Block Breaker #6

Block breakers are short stories, random ditties for which the only real purpose is to write something, anything when Writer’s Block strikes. Quality, verbosity, fidelity, consistency – none of these words apply. Just write or die.

So I’m procrastinating from prepping for writing, by writing… here we go again!

A figure, dressed in loose grey overalls stepped out of a car. He picked his way through the carnage strewn all around the city plaza.

“Stop this!” cried out the Gargoyle, “I’m here.”

From above a body hit the ground with a thud.

“Aww fuck, no, come on no,” Gargoyle said with despair in his voice, “Why’d you have to do that?” He was stood over the body that had fallen, a bloody and broken costumed man, he was so bloodied that there was no way to tell where the open flesh and the red of the costume began in the darkness.

“Just another fool wanting to play hero, no true power,” a deep female voice said, as a cape-clad white costumed woman floated down from the sky.

“This was all so meaningless,” the Gargoyle said, “You didn’t need to do any of this.”

“Of course I did,” she said as she landed lightly on her feet, “They were pretenders. Running and flying around thinking they were good enough, strong enough, to be paragons.”

“And why am I here?” the Gargoyle asked, “You wanted a witness from another time to see you beat them all?”

“No,” the woman said shaking her head, “That would be cruel and meaningless. No, I called you out so I can test myself against the best.”

“I’m an old man? Whatever I was or wasn’t, I’m hardly that now,” the Gargoyle said.

“Oh,” the woman said, over dramatically scratching her cowl, “You would think I’d have thought of that. The Gargoyle hasn’t been seen for nearly sixty years.”

“If you just want to kill an old man, go ahead,” Gargoyle said, “Finish all this with me. Kill me and vanish, leave this world in peace.”

“Don’t give up so quickly,” the woman said, “I have a plan. I need to face you in your prime.” She appeared to flicker for a moment, like a bad television image, and then suddenly she had a device in her hands, which she pointed at the Gargoyle, a beam of light emitted from it striking the old man who cried out in pain and collapsed.

Gargoyle struggled on the ground and started to drag himself back to the car, in pain and screaming all the way.

“I will be here tomorrow night Gargoyle. Come and face me, or I will rip this continent apart, fairly sure that should kill most of the people on it. Understood? I should think so.” Suddenly the woman vanished, flickering out and not returning.

The Gargoyle continued to drag himself along the ground, until the pain became too intense, back arching, a high pitched squeal wailing into the air, his arms and legs were thrusting out uncontrollably, with energetic pulses spreading all over, causing bulges all over his limbs.

It was over an hour until the attack stopped. By then the army had turned up and dragged the Gargoyle into a guarded ambulance, where he remained unconscious.

“Take him back to base, put him somewhere private but spacious. This man is not our prisoner, treat him with all due respect,” an anonymous-looking suited figure said, before walking away.

Gargoyle moaned, starting to come to, and then awoke with a start. He looked around bleary-eyed.

“So you’re awake,” the anonymous-looking man stated.

“Where am I?” the Gargoyle asked hoarsely.

“Porton Down,” the man said, “We brought you here after the fight.”

The Gargoyle sat up and lowered his legs over the bed, and looked at his now thick arms, still in their grey costume. “There wasn’t much of a fight on my part,” the Gargoyle said looking over his body, at his thickened legs, he turned his attention back to his arms and then his hands flexing and then making a fist.

“I have a few questions,” the man said, “Four to be precise.”

“Can this wait?” Gargoyle asked, “I need to work out what she did to me.”

“Well that’s question one right there,” the man pointed out, “Who is she? In one night she fought nearly a dozen supes, and didn’t just win, she slaughtered them all. We didn’t even know Starman could die, she ripped him into eight bits with her bare hands. Fifty police officers all dead. Who was she?”

“I don’t know,” Gargoyle said, he was playing with his throat. “You kept my costume on?”

“You survived, that seemed relevant, figured you’d want to keep your anonymity. Mister Bramley, we know who you are though. We don’t know who she is. We can’t match her to any watchlist.”

