maximum.)

[scardemon]

LHC 19: Wherein my mind deteriorates.

Gun, Procrastination, Blanket, Cat, Trap

  Emma lay poised in wait, gun in hand. The trap was set. The cat prowled forward. And the blanket fell.

It meowed crossly from beneath its flimsy cloth prison. Emma lifted the blanket and brandished the plastic gun in the air triumphantly whilst the cat simply frowned.

This was the best kind of procrastination.

Words chosen by Emma

[scardemon]

LHC 18: The Ghosts of Planet Undulate

 Soften, Slide, Petal, Bead, Undulate

  Across the further throws of the galactic kingdom, on the infamously inhospitable planet of Undulate, a single bead of russet blood began to slide down a lone, fragile petal.

The flower was almost crushed beneath the weight of the helmet it had been attached to. The visor was cracked, shattered by the lethal, unfriendly fire of an army more hostile than the one they fought against.

Falcor Styre was about thirty.

He liked dogs more than cats.

He had never played a game of cards.

Green was his second favourite colour.

The last time he wore a suit was to his cousin’s wedding.

Maybe any of this would have mattered more had he not been killed by the enemy.

The entire planet was a barren, and unforgiving, wasteland on the surface. But underneath the crust it was a furor of menace from a merciless race.

Tensions between the planet and the kingdom had always run high, but now it seemed after a disastrous attempt to soften the threat, war was imminent.

From a strange wavering world Falcor watched his own body from a distance with a puzzled expression. He felt light and frighteningly insubstantial.

The air around him was silver.

A little way behind his corpse he could see his platoon advancing, unaware of the same impending fate they were marching towards. He sighed helplessly and wondered when the day would start getting better.

  Words chosen by Oli

[scardemon]

LHC 17: Hippopotamus Toothache

(I laughed the whole time I was writing this because it sounded so much like a ridiculously patronising children's book. Oooohhh I am so delirious right now.)

Hippopotamus, Toothache, Ink, Satellite, Robust

  A hippopotamus with a toothache is the most unfriendly hippopotamus you could ever wish to encounter.

Though chances are if you do wish to encounter the most unfriendly hippopotamus you can, you probably deserve what you have coming to you.

Walter was a hippopotamus with a god-awful toothache. And it was making him very unfriendly indeed. He had tried to ease the pain with all the unhelpful suggestions his aunt had given him. He tried chewing palm leaves, but they jabbed his gums and made him cross. He tried licking cubes of salt, but it made his face screw up. He even tried gargling ink.

This suggestion was the most pointless of all.

Walter was cross. Cross and upset. He was usually such a brave, robust hippo. But this toothache was really beginning to annoy him. Before long, even though he was being such a grumpy, unfriendly hippo, he had no choice but to phone the monkey dentist.

The monkey dentist came right away with his monkey dentist kit and told Walter to open his mouth wide. And even though Walter was so cross, he did as he was told.

The monkey dentist inspected Walter’s teeth.

“Ah!” he cried from inside Walter’s jaws, “here’s your problem. You have a satellite dish stuck betweens your molars!”

The monkey dentist pulled out the satellite dish and Walter the hippo felt much better.

And he wasn’t a grumpy hippo with a toothache any more.

Words chosen by "Clebbington"