Phalloids

“Phalloids” (1971)

Phalloids

an L.L.L. Burlap short story

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The Phalloids had spoken.

But could they have been wrong?

After all, they had been mistaken before, hadn’t they?

Hadn’t they… ?

They hadn’t.

Father had given his life for The Phalloids all those years ago, he fought bravely against the forces of The Mindreading Elite, telepath warriors, a sect of unbelievers. The Phalloids couldn’t be wrong, lives were lost and that couldn’t have been in vain.

“You are the destroyer of The Phalloids. Phalloids are we.”, The Phalloids had said.

How could this be?

Without The Phalloids, our proud city of Phalloidia wouldn’t even have a name!

Or Phalloids!

The very thought gives me chills.

Without them, how would we know of the future? How do you live without knowing what comes next?

Besides, we rely on Phalluid for literally everything. No Phalluid, that creamy, seemingly endless white nectar The Phalloids bless us with every morning, would mean nothing to water the crops, nothing to drink, nothing to wash ourselves with, nothing to make our water taste better.

Chaos.

I can’t let this happen. I won’t.

I will destroy The Phalloids after all.

They were right…

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Look out for more L.L.L. Burlap short stories ONLY on WeTheMindThinkers.

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The Mountains Upside Down – Diagram

This diagram, penned by Gilles Vorace himself, is a representation of his characters’ expedition down through to the titular mountains. Vorace would have drawn the diagram to help himself visualize the perilous journey better.

Introducing Gilles Vorace

Little known French science fiction writer Gilles Vorace was a contemporary of legendary author Jules Verne. Not only that but they grew up together in Nantes, went to the same boarding school and used to share stories, along with Jules’ brother Paul.

Their friendship, however, ended circa 1864 when Vorace vehemently accused Verne of stealing his novel “The Mountains Upside Down” to build his classic “Journey To The Centre Of The Earth”. Vorace never forgave Verne, whose take on the situation amounted to this quote:

“The man is unhinged.”

Finally, Vorace’s “The Mountains Upside Down” is seeing the light of day and We, The MindThinkers are here to bring you several extracts from this unique piece of work.

An extract from Chapter III is coming soon only on We, The Mindthinkers.

Norman L. Brisbane – Found Artwork

A piece of art from legendary science fiction writer Norman L. Brisbane, author of such titles as “Beware Their Killing Hooves” and “To Be A Blurgen”, was recovered this week.

The piece appears to be a rough drawn representation of the “Observatorium”, a location mentioned in his final short story “The Red Moons Of NeOrion”. The drawing was made on a scrap piece of paper and found in the inside pocket of the coat he wore when he died. It hadn’t been found until now because the pockets were sawn shut with beard hair, Brisbane’s evidently, and in order to preserve the authenticity of the item, no-one had dared tearing the pockets open.

Thankfully, a moth infestation in the New Jersey Science Fiction Museum opened up a hole big enough from the inside that the mangled piece of paper could be safely extracted.

Here is the powerful image it depicted:

(click on it to enlarge)

The structure conceived by Mr Brisbane looks every bit as imposing as it was described in the story. The vein-like detailing over the entirety of the pole suggesting the metal mentioned, “Expanseon”, had taken over it like a vine eating its way to the top of a tree. The dome looking very much grafted onto the pole almost organically.

The lack of detail on the surrounding “schlouds” would suggest Mr Brisbane was more enamored with the shaft at the center of the piece.

This truly is a major discovery for the world of sci-fi and one hopes that more artworks will be recovered from the legendary writer in time.

The Rice Farmers Of Kryoc – Chapter I

“The Rice Farmers Of Kryoc” (1965)

an Ebert E. Bert novel

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Extract from Chapter I:

“Kryoc, World Of The Damned”

ImageRice.

That most valuable of commodities. That sweet ivory nectar.

Men would kill for it, men would die for it. For a taste of its small, supple, pillowy bosom. For with rice, as with all things, a darkness shadows a valiant purpose.

