A dear friend approached me this week and asked me for a story.  It’s for GISHWHES, and if you haven’t heard of that, it’s okay.  I won’t judge you harshly, because I didn’t know about it until recently myself.  If you don’t want to click on the link, I’ll just say it’s a great big scavenger hunt for charity.

It seems pretty cool.  I guess Misha Collins started it, or runs it?  I have a lot of respect for Mr. Collins, just based on the stuff I’ve read about him.  I enjoy him on Supernatural, and I think the charity work he’s done is pretty fantastic.

Here is the item my friend was looking to me to complete:

Get a previously published Sci-Fi author to write an original story (140 words max) about Misha, the Queen of England and an Elopus: 59 POINTS.

Aside from not knowing what an Elopus was, I had another difficulty with this request: I don’t think I’m “previously published.”

I told my friend, but she said it probably wasn’t a problem.  She said that my blog was probably enough.

I don’t think my friend realizes how much it meant to me that she asked me for this.  Apparently, some other people became upset after they were asked.  I don’t begrudge them for this.  It isn’t always cool to ask someone to do their job for free.  And people do have busy lives.  I was busy myself, and couldn’t get to the story until tonight, even though it was only 140 words long.

Anyway, I’ve droned on enough.  Without further ado, here is what I sent her:

              The monstrosity raised its long nose and trumpeted an angry blast as it charged.  It rolled forward on six, suction cupped tentacles.  Its oily black eyes reflected the rough cave, as well as the man that stood defiantly before it: Misha Collins.

Misha met the creature’s charge with a crack from his staff.  Both man and beast were weary from their long battle, but the fight was nearly won.  Misha feinted, side-stepped, then swung.  The wood shattered.  The elopus dropped.  Pungent black ink puddled around the fallen creature.

“You did it!” cried Avy. “Let’s get the princess and go!”

“We’re not here to save a princess,” Misha said, his voice rough.  He walked to the cage the elopus had been protecting and ripped away the tarp covering it.  Inside was a woman of advanced age.

“We’re here for the Queen.”