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It's Not The Future That I Can See

It's Not The Future That I Can See. It's Just My Fantasy.
by Laura Ammons


Rated PG-ish (one bad word and a non-specific drug and alcohol reference.)
Summary: Bored at my day job and fantasizing about being "rescued" by the A-Team, with references to my recent vacation in Mexico and my night job as club DJ.

Disclaimer: The usual not mine and no profit being made.

The North Carolina Hospital Association's illustrious Information Systems Specialist Laura G. Ammons sat at her desk surfing LiveJournal and bored out of her mind. She'd just finished converting the big weekly mailing to PDF, HTML, and a bunch of other e-licious acronyms and had hours to kill until 5:00 quitting time.

Suddenly out of the clear blue heat of the summer day came the roar of a helicopter. The noise shook the building and Laura ran to the window to see what was going on. It sounded like the chopper was right overhead.

Then a rope dropped to the ground and Colonel John Hannibal Smith appeared, grinning with a cigar in his teeth and a big gun in his hand. Laura dove under her desk as Hannibal shattered the huge plate glass window with his weapon.

"Laura, grab your CDs and let's go. Murdock's waiting on the roof."

"Where are we going?"

"Mexico, muchacha. The Macho Taco in Rosarito Beach needs a DJ this weekend and of course we all thought of you immediately."

NCHA's systems analyst John Rowe stood up from where he'd been hiding behind a file cabinet. "Laura, what the hell?"

Sorry, John, but my super CD spinning skills are urgently needed south of the border, amigo. Cover the help desk for me?" she said, and hopped over the broken glass to climb the rope up to the roof.

Laura hopped into the chopper beside Captain Howling Mad Murdock. "Nice to see you again, mamasita," he said.

B.A. was slumped groggily against Face's shoulder in the back, a milk mustache still on his face.

"Mexico, huh?" asked Laura.

Face answered. "Yeah, Decker's on us again so we need to lay low for a while."

Murdock chimed in. "Besides, Hannibal's almost out of Cuban cigars. We gotta restock."

Laura pulled out a Saint Etienne disc from her collection and popped it into the CD player. (Hey, this is MY fantasy and I'll play Saint Etienne if I want to, so fuck off!) Sarah Cracknell's voice sang "Everything I touch is turning into gold" as Hannibal squeezed in next to her and the helicopter lifted them up and away from the doldrum of Cary, North Carolina.

After that, there were many margaritas on the beach in Mexico. B.A. taught Laura how to throw a knock-out punch, Face taught her how to pick locks, win friends, and influence people, and Hannibal got her starring roles in several silly B-movies. Howling Mad Murdock taught her to fly anything and everything with wings or a rotor and generously shared his stash of fun pills that the nice folks at the VA hospital supplied. She became a crack shot with a rifle, feathered her hair, donned neon pink legwarners and led a life of lawless, borderless adventure. At least until the 80s were over.

The End.

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Laura G. Ammons
The Dark Zone:

It's Not The Future That I Can See. It's Just My Fantasy. by Laura Ammons



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