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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Woman's Game - 1. Part One: The Book of Genesis II

The walls were plastered in almost ancient posters of the German advance with Britain being the last force left. Winston Churchill wasn’t a man that could easily be knocked down from his pedestal. Never did he in his days of saying, ‘Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few’, give up on what he wanted. And here they were, in the war rooms that he once sat in and co-ordinated our forces. Churchill was a leader of wars, even though he wished he didn’t have to go to war; his hand was forced.

He would have been ashamed to have seen what was being discussed in his war rooms. In his war rooms, one of the most sinister conversations to be held in history were about to take place, comparable to Hitler’s rise to power…

The prime minister was sat playing with a group of little toy soldiers on the table of the world. He smiled at himself, going back to his childhood dreams. He looked across the room and felt a foreboding presence in the man in the biochemical suit across from him. He sighed and realised it was just a stuffed doll inside glass casing.

He was losing his mind. He looked up at the painting of Churchill on the wall and a small tear dripped down his face as he stared up at the great leader. The Prime Minister of England didn’t know what else to do. A Budget Deficit beyond anything he had ever seen before. Even through his own actions he only managed to make things worse. Several ministers had quit publicly after they heard of what was about to happen.

Of course, they gave personal reasons. They signed the oath and the secrets act so they could never really tell anyone about what had happened. They knew what he was about to sign.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and in walked the Russian Prime Minister and their President.

The Prime Minister of England gulped and stood to shake hands with each of the gentlemen.

‘We are not here for courtesy. Just sit down and let us discuss what we have to discuss.’ The president spoke in fluent Russian and the prime minister quickly translated to English.

The Prime Minister began to tap his foot in nervousness and put on a fake smile. He looked up at the face of Winston Churchill and felt a cold shiver and thought of one of his more famous sayings, ‘Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinder is in the room’.

He looked over at their Prime Minister, their monkey. Then he looked at the President of The People, their organ grinder. Oh how he wished he was perfect in Russian. He had 3 languages already under his belt.

Again in Russian, the President spoke with swift translation, ‘We know what you want and we know we can provide it.’

‘Sir we cannot do that. You know how many people I have lost by thinking about taking these actions.’

‘You either do this or the world dies.’

‘I cannot let British people work on the Cloning.’

‘Deal then.’ The President opened a briefcase full of cash. ‘Does this tempt you?’ He spoke in hasty English, as if he was struggling to get his words out.

‘Most certainly not. We have standards you know.’

The Prime Minister of Russia muttered something in Russian and the President sat back and allowed the Monkey to speak.

‘Mr. Prime Minister of England, we must create said clones in case there is a change in 2012. You know what fanatics are like’. He burst into a fit of laughter; the British Prime Minister joined but uncomfortably.

‘If we cannot come to an agreement with British Involvement then let us do something more drastic. It took a lot of time to get the money together for you. Considering the size of our budget deficit in comparison to yours it could be considered treason what we are doing here today so here is an idea. We will run the Cloning Experiment and you can just fund it. We always lie to our people; they still believe we are in a permanent boom status.’ He coughed and took a sip of water and carried on. ‘Any bright ideas?’

He quickly ran through what he said in Russian to the President as the Prime Minister of Britain stared intently towards them.

‘We will do it.’ He wiped his brow. ‘On the one condition.’

‘What is your wager?’ The President spoke up. He obviously knew some dodgy English. It makes one wonder what he had done and how corrupt he really was. The Organ Grinder could be playing in an off key to the tune of life…

‘Britain is never mentioned. You did it all alone.’

The President stood, placed a pair of sunglasses and looked over his shoulder at Winston Churchill.

‘You have a deal.’

Both of the Russians left the room and left the Prime Minister on his own.

He reached under the table and brought out a bottle of scotch and a glass.

This would be his only solace over the coming months and Christ did he need it.


The American President looked out of the White House window and saw his children playing on the lawn with The First Lady. He wished he could be out there but he had too much work to do.

He glanced over at the massive red folder in the pile of various colours. The red folder was the folder he was afraid of.

He walked over and sat down at the desk, placed his reading glasses on and started to open the folder when a figure appeared at the front of the office.

He spoke with a strong Australian accent, ‘Will you stop lollygagging about and open it so we can get this over with.’

‘Sir, I know you are the leader of the Australian nation but I have my country to think about also.’ The American President sneered at him and pointed towards a chair. ‘Sit.’

‘Let’s get on with it,’ he continued. ‘You want to wage war with Russia, is that right?’

‘Most certainly.’


‘The cloning.’

‘They are just rumours.’

‘We have photos and videos that say otherwise. We have reason to believe they are developing clones that are Super Human. Clones that are Super Human in every sense. We have reasons also to believe that they can mate. They are developing new humankind. They are developing Human Clones and there is no way to stop them. Their defences are too good.’

‘We could always unlock the safe.’

‘The UN would have us killed.’

‘We must stop them and no one else need know. I have men willing to go down saying they launched the thousands of nuclear weapons.’

The American President looked over at the paintings of his predecessors and knew that behind one of them was the safe.

The Australian Prime Minister stood and walked over to the final painting the American President was looking at and spoke, ‘I presume this is where the safe is hidden?’

‘You wouldn’t…’

‘Just watch me. Pull the curtains.’ Once they were drawn, he pulled a knife out of his pocket and slashed straight through the painting. The American President looked over in absolute horror.