“So Big Brother can’t help. I remember when all your super technology, and databases, were meant to be superheroes redundant, never quite came off,” Gargoyle noted, “But I’ve no idea who she is either. I got a message, I ignored it. I got another message, I ignored it, then I saw what was happening in the news and paid attention.”

“You ignored her email so she wiped out most of the superhero community in Europe?” the anonymous man asked.

“A few enterprising people over the years have worked out my identity, mostly nerds,” Gargoyle said, “Thought it was another of them. They come expecting stories,  maybe even see the power, some come looking for power.”

“Okay,” the man said, “So, the second question, you retired sixty years ago. How do you look so young?”

“I didn’t before. I was fifty when I retired,” Gargoyle said, “My powers apparently slowed my ageing, but I was still old and tired when I went to the plaza tonight.”

“Last night,” the man said, “You’ve been unconscious all night, it’s late afternoon. You still didn’t answer the question, how do you look so young?”

“She did something to me,” Gargoyle said looking at his clenched fist, “Hit me with some kind of ray. It was incredibly painful, I could feel my body changing rapidly.”

“So there’s some kind of technology,” the man noted, “That helps narrow it down. If her powers are technology-based we can search through the universities, labs, and such.”

“Third question?” Gargoyle asked, “We don’t have long. She said I had to face her tonight, or she would destroy Europe.”

The man went to speak, then held himself for a moment, “Okay, so what do you intend?”

“Well somehow she’s made me younger, hopefully, my powers are there too,”  Gargoyle said jumping off the bed and doing a quick squat, “I guess I’ll have to face her.”

“Or you could let us handle it,” the man said, “We have facilities and tools to deal with criminal supes.”

“If you want a pop at her, go right ahead,” Gargoyle said, “But I’m going to be there. I can’t let her kill any more people.”

“Do you think she could destroy Europe?”

“I don’t know,” Gargoyle said, “I fought a god once, it was back in the late fifties. He had enough power to destroy the world, nearly did.”

“He was still beaten though,” the anonymous-looking man stated.

“Yeah, but it took everything I had to contain him, keep him occupied, and in the end, it was a magical talisman that took trapped him. The talisman with Wolfenden is being kept safe, isn’t it?”

“It’s locked in a vault, the location of which we don’t share, it’s secure,” he paused, “Do you think that’s what she is? Gods tend to be quite archaic, she used some kind of ray technology you said.”

“That’s your fourth question?” Gargoyle asked, surprised, “I’m fairly sure I know who you are. There are rules.”

“I wondered,” the man said, “But couldn’t waste a question on it. And yes, you’ve caught me, I’ve wasted a question, you may as well answer.”

“We met in the in nineteen forty-nine,” Gargoyle noted, “Think you were dressed in the same clothes. Anyway no, I don’t think she’s a deity.  She didn’t have that ageless quality you or Wolfenden have.”

“You need to test your powers,” the enigmatic figure said, “If you’re going to face her, you need to be at your best.”

“Listen, you did me a favour maintaining my anonymity,” Gargoyle said, “So here’s the answer to a question I suspect you wanted to ask. The answer’s no, well probably not.”

“Then we may as well make our peace with the universe,” the man said, “Because in your prime, I’m fairly sure you could have beaten me, and I grew up on Olympus.”

“Just get me back to the plaza,” Gargoyle said, “Just get me back there in time for tonight, I’ll do my best. You might also want to consider bringing supes from outside of Europe.”

“So you showed up, nice new look there Gargoyle, or should I say old look?” the woman said floating down softly to land on the cobblestoned plaza. The area was still carnage, though the previous night’s bodies had been removed, and little yellow flags had sprouted up all over.

“I can’t let you hurt anyone else,” Gargoyle said, his voice deep and intense.

“Well you’ll have to beat me then if you can,” the woman said laughing.

“I appreciate this young body, it feels a little weird,” Gargoyle said, backing off, “Besides there are apparently processes for these situations.”

