Showing posts with label Scott Harmon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scott Harmon. Show all posts
Joe and Bo
By Scott Harmon
The Cadillac sits in the parking lot of the cheap ass motel. The mobsters in room 13 had grown up under power lines. Joe and Bo. They were childhood friends. They wanted very simple things out of life. They wanted to rotate around the sun as if they were planets and drink gin and juice. All kinds of juice, but only one kind of gin. Their lives would be determined by the gods. Those gods would be determined by a committee of environmentalists. They would argue ceaselessly, but there was actually a loophole. Each day of their planethood would be determined by endless reruns of the show, Miami Vice. Each ending of each episode would determine their fate. Sometimes they would be blasted into a trillion pieces by a vengeful hand gun, their atoms scattered across the galaxy. Other days it would be a semi happy ending. The white guy would get the girl, causing half their beings to be raptured with divine light, while the black guy would be shot at twenty times, which would inevitably lead him to question his career as a law enforcer. He would be tormented if he should pursue a career in architecture or if he should trek naked across Canada, drawing paintings on outhouses in some bizarre form of being the greatest artist who ever lived.
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
By Scott Harmon
The Cadillac sits in the parking lot of the cheap ass motel. The mobsters in room 13 had grown up under power lines. Joe and Bo. They were childhood friends. They wanted very simple things out of life. They wanted to rotate around the sun as if they were planets and drink gin and juice. All kinds of juice, but only one kind of gin. Their lives would be determined by the gods. Those gods would be determined by a committee of environmentalists. They would argue ceaselessly, but there was actually a loophole. Each day of their planethood would be determined by endless reruns of the show, Miami Vice. Each ending of each episode would determine their fate. Sometimes they would be blasted into a trillion pieces by a vengeful hand gun, their atoms scattered across the galaxy. Other days it would be a semi happy ending. The white guy would get the girl, causing half their beings to be raptured with divine light, while the black guy would be shot at twenty times, which would inevitably lead him to question his career as a law enforcer. He would be tormented if he should pursue a career in architecture or if he should trek naked across Canada, drawing paintings on outhouses in some bizarre form of being the greatest artist who ever lived.
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
Secretly Known As William!
By Scott Harmon
I see your name is Bill…..does that mean your secret identity is William? Or wait, I get it…..you only use that on your most secret dangerous missions. I’m onto you Bill! You can tell a lot from a guy’s name………like I bet you eat Frosted Flakes every morning! And if you splash milk off of one of the flakes and onto the counter? You fly into a furious rage, smashing virtually everything in the kitchen…except the toaster! Then you call all the appliance stores before you go off to your fake job, so that everything’s restored to it’s natural order, then you can do it all over again the next morning. Ha! I’ve got you Bill! Secretly known as William! Did I pronounce that ok? So every wire tap I placed in this busy intersection can hear every syllable?! Your Frosted Flake days are over Bill. I can think of no greater achievement for an Intergalactic Group of Space Guys agent such as I can accomplish. To put an end to a man with such heinous crimes. I just have one more question for you before you’re off nerfing the herds. What’s so special about the toaster Bill?! Huh?! What is it? This is a matter of intergalactic health!
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
By Scott Harmon
I see your name is Bill…..does that mean your secret identity is William? Or wait, I get it…..you only use that on your most secret dangerous missions. I’m onto you Bill! You can tell a lot from a guy’s name………like I bet you eat Frosted Flakes every morning! And if you splash milk off of one of the flakes and onto the counter? You fly into a furious rage, smashing virtually everything in the kitchen…except the toaster! Then you call all the appliance stores before you go off to your fake job, so that everything’s restored to it’s natural order, then you can do it all over again the next morning. Ha! I’ve got you Bill! Secretly known as William! Did I pronounce that ok? So every wire tap I placed in this busy intersection can hear every syllable?! Your Frosted Flake days are over Bill. I can think of no greater achievement for an Intergalactic Group of Space Guys agent such as I can accomplish. To put an end to a man with such heinous crimes. I just have one more question for you before you’re off nerfing the herds. What’s so special about the toaster Bill?! Huh?! What is it? This is a matter of intergalactic health!
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
Friendly Neighborhood Driver With Telekinetic Powers
By Scott Harmon
Julie was driving down a dark road, wondering why she couldn't see anything and why all the cars were honking at her. Suddenly, a male voice shouted inside her head.
"Hey lady, turn your lights on! Don't you know it's nighttime? By the way, this is not God. Just your friendly neighborhood driver with telekinetic powers. Have a great day!"
