U.S.S. Flash Fiction

"Status?"

"The asteroid core is solid—it's the surface composition that's the big variable."

"Bottom line—can we deflect it enough?"

"Yes. We should have a good range of Earth-impact scenarios."

The small, green figure paced the bridge of his flying saucer expectantly. Earth was a budding threat to Yiplodogan intergalactic domination. But not for much longer.

"Earth is doomed," he said in a fierce gurgle. "Nothing can save them now!"

Just then the forward viewscreen filled with the image of a dashing young man in the gold uniform of an Earth Space Federation captain.

"Not so fast, Yiplodogan scum! This assault is a direct violation of the contest prompt! You won't get away with it!"

"What! Captain Melvin O' Drama! I might have known. Well you're too late. There's nothing you can do. Muwahaha!"

"Don't be so sure. An anti-matter probe is closing on your position even now. The asteroid and your ship will both be plasma by the end of this story."

"That's preposterous!" Even so, a puff of methane sweat sublimated off the Yiplodogan commander's brow.


On the Flash Fiction, a red light flared urgently from a crowded status board.

"Two hundred words, on my mark... Mark!"

"You know what they say about revenge—"

"Captain! The word limit! We just don't have room for long quotations!"

Capt. O'Drama turned a hard glare on his nervous subordinate. "Don't quote the Prime Directive to me!"

"Sorry, sir."

A siren wailed from the engine room.

"The story is breaking apart! We're venting dialogue tags! The contest just wasn't designed for this kind of stress!"

"Hold together! Just a little more time. We must be successful. The fate of humanity hangs in the balance."

The crew stood hushed, conserving words, willing the mission to succeed.

"Impact in... two words."

"You're bluffing—"