A few weeks ago we wrote a piece on screenwriter Brian Duffield as he was about to undergo a creative experiment of epic proportions on social hiring site “FIVERR“. What was the experiment? Give me $5 bucks, and I’ll write you an original story. To read the original piece click here.  But for those of you who don’t want to click, and just want the here-and-now details, here is what the deal was – For $5 on Fiverr.com, Duffield offered to write an original short story either of your choosing, or his (it was up to the buyer) of around 100 words. The deal, now expired, ended up being a hit, and we at TB were lucky to snag the very first story.

First thing first… our story request:
A robot. A ninja. Space… then not space… then maybe space again. No less than 3 action scenes. A fish named Phish, after the band his parents loved (but he hates) and I guess because really no story is complete without one… a Giant baby?

And now the all new and original Duffield tale:

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Written by:
Brian Duffield

There they were, between the moon and the earth. Stories would be told of the fight, if stories could be told in space.

The Robot: His/her name nothing but binary numbers and thus to boring to pronounce. The Ninja: Nameless, for he shed his man name when he became too awesome for it. But it was these warriors, nameless and inconveniently named, who slashed and thrashed at each other in the heavens, before crashing down to the earth and the sea below.

And in that sea, unsurprisingly, was a fish. Not a nameless fish, but a fish named Phish, which is surprising to no one who knows how awful fish parents can be. “Have you even listened to ‘Joy’ or ‘Farmhouse’ Dad?!” Phish would cry out to deaf fish ears. He hated his stupid name, but that hatred was irrelevant when a nameless Ninja and an inconveniently named Robot brought their celestial war into Phish’s oceanic backyard.

When the inconveniently named Robot unleashed his boiling device, as Phish’s life bubbled away, he thought to himself, “I spent too much time hating my name, and not enough ti-” and then he was dead (and delicious).

The nameless Ninja, knowing he too would die in the boiling water, went into a deep meditation to pave the way for his inevitable reincarnation. Like a god of some forgotten religion, he began assembling the requisite components he would need in his reincarnated body to defeat the mechanical man who was cooking his old, ninja-man body at this very moment.

When (whatusedtobe) the nameless Ninja opened his eyes again, he was no longer a man. And no longer in the sea.

He was back amongst the stars, larger than the moon but smaller than the earth. He was what at first glance would appear to be a three month old baby, but your first glance would have to be that of some ancient monstrous eye, given the enormous shape of the infant dominator.

The sun reflecting off his pale naked flesh like a spotless mirror, he searched with baby (naturally) blue eyes for the Robot with the inconvenient name, and upon finding him, alone in a waterless ocean on the earth below, cried out a terrible cry in the language only the robot could understand. Loud enough that the fabric of time opened, and the inconveniently named Robot slipped away into nothingness, never to be seen again. Until the next time he would be seen.

And thus, the ninjababy floated on in the heavens, naked, looking for worlds to protect.