Unfortunately Julie was so consumed with the voice in her head, that she smashed into an innocent tree. Don't worry, she only suffered minor injuries. Her car on the other hand, well, we won't talk about that...
Heading in the opposite direction, is our friendly neighborhood driver with telekinetic powers. He didn't see the crash. He was feeling quite good about himself for saving the day. At times, he almost felt like a super hero. Hey, maybe he was. Why not? It could happen. In a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm he belted out,
"Watch out world, cuz here I am!"
In his moment of excitement, he didn't realize that everyone in the five blocks around him also heard this shouting inside their heads. The next day, the local mental health workers and institutions got a noticeable rise in patients claiming they were hearing voices. Psychiatrists were shocked to hear that all of them heard roughly the same thing. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's all supposed to be in your head! What if some crazy paranormal group hears about this?
The patients were eventually pushed over to the naturapathic doctors. Because of their similarities they decided to form a support group. A few of them became so paranoid because of the experience, that they actually became schizophrenic(if that's possible). A few lonely outsiders who had nothing to do with the incident convinced themselves that they also heard the same voice. You could say subconsciously, they only joined the group for social reasons.
A few years later, a program played on the Sy-Fy channel featuring this same group that heard the before mentioned voice. It just so happened, our friendly telekinetic hero had the tv on, but he was in the kitchen making dinner. Stargate SG1 was about to come on, his favorite show. He had no idea his history was playing in the other room.
Life is strange. It has many chain reactions. By the way, Julie got married not too long after the accident. She fell in love with her physical therapist, Ted, who was working on her ankle. So, was our hero, a hero or a menace? You decide.
The End(not exactly, but is there ever really an END?)
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
By Scott Harmon
Julie was driving down a dark road, wondering why she couldn't see anything and why all the cars were honking at her. Suddenly, a male voice shouted inside her head.
"Hey lady, turn your lights on! Don't you know it's nighttime? By the way, this is not God. Just your friendly neighborhood driver with telekinetic powers. Have a great day!"
Unfortunately Julie was so consumed with the voice in her head, that she smashed into an innocent tree. Don't worry, she only suffered minor injuries. Her car on the other hand, well, we won't talk about that...
Heading in the opposite direction, is our friendly neighborhood driver with telekinetic powers. He didn't see the crash. He was feeling quite good about himself for saving the day. At times, he almost felt like a super hero. Hey, maybe he was. Why not? It could happen. In a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm he belted out,
"Watch out world, cuz here I am!"
In his moment of excitement, he didn't realize that everyone in the five blocks around him also heard this shouting inside their heads. The next day, the local mental health workers and institutions got a noticeable rise in patients claiming they were hearing voices. Psychiatrists were shocked to hear that all of them heard roughly the same thing. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's all supposed to be in your head! What if some crazy paranormal group hears about this?
The patients were eventually pushed over to the naturapathic doctors. Because of their similarities they decided to form a support group. A few of them became so paranoid because of the experience, that they actually became schizophrenic(if that's possible). A few lonely outsiders who had nothing to do with the incident convinced themselves that they also heard the same voice. You could say subconsciously, they only joined the group for social reasons.
A few years later, a program played on the Sy-Fy channel featuring this same group that heard the before mentioned voice. It just so happened, our friendly telekinetic hero had the tv on, but he was in the kitchen making dinner. Stargate SG1 was about to come on, his favorite show. He had no idea his history was playing in the other room.
Life is strange. It has many chain reactions. By the way, Julie got married not too long after the accident. She fell in love with her physical therapist, Ted, who was working on her ankle. So, was our hero, a hero or a menace? You decide.
The End(not exactly, but is there ever really an END?)
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction. Scott believes and others have told him that he writes comedy and science fiction the best.
Robotic Nessie
Scott Harmon
“Yes, I have a question for the presidential candidate. I understand you're a billionaire. In your quest for fortune, did you ever want to build a robotic Loch Ness Monster, so that maybe, some how, there might be a real Nessie?”
“Why yes actually, how did you know? I also plan on making it possible that squirrels can run for political office. I think we can all agree that squirrels are level headed creatures capable of astonishing leadership. They practically raised my kids!”
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction.
Scott Harmon
“Yes, I have a question for the presidential candidate. I understand you're a billionaire. In your quest for fortune, did you ever want to build a robotic Loch Ness Monster, so that maybe, some how, there might be a real Nessie?”
“Why yes actually, how did you know? I also plan on making it possible that squirrels can run for political office. I think we can all agree that squirrels are level headed creatures capable of astonishing leadership. They practically raised my kids!”
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Scott Harmon is an amateur writer. He writes screenplays, but his roots are in micro and flash fiction.
