Rocket Scientist

I’m going to take a break from short stories (sort of) because I read a post on Bookish’ blog wherein someone wrote a book transforming the classic Pride and Prejudice to an alternate book:  Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. 

OK.  Zombies aren’t my thing and I’m very fond of the original.  However, bookish quoted a portion of the new book including a swashbuckling Mr. Darcy (and a courteously puking Mr. Bingley) and that got me to thinking.  Even if this particular incarnation doesn’t appeal, wouldn’t it be fun to play with taking a bit of classic and give it a different twist, either environment or condition?

Now I could tell you some possibilities, but here, I’ll show you.  Like “The Cask of Amontillado”…

“He is an ignoramus,” interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. At a small cozy room, and realizing he had reached the extremity of the corridor, and finding his progress arrested by the wall, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the couch. In its surface were two iron staples. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess.

“Pass your hand,” I said, “over the table; you will find a catalog for tupperware. Indeed, it is the very latest lineup. I implore you again, would you not care to give me a ride so I can leave my damn house? No? Then I must positively tell you all about our new spring colors.  And let’s not forget our new core decor items!”

“I thought we were having coffee!” ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment.

“Too bad,” I replied; “You could have sprung for Starbucks.”

Or, perhaps, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but D8N40, who’s programming was clearly in need of an overhall, instead of keeping to the road, made an opposite turn and plunged headlong down hill to the left, it’s hovering capability malfunctioning so that the ride was unreasonably rough. This road leads through a delapidated ghetto shaded by disintegrating skyscrapers for about a four blocks, where it crosses the laserbridge which formed the boundary to the standard monitored city, where help was readily available.

As yet the the robotic steeds errors prompted full speed so that it gave him advantage in the chase; but just as he had got halfway through the ghetto the antigrav unit gave way and he felt the unit stutter and fail beneath him. He tried to fumble a backup program into place and run a diagnostic, but the unit whined back into power before he had a chance to do anything, but it was only half power and stuttered across the ground on one side, jolting him terrifically.  Now he could hear them, his pursuers, greedy for his technology, despite the malfunctions. For a moment the terror of his boss intruded as this was his transportation unit; but this was no time for petty fears; the aliens were hard on his heels, and (unskilled rider that he was) he had much ado to maintain his seat, sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jerked backwards with a violence that he verily feared would rend him on the back lip.

A glow in the distance now cheered him with the hopes that the laserbridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a blue glow in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the gleam of the bridge dimly glowing under the broken street lights ahead. He recollected the place where other travelers had disappeared. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the, black chittering, the panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt their hot breath. Another clumsy fumbling at the control panel and he got the unit to lurch forward slightly faster; he thundered over the surface made of naught but light; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuers should vanish, according to rule, unable to follow him across the beam of light. Just then he saw the aliens cluster at the laser’s edge and, as one, spit some vile concoction over the small river. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash; he was tumbled headlong into the plascrete, and transportation unit, the aliens and their greedy followers passed by like a whirlwind.

 So, you try.  I would stick to books or stories in the public domain, but, hey, knock yourself out.

Or, if you don’t want to go to that much trouble, hey, I’ll just field your ideas of new ways to transform old classics.  After all, it’s supposed to be fun.

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