Fear & Reaving on Murtaugh's World
Sep. 28th, 2005 08:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebitterguyJesus, this isn't fan fiction, is it?
I wrote this for a contest on the Serenitymovie.com website. The assignment was to write a newspaper report on the first confirmed Reaver attack. I took it off to the left a little. Unfortunately, the contest was finished before it was.
So, I present to you:
We were on Murtaugh's World for six days when the Reavers attacked.
Their ship roared overhead like some extinct creature from the days of the old Earth, Earth that Was, home sweet home never to be seen again. Having broke atmo, it belched smoke, and I could almost feel the reactor above my head singing hairs and slow roasting my internal organs.
I'd hoped, prayed even, that it was some strange drug vision, but then I realized the drugs were gone, consumed in a vicious binge before re-entry. My lawyer suggested a re-stocking trip before we voyaged into the outback, but Murtaugh's World was a desolate hellhole, and all we'd be able to find would likely be blindness inducing moonshine or some ether. And nothing's sadder than a man on an ether bender.
My attorney and I were still near our mule, a beautiful crimson model with a motor like an angry bull, having just returned from our assignment to visit some yokel who claimed to have evidence of extra-terrestrial life. Since we, at this point, were able to be considered extra-terrestrial life, I was curious as to why this was an exciting revelation. Cover the story, they shouted! Make me, I said, I defy your authority! Here's your advance, and an expense account, they thundered! I'll see you in six weeks, I replied!
And so, Murtaugh's World, having just travelled out into a hopeless scrubplain in the middle of a textbook case of a poor terraform seeking alien life that turned out to be some poorly fossilized bats. Big bats, mind you. But I didn't voyage to the armpit of the 'verse to discover dead rodents. 20,000 words on Murtaugh's delightful outback, the slope skulled imbecile who'd declared evidence of extra-terrestrial life, and the lingering effects of a particular sedative that only comes from a particular breed of rutabaga grown on an outer planet later, we were
All of this spiralled into irrelevance when the Reaver ship dropped onto the city. We sprinted for the mule, and came face to face with three of the ugliest creatures to ever be shat from the darkness onto law-abiding citizenry. And us.
It's like they were holes in the 'verse, through which ugliness and pain came. We weren't the first people they'd encountered on Murtaugh's World. Their bellies were full with their last long pig meal, but their eyes were bigger. They moved to attack, which is when my attorney earned his retainer, plus a large brick of a pharmaceutical product I had on layaway back home.
Two of them attempted to swarm his massive bulk, living under the mistaken belief he would be possibly slow, possibly soft, possibly an easy mark. The third came at me with a knife that would send any butcher scrambling off in phallic envy. The metal was something torn from a ships hull, sharpened on bone and stone and meat. It took eight rounds to bring him down. It may have taken less, but I wasn't taking any chances.
At that point, I noticed the lack of a knife cutting through my back. I turned, expecting to see my attorney as some kind of entree, and myself as the post dinner mint. What I actually saw was one reaver, its head twisted about like it wanted to tie up a corset with no help from anyone, and the other, its broken limbs flailing viciously against my attorney who had its head in a vice like grip.
These things are animals! I screamed, watching as he dropped it to the ground. They'll rip the heart from your chest and consume your flesh.
I'm sure they have many things they don't have in common with my ex-wife, grunted the beautiful, litigous bastard.
Now I said as we huried back to the Mule, whose beauty was increasing exponentially each second, I say this is a good time to return to that addled lunatic's farm, entertain his beliefs about alien bats, and wait for these rad burned motherfuckers to re-ascend to their own little lunatic asylum.
As your attourney, he said, I agree.
I wrote this for a contest on the Serenitymovie.com website. The assignment was to write a newspaper report on the first confirmed Reaver attack. I took it off to the left a little. Unfortunately, the contest was finished before it was.
So, I present to you:
We were on Murtaugh's World for six days when the Reavers attacked.
Their ship roared overhead like some extinct creature from the days of the old Earth, Earth that Was, home sweet home never to be seen again. Having broke atmo, it belched smoke, and I could almost feel the reactor above my head singing hairs and slow roasting my internal organs.
I'd hoped, prayed even, that it was some strange drug vision, but then I realized the drugs were gone, consumed in a vicious binge before re-entry. My lawyer suggested a re-stocking trip before we voyaged into the outback, but Murtaugh's World was a desolate hellhole, and all we'd be able to find would likely be blindness inducing moonshine or some ether. And nothing's sadder than a man on an ether bender.
My attorney and I were still near our mule, a beautiful crimson model with a motor like an angry bull, having just returned from our assignment to visit some yokel who claimed to have evidence of extra-terrestrial life. Since we, at this point, were able to be considered extra-terrestrial life, I was curious as to why this was an exciting revelation. Cover the story, they shouted! Make me, I said, I defy your authority! Here's your advance, and an expense account, they thundered! I'll see you in six weeks, I replied!
And so, Murtaugh's World, having just travelled out into a hopeless scrubplain in the middle of a textbook case of a poor terraform seeking alien life that turned out to be some poorly fossilized bats. Big bats, mind you. But I didn't voyage to the armpit of the 'verse to discover dead rodents. 20,000 words on Murtaugh's delightful outback, the slope skulled imbecile who'd declared evidence of extra-terrestrial life, and the lingering effects of a particular sedative that only comes from a particular breed of rutabaga grown on an outer planet later, we were
All of this spiralled into irrelevance when the Reaver ship dropped onto the city. We sprinted for the mule, and came face to face with three of the ugliest creatures to ever be shat from the darkness onto law-abiding citizenry. And us.
It's like they were holes in the 'verse, through which ugliness and pain came. We weren't the first people they'd encountered on Murtaugh's World. Their bellies were full with their last long pig meal, but their eyes were bigger. They moved to attack, which is when my attorney earned his retainer, plus a large brick of a pharmaceutical product I had on layaway back home.
Two of them attempted to swarm his massive bulk, living under the mistaken belief he would be possibly slow, possibly soft, possibly an easy mark. The third came at me with a knife that would send any butcher scrambling off in phallic envy. The metal was something torn from a ships hull, sharpened on bone and stone and meat. It took eight rounds to bring him down. It may have taken less, but I wasn't taking any chances.
At that point, I noticed the lack of a knife cutting through my back. I turned, expecting to see my attorney as some kind of entree, and myself as the post dinner mint. What I actually saw was one reaver, its head twisted about like it wanted to tie up a corset with no help from anyone, and the other, its broken limbs flailing viciously against my attorney who had its head in a vice like grip.
These things are animals! I screamed, watching as he dropped it to the ground. They'll rip the heart from your chest and consume your flesh.
I'm sure they have many things they don't have in common with my ex-wife, grunted the beautiful, litigous bastard.
Now I said as we huried back to the Mule, whose beauty was increasing exponentially each second, I say this is a good time to return to that addled lunatic's farm, entertain his beliefs about alien bats, and wait for these rad burned motherfuckers to re-ascend to their own little lunatic asylum.
As your attourney, he said, I agree.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-02 07:06 pm (UTC)