The following short stories are based on characters created and/or copyrighted by Glenn Eichler, Susie Lewis Lynn, and MTV. All other characters were created and copyrighted by Roland Lowery.

The author gives full permission to distribute this work freely, as long as no alterations are made and the exchange of monetary units is not involved. Any questions, comments, suggestions, or complaints should be sent to esn1g(at)yahoo(dot)com. Thank you.


"He can compress the most words into the smallest ideas of any man I ever met." -Abraham Lincoln


Daria Mini-Fics
by Roland 'Jim' Lowery

Over the past few years, I've written a number of small ficlets, drabbles, or whatever you want to call them for the Daria fandom. Many of them were made for Iron Chefs (forum threads on the Paperpusher's Message Board in which a central idea is posited, then folks work on various stories based on and exploring that idea), but some few were simply spontaneous creations stemming from any number of sources.

For a long time, I've let these small little drops in the fan fic ocean languish where they lay, uncollected and most likely long forgotten. After much deliberation (like, at least ten seconds worth of deliberation I'm talking about here), I have decided to start collecting them and posting them here. And so without further ado, I give you the first two of those mini-fics!

While the first actual story I started writing for the Daria fandom was Suited for Crime and the first I actually finished was ill, these were the first two anythings of any size that I wrote for the fandom ever. I was taking part in a thread called "The 1,001 Deaths of Tom Sloane", in which people were killing off poor ol' Tom in so many horrible, ghastly ways.


Slowly, blearily, Tom opened his eyes and looked around himself. Seeing Jane and Daria sitting nearby, he immediately knew that he was on his death bed.

The two women rose from their chairs and walked over to his side once they noticed he was awake. They stood over him silently, looking down at him like goddesses up on high. He returned their gazes . . . and he smiled.

"Just about that time, I suppose?" he asked.

With great warmth and tenderness, Jane and Daria took one of his hands each and returned his smile. Tears, obviously so recently dried, welled up again in the corners of their eyes.

"Now, none of that," he said, squeezing their hands reassuringly. "I won't have any crying over me. I've led a good life. A good longlife. But everybody has to go at some point, and I think just over two thousand years of healthy living is quite enough."

Daria let out a small laugh, then sniffled a bit. "You could always use your mastery of all known scientific fields of study to keep going for two thousand more," she said. "You're the one who developed the process enabling humans to live for so long in the first place, after all."

"Defeating hundreds of diseases and saving trillions of lives over the centuries in the process," Jane added.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Tom said with a chuckle. "I don't know if I could get the permits for all the testing that would have to be done . . . "

"Says the man who got the laws cleared to allow our polygamous marriage," Jane said as she continued holding on to her husband with one hand while wrapping her other arm around Daria's shoulders. The two wives briefly kissed.

"And, not to mention, created the current government completely from scratch and almost single-handedly, bringing peace to the entire galaxy," Daria added afterward.

With a happy sigh, Tom almost started to reconsider his chosen course. But no, he'd been right the first time. He'd seen quite enough of the universe. Intelligence and beauty reigned the worlds hand in hand, harmony encircling and encompassing the whole human race, and it was in no small part his doing. He was no longer needed in this existence. It was time to move on, and he reminded the two women of that.

Quietly accepting the wisdom of their husband's words, Daria and Jane gave Tom one last hug and stepped back from the bed.

"We will always remember you, Tom," Daria said softly. "Especially what a wonderful, generous lover you are."

Without another word, Tom surrendered himself to death, allowing his spirit to shuffle off from the mortal coil. His body slowly dissolved in a glowing shower of light and gentle warmth, bathing Jane and Daria in healing rays of pure joy and wonder.


That's me, always have to be different. My second entry was more conventional to the thread, and was a crossover to boot!


Tom cursed under his breath as he fiddled with the digital readout on the side of his gun and once again got nothing for his efforts but an alarm buzzer and an error message.

Isn't this always the way? he thought to himself. Crazy lady several decks above bossing you around, crazy reprogrammed robots and disgusting biological horrors running around trying to kill you, weird-ass messages left behind by dead crew members creeping you the hell out, dimly lit and completely unlit corridors concealing multitudes of scary ass shit . . . and your gun has the constant indigence to break down every few minutes. I hate days like this.

He took a brief moment to scratch at the edge of the cybernetic goggle covering his left eye, then got back to work trying to program the correct repair sequence into the pistol. Another irritating buzz caused him to snarl in anger and toss the weapon down the dark hallway. He immediately realized how dangerous his action had been, but he still couldn't find the energy to feel regret over it. Everything that had happened since he'd awoken in a cryotube with several days worth of memory gone had simply worn him down to the mental nub.

Oozing alien eggs. The shipwide AI's rambling nonsense speeches. Cryokinetic monkeys. How was he supposed to cope with all of this nonsense, especially since every piece of equipment he managed to pick up had the audacity to work for only five minutes at a time!

A shuffling sound pulled him out of his frustrated reverie. It came from behind him and was accompanied by a strangely low-pitched litany of mumbled garbage . . .

"We are we are we are," the odd voice repeated to itself as the shuffling came closer. "What . . . has happened to me? A thousand eyes look . . . "

A cold sweat broke out on Tom's forehead. Normally this wouldn't be a very dangerous situation, or at least it hadn't been for quite some time. But the pistol he'd just throw away had been the last of his working projectile weapons before it had broken and there was no time to drag out one of the others and fix it before the-

"Is there another . . . ?"

Too late! Tom thought hurriedly. They know I'm here! I gotta-

"They see you! Run! RUN!"

Taking the voice's strangely given advice, Tom burst into a full run. His stumbled a little, however, his legs somewhat numbed from his earlier squatting position. To his horror, this gave the monstrous creature behind him just enough of an advantage . . . he wasn't going to be able to outrun this beast, and there was nothing he could do about it. He stopped, turned, and prepared to fight.

He reached down to unholster his one remaining weapon, but he wasn't in time. The solid weight of a giant wrench - much like the one he had been about to arm himself with - smashed directly across his face. He staggered back, feeling blood spray and teeth loosen from the impact.

Tom managed to just barely stay on his feet, but he fully expected to be taken down with the next blow. Sorrowful resignation filled his body for a split second, then vanished as he realized his assailant had not advanced again. It stood rooted, flailing its arms around, trying to reach behind its own back and failing.

"Uuuuurrrrraaaaarrrrgh! KILL . . . MEEEEEE!"

Having seen this before and knowing that the beast was going to be occupied for only a few seconds at most, Tom took a step backward, preparing to turn and resume his retreat. His foot bumped against something, causing him to look down in surprise. At first he thought the gun he had just kicked was the one he had thrown earlier, but now he saw that there were two pistols on the ground nearby, as well as half of a security man's corpse. The second gun belonged to the dead man and Tom could tell with only half a second's glance that it would actually fire!

He scooped up the working pistol just in time. He took careful aim at the monster's head as it gave up trying to rip the worm off its back and resumed its advance. A sharp report echoed through the claustrophobic hallway as blood, brains, skin, and skull sprayed across the walls, ceiling, and floor.

It hadn't been enough. Though half the creature's head was now gone and Tom could clearly see the disgusting biological nodes connecting the parasitic worm into the former human's central nervous system, there was still enough of the brain left for the annelid to continue pushing the host body forward.

Tom took aim and pulled the trigger again.

A cry of desperate anguish escaped his lips when nothing happened. He glanced at the readout floating in his field of vision to see that the gun had only had a single round in it.

"Silence . . . the DISCORD!"

There was a sharp pain in the top of Tom Sloane's skull as the hybrid's wrench slammed home a second time. He fell to the floor, his thoughts scattering like cockroaches fleeing a light source. The last thing he heard was a voice, a woman's voice, rattling down through the communication system wired directly into his head. At first he thought it was the doctor lady who had been guiding him since he'd woken up, but there was something different, something insane and unholy about this voice. It hissed in his inner ear . . .

"P-p-p-pathetic, iiiiinnnnnnsssseeeeecccctttt . . . "