“Oh?” the woman asked.

Just then, streams of blue rushed from atop buildings and high windows striking the woman, encasing in her in a blue field. Two figures in body armour came running in carrying large devices and threw them at the woman, the devices rushed towards the woman from the front and rear and grappled together encasing the woman in steel.

The woman collapsed to the ground as the blue sphere faded away.

“Hahahahaha,” she laughed maniacally.

“What’s so funny?” Gargoyle asked approaching, an army of body-armoured figures emerging from all around, weapons raised behind him.

“Oh these human games,” the woman said, and seemingly with a flex of her arms, the trap cracked, then she spread her arms wide and the metal device fell away sparks and smoke flying from it.

The collective body-armoured figures all opened fire, spraying the woman with more of the blue light. She continued to laugh maniacally.

Then suddenly she stopped, her attention snapped to the armed men all around, and then she flickered, and within the blink of an eye all the figures were suddenly collapsing to the ground, and black-clad figures were falling from rooftops and high up windows.

Gargoyle and the woman were the only ones left standing.

“Is all that you know death?” Gargoyle asked disgustedly.

“Yes,” the woman said, “But I didn’t kill the little mortals.” Her words were immediately belied by bodies falling from the roofs hitting the ground. She looked around, bemused, “Well mostly didn’t kill them. They’re so delicate.”

“So you’re a god then?” Gargoyle asked.

“Nope, not exactly. You ready?” she asked, “I’m getting bored of waiting, would hate to have to wipe a whole continent to get you in the mood.”

Gargoyle got into a read stance, “I’m ready,” he said, the skin visible from his costume visibly went grey and stone-like, his eyes burned amber, and his whole body seemed to grow filling out the costume even further.

The woman flickered, but suddenly she appears grabbed by the next by Gargoyle.

“Seen that trick enough,” he said.

“Hah”, she lashed out with her elbow into the side of his head sending him flying through the air several feet and crashing into the side of a building.

Gargoyle picked himself up, and shuck glass from himself, stepping out of the building he faced the woman.

“You don’t disappoint,” the woman said.

“Talk or fight,” Gargoyle said, charging forward with unbelievable speed, his right fist swing out, it’s arc passing through where the woman had been the briefest moment earlier until she flickered away.

Gargoyle flew from his feet, rolled in midair and then carried the roll through back onto the ground and letting the moment spring him back to his feet. He searched around for his opponent.

“Face me!” he yelled, fury filling his voice.

From out of nowhere the woman appeared flying through the air, she grabbed for his neck and using the momentum of her flight to spin around as if to break his neck.

Gargoyle braced himself, and the woman lost her grip and fell away, he followed her momentum, kicking her while she was prone, sending her body skittering across the ground into a pillar from the front of a skyscraper.

The woman got back to her feet, “Well that…” she started to say, but Gargoyle was already on her, with a double-fisted pump to her midsection, immediately followed by an uppercut that sent her flying back into another pillar.

The woman kicked herself from the rubble, propelling her self forward into a crunching spear into the Gargoyle’s midsection, paying him back. She went in for a punch, but Gargoyle blocked it with his left, arm, and then followed immediately with a headbutt to her face.

The woman staggered back, shaking her head, then her eyes flashed red.

Gargoyle charged, but with perfect timing, she shoved the Gargoyle to the side, letting his momentum beat him leaving him sprawling on the floor. The woman flickered, and suddenly appeared a hundred meters up, she orientated herself on the downed figure of Gargoyle, and started falling towards him picking up speed, then she flickered out.

Gargoyle was just picking himself up, when suddenly she flickered back into view mere inches from him, her fist slamming into him with such speed and force that he was driven into the ground, and the cobbles beneath exploded into shards and dust as the Gargoyle’s rock form sunk nine inches into the ground.

“Oof!” he exclaimed, as the woman bounced away, rolled and landed on her feet.

“Excellent,” she said, “You are most excellent.”

