334 days of photos; day 57
Lost Past; A Star Trek Story
Paramount Global owns the Star Trek franchise. This is a piece of fan fiction based on Star Trek the Next Generation.
Home
They found themselves in what appeared to be a throne room. The gatekeeper had his head all the way to the floor. A man hurriedly walked from a corner door. He knelt in front of Data who was still holding Sher. “My baby.” He placed his hand over her chest. She coughed up more blood. “Follow me.” They followed him to a small room. The only thing in the room was a coffin shaped box. This man lovingly took Sher from Data’s arms placing her in the box. He handed Picard his jacket back. “Thank you for your kindness.”
“She is most welcome.”
“What are you doing?” Data asked.
“The lining of this oracle is copper. It will help her concentrate her energy more efficiently.”
“What energy? She does not have any left.” Data slid in the floor next to the oracle.
“What happened to my baby?”
“I do not know all the details. Please do not let her die.”
He walked over to Data, kneeling in front of him, “she is home. We will protect her.”
“I pray you do a better job than I did. I have failed her.”
“No, you didn’t my son. She is here and she will live.”
“But not under her own power.”
Two men entered the room. One dressed like an Ancient Greek god; the other an Egyptian. They placed the lid on top of the oracle; they moved to the doors leading out of the room. “When she is ready, she will let herself out. Who better to guard her than her brothers? Stay with her if it will make you feel better.” He turned to Picard, “Captain, I wish our visit was under happier terms.” He extended his hand in a handshake. Picard accepted. “Your crew is welcome to use my planet for shore leave. My home is your home.”
“That is very kind of you. Where is my crew?”
“Your ship is still on route here.”
“May I communicate with them? I want to let them know we are safe.”
“Of course.” He scratched his head, “We knew something was wrong but I had no idea what. We have been unable to communicate with her our way for 10 years.
She had been sending us messages from time to time. Those stopped 5 years ago. We didn’t worry. We sometimes go millennium without seeing or hearing from our children. As a parent it can be frustrating.” Data started gasping for air, backing away from the oracle. They were shocked at his behavior. He pointed at the oracle with an unsteady finger; leaning against the opposite wall. The Greek ripped the lid off the oracle. Sher rose up into a setting position. Blood was oozing from her mouth. One could tell that she was having difficulty breathing.
She reminded Picard of a fish out of water. The Greek god looking man attended to her. The older man stared at Data as he slumped over into the floor. Worf assisted him up. “I don’t even understand this. Three members of her family are in this room and she communicates with Data.”
Picard spoke up. “Data was the closest to her. She has been communicating
with him a lot.”
The old man cocked his head toward Picard. “A lot you say.”
“Data was closer.” Picard reiterated.
Lost Past; A Star Trek Story
Paramount Global owns the Star Trek franchise. This is a piece of fan fiction based on Star Trek the Next Generation.
Still nothing
“Do you have any idea what I have been through in these last 5 years?”
“No, your highness.”
“No, your highness” she mocked him; “I am in no mood for this. Tell me the answers I seek.”
“Have you ever explored the full capabilities of your wrath?”
“I am about to explore the full capabilities of my wrath on you.”
“With no effort, you destroyed two Cardassian ships because they threatened your life and the life of your friends. You destroyed an entire planet when their stupidity killed a close friend. Your highness, these events only scratch the surface of your abilities.”
“Was I ever pregnant?” She screamed.
“I cannot tell you.”
“Who are you protecting?”
“You, your highness.”
“Me, how do you feel you are protecting me?” He did not answer. “Whose decision was it?” He still didn’t answer. “Oh,” she screamed out in agony, clutching her abdomen as she fell to her knees in the floor. Her falling was in slow motion. It seemed an endless event.
The gatekeeper got a wild look on his face. Data placed her head on his lap, laying her out flat. She groaned, gasping for air. “It,” she whizzed, “isn’t,” she buckled over in pain rolling out of Data’s lap, “over.” Data raised her back up.
She coughed. Blood oozed from her mouth.
Data wiped it away, “she’s bleeding.”
The gatekeeper backed up away from them. “What is happening here?”
