The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #41

steampunk airship

The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #41

One Picture

One Element

One Emotion

200 Words

A Sailing Ship



Please add your story in the comments below.

6 thoughts on “The Iron Writer Weekend Quickie #41

  1. They think me stupid because I’m only fourteen and my name is Sheldon. They have no idea how ‘stupid’ I can be. A little wood, some sterno cans, and Dad’s old bedsheet. If the wind is mild and the batteries in the controller hold out, my little contraption will clean the bacon right off table while everybody else is busy playing in the pool. Ground my ass to my room without food!

    And if this works, if I can bring the bacon home, then this model is just a model. I figure in two years, I can build one big enough to get me away from this deathtrap. Then they can ground me all they want, ’cause I won’t be here. Let them try to find me. And while I am floating where they can’t catch me, I gonna write. I gonna tell the world just how bad Mom and Dad were to me. I remember, I remember every little time they grounded me for no reason. Payback is hell.

  2. Tracer aimed Amelie’s sights on the nearest Zepplin’s rope, one of three keeping the airship steady in the night sky. The dozen or so Zepplins lit up the area around the British camp, making any assault impossible without major losses.
    “Tracer, y’er gonna bring d’em British pigs on us, y’are.”
    “Ireland, you haven’t got much confidence in my abilities.”
    “Nah, but optimism, yeah. If yer don’ mind, I’ll skedaddle back t’lines an’ watch the fireworks back there. Gunnin’ fer yer!”
    Ireland ran back, leaving Tracer alone. A slight breeze blew across no man’s land and Tracer turned Amelie to the furthest left of the Zepplins. He aimed at a rope and fired. It cut and the airship rose almost imperceptibly at first. A few of the troops in the camp looked into the darkness. Tracer opened Amelie’s breech and out popped the empty case. He placed in another bullet and fired, cutting through a second rope. The Zepplin slowly floated over the British camp. The troops were now in a panic, some due to the shoots, others due to the impending danger. Tracer’s third bullet brought a lethal fireball down on the camp.
    “There’ll be some bacon tonight!”, he laughed.

  3. Bliss flipped the small brass switch with her fingertips. A series cogs and gears clicked across the kitchen wall until they culminated in the whooshing of the gas ignition on her miniature iron stove. Ignoring the discomfort of her bustle, Bliss settled at her wrought iron café table as the glorious smell of frying bacon filled the kitchenette. An elegant notecard was propped against the floral centerpiece. She opened it carefully and caught its contents in her lap before reading the familiar scrawling penmanship.

    Ipswich hangar, lift off promptly at noon.

    Bliss cast the notecard aside and examined the contents in her lap – a photograph and a map to the hangar. As if she needed it. This would be the ride of their lives; today they would make history. Bliss could almost see the headlines, could almost taste the cool air as they ascended in the miniature zeppelin – “Bliss Baker begins historic flight.” Maybe the headline could use a bit more excitement but she would leave that to the reporters. Bliss speared a piece of bacon with her mechanical fork, blew on it lightly and bit into the greasy goodness. Today would be a day to remember.


    Italy was feeling the pinch after the country was defeated. My grandfather’s family lived in the valley across from Assisi where the land rose into mountains. They were hungry. In fact, they’d starve if they didn’t hunt, but wild boar were becoming scarce.

    My grandfather Luigi was optimism personified. He figured silent flight was perfect for hunting and the higher into the mountains, the better.

    So he built a Zeppelin from a pump motor driving a ceiling fan (to waft him forward), a tablecloth for a sail (steering) and a gas fire from an old camping oven to produce lift. His sister made the balloon from an American parachute. But how would he get the meat back? He scavenged a fishing net he strung to each side of his airship.

    It worked a treat. He got so much further up into the mountains and his viewpoint was so much better than the other boys in the village (boys because so few adult men survived the war), hunting was easy.

    Luigi would sail over the heads of his friends up the mountain where he’d find, shoot and butcher the game. He carried the meat back in several trips.

    They ate a lot of bacon that winter.

  5. “Listen to me now and take notice. You shall not delay me for another moment. Load that cargo onto my airship without further question,” said the captain.

    His eyes, wide with fright, went up and down as the dockhand nodded with vigor.

    The dockhand threw a lever and the lifting device emitted a shrill whistle as steam overpressure vented and the scissors extended upward towards the ship’s cargo bay.

    Shortly after, Captain Weaver, and the crew of the Cloud Skimmer, set aloft. Delivering the contraband they received to their client was of utmost importance. The additional cargo taken on at the last minute, was simply a bonus.

    “You look rather pleased Captain,” the first mate, Sheena, said.

    “Roderick shall likely want our heads, but, if we are lucky he will not notice what I have done until we are leagues away.”

    Sheena sighed, “Do you ever stop to—“

    “Think positive dear girl.”

    “Positive? You will have us shooting about through the clouds dodging harpoons for a fortnight and for what? Some silly rivalry with—“


    Sheena stared in wonder at her captain as his smile grew even wider.

    “What is it then, what did you get?”


  6. Jack swung the hammer again, “BAM!”, and again, “BAM!”, and again, “BAM!” With a loud ring, a metal plate fell to the ground. Ted sat up in shock, “Jack! What are you doing? I thought you said your machine was finished … and working?”

    Jack looked over his shoulder at Ted. “What’s it to ya? It’s my creation. I can do what I want with it. It’s a stupid idea, and a waste of time!”

    “Are you insane? This is the coolest contraption I’ve ever seen … and it works! Why are you breaking it apart?”

    “VGER is faulty because its creator is faulty”, Jack murmured.


    “Oh … the wind shifted, Ted, and a cloud is blocking the Sun.”

    “Explain it to me like to a child, Jack.”

    “She laughed at me, Ted. I wrote her a poem, and I saw it in her eyes when she realized it was a poem: she laughed at it. I’m just a stupid nerd, Ted, and she’s … she’s not.”

    “I see …. and I completely feel your pain. Jack: been there. Come on, I’ll make you a BLT, with extra bacon. You’ll feel better after you eat something.

    “Extra bacon, huh?

    “Double dose! Hey, can I see the poem?”

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.