“Captain, I just wanted to try your favorite pipe.”
Captain Morrow swung, and Winslow flailed off the bank.
“That is my favorite ship.”
“Was, sir. Was.”
The surging astral waves carried smoldering remains away as Captain Morrow stared, enraged.
“Captain, I just wanted to try your favorite pipe.” Captain Morrow swung, and Winslow flailed off the bank. “That is my favorite ship.” “Was, sir. Was.”
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Captain Morrow examined the wreckage. The Courtisane Douce, his first helical-vessel, smoldered before him.
Another fiery blast jolted Morrow. “We already crashed, you wench,” he snarled, turning towards the smoking mouth of the chimera figuerhead of another ship. Moira Figglebottom tittered, “Sorry. Needed to light my cigar. Tag,” she sang, “you’re it.”
Truth be told, I have been wanting to revisit Captain Morrow's Cosmos for quite a while, now. For the past few challenges, my original ideas have started here, but something about them just didn't feel right for some odd reason. This idea, like so many of the ones long ago, was the first one I thought up, so I decided to write it.
I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Also, don't forget to stop by the Ghoul's Lair at Grammar Ghoul Press. Earlier this week we began talking about what else we do besides writing, and, as of yesterday, we're discussing inspirations! Join the conversation! I'd love to hear from you! Thank you for stopping by! Share the geekdom! To thine own self be true. -Tony xo PS: If you feel so inclined, consider signing up for my email list.
“Where the hell is it?”
Captain Morrow mined through his cabin, on hands and knees, searching for his chain. Footsteps startled him, and Moira Figglebottom stepped into his cabin--her presence, an enigma; her smile, fiercely wry. “Looking for this?” She dangled a key from her finger. “Dismiss me again, and I’ll do more than commandeer your ship.” “You boorish wench!” Moira backhanded his cheek, key first.
Dooley wiped his brow with a greasy hand. He had spent three hours churning and fiddling with the engine’s crank.
“Three hours, and this fu'king ship still won’t crank!” Dooley threw his pipe wrench against the wall, grumbled, and leaned to pick it up. Then he saw the empty outlet. “Winslow! Stop unplugging my engine! Bloody hell. Captain. Engine’s fixed. You're clear for your hot bath.”
“I’m starving!”
“Yeah!” “How much longer?” “I said stop touching me there!” “Food! Now!” The crew was antsy, expressing their detestation for the extended stop on Pexar-58, Dr. Coe’s home planet. Captain Morrow had successfully--well, mistakenly, while urinating in a lake--found a small clump of theorium, a complex chemical element requested by Dr. Coe, and they had stopped to deliver it about three hours before. Captain Morrow slammed his hand down on a wooden desk. “Shut up!” “But cap’n--” “You insolent children--can you not see that this is a major scientific discovery?” “Well, actually, Captain,” Dr. Coe interjected, “it’s not so much a discovery as it is a creative display of engineering and construction.” Captain Morrow turned back to his crew, “Can you not see that this is a creative display of engineering and construction?” Winslow raised his hand, catching Captain Morrow’s eye and turning his stomach upside down. “What is it now, Winslow?”
“LAND, HO!”
Captain Morrow emerged from his quarters onto the deck of his ship. “Winslow, what the hell are you doing?” “Land, Captain! LAND EVERYWHERE! So beautiful.” “Hand me that, you imbecile!” Captain Morrow hit Winslow’s head with the device. Pointing, he said, “First, that is an asteroid. Secondly, we’re searching for theorium, not land. And, this” Captain Morrow held up the device, “is a kaleidoscope!” Captain Morrow looked up as his crew thronged his office, guava juice trickling down his chin and splattering on his snacking china below.
"This better not be about my ship again!" "No, um," Dooley, the head engineer, started, then he took a napkin from his pocket and dabbed Captain Morrow's chin. Captain Morrow stared--flummoxed. "Why?!" "Guava juice! Alternative fuel source! ...Potentially." "For?" "The... tangerine, sir?"
“What the hell is this?!”
“The spacecraft was built to your precise specifications, Captain.” “I said I wanted it shaped like a tambourine, not decorated like a tangerine!” “Oh.” “Captain! The parcel you requested--” “Ah, thank you, Marcel.” “Captain, what is it?” “A treasured heirloom--my grandfather's tambourine. What this blasted shi--wait. What’s that noise?” “Your . . . tangerine, sir? It jingles.” “Jingles?” “Like a tambourine? . . . Precise specifications, sir.” |
Captain Morrow's CosmosAuthorThis page is devoted to Tony's newest series for microfiction starring Captain Morrow, a space pirate, and his crew of misfits. Archives
November 2016
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