“Leave.” Data’s hissed.
“I will not leave.”
Data turned to the gatekeeper; Sher rolled her head toward his stomach. “I am
ordering you to leave. Now! Or you will lose more than a couple teeth.”
“I will not do what you ask.”
Picard came closer, squatting next to them. “Data your jacket.” Data looked down, it was covered with blood. She started shivering. Picard took his jacket off and covered her with it. She coughed again. More blood oozed from her mouth, Data carefully wiped it away. He kissed her forehead. “This is all my fault. I never should have questioned her about being pregnant.”
“Am I to understand she didn’t know?” Picard asked.
“Yes, she did not know.” Data placed his hand on her abdomen.
“I demand to know what is happening here.” The gatekeeper shouted.
“Your demand will be met with the same attention as you showed her.”
“This is absurd. I am her father’s gatekeeper.”
“Damien, with our combined ignorance we have done more harm to her. Unless you can help her, leave.”
He knelt in front of them. “I can bring her father to her.”
“Are you aware of how much you are pushing the limitations of my nerves.”
“You will not move you are supporting her.”
There was a bright flash of light, blinding them.
334 days of photos; day 56
You will love it, or your money back
“You will love this book.” Kip handed the book across the table, over the steaming cups of coffee. “If you don’t,” he wagged his long skinny finger toward me. “Dinner is on me.” This was a prideful boast.
“Okay, sure. Why not?” I turned the book over in my hand as his lips moved. He was talking. Maybe about the book? Maybe about the snow? Sunshine Valley; how long is too long to wait? On the back cover was a picture of a lady and her dog. Cute dog, I thought. Why couldn’t Kip read something other than romance?
Looking up, his lips were still moving. I caught the words; court, daughter, travel and dinner. It was so hard to focus on this or any conversation. People were noisy, talking all around us. A t.v. was playing in the corner. The picture on the screen was the aftermath of a bomb being dropped somewhere. He jerked my attention back to him as he stood up to leave. “You’d better enjoy this. Who knows how much longer we’ll get to do it? Enjoy the book, call you later.”
Finally, I’m home. The shots my little doggy got at the vet made him sick. He was more than ready to settle down, while I tried to focus on this book. Kip’s “you’ll love it,” continued to bounce around in my brain. “You’ll love it.” Sure, I would have better odds having the winning lottery ticket than I will loving this book.
Cute dog, I smiled, petting my sad baby dog. When I got too close to the injection site, he just gave me an injured look, “sorry buddy.”
During a playful moment, Dillon, the hero in the book, surprises Evie, the heroine, with a very public kiss. I shouted, causing my little doggy to look up at me, “don’t do it you fool.” But he did it.
I encouraged Dillon to be stronger than an ex-superhero when he’s recounting that Evie didn’t want him back in the day. Those days when she was all he could think about. When his heart was on fire for no one but her. “Be strong, man.”
I sent the book sailing across the room with a grunt; disrupting my little doggy again, when Dillon slipped the ring on Evie’s finger. My baby dog got up when I got up. “It’s okay, I’m coming right back. Kip is going to be upset with me for damaging his book.” I rubbed the place on the book I made in my fit of anger.
I threw up in my mouth a little at their impromptu wedding. Gag me with a spoon.
I cheered with every dig that Rebecca was able to give. The door of love won’t open for me. Why should this fictional character get it?
My phone rang, “are you ready for the widow and oldies club?” Kip laughed.
“You’re gonna be sore at me, I damaged your book when I threw it across the room.”
Kip laughed. “I told you you’d love it.”
Sunshine Valley Part 1
334 days of photos: day 55
Lost Past; A Star Trek Story
Paramount Global owns the Star Trek franchise. This is a piece of fan fiction based on Star Trek the Next Generation.
Intruder alert!
Captain Picard had just walked onto the bridge, when alarms started blaring;
“Intruder alert, intruder alert.”
“Where?” He ordered.
“Cargo Bay 4.” Data reported
“Data, Worf, you are with me.” Picard snapped.
They did not inter the cargo bay. Instead they watched from above what was happening. Sher was circling a man who could have been the fifth Musketeer.
