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Category: Parody

Jonathan Harker’s Journal

1 November, Cardiff, early – Oh, what a night it has been. The Count has eluded us once more, but we are close, I can feel it in my bones.

I watch as Mina tosses and turns in her sleep. Her face is flushed, and her brow feverish on my lips when I kiss her. She murmurs at my touch before returning to her fitful slumbers. Of the terrors occupying her dreams, I know not.

The night began quietly until what some call the “witching hour”. Emerging from the direction of Sophia Gardens at speed, I was nearly upended by a young man, his face white as a ghost and his voice trembling with fear. After calming the poor fellow, I determined that the cause of his distress was a ferocious beast roaming Pontcanna Fields. My interest peaked, I set off at once to investigate, leaving the man in calmer spirits. The howls of the beast cut eerily across the park, guiding me to its location. Its monstrous shadow loomed before me in the moonlight as I cornered it, its snarls and growls reaching a crescendo. Slippery as a snake, it made its escape when I made to capture it, back to its den, I suspect, as no further sound of it was heard.

Daring Space Captain by Jason

The consensus of opinion is that space does not smell, though the monks of the Good and Great Prophet Nasal Trunk the Third will argue the rear most limbs off a Gillywharg that, in point of fact, space can smell like cinnamon, sunlight on fresh Macasino limes or the flatulent emissions of an aging Harthlickle, depending on the time of year and whether or not your wearing artificial fibres.

Most life forms in the Federated Galactic Congress don’t agree with the monks, though I suspect that not many of the citizens of the Federated Galactic Congress have heard of the Monks of the Good and Great Prophet Nasal Trunk the Third. Also, if I am to be completely honest, there seems to be a woeful lack of decent research on the subject. It seems that most citizens of the Federated Galactic Congress have more important things to do than sniff the universe and record their findings, what with the Imperators running amok, trying to quash the pesky rebellion and deal with all the attendant paperwork.

Dine – a Dune Parody – by Martyn

I’m aware that my previous effort might be too schoolboyish, so I’ve written something else. This is an attempt at parodying Dune. Let me know what you think. Mart

PS. I’ve edited it down to 849 words.

The banquet was singular in its magnificence. It wound around corners, crossed planetary horizons, and hosted everyone with even a scintilla of regard in the Atreides court of Caladan. But it was not without its ambiguities. For the Atreides were about to depart Caladan, the very basis of their burgeoning power, for lands unknown.

“More beer,” demanded Gurney Halleck, his beard and grinning teeth vying for attention in a large face covered with enough scars to simultaneously attest to his bravery and underpin the notion his skill as a swordsman had been a steep learning curve.

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