Mother watches Bonn surreptitiously.  He sometimes goes a day or so not talking; not responding to anything around him.  He just sits and watches the horizon, the skies or the wide valley below their encampment.   Mother is a small-scale Flagship encompassing Quantum Computing, DNA Data and 5D Optics, but she can’t truly encompass or even assess loneliness.  Bonn is the only member of his species on planet; nothing around him is on par with him.  She watches his vital signs a

Mother’s Puter tells Bonn that this planet, although totally different from Homeworld, has completely different but similar flora and fauna.  It doesn’t rain but water is drawn through the soil at night when the two moons pull upon the aquafer.  The largest flora is the spook-reed that has evolved into being carnivorous.  But there are extremely large mushroom forests which could be described as trees.  These fungi-types can grow up to eight metres tall with a one metre trunk

Nights are strange things on this little planet.  Under Mother’s protective laser dome Bonn can be outside the pod on sub-freezing nights.  He has abilities to leap over 100 metres in length and height; the strength of a charging Grumblebum; and easily withstand extreme temperatures, day and night. The nights are never dark for the whole sky is full of twinkling stars like a sparkling blanket of shining lights.  His favourite thing is lying on an air-mattress listening to anc

Mother is a space-pod, a rescue-vessel, a mini-version of the mothership.  But she wasn’t designed to raise one very young boy, on a small planet lost somewhere in the galaxy.  Her parameters are to keep him breathing, fed and safe.    Mother searches her data to help him ‘grow’ both physically and mentally.  There is little to help him grow sanely with caution and wisdom.   She finally finds a writing about more than just growth: “Caring for our metaphysical soil means carin

“What do you mean I can’t go? We always go!! You promised us we would go. This is not fair; I always buy a big bag of Lollygobbleblissbombs. You promised mummy. It’s not fair, its its…” Marty breaks down to dribbling and whining as he stamps his feet and thumps his little fists into the un-mowed grass. This seems to bother the bull ants who are looking for any passing picnic at the time and don’t like the idea of being hit in the head by a snotty nosed 15yr old spoilt bra

Bonn often sits on a small hillock watching the last sun dip below the horizon.  Shadows cause the cold to rise from the grasses and aerate the millions of tiny Blue Bow Butterflies.  They have laid on the ground all day gorging the soft nectar of the grasses then, at dusk, their tail wings spin like propellers giving them flight.  The three flapping wing sets create a brilliant, iridescent, blue sparkling as they rise in the cold night air, twinkling blue stars drifting from

Bonn uses Mother’s Puter-info for safety and making clothes and weapons.  Stumpy blue trees are like Ashwood and best to use for making bows and arrows.  He bounces his way to the closest Ashes forest 50kms away.  The laser-gun fells a few and trims them to a bendy bow and straight arrows.  Sharpened Grumblebum bones make arrowheads while leg sinews twisted with spook-reed flax stretch for bowstrings.   Red-Black Pandabeasts are the simplest to hunt, while a spook-reed gassed

“What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?” “Oh, I don’t know, pick a spot.” “I’ll get out the maps and have a look.” “I got something better than that. Let’s go for a big fly! As far as we can make it in one day.” “Do we have the fuel for that?” “Of course, we have a full tank of rocket fuel. The sun is just rising and the air is still – let’s go baby!!” “Start those engines and let’s get down the runway.” “Hang on I best put my helmet and seatbelt on.” McGonagall pu

He sits in mother’s doorway eating psycho-melons.  He is lost in space and time.  He has no name.  No one calls him or speaks to him or talks about him.  He is a “Boy of No Name”.  So, he calls himself just that -“BONN”- instructing Puter to call him Bonn, just so he can “be”.   Bonn gathers fruit.  Large juicy, blue-fleshed melons growing in massive patches are his favourite.  Unfortunately, they give off psychotic fumes of close, cloying atmosphere that is overly sweet, sti

He crept along the banister holding on as best his little furry legs could grip the curved wood. Paint chips made the grip harder but the knife, firmly between his clenched jaws, glistened with spittle and sweat. The light was dim with only the moon coyly peeking out occasionally. It was enough to glisten off the blade that shone with a dull hue. He hissed and gulped back even more of his spit as he snaked around the banister pole flaking green shards of paint. No one wa

There is no choice.  No way off this planet, no charts to guide him back to safe environments.  The escape-pod is his survivor, friend, companion, parent and protector.  ‘Mother’ protects him, feeds him, fosters him, teaches him, finds and collects water from the water-table.  It doesn’t rain.  Dew rises to the surface when one of the moons pass and draws it from the groundwater aquifers.  It’s exciting to watch thousands of batbirds swooping or thundering grumblebums chasing

……and he pulled up into his parabolic arch after the booms, allowing him to create a controlled drop to the purple grass, just beside the spook reeds.  Making sure his mask was tight, he stepped onto their grounds making the reed roots spark wildly and trigger the pampas-type heads to explode into translucent spectres of green spook-shaped vapour.   He laughed, knowing the deadly fumes cannot hurt him as they did the red and black Pandabeast he witnessed choking to death when

The Brigantine lurched to starboard, sails filled and beams creaked their pain, snapping hard against the rigging, straining the beams as the sailors danced around the flailing ropes, trying to slow the snapping. Backs, hard against the winds. Torrents of water smashing into the hull and spitting over the railing and onto the deck that is awash with men, ropes, sweat, blood and pain. The captain pulled his tricorn deeper onto his skull as the wheel nearly spun out of his g

Standing at the 2-kilometre-high precipice he looks down at purple valleys.  Orange-blue clouds scatter below.  This tiny boy, sole survivor of the escape pod, stares at the two suns beaming like white and yellow balls near the horizon. Being a ‘space-baby’, this is the only world he will feel.  Other worlds are only video. He steps off the cliff and dives in a crux pose.  Holding the pose till air pins his arms along his torso.  Goggles dig into his face, mouth tight, eyes b

“It’s such an easy subject—fruit—I mean there are so many all around us.  They even name record companies after them.  And that singer, you know, the one that got shot for crossing the road with the other band members.”   “A band member called Lemon???”   “Yeah, he was famous for staying in bed with his girlfriend who couldn’t sing, the Japanese one.  Had a son called Julie.  Even wrote a song about him, you know the one.  He owned a submarine the same colour and even had a d

Coolness over body.  Family, friends glide through the gentle water of Bay.   Faster, slower, up, down.  Flow along beautiful, soft, gentle, ultra-sensor currents.  Sonics through azure, guide to fishies, especially soft little ones.  Love little ones.  Fun sneaking up on and nudging schnapper or two by tail tips.  Scares shyte out of them.  They wobble, spin trying to not be devoured.  I do ‘cause I can, makes me giggle, blow out bubbles of joy.   Boat people come look. They

Blinking, slowly.  For an eternity, his lid closes like time standing still.  Staring through eyes of eternal pain, lenses of excruciating agony, focus, an eon of torment.    The bullet rips into his side.    He sees it slide into his flesh, a micrometre, a microsecond at a time.  Molecules of blood float in super slow-motion out of the ever-widening cavity.  Dancing a ballet of beauty, spinning, twisting, twirling.   One degree at a time.   One micro-second frame by frame. 

“Guy” is male and old French for ‘guide or lead’. Guy of Gisborne tried trapping Robin and stealing Marian.  Sebastian sings at people and promotes falsehood.  One is very Pearcing, another Richie directs and married a virgin.  Others have been stand-up-Guys and even fall-Guys.  My-Guy, frat-Guy, goofy-Guy, chill-Guy, even a Toy-Story-Guy.  Some even companioned dolls. One guarded gunpowder, arrested, tortured (over a few days), finally confessing that he tried to blow up par

Shaking snow off his bear-hide Grog trudges into the cave. “Corrrr, bloody cold out there.  Freeze tha tits offya mammoth”.  He kicks the sabre-tooth skull down the back of the cave. “Awwww Grog darlinnnggg, don’t mess the place up ya big hairy slob” minces Og.  “Pterry, my big bird flew today but was so cold she couldn’t get off the cliff, so she laid an egg.  That’s tonight’s din-dins.” “Fair dinkum, gotta stop livin’ with mates n’ go find a woman” grunts Grog. “Only if you

Age, age, does not weary them, but makes them get the absolute shits!   I hate this, I now tell jokes that my daily exercise is tying up my shoelaces, that if I drop something, I leave it there till I drop something ‘really important’, kick it over to the first thing just “to make doing exercise” a worthwhile activity.   I like how remote controllers reduce getting up and down but hate how my thumb now has bulging muscles it’s not supposed to have.   Washing up is a three-day