‘Open the cargo doors Beatrice, I’m after robbing the Martian time machine.’ ‘You mean the device that will allow us travel back to a point before Martians used their doomsday ray to destroy Earth Gerry?’ ‘Why the fiddlesticks would you ask something like that? Are you some kind of plot device?’ ‘No. And as one of only two humans to survive the blast I resent that insinuation. I’m just a simple space rocket pilot preparing to save humanity.’ ‘You don’t sound real. Anyway, that’s not gonna happen.’ ‘Why not? It’s in the plot.’ ‘Because I forgot to rob the instructions.’ Continue reading No need to get excited, it’s just a story

Zalderbon Bongodrick of the Intergalactic Police Force explained: ‘A backwater Sheriff like me needs to relax. To turn a blind eye to some things. But your species, and you in particular, are taking the piss -war is illegal.’ Vladimir Pontin shifted uneasily in his chair onboard the orbital paddy-wagon: ‘But I only stepped out to buy milk.’ Instead of milk, Vladimir got a trip along a light beam to where he sat. Zalderbon contemplated Vladimir’s blank look. ‘Damn. Wrong abductee again. You can go. But if you see that human with the atomic bombs tell him I’m coming for him.’ Continue reading The misapprehension of Sheriff Zalderbon Bongodrick

Human Ambassador Coldoon Zumpleflong had spared nothing in his attempt to impress the Klongin representative: Floral wallpaper  Doyley for each teacup Gold Chairs Fancy cakes A lifesize statue of Terry Wogan. ‘Tea?’ he asked, extending a hand towards the Klongin. -‘Retract your hygienic appendage, this place disgusts me‘, came the reply. Zumpleflong protested: ‘But why?, it’s identical to the place I visited on the Klongin homeworld.’ -‘Bedack human! That was when we hosted you.’ ‘Apologies, what did you expect?’ -‘Cups of armpit sweat, a septic tank …at the very least you could’ve greeted me with a kick in the thurible.’ Continue reading One space creature’s luxury is another space creature’s lowly hovel

Deep Space Vehicle process T467581 woke Tom Staunton from cryosleep, and activated its audio sequence. ‘Hello Tom, welcome to Alpha Centauri. We encountered sixteen issues en-route, and all other crew are deceased. We make planetfall in nine hours. And you are the last human.’ ‘Come again?’ ‘Nine hours.’ ‘No, the last human thing.’ ‘Conflict and resource misuse caused the eradication of humanity. Except you Tom. You must be thrilled.‘ ‘What? …uh, erm, why would I be thrilled? ‘Humanity is destroyed, and this vehicle’s voice recordings logged you saying you hated giving update reports to Mission Control  …they no longer exist.’ Continue reading Time to wake up

Joining us this month is poet and novelist Naomi Foyle Jo Zebedee’s alien invasion-cum-prison break thriller Inish Carraig https://anchor.fm/s/70475b38/podcast/rss This month we’re joined by the award-winning British-Canadian author, poet and essayist Naomi Foyle, to talk about Inish Carraig, the alien-invasion-cum-prison break thriller by one of the friends of Chronscast, Jo Zebedee. Among the topics we […] Chronscast Episode 8 – Inish Carraig with Naomi Foyle! — This Literature Life Continue reading Chronscast Episode 8 – Inish Carraig with Naomi Foyle! — This Literature Life

It should’ve been ironic that Hydrologist Ronan Spuddlehop planned to throw himself to his death from the summit waterfall of Sheanpollineasp. Only irony doesn’t exist on Sheanpollineasp. But magic does. Rain began to fall as the water spoke: ‘don’t end things like this’, it said. Ronan turned to leave. ‘Wise choice‘, gurgled the torrent. It would’ve been ironic that Ronan slipped to his death descending the dampened steps. If this were anywhere but Sheanpollineasp. Continue reading The ballad of Ronan Spuddlehop

This story was published here last year as ‘Rosie Scundelboth’s problem with the postal service’, but the key message is probably a toe in the bollox so I renamed it. And turned it into an audio clip. The idea is sort of along the lines of live storytelling …like the old style Seanachai, only a bit mental. Am trying to find live venues to tell these stories, and open mic comedy is the best fit so far (though there’s nothing funny about getting a boot in the family jewels) …will post dates on Twitter/ Facebook/ Dlamb for anyone demented enough … Continue reading A kick in the Runticles

I was in the Tabernackle once.It was the night before the EDM race.I was with Taz and Bungalow.​ Only the stone Gorbandula saw us creep into that holy place.‘No good will come of this,’ it’d growled when I handed Taz and Bungalow glowshrooms.‘Ah, shut your rock hole’, I’d replied. That kind of comment could get you killed. But the priests were at the festival.Every other Martian listened to them while we ate their glowshrooms. We expected something magical to happen. But were disappointed. Race morning came quickly.I pitied the crowds watching -their lives not racing Emergency Dispatch Machines must feel … Continue reading A kick in the Tabernackle