“Talk or fight,” Gargoyle said extricating himself from the hole he was in, raising himself painfully to his knees.

“You said that already,” she said.

“You talk too much,” he suddenly lurched forward, his momentum from rising pushing him into a sprint, powerful leg muscles straining as they propelled him forward with every ounce of his speed, turning him into a massive fast-moving juggernaut.

The woman flickered appearing just to left again and reaching out to push him aside again.

Gargoyle speeding towards where the woman had been, was already spreading his arms out ahead of him, and as he reached where she was pushing, he grabbed her rest, and then purposefully missing his step, sending his hulking form crashing down into the ground with tremendous force, and wrenching the woman from her feet, and round with him as he rolled.

He maintained his grip and followed through the momentum bringing her smashing into the ground with force enough to shatter the cobbles again.

From launch to smash took the mere briefest of moments.

Gargoyle wasted no time, he pressed home his advantage by rolling onto her, grabbing her by the thick strong hair and smashing her head into the ground repeatedly.

Amidst the pressure of his brutal attack, she bucked for all her worth, eventually dislodging him, then she shoved him back.

“Wait!” she shouted, as Gargoyle got into a ready stance, “I choose talk”.

The Gargoyle held in his stance, but didn’t make to move forward, “What’s there to talk about?”

The woman raked mud and stone from his face, then pulling a cloth from a hidden pocket, she wiped her face to clear it. Then she looked back at the Gargoyle, “Okay, I yield.”

“What?” he asked dumbfounded.

“I yield. It’s the only rational choice. You’re as strong, fast and smart as promised, you can’t beat me, but I don’t think I can beat you, so I yield,” the woman said, looking visibly relaxed.

“I don’t understand,” the Gargoyle said, “Why would you go through all this death and destruction just to yield?”

“I needed to find the strongest mortal this planet had to offer,” she said, “Now I have, and I can’t beat you. Well unless we go super extreme, I imagine even with your powers after a day or two, you’d be too exhausted to go on, and then I’d finish you. And if that didn’t work, I could fight you for a few decades, until your old again. Wouldn’t be a real victory though, daddy wouldn’t accept it as a fete of strength.”

“Daddy? Fete of strength? You’re a child of Ares?” Gargoyle asked.

“Ares? No, I guess I can see why you might think that, but no. Poseidon is my father,” the woman said.

“So you’re a demi-god? You said you weren’t,” Gargoyle said, “And why would Poseidon want you to slaughter all the heroes? And so many people in this city?” His face was twisted with anger, confusion and disgust.

“It’s complicated,” the woman said, “I’m less demi-god and more mortal plus.”

“Well I don’t care,” Gargoyle said after a few moments thoughts, “You should leave her and never come back. If you come back, I will find you, hunt you down and fight you as long as it takes to find a winner between us, or I find something to contain you indefinitely.”

“I can agree to that,” the woman said.

“Just like that?” Gargoyle asked.

“Yes,” she said, “The power of the gods has been tested against the power of man, that was my mission.”

“What is your name?” Gargoyle asked, returning to his human form.

“Kora Euryale,” the woman said. “I will take my leave.”

Gargoyle went to speak but thought better of it. The woman, Kora, flickered out of sight and didn’t return this time.

A cadre of armed black body-armoured troops came marching in, with the anonymous-looking man at their lead.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s gone,” Gargoyle said, “It was a stalemate.”

The man looked around at the carnage, “This was a stalemate?”

“Yes,” Gargoyle said, suddenly feeling tired, “It’s not good though.”

“Oh?” the anonymous-looking man asked.

“The god’s are planning on returning,” Gargoyle said, “The Olympian ones. They wanted to see what strength mankind had.”

“There are contingencies for that,” the man said.

“Sure. Hope they work better than your contingencies for a rogue supe,” Gargoyle stated.

“What now, for you I mean?” the man asked, “We could use your help.”

“Call me if you need me,” Gargoyle said, “I’m going to enjoy being young as long as it lasts, forgot to ask about that bit.”