There was a land, thousands of miles across the galaxy, a land where rice was all.

That land was Kryoc.

A minute planet far within the Tichbar system, in between Koryoc, Kloryoc and the Seven Moons, Kryoc was made of rice. Or, rather, its bumpy, white, shaft-like hills were. At the core of every hill, of which there were an infinite horizon, lay miles upon miles, tons upon tons of the milky substance. It was a peaceful land where the Kryokees lived without conflict. For the Kryokees, the hills were sacred, none would ever dare betray their purity.

Without them, the Kryokees were lost.

Kylias* provided the people of Kryoc with all they needed. Rice farmers would travel to Kylias and there, they would carry home a calculated amount of Kjii* which would feed their families for years. But the Hargyans, a race of rice-seekers from a nearby star system, whose planet neither needed nor deserved rice, had infiltrated Kryoc with the intention of extracting all the rice from the sacred hills to use as currency across the universe, for that rice, the rice buried deep inside the Kryokian hills, possessed a crystal-like fragility and a taste purer than the sky itself. It was also extremely rare and, of course, extremely valuable. Even more so than the rice the farmers grew.

When the Hargyans came, with their weapons, their advanced machinery and their greed, the Kryokees, not being a warring people, had no choice but to cooperate. The Kylias had been drained almost entirely and the rice farmers became rice miners, working to extract the rice from the very hills they worshipped and protected. Soon, the Kryokees would have no choice but to rely on that very rice but by then the Hargyans would have no doubt gained global control over it and it wouldn’t be long before a famin would hit the Kryokees, a famin from which there would be no escape.

A small group of Kryokian rebels, The Kryad, was believed to exist but what could they do? The Hargyans were fierce and their army was far superior (there was no such thing as an army on Kryoc).

Rebellion was futile.

Or was it?

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The Talarians were peacekeepers, scouting the cosmos for conflicts in the hope of resolving them as best as possible. Their mission had been approved by the United Federation Of Space, Planets And Intergalactic Activities (UFSPIA) aeons ago and they were a respected race throughout the galaxy. The Talarian elders had prophecised the Kyokees’ doom and now their ship was approaching Kryoc.

In the Titanus*, the elders were seated.

A young Talarian soon entered.

To say young Hazar, son of Razar and Shazaria, of the 2nd Talarian Kingdom, was a beautiful soldier would have been an understatement: he was radiant. Like a star. His long, flowing blonde hair shone impressively and smelled like the finest Stign* in Glornar*.

“Young Hazar”, said the oldest of the elders, “You have proven your worth. Through rigorous training and exemplary displays of honor and intelligence in the face of battle, you have made us all proud. You are the son of your father who in turn was and remains the son of his. Your mother is your mother and you are her son. Hazar is your name. And now… rise.”

Hazar rose.

“You will be sent to Kryoc, where great evil has befallen its people”, the wise one continued, “We, the elders, have foreseen the most bleak of futures for the Kryokees. But, as you know, we only see what might be, not what must be. You will find The Kryad, guide them, share with them our ways so that a great injustice can finally be put to rest. Go now, young Hazar, and may the rice guide you.”

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*GLOSSARY*

Kylias: A lake of white, milk-like liquid used by Kryokian farmers to help grow their own rice.

Kjii: The white, milk-like liquid found within the Kylias.

Titanus: A large meeting hall at the heart of the lead Talarian ship.

Stign: Flower creature known for its powerful, unmistakable scent. Stigns, when crushed, are believed to bear aphrodisiac properties (if ingested anally).

Glornar: Region of the 8th Talarian Kingdom. It is mostly populated by Stigns. Most Talarians who have entered the region, have never returned. Those who have returned, remember it fondly.

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More extracts from Ebert E. Bert’s “The Rice Farmers Of Kryoc” will come soon.

Only on WeTheMindThinkers.

