Welcome to weekend writing warriors. Many fine authors, and me, contribute short snippets for your delectation. This is the start of a new work, Illegal Aliens. It is something of a cross between a horror story, a science fiction tale, and a romance.
Last week Roland awoke, alone. Something of a surprise, and in some ways a shock. His mobile chirruped into life and the works manager – where he’d been called to examine a mysterious block of Roman concrete – told him the “bloody German bomb, it went.” A knock on the door interrupts their conversation just after Mr Shah explains that one of his workers couldn’t even stand the firecrackers on Guy Fawkes.
A loud knock on the front door interrupted their conversation; Roland said, “There’s someone at the door … I’ll need.”
“May the Gods smile on you, Dr Stevens. I think you’ll need them,” Mr Shah hung up.
Roland grabbed one of his wife’s old aprons and wrapped it around him in a semblance of decency; he hadn’t been able to face clearing them away; dressed, sort of, he answered the door.
A man and a woman, dressed in conservative suits, suits that signally failed to hide the bulges under their shoulders, waited outside.
The man said, “Dr Stevens?”
“Yes, I am he.”
The woman added, “Good; may we talk to you?”
“Who are you?”
“That is irrelevant.”
My sincere apologies for abusing semi-colons.
I was hunting for an image of the Goddess and found this. However, black and green eyed is more the way I imagined her. Bastet was not just some “piece of fluff.” It would have been terrifying to be occupied by her.
One of the duties of parenthood is encroaching on the weekend. We’re moving our youngest to his new digs at Auburn.
You can find my, well our, works here.