The end.

Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 31: Wolf Boy’s Vengeance

This is the 31st in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing. You can find out more about the challenge here.

Wolf Boy’s Vengeance, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 1st January 2012

Word count: 542

Theme: horror, supernatural, werewolf, get rich quick

The story:

“Transform damn it,” cursed a young boy tied up, he was about ten, skinny, malnourished .

“Aww, look the puppy is struggling,” laughed a young man, in his twenties, dressed in brown leathers and carrying a cross bow.

“Sheet,” another man said, dressed all in black, with black face paint on, “He don’t kna werewolves don change till full moon.”

“Keep an eye out,” the young man that had been laughing snapped. “These fuckers are always in a pack.”

The young boy was still struggling against his bonds.

The man dressed in black slipped into the shadows of the trees, the last sight of him was a glint from the large knife he’d pulled.

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Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 6: Twice Blessed, Twice Cursed

This is the sixth in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

Twice Blessed, Twice Cursed, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 7th December 2012

Word count: 1,000

Theme: fantasy, myth, Gary Sue, hunting, goddess, celtic

The story:

“No good will come of the runt, mark my words,” a wisened old woman said, holding an infant up to the light, “Look, he casts a red shadow, the mark of evil.”

“Put down my child, and begone foul witch!” a gruff bearded man said barging into the room.

The woman dropped to the floor, and grovelled as she shuffled out.

“You’re not to listen to those damnable witches,” the man warned the woman who lay silent on the bed. “Our son will be great, mark my words.” The woman lay still and quiet. She had made no sound since the last push to birth the child. The physicians assured the man, the king of Grata Land she was alive, but they knew not what she didn’t respond to anyone.

The man wrapped the infant in a blanket and left her with a look of regret as she simply stared into space. As he walked into the great hall, the infant wrapped up in the blanket, and not making a sound, there was a flurry of activity as people rushed to see the royal heir. His most loyal friend, and soldier stepped ahead to clear the way.

“Stand by, stand by,” he called.

The king mounted the steps to the throne and stood before it.

“Here ye all,” he called his voice deep and gruff, “This boy will one day be king, and while I may be a good king, he will be the greatest, all should rejoice and come to love Monague, prince of Grata Land!”

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Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 5: The House That Could Not Sell

This is the fifth in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

The House That Could Not Sell, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 6th December 2012

Word count: 542

Theme: Supernatural, ghosts, haunted house

The story:

“Okay, whatever you do, don’t scream,” a voice said to no one in particular, the house was empty. “When are they going to move in?” the ghost sighed.

Five years later, the living room was host to a disembodied voice again, “If anyone’s there, whatever you do, don’t scream,” it said wearily. “No one? Nothing? Well I’m coming out, this is stupid.”

From the centre of the room a ghostly figured emerged. He was a youngish man, dressed in an 80’s suit, with appropriate shoulder pads, and ghostly snake skin belt.

“Well this place has seen better days,” he said screwing up his face in disgust. “It was perfectly clean when I lived here.”

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Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 4: Zombies versus Mummies

This is the fourth in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

Zombies Versus Mummies by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 4th December 2012

This is the fourth in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

Zombies Versus Mummies by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 5th December 2012

Word count: 999

Warning: mild danger, referenced gore

The story:

Seti strolled back and forwards before the museum doors, swearing in Ancient Egyptian.

“That won’t help,” Ramesses said joining his father by the doors.

“I no longer care,” Seti said. “My neck hurts, my heart hurts, and these bleached people don’t agree with me at all.”

“Well it was either them or we wander round blind, and dumb. Hark we would have been easy prey for these undead creatures that plague this city.”

“Better to die than let our royal selves be tainted,” Seti said suddenly standing tall.

“We cannot remain here forever, the dead walk the Earth this night, and you and I are reborn into this strange world. We must journey and find out what we can, and find a way to restore our lives to ourselves,” Ramesses said.