The Rice Farmers Of Kryoc – The Critics

Forgotten writer Ebert E. Bert’s visionary science-fiction novel “The Rice Farmers Of Kryoc” may not have had the exposure it deserved but it’s slowly becoming a cult classic. Expect segments from the never-published epic soon but in the meantime, here’s what the critics have said about it thusfar.

“Better than fish”

          Michael Merman, Aquazine

“In a word: a brilliant piece of work I would most definitely recommend”

          Alan Landis, Science-Friction Monthly

“That Ebert E. Bert’s tour-de-force is not right up there with Madame Bovary and The Little Prince is weird”

          Bernie Ramblar, The Saturday Post New Jersey

“Vintage rice-themed science fiction”

          Tony Heston, Space Magazine

“I have never read anything like it but I’ve read other books”

         Leland Falroy, Horses: A Guide

“Like reading but better”

         Alicia Edelweiss, SciFiScent.com

“Not so much literature as it is genius with words”

         Nadia Belarus, The People’s Republic Of Sci-Fi Weekly

“Way better than fish” 

         Michael Merman, Aquazine

Coming soon, only on WeTheMindThinkers.

C.C. Prexman’s Time Hat

“Time Hat” (1938)

a C.C. Prexman short story

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They were everywhere. On everyone.

“How could I have known?”

Sitting at his favorite cafe on the corner of Boulevard Cheminet, next to the post office and close to the International School Of Performing Arts, outside of which a naked man was attempting to climb up a tall tower in his mind, Andre Relier was remembering the future.

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It was 1997, the world was close to global destruction at the hands of the commie Centaurian telepaths and war had become the new norm. Relier had removed the time hat and was ready to explore this most unpleasant of futures when the unthinkable happened.

France had been taken over by the Centaurians long ago (circa 1985) and Relier was now technically in enemy territory. Moments after he removed the time hat, he felt a small prick on his neck. Like a scratch only pointier. Reaching there, he found a small dart-like fish which he promptly pulled out. The fish melted almost instantly. Feeling dizzy, Relier knew he had to run but could only manage standing, just about. He couldn’t move, he was like frozen. In the distance, he could see an increasingly blurry dog walking towards him. It was wearing a cap.

Still standing, Relier fainted dropping the time hat on the ground.

“Apprehension complete, Comrad.”, said the dog.

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When he woke up, Relier was hatless and upside down.

Where was he? What had happened to him? The time hat! Where was it?

Suddenly, a bright light flashed in front of him. Squinting as hard as he could, Relier could finally make out a general shape walking towards him.

“Who is this? Where am I?”, he asked, “Whoever you are you’ve got to let me out, you don’t understand…”

The lights dimmed slightly and he saw a man wearing what looked like an army uniform. Relier had often wondered about the army. What if one was asked to kill an armed newborn baby suspected of treason? The morals linked to a career in the armed forces were beyond him.

The man in front of him, whose skin was bright red and whose eyes were as white as a snowflake’s cold, lifeless heart, looked at him for a moment, saying nothing. A door closed behind him and after a long, awkward pause, he finally spoke.

“Identify yourself.”, he said simply.

“It’s no use, I… I don’t belong here.”

No doubt signalling to one of his guards somewhere in the room, the man, with an effortless wave of his hand, made the lights blinding once again. It was like the sun.

“Identify yourself, stranger.”, he repeated.

“My name is Relier, Andre Relier but it’s no use, I don’t exist here. I don’t belong…”

“Indeed you do not belong, Mr Relier. You are trespassing on Centaurian property.”

“Look, if I could just get my hat, I’ll explain everything.”

Another hand wave and the light started to flash on and off, getting brighter and brighter. Even with his eyes closed, the heat and the constant flashing were unbearable.

“No papers, no proof of Centaurian citizenship. You know what the penalty is for that?”

Relier fainted before he could answer.

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His eyes opened to a whole new setting. Relier was outside, naked, and facing a large, totem-like structure. Looking up, he noticed the giant tower was so high it seemed endless. Around him stood six Centaurian officials: three “Reds” in suits, three wearing army uniforms. One of them was the man he’d met earlier, another was older, perhaps a general, and the other was younger, holding a “beamer” (typical Centaurian laser weapon).

One of the men in suits, a woman, spoke.

“Mr Relier, for the crimes you have committed you are sentenced to The Pillar Of Hope. If you are able to climb to the very top and drop down The Centaurian Cloth Of Eternity, a cloth you will find pinned to the summit, then your life will be spared. If, however, you fail to reach the top or refuse to attempt the climb: you will, here and now, be executed. If you fail your climb and plummet to your death, then you will be given an honorable Centaurian funeral. If you fail your climb and your fall results in injury, not death: you will be executed. Men, proceed with the sentence.”

“Wait! You don’t understand, my hat…”, pleaded Relier.

“Silence!”, shouted the old man.

To the younger man, a simple soldier no doubt, the “Red” from the torture room ordered to ready his weapon.

“Begin your climb. Or die.”, the man said to Relier, coldly.

This particular group of people was not the bargaining type, Relier thought. Better do what they say. If this was his time to die, he might as well go out with honor. Relier began his climb, with both hands grasping at either side of the pillar tightly. Luckily, Relier was an experienced and skilled climber so as hard as it was and as impossible as it would be to reach the top, he was doing remarkably well. As he climbed, he thought.

What were his options? His strength would give way long before reaching the top of the pillar, this was inevitable. He had to conserve as much strength as possible. But how? And then what?

The solution came fast in his mind.

Looking out into the distance, he could see the street where he had been  apprehended. He was high enough to look over the camp but not so high overall, considering how tall the pillar was. Holding tighter than ever with his hands, pulling his legs up so he was essentially standing on the side of the pillar, Relier promptly defecated.

What happened next happened in a flash.

Relier’s waste fell on the young soldier’s face, as predicted, and as soon as it did Relier slid down the pillar all the way to the ground. In one smooth motion, he landed, turned around and grabbed the soldier’s beamer before urinating right in front of him as hard as he could. Blinded by the gold, sour liquid, the officials reached for their weapons awkwardly. This split-second gave Relier plenty of time to shoot all of them. The laser beams were flying faster than the urine itself, the red beams penetrating the Centaurians with perfect accuracy.

In a blink, it was all over.

Without hesitation, Relier started climbing the pillar again, holding the weapon in his mouth this time. A bit higher than where he’d reached before, Relier held the beamer in one hand and let himself hang with the other. Beamers having unlimited ammo, Relier was certainly in luck. Shooting at the pillar right below him, he hung there for what seemed like an eternity beaming the tower relentlessly. He could hear an alarm below and sounds of troupes running out but he didn’t care: this was life or death. Eventually, the lasers finally pierced through the pillar completely. Putting the weapon back in his mouth and holding both sides of the tower once again, there was nothing left but to push.

After a lot of pounding, Relier knew the time had come.

The pillar broke and started falling forwards, Relier was hanging on tighter than ever before. The huge structure crashed right down onto the camp, killing and injuring dozens of Centaurians for sure, and landed far into the city.

It was time.

Relier started his long slide down the pillar. Along the way he could hear beamers shooting right past him and screams of dying Centaurian soldiers, also he could smell bears. The circus must have been in town. As planned, he slid off the pillar exactly in the street where he was taken. Nothing left to do but find the time hat, which, it turns out, was still right where he had left it. What luck! Placing it upon his head, it started spinning and just like that: Relier was gone.

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Back at his favorite cafe, where he had started thinking back to all this, Relier was enjoying a truly special coffee: dark, strong, simple. He hadn’t worn the time hat since and it’s likely he never would again.

There was no time like the present.

On the other side of the street he saw a dog sitting, smiling at him.

It had begun…

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More on legendary writer C.C. Prexman soon.

Only on WeTheMindThinkers.