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Posted By: mike1966 Jan 06, 2005 - 06:32 am

I wrote this short story a few years back now and only recently discovered it in an old folder. Any feedback always welcome. Thanks.


THE PLANET EATER


“What’s the worst thing you have ever eaten?” someone asked me.

“A planet called TSUSJII…” I replied without hesitation. The look on the woman’s face and the shameful silence made further elucidation a must have for the season. Ah, yes, I remember now the circumstances surrounding the asking of the question.

The pub was called The Grapes of Wrath. It was a small place – how small I only realised when I came face to face with myself looking for the second bar. I ordered something from their meagre selection of ‘real ales’ and took a corner table all to myself. From there I had a good view of the town square. I distinctly remember it being a sunny day, not warm as such due to the northern breeze, just sunny.

Over time, the pub filled and a cheery group of five students, 2 male, 3 female, invited themselves to my corner table. They talked noisily among their own kind. Not once did they think of actually catching my eye or asking my opinion. I think the orange-haired white-skinned Chinese girl really fancied the tall, very black-skinned Nigerian boy and the others were just spectators on the curious courtship ritual she was perfecting.

The Nigerian boy was playing it cool and, by the time I had finished my pint of ‘real ale’, the Chinese girl was literally on his lap, her full, painted lips right up close to his as she smouldered all over him. Quite the most stomach turning display I think I have ever had to witness.

“Would anyone like a top-up?” I had my hands in the middle of the table, palms down, a sunny smile on my unshaven face, my broken front tooth showing its edge. The flock of sheep turned their stunned gaze in my direction, your classic flight or fight scenario, and stared at my broken tooth for just long enough to make me feel really uncomfortable. I gritted my teeth behind the wavering smile, looking at each pair of eyes in sequence.

In a nearby park, the birch trees leaned into the wind. A business man looked up from reading his newspaper in the driver’s seat of his grey Audi like he had heard something. In a glorious sky adorned with fluffy cumulous a black tear appeared. I have always noticed how the sun ‘smells funny’ when it heats up the hollow fibres of my ancient tweed jacket’s goat skin collar.

Empties duly inspected, the five drinkers agreed that a top-up would be a fine idea and I made mental note of a list that contained, in alphabetical order:

1) cider, ½ pint, Woodpecker.
2) grape juice, in a long cold glass.
3) lager, pint, Heldenbräu.
4) vodka and blackcurrant.
5) whiskey, on the rocks.

I ordered another ‘real ale’ and carried the tray load back to our table where a heated discussion about snails or tequila worms was under way. I laid down the drinks in alphabetical order – I had them in a clockwise arrangement around the circular tray.
I laid them down carefully, one after the other like this…

First, the ever smiling Chinese girl with a cute little letter m on her denim cap, “One for..” and waited for her name, “..Mae Yin.” Before placing the half of Woodpecker cider down in front of her. “One for..” the Nigerian’s name was Mkeo, placing down the grape juice in a long, cold glass. The Edward got his Heldenbräu lager. Sandra got her vodka and blackcurrant. Abigail got her whiskey, on the rocks. They all seemed very pleased with both the service and my affable manner. I introduced myself as Wattler, as in someone employed to weave wicker in the ancient parlance.

“Wattler..” Abigail, a soft, slightly overweight woman in her late thirties, early forties, with her hair in a bun and thick-lensed thick-rimmed green glasses, invited me into their rowdy discussion “..what’s the worst thing you have ever eaten?”

“A planet called TSUSJII…” that’s what I said. “Tasted, scale notwithstanding, like a broken shelled cockroach or split carburettor engine. It was a pleasure planet. You people have no idea what is out there.” I assured them it was a very small planet, no where near the mass of the Earth. I pointed out through the window across the town square, just over that way and slightly down. “That way. Don’t know the distance. Pointless really, distance is such an archaic way to look at it.”

Sandra said “A planet eater. How do you do it?” and when she smiled, I began to wonder exactly who these five students were.

“See, I can’t barter or sell, alls I can do is eat.” They had stopped looking at my broken tooth and were all looking into my eyes, watching for the micro-twitch of deceit. “Sure I can sustain myself, shall we say. But to do that would mean the social equivalent of going around in my worn-out stocking feet and not much more, chilled tackle swaying in the breeze. No, to fund my stay, I garnered certain contractual obligations to unnamed multinational corporations.”

I opened my mouth and showed them a piece of Finland I had just eaten that no-one would ever miss. It was up in the hills away from populated areas. An isolated fjord area surrounded by pine. Really well hidden.

Suddenly, the black tear in the sky opened up and the rain started to pepper the windows. It was only a shower but a bad one to be caught in. Business ladies scurried by, their brief cases held aloft shielding them from the battering douche.

The speculation grew rowdy but good natured on the exact method of my planet eating. And beyond the ‘smoke and mirrors’ scepticism of my bit off Finland (every pun intended) the group were eager to be given a more ‘personal’ demonstration of my talent. I decided it was best to scale right down and annihilate something of real worth to one member of the group. They were all pure attentiveness, like little kiddies in front of the party magician. I am sure none of them saw me phase out. I have a very high frequency when I do it, like being in two places at once.

The pair of lime green Donnay boxer shorts Edward was wearing were isolated before me in space, they still conformed to the contours of his body. You could see how his crossed legs were pushing his genitals between his legs. My jaw was now just the right size to… SNAP …and the shorts were in my mouth. Because of the fabric conditioner he used on the underwear they tended to taste like cold chicken. In reality most things in the Universe taste like cold chicken, only the textures differentiate between the items.

I came to.

As far as the others were concerned, one minute I was smiling at their humorous request for a demonstration of my prowess, the next minute I was chewing. Just like that. Edward suddenly erupted in a girlish shriek as his testicles settled against the sudden chill of his trousers.

Everyone wanted to know what had been done. I had found my audience. Edward applauded me and the others begged him to reveal the gag. When he told them, there was raucous laughter all round the table, attracting the attention of the bald landlord who reminded one of Mussolini.

Abigail, the frumpiest looking of the 3 girls suddenly pulled out a QSZTIJZ – we call them SPMs Spatial Phase Modulators. It is like a prison sentence for a planet eater. I hadn’t seen one for, oh, hundreds of years. She pointed it at me, pulling the trigger.

*****

THE END

(c) 2005 Mike Philbin
http://www.mikephilbin.com

Posted By: chowder Jan 06, 2005 - 06:40 am

Very off the wall--loved it.

Posted By: mike1966 Jan 06, 2005 - 07:32 am

chowder,

if you liked that, you're more than welcome to read a couple other pieces of free fiction (though not as conscientiously sci-fi as this one) on my new 'grey is good' web site. This goes out to all readers of Speculative Vision, you're all welcome. I'll post another sci-fi story here soon.

Thanks.

Mike Philbin
http://www.mikephilbin.com

Posted By: Mir Jan 06, 2005 - 08:14 am

Very odd...I like it. I haven't seen anything like it for a while now, gave me a good laugh.