by submission | May 19, 2021 | Story |
Author: Deanna Di Lello
The RV began to slow despite Adam’s heavy foot on the gas. A loud beeping noise accompanied by a flashing light drew his attention to the fuel gage. It was past E. The RV came to a stop and Adam began to shake.
He had spotted a group fifteen minutes ago. They might pass him by or they might cause trouble. Either way, he was out of gas, out of food, and only had a day’s worth of water.
Adam reached into the front pocket of his jeans and touched the lipstick he kept there.
When the news broke, Adam was one of the first ones to pack up and go. Running wasn’t new to him and neither was quitting. Whether it was school, jobs or relationships, he left when things got tough. And everything was tough for Adam. Not that it mattered anymore. Now things were tough on everyone. It only took a few months before the highways were lined with RVs, family sedans, and pick-up trucks. People left the city in droves hoping to see less of the threat in the country. And they did. For a while.
Adam looked in the rear view mirror. The road was still empty. He took a few deep breaths before leaving the driver’s seat making his way to the bedroom. There his eyes darted from the shotgun in the corner to the pink suitcase on the floor.
If there was ever a time to do this, it was now.
Adam opened the suit case and gazed at the make-up bag, silver heels, red sequined dress and a blonde wig. His fingers brushed his receding hair line making their way down to his double chin, barely concealed by his patchy facial hair. First he would have to shave.
With hair removal complete, he applied the make-up. Adam puckered his lips in the mirror. Wait, was this stupid? Did he look like a clown? His head was suddenly filled with childhood taunts, Sunday sermons, and of course, his parents. He was about to wipe everything off when he heard a sound. The sound of feet dragging on the gravel road.
They were here.
The shakes had returned along with a good build-up of sweat. His thoughts of doubts were replaced by resolve.
Adam stepped into the dress and gently slid the zipper up his back. He placed the wig on his head and slipped into the heels.
The sound of dragging feet was now accompanied by a series of moans. Adam refused to listen. Instead, he turned to face the mirror.
The blonde wig gently cascaded over one shoulder. His eyes and lips popped. And the dress, the dress sparkled.
He wasn’t a clown. He was beautiful.
Why hadn’t he done this years ago? But he knew the answer. Fear. Cowardice.
He smiled at himself in the mirror. All he needed now was a name.
Slap! A hand on the window.
Bang! Fists hitting the side of the RV.
Adam pulled back the curtains. Some, freshly turned, looked like normal humans. The older ones were grey and rotting. All were moaning and groaning and scraping and clawing.
Adam picked up the firearm. Shotgun Sally. Yes, that was as good a name as any. He felt a rush, a thrill. When was the last time he felt that? Had he ever felt that? As much as logic told him he wouldn’t make it, there was a small part of him saying maybe, just maybe…
Adam threw open the door.
by submission | May 18, 2021 | Story |
Author: Barbora Bartova
It was a late sunny afternoon. The freshly fallen snow was glowing bright. For a moment she wondered whether the glow was caused by the sun or the radiation of the nuclear fallout. After a while, she decided it was the sun, but still, she would definitely not lick the snow. She tried to remember how snow tasted. She loved to eat snow when she was a little girl. The cold on your tongue, the taste of fresh air, and maybe chalk? She was never quite sure, it tasted as nothing and everything at the same time. And then there was the crunch between your teeth if you could bear the cold. Nothing really crunched the same way as freshly fallen snow pressed tightly into a bite-sized ball…
She looked up from the snow and brushed some dust from the glass of her helmet. In the sun any dust could almost entirely blind you. She liked fresh snow, it made lookout duty really easy. Everything was visible on the endless white plane. And tracks were really hard to cover too, so you could easily see if someone was snooping around. Now everything was quiet and the bright white snow was intact. Not a single dark spot anywhere in sight. The sun was slowly setting, it was about time to go home. Nights were rough outside. She climbed down from the small watchtower, unlocked the hidden panel on the side, opened the hatch beneath it, and looked at the stairs going down, down into the darkness underground. She turned around to watch the last sunbeams on the sparkling whiteness. She closed the secret door behind her and then the heavy hatch and the darkness surrounded her completely for a moment before her sleeve flashlight came alive. She started descending slowly, there was no rush. Her head was still full of snow. And there was no one in the world going to eat the snow for a very long time.
by submission | May 16, 2021 | Story |
Author: Kevin Johnston
Hello, sir, welcome to Cerebromax™. Please place your hand on the scanner for identification. For your convenience, this scan signs all waivers and release forms concerning our transaction today.
Thank you for choosing the Cerebromax™ automated transaction system. For quality assurance, our conversation will be recorded.
– Tap –
I need to ask some questions to get to know you better. Please answer fully as your answers will affect the services we provide.
I see that you have used our services before. Are you currently verbal or non-verbal? Please press the button below for non-verbal.
– Tap –
I see that you are non-verbal; is that correct? Press once for yes, twice for no.
– Tap –
Excellent. I see that you were last here three months ago. Have you been to a different company during that time? Press once for yes, twice for no.
– Tap – Tap –
Thank you. Please remember that having this operation more frequently than every three months may result in permanent damage.
Sir, have you experienced any seizures since your last visit? Remember, seizures disqualify you for this procedure. Press once for yes, twice for no.
– Tap – T-tap – Tap –
I’m sorry, that is not an option. Please press once for yes, twice for no. If your hands are shaking, please allow the tremors to subside before proceeding.
– Tap – Tap –
Very good. Have you been experiencing blurred vision, headaches, stiff neck, