If Famous Authors Wrote Fanfic, Vol. 2
Dan Brown writes “Angel.” Stephen King writes “Star Trek: The Next Generation.” C. S. Lewis writes “X-Files.” Stephenie Meyer writes “Dune.”
I had so much fun with If Famous Authors Wrote Fanfic that I wanted to see if I could do it again. Answer? YES.
Angel and Demons by Dan Brown
In the splendid dome of the Taj Mahal, a beautiful young blonde reached out for him.
“Angel! You are as slow as your 240 years would indicate!”
Angel laughed laughingly. He tried to catch up with her, but the tiled room began to tilt. He looked up, and the beautiful woman had been replaced with a ravening Fook-Demon!
Angel Angelus awoke with a start from his troubling nightmare. Before he could gather his mental thoughts, slim but athletic Cordelia walked in with the morning’s folded newspaper.
“Angel,” said Cordelia, tossing her lustrous but professional hair. “We have a problem.”
Lithe Cordy pointed to the long story below the headline, just above the fold. Together the two of them walked through Angel’s spacious living room to the adjoining kitchen, where there was more light, but not too much, because Angel was a vampire.
There was a square picture of another beautiful brunette, but a different one from Cordy, and printed on paper instead of standing next to him. She seemed to be leaving a crime scene.
“Oh, no,” said Angel. “Faith is back.”
Angel and Cordelia jumped carefully into Angel’s black convertible. The effortlessly well-groomed pair drove moderately to the big brick precinct downtown. Beautiful blond Detective Kate Lockley met them on the granite stairs.
“I’ve been expecting you,” she said, traveling on her long, shapely legs. “Let me spend the next two pages delivering exposition.”
Then everybody argued, Faith stole the Pope, and Angel fought some dudes.
Permanent Night by Stephen King
CHUPPA CHUPPA CHUPPA
Troi collapsed, her eyes glassy, her body twisted as a crashed ’58 Fury. Blood burbled noisily from her ribs.
Not like this… it can’t be…
Kirk loomed over her, priming his phaser for another blast.
“I tried to tell you, Dee, I really did.” Kirk wasn’t looking at her anymore, but straight through her, through the holodeck doors, into the winding corridor. “But you just don’t listen… there was only one woman who ever listened…”
Troi could feel the life washing out of her, like a generator surging and powering down. It was too late… too late for her… but by God she could save the rest…
I see the starlings… they’re coming home again…
Kirk stepped right over her, slipped in her blood, SLIPPED RIGHT IN HER ******* BLOOD, recovered and kept going. He was going home, the only place he’d ever belonged, the only place that was his. He was going to the bridge.
“Dirty ship,” he muttered. “So dirty… I have to make you clean again…” He paused in the doorway, phaser lifted, delighting in his new body.
Troi fumbled on the floor, for something, anything.
Tom Gordon… I should have made Tom Gordon…
And found a triangle of glass as if God himself had put it there. She took a ragged breath.
“James,” she whispered. “I know what you’re feeling…”
“STOP!” cried Kirk, whirling on her. “YOU *****! YOU ******* *****! ****** *** ******! *****! GET OUT OF MY MIND!”
He was over her in three steps, phaser aimed. He’d finish it this time… Troi swung her arm like a baseball bat and Kirk was screaming, toppled on her and next to her, his Achilles torn and useless.
“****!” he wailed. “****** *****! ************!”
Troi found new strength, her last strength, and she was on him. She buried the triangle of glass through his chin, and he stopped screaming.
Here, James… the final frontier…
The Jacket, the Coat, and the Overcoat by C.S. Lewis
Dana frowned. “Are you meaning that a man could be dead for three days, and then not dead?”
“That is exactly what I mean,” said Fox. He danced his enormous flashlight around the storage unit, his eyes glittering with anticipation. “How else can you explain the call to his mother? The missing Flarnic? The fact that four people have seen him?”
“Four people claim to have seen him,” said Scully. “There was a time zone difference that probably accounts for the voicemail. And I hate to tell you, but sometimes Flarnics are stolen…”
“Here!” Fox stooped to lift a shoebox from under the couch. “His wife didn’t mention a shoebox!”
“Shall I turn on a light? There are lots.”
“No, don’t bother,” said Fox. He lifted the lid with both hands, as if it were a flat, paperboard kitten. “I think this is what we’ve been looking for.”
Dana leaned over Fox, her soft hair brushing his cheek in a completely non-erotic way. “What is it?” she asked, her eyes going wide with astonishment, as eyes commonly do.
“It’s a Tisblort,” said Fox. “From the Gilrads of Morblunk.”
“That’s it,” said Dana. “You convinced me.”
Big Pile of Sand by Stephenie Meyer
After asking my permission, Usul took me by the hand and led me up to the top of the hill. When I looked behind me with my deep brown eyes, I could see four rapturously beautiful young men were fainting from the anguish of not getting to date me.
At the top, Usul was again taking my soft, pale hands in his also soft, pale ones. He gazed into me. My four-chambered heart pounded in my meagerly endowed chest. His face was like the handsomest parts of fifty handsome faces combined. What would he say? I wondered if he and the Fremen had been talking about me. What I smelled like, and whether I was as water-disciplined as the other girls.
“I love you,” he informed me. His hairline was as straight and low as a limbo stick. My heart was beating so hard I thought a sandworm would eat us both right there.
I didn’t know what to say. Of course I loved him, too, but how could I tell him? How could we be together? I kept my eyes on the sand. Maybe if I just held really still he would get bored and walk away.
“Chani, I love you,” he said again, for the second time. I tried to open my mouth to speak but tripped and fell for no reason. Usul picked me up, and I could feel his big blue eyes looking at my eyes, and also I could see them.
“But I can’t ever make out with you,” said Usul.
“Oh, thank God,” I said.
“Sex is the little death,” said Usul. “Sex is the mind-killer.”
“But shallow, looks-obsessed lusting — that’s okay, right?”