‘Sir, I think it’s time we signed some paperwork. We cannot do it now. We should wait till they are at their strongest. We should join our forces. Launch the nuclear attack on the 21st December 2012. Then send in our men to pick up the pieces. Two sets of attacks coming from America and Australia. They won’t know what hit them.’

The Australia Prime Minister nodded, pulled the contract from the red folder and signed it and left without saying another word. He agreed.

The American President buried his head in his hands.

These actions would kill millions. Millions of innocent people would be dead.

Winter Solstice.

They were going to kill every last Russian left, all because of one reason and one reason only.

They could be dangerous.

Winter Solstice.

A fitting time for such a cold country…


‘I know about the future!’ The man in the blue pyjamas screamed at the top of his voice.

The large breasted woman came up to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘Now, come on, back into bed. You know this screaming does no good for anyone now does it?’

‘But Miriam, I know what is to happen. I know about the Mayan Predictions. I can see the wars.’

‘I’m sure you can and I don’t doubt you but let’s get you back into bed and we can deal with your dream later, how about that?’

‘They’re not dreams.’ He struck Miriam. ‘I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.’

The security guard came from outside the padded cell and restrained the mental patient.

It wasn’t as bad as before. The force he used wasn’t as bad as the previous guard.

For that he was grateful.

He could see the wars that were coming and it was a nasty sight. The visions were why he was being driven insane.

He couldn’t cope.

He could see into the future and that the game should be played by two different sides of the same argument. The argument that has existed since the dawn of time...

Miriam injected him with the drug that sent him to sleep.

Why were they not listening to him? He knew he was right.

He was in the right but no one ever listened. They just thought he was crazy.

He was right and he always has been right.


There was a crashing through the door as The Mother stood mindlessly doing washing up. Washing up that never existed. Just the same plates over and over again. She washed them so many times it was almost as if she was going to fade the pattern on the plates.

She looked over her shoulder and could see the Commander stood behind her.

‘Hello there. Come into your living room. We need to discuss some serious matters.’

She followed instruction and sat. The Commander followed and sat next to her.

‘Now, you are going to tell me about the Resistance aren’t you?’

‘What resistance?’

‘Zhenya boy.’ A young solider came forward. ‘Give me the truth serum.’ He handed it to him. ‘Thank you.’

‘We work for the secret army. Unless you want to be shot and dumped some place where no one will ever find you I would recommend you telling me the truth.’

‘Okay. I will tell you. But tell me one thing. Why are there armies in the streets?’

‘Because our leader finds it entertaining. The women that control us are so attractive they control us with their most overpowering desires. They are entertained so why would we not be?’ The Commander smiled and went into a sort of trance, as if he was picturing his leader but then snapped out of his comatose focus. ‘Now tell us about your husband?’

‘Just the information I needed.’ She sat there staring at him. The Commander felt himself going back into a sort of trance as he looked at her but then he snapped out of it and he spoke.

‘The wonder of humanity is that they have the ability to change their objective, for example, lie.’ He forced the clear liquid down her throat.

‘Now, tell me about what your husband has been doing.’ He moved up to her and held her by throat.

She knew how to resist their advances. She had developed a resistance to the truth serum.

She stared into his face and smiled. ‘I don’t know anything so you are wasting your time, my dear.’.

If only they knew.

There was a sense of tension when the soldiers travelled upstairs. She thought they were going to search his office and they couldn’t do that.

A few minutes later, two of the soldiers came down the stairs and spoke. ‘Nothing sir. We couldn’t find anything.’

The Mother felt a sense of relief.

After this final search, The Commander and his soldiers were disgruntled and so they left. The mother sighed and looked over at the picture of her husband.

She sighed and wished the plans were easier than what she had seen so far.


Slowly, she wandered around the corner into the large business complex. She entered the lift like every normal person and got off at reception. She asked to see the CEO of the channel.

The receptionist directed her up the stairs and to the left. She followed the instructions and entered the office.

‘Do you have an appointment with me or have you just burst into my office? I often get people with bright ideas coming here thinking their ideas are better than the ones on the market. So what can I do you for?’ The CEO said, sitting down at his desk.

‘No. But I think you will be interested in what I have to offer.’

She smiled and placed her suitcase she was carrying on the table and opened it and faced it towards the CEO.

He was flabbergasted.

What usually came in a suitcase was a set of papers for a new game show or some crappy new soap.

But this was different.

There was money. Cheques. Money and A Cheque. Hundreds of £50 notes and a cheque for £1 billion.

She clearly wanted the channel...

He choked on his brandy. ‘Are you serious woman?’

‘I am. All I ask is full control of your television studio. It shall be called ‘Ladies World’.’

‘I don’t own the business.’

‘Well, you will see to it that your shareholders agree to the statement at the bottom of the suitcase. I shall return in one week.’

When he did so, the deal was signed and she had her own channel.

A ladies channel full of priceless jewellery and female sitcoms.

It was just a simple channel.

A simple channel that contained a message.

It was like a technological virus which would start within one satellite but once a channel was changed; it would spread and the message would be played throughout all channels.

This was a subliminal message to be implanted in the mind of every soul who watched the television, even if they were not watching her channel. Oh the power that the translation of the moving picture can have on a society…

This message was something to be put into the minds of the most civilised souls on the planet.

The simplest message ever conveyed…

‘Come to Utopia.’

Copyright © 2013 Johnathan Colourfield; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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