“Have you ever wondered what it would look like from above when a bird circles their prey?” Worf growled. “Magnificent.”
“Who is that?” Picard asked.
“He is a gate keeper.” Data answered.
“What is a gatekeeper?” Picard questioned.
“He guards the gates of Paradise. They know everyone in Paradise. Each official has a gatekeeper.”
“How many gatekeepers are there?” Worf asked.
“Seven, I think.”
Picard and Worf both stared at him in amazement.
They watched for a long time. Sher would talk for a while. He would either not answer or give her an answer that was unacceptable.
“I can no longer take this.” Data went around to the Cargo Bay doors. Picard and Worf were close behind him.
Sher was screaming at the gatekeeper. “How dare you not answer me! It is
simple. Yes or no. How frigging hard is that?”
“It is not that simple, your highness.”
She exhaled a gust of air that shredded his clothing. She growled in a low, distorted voice, “yes it is.”
He didn’t flinch. “You cannot hurt me. I am your fathers gatekeeper.” She laughed a sinister laugh, “oh really. I will kill you and not think twice about it.”
“It will do us no good to kill him.” Data spoke as he walked to stand beside her. “We cannot get answers from a dead man.”
With an extremely sarcastic tone in his voice, “The Prince,” the gatekeeper bowed at Data.
Sher backhanded him while he was still in his bowed position. They heard little clinking noises as something hit the cargo bay floor. “How dare you take that tone of voice. I want answers and I want them now.”
The gatekeeper wiped the blood from his mouth; she had knocked out some of
his teeth. “This information is being withheld for your own good.”
“There is nothing in our law saying we can’t have relationships with whom ever we choose. There is nothing in our law saying we can’t have children with whom ever we choose. Was I ever pregnant?”
The gatekeeper was silent.
A Writers’ Shindig
We are finished posting the stories produced as a result of the A Writers Shindig workshop. Thank you dear reader. I hope you enjoyed these works from other WordPress authors.
I’d like to thank Ted for pulling this group together and a crap ton of editing work.
Michael who was behind the scenes.
Sarah, Ted, Stephen, Jeremy and Emily for great stories.
I had never been part of an experience like this before. Not only did this project inspire me. I was amazed at the different perspectives one story could have on different people. We are all aware that your background, economics and education factor in to how we view a story. Each of us being from different places, gave me a front row seat to how these aspects affect reading a story. Not just mine but each of our stories.
It taught me that I have it in me to defend my material. If need be. 😉
The one wish I had, it would have been nice if were able to talk to each other. Of course, time zones, work schedules couldn’t allow that.
Overall, it was a great experience. We were encouraged to write our fingers off.
Check then out:
Ted:
Sarah:
Stephen:
Emily:
Jeremy:
And our tech wizard. Who is also a talented author, Michael:
334 days of photos; day 54
An interview with Stephen Bent, author of Trees Grow Around Wire
by Sarah Orr Aten
Sarah:
First things first — can you tell me a little bit about your writing? How long have you been doing it? What does writing do for you?
Steve:
My blog is nine years old. SteveForTheDeaf came from two things.
Firstly, as a long-haired, bone-idle twenty-something I spent hours debating music and trashy movies with other long-haired, bone-idle young folk in the pub. That was my kind of sport. I’m evangelical about low culture as high art.
Secondly, later on, I had a job that gave me untold hours alone in airports and hotels. Lots of travel, but on a fairly crappy budget. The blog felt like a fitting substitute for the pub. Me, my iPod, and my laptop wrote the first five years of it in waiting rooms, hotels, and terminals.
Over time, the writing itself started to wander. Reviews would drift into speculation, into narrative, into little flights of fancy. At the time it just felt like riffing, but looking back I think I was broadening my palette without really meaning to.
When Ted suggested setting up a story working group, it seemed to release something in me.
Like a sluice gate. And now I don’t seem to be able to stop writing short fiction.
It keeps me out of the pub at least.
Sarah:
The opening of your story evoked feelings of nostalgia in me for the farm where my grandparents lived. Your description of the cabin where your characters begin the tale is moving.
Does this setting resemble anything that you’ve experienced in your own life?
Steve:
I’m glad it invoked a feeling of nostalgia. I did not grow up on a farm. I was an inner-city kid. So this, for me, was a kind of latent wish-fulfillment thing.
I do live in the countryside now, and when I see kids in our village getting fields and forests on their doorstep — wow. I just love that for them. Go on, kid. Get out there. I’m a latent treehugger. I love being in the woods. I mean love it. I walk for miles when circumstances allow.
Through ancient forest and over hills. Me, my dogs, my wife. Heaven on Earth.
But I also know how I feel about where I grew up. I hated it then, and I hate it still. And when I knew I wanted to write from the perspective of a kid, I figured rural would help with an economy of characters.
Sarah:
Your protagonist could be anybody — any kid that never really fits into the life they’ve been handed. What do you think is the appeal of these kinds of misfit stories?
Steve:
I think we learn the rules of stories before we know we’re learning the rules of stories. Batman — or Master Wayne at least — Spider-Man, Carrie, The Ugly Duckling, Luke Skywalker. At their core they’re all “little kid lost”, off on an adventure.
At my most ambitious, I wanted to write something that had the sort of long shadows you find in A Monster Calls. Patrick Ness took an incomplete work from Siobhan Dowd and finished it after she died, and when I read it I was struck by the sense of before and after in that book.
And I love an eldritch horror concept. I’m a big old goth at heart.
I also think that in this day and age, it might only be the misfits who actually read.
Sarah:
I also want to ask you about the absent mother. This element is common in fairy tales. I’d say there are other parts of your story that evoke an “other” fantastical realm as well. Did fairy tales play a part in the writing of this story?
Steve:
I did want to write a fairy tale of sorts. I can’t escape Poe or the Grimm, but I also wanted an old- school science-fiction feel. Something that could be rendered as a practical special effect — on screen, or in the mind. I use that phrase a lot: on screen in the mind.
While my mum was present, my upbringing was very male-centric. My dad. My brother. Uncles. Grandfather.
All-male spaces are quite pungent.There’s rarely an objection to a workbench in the kitchen, a motorcycle engine on the dinner table, or Swarfega for hand soap on the lavatory.
Sarah:
Without giving too much away, would you say that the protagonist himself is like a tree that grows around wire?
Steve:
Without wanting this to sound like therapy-speak, I think we’re all trees that grow around wire in a way.
The problems we face in life, or the things that shape us along the way that weren’t necessarily part of the plan, are the things we absorb into our personalities, into our behaviours, into our psyches, even our decision-making processes.
In this particular instance, nothing grows around that wire, because anything that touches it is cleaved clean. But does the boy grow around the presence into a man? Yeah, I’d say he does.
And he gets pretty close to it changing the course of his life. Even though he may have gone unpunished, or excused by the timeless indifference of the thing, he would certainly have taken a different route.
Sarah:
Finally, the protagonist is challenged by some difficult family dynamics. I like the way you tell the story of him maturing into a different kind of person than his father. But there’s a moment in the tale where the reader thinks that this might not be the case — “there was before, and now we were in the after.” What do you think might have happened had that moment gone differently between the two cousins?
Steve:
When I was talking to Ted about this story while I was writing it and we were workshopping it, Ted described it as a villain origin story that didn’t. I liked that.
The father in this feels to me like many men, especially men of a certain generation, as something of a blunt instrument. When he’s hurt, his behaviour is inconsiderate and selfish, but hopefully not in a cartoon villain way.
I wanted what the boy encounters in the woods to sharpen him rather than harden him. To make him more attuned to fear, consequence, and restraint, rather than less.So the idea that he grows into a man capable of a good life — one grounded in mutual regard, in valuing another person’s perspective — felt important.
When his partner later suggests making something safe, she represents a form of care that isn’t
reactive or conditional. It’s simply present. She’s the first adult in the story who’s shown care as a resting state.
Sarah:
I loved reading these answers! Thanks for putting such time and care into them.
Steve:
Thank you Sarah. Can’t wait to hear about your story original.
Poetry & More 