“Ah, my son the man,” Seti said wistfully.

“Old man,” Ramesses said, “I lived a good long time. I underwent the festival of Sed.”

“God king?” Seti asked, “Truly the youth surpasses his father. Okay then, God King, where do we go?”

“I know not, but we are Egyptians! And we are undead also, but not so weak and mindless as these pathetic minions. In rebirth we are granted great strength and powers, how else could we both have escaped those strange glass sarcophagi we were placed in?”

“I felt it,” Seti said solemnly, “I felt it.”

“Let us gather weapons, and let us be upon this world, and remind them what true Pharaohs could do,” Ramesses said grabbing a spear and a shield from a display stand.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 4: Zombies versus Mummies”

Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 2: Damnation in the Living World

This is the second in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

Damnation in the Living World, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 3rd December 2012

Word count: 1,000

Theme: fantasy, sex, devil’s pact

Warning: Some relatively mild sexual content, and gore beyond the read more

The story:

In an inn, a huddled figure wrapped in a hood, drinking from a mug.

A well dressed noble entered the inn and looked around, and walked over to the huddled figure.

“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble,” the noble said, his voice was that of a snake’s hiss. “Might be, you can make up for your transgression, Raynard.”

The figure grunted, and suddenly found his mind flying backwards through his recent history, quite involuntarily.

Raynard Climes looked around blinking. He had been lying on the battle field amid a pile of soldiers, all dead or dying, his guts trying to escape from the gash across his belly, trying to hold them in, struggling to stay alive. Now he found himself stood up, on what he did not know, because it was just glowing red, all around. He was still holding his stomach though, he could see the blood still seeping.

“Ah, you poor dear,” a woman’s voice said.

Raynard turned behind him, looking for the voice, as he turned the red gave way to something more solid, a bedroom, the likes of which he had never seen before, a room fit for a noble. In the centre was an ornate four- poster bed, and equally ornate furniture.

Then his eyes focused on a lithe woman dressed in a gossamer gown that seemingly covered her modesty, yet offered tantalising views of the figure beneath.

“Won’t you sit?” she asked, nodding at a chair.

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Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 1: The Orchard

This is the first in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November.

This is the first in a series of 365 Flash Fiction stories I’m writing from 2nd December 2012 until the 1st December 2013. It’s intent is to keep me writing throughout the year, and not just in November. you can find out more about the challenge here.

The Orchard, by Jonathan L. Lawrence, 2nd December 2012

Word count: 1,000

Theme: Supernatural, werewolves, survivalist

The story:

Tony sat in the orchard catching his breath, shivering in the cold night. He remembered back when he was here only a year ago, when he had fallen out of the tree and broke his leg.

For six months he had to use a crutch to get around. It had been a lovely sunny day then, with little else to care about in those halcyon days of summer holidays, and the camaraderie of casual acquaintance. When it happened, it proved painful and embarrassing, he climbed as he high as he dare, and then higher still on a dare. If he completed the dare, there was a promise of a kiss from Sarah Dalstein, a girl of particular beauty in this out of the way little village in Suffolk. However, falling and breaking his leg had dashed his hopes. Everyone was very concerned of course, and then the ambulance came and took him away. When he returned to the village, that his family spent every summer in, he found himself to be the butt of far too many jokes.

Now, here he was running for his life through the very same orchard, the wounds in his side weren’t nearly as painful as the broken leg, but it didn’t feel that much different. Only now it wasn’t only himself that had fallen, it was the whole village to a hoard of werewolves.

“Come on!” he shouted at himself hoarsely, trying to force himself up.

“Hawoooooo!” he heard in the distance.

They were on to him again, this time he didn’t need to shout at himself, their howls were enough to set him going. He staggered deeper into the orchards trying to keep himself hidden, yet instinctively knowing that these wolf creatures that were spreading across the whole of Britain would be like their name sakes, fast, deadly, and keen hunters.

Continue reading “Daily Flash Fiction Challenge 1: The Orchard”