by submission | Jun 8, 2007 | Story
Author : TJMoore
Joey walked through the carnival gate and stood mouth agape as he surveyed the vast array of amusements before him. Billy grabbed his arm and started towing him through the islands of people clumped around the main thoroughfare.
“I want to ride the centrifuge!” Joey exclaimed when he saw the icon for that particular ride.
Billy called up his SymPlant® and thought about a map of the carnival. Immediately a translucent map of the carnival seemed to hang in the air ten feet in front of him. He thought about rides.centrifuge and a bright green line appeared around the footprint of the centrifuge ride with a yellow line snaking from their present position on the map through the maze of attractions to the ride. A block of red text formed beside the ride indicating restrictions, features and approximate waiting time.
“It’s a twenty minute wait” Billy told Joey and mentally requested two reservations . He thought about food and the map highlighted all the various vendors stalls. Each stall had a little red text block listing the category of foods available there.
“What do you want to eat” Billy asked Joey. “They have corn dogs, gyros, hamburgers and all that kind of stuff” he said.
“Cotton candy!” Joey cried as he began to bounce up and down. Billy located the closest stall and started pushing their way through the crowd.
As they struggled through the packed bodies, Billy called his SymPlant® and thought “Peeps.local”.
The map in the air showed several bright green stars scattered around the lot with a red name tag next to each one. A clump of four stars was just ahead to the left so Billy veered toward his friends.
His friends were by the cotton candy vendor and Billy used his SymPlant® to order some for Joey. He and his friends huddled up and talked over the din. One of his friends, A’Drew, had a vacant wide eyed expression on his face and Billy tried not to stare. He’d had his SymPlant® deactivated for four weeks for accessing it during a test. Billy couldn’t imagine losing his SymPlant® even for a day. You couldn’t find anything, buy anything, make reservations, order meals, send messages or anything! A’Drew was starting to drool. Nobody laughed.
When it was time to go to the centrifuge ride, Billy said his goodbyes and began to tow Joey through the maze of carnival stands. Just before the centrifuge, he caught site of Cill. She was dressed in shorts so he could see her long tanned legs; her hair was done up and she had glitter on her face and shoulders. Billy’s heart was in his stomach. A bright green box appeared on the map still displayed in front of him. Billy turned a deep crimson as he read the title next to the box: “Intimate Message, Adults Only”. He quickly cleared the map. He was grateful that the map was only in his head and only his SymPlant® knew his thoughts.
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by submission | Jun 6, 2007 | Story
Author : Sarah Klein
As soon as the hovercar came to a stop, they opened their doors and jumped out as fast as they could. Nicole strode toward the object, her eyes bright with joy. Drew dusted off his pants and approached more slowly, squinting in the hot sun. They’d been searching over the landscape for miles and miles for something – Drew didn’t know what. There wasn’t much life left since the wars, and they’d mostly been looking at miles of sand, but a large green patch had miraculously appeared.
“What is it?” he asked, cocking his head and frowning quizzically.
“A tree,” said Nicole, as she placed her hand carefully on the bark. “This is a pretty big one. Most of the ones left are small. I’m surprised there’s one all by itself out here.” She wiped sweat from her brow with her other hand.
“What happened to them?” Drew asked tentatively. She stared at the tree a long time before answering.
“People,” she muttered, as she shut her eyes and began to tremble.
“Hey, hey, wait,” said Drew, with a hint of concern in his voice. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”
She opened her eyes slowly and turned her intense gaze in his direction. “Do you know what a forest is?” she asked. He shook his head. “Of course not,” she said, sighing. She placed her hand gently on his and directed it towards one part and then another of the tree.
“This is a branch,” she said patiently, dragging his hand to the end of it. “See how others come off of it?” Drew nodded. “And these are leaves. They’re green now, see? In the autumn they change color – red, yellow, orange…” She trailed off, lost in her thoughts.
Drew started to laugh, but stopped himself when he saw her face. A single tear slid from the corner of her eye.
“They do,” she said quietly. “They really do.”
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by submission | Jun 5, 2007 | Story
Author : Terri Monture
The three days leading up to the executions proceeded with great fanfare and celebration; by dusk on the third day, with the sun setting in purple ultraviolet through the polluted sky the people were in a state of frenzied orgiastic ecstasy. Drums were beaten, scrap metal pieces pounded together and the smell of cooking rat flesh filled the darkening air.
The captives were brought to the plaza in the shadow of the decaying bank towers. Tied to decrepit office chairs, their faces were bloodied with the traces of the ritual beatings. There were three old men and one terrified woman, her lips moving in prayer. “Slim pickings this time,†Draper mused to Marla, who was perched on the rim of an old crumbling statue. “They must be running out of the obvious ones.â€
Marla spat and picked at her teeth with a filed-down rat bone. “Bout time,†she sneered. “Damn capitalists anyway.†She looked up into the radioactive sky. “Maybe it’ll rain. That would be nice.â€
Draper shivered as the captives were displayed to the crowd, now screaming for their blood. “I think I’m getting sick again,†he said, feeling his guts cramp. The dysentery came in cycles for him. Some days were better than others, but it never went away. There was hardly any water left with the levels of the lake falling so drastically. He scanned the sky anxiously. Rain would make a difference; at least they had some filtering equipment.
Marla glanced at him. “I’ll go see if I can scavenge some penicillin,’ she offered. “There’s those pharmacies in Scarborough guarded by the Smiling Buddha guys, I know some of them.â€
He shrugged, watching the executioners raise their truncheons and the crunch of skulls shattering. “That last batch was bad,†he said. “No point. Maybe if I don’t eat it will go away.†He wondered how long it would be before he had to crawl into the lobby of a looted office tower and shiver while every bit of fluid drained out of his body.
Marla said something but her words were lost beneath the howling of the crowd and the ecstatic outpouring of hate as the corpses were torn apart and bloody limbs displayed for them. Draper felt the first wave of heat as the fever started.
The howling of the mob reached a frenzied crescendo and people racing past him buffeted Draper. “Sorry,†he muttered, and then louder, feverish and sweating. “I’m sorry, I had to make a living…â€
Marla reached down and steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder. “Stop it,†she hissed. “No one needs to know what you did before the Collapse.†Several faces turned to look at him as he swayed precariously. “He’s cool,†she yelled. “It’s the dysentery.â€
Draper saw only a blurred outline as a voice above him said, “You sure? He looks like a banker to me…†and he slipped out of Marla’s grasp.
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by submission | Jun 3, 2007 | Story
Author : Joyce Weber
I want to love them. Truly I do. But they keep shoving and pushing, wrangling around inside me till I want to rip my belly open and dump them out.
There is no peace with them crowding my body till they almost feel like they will ooze out the very pores of my skin.
“They are the future” I remind myself and wonder if any good can come of a future born in such tremulousness. Are they never still? Never quiet?
I long for how it once was. When my body was my own. When my brain was free of worrying about them. Do they have everything they need to grow strong? Am I doing all that I must do to ensure their optimal survival?
I shouldn’t doubt myself. I nourish them; I keep myself pure that they are untainted. All for them. Everything for them. My precious ones, my darlings, my bane, my torture.
I want them gone. I know it is an evil thing to contemplate. To just cast them away and forsake them. They will die without me. But I am so tired. I have been carrying them so very long. They can not survive with out me, not yet. I must be strong.
I must fulfill my duty to these, oh so treasured, lives, these demons that torment me with their movements and noise. Ever growing. Ever expanding. I feel like I will surely burst if I can’t get them out of me soon.
Why did there have to be so many of them? They keep growing. It is beyond what one such as I should have to bear. Surely my body was not designed for such a load. What if I perish from the weight of them? Wouldn’t it be better to cast some out so that the others could live?
I am not capable of such a decision. I will bare them, and deliver them into the life that awaits them or we shall all cease to exist together.
Darkness. Endless starless nights with no breath to make a sound. How wonderful that sounds. How like perfection. I will simply let us all slip into that forever sleep.
Wait! Something is changing, heavy, I feel so heavy. Like I am being crushed to earth with the massive weight of them. I am torn open and they pour out of me in a massive flood, tumbling over themselves to abandon me. Me, who tended their every need. Me, who they forsake with out a backwards glance.
Go! Go all of you! Run out to this new world. This new life. I will carry you across space no more. I am rid of you. Rid of your pushing and shoving and noise. I am free of you.
I feel so liberated, so light. I could fly without engines. I feel so. . . so empty.
Come back. Let me hold you again. I need you. I have no purpose without you. I am so lonely.
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by submission | Jun 2, 2007 | Story
Author : Sarah Klein
I sat in the dark doom of my living room, gazing absentmindedly at the television screen. They’d be drawing numbers in about two minutes. I knew my number wasn’t going to be called, but I had to watch all the others ones fly by to make sure. If I missed an announcement, I’d doubt myself until I found out.
“Tonight’s numbers are P32 to P105. If your number is in this category, please report to your nearest rocket station tomorrow morning. Once again, P32 to P105.”
I pulled out and fingered my crumpled, worn ticket, bearing the number Q204. Who was I fooling? I was an English student. The colony didn’t need English students. It needed the engineers, the biology majors, the young men capable of heavy labor. And what right had I to be angry? I wouldn’t be of much help. But something about picking and choosing who escaped with their life seemed wrong. It was half eugenics and half sheer cunning, devoid of all empathy and emotion. Well, that’s the government.
The meteor showers get worse daily. The garden was dead long ago, and the back porch is littered with holes. If a heavy rain comes, I’ll have to get the pots and pans out for the dining room. Every day I wake up and expect to walk outside and see the small town I live in utterly decimated. Somehow, it’s still here – the corner market, the joggers, the yellow daffodils. It could all be leveled and destroyed in ten minutes of heavy meteor fall. And so it will be, soon.
How strange that the heavens should decide to fall now. For years and years, experiments had been done in space; rockets sent this way, robots sent that way. And considering we’d already blown up quite a bit, it was strange that this imminent destruction hadn’t come sooner. When we had devastated Earth to its current, barely-livable status, we had to go for the cosmos. Being a romantic, I had always hesitated to actually believe that it was in human nature to be destructive. But what else could explain what was happening? Minute by minute, the universe came crashing down around us, and it was all our fault.
When they get to the English students, we’ll be mostly gone. When they get to the English students, they’ll extract us from piles of rubble – helicopters lifting us up by our lanky arms to the sky. When they get to the English students, we’ll be in a drunken stupor – wrapped in pages of Shakespeare, surrendering ourselves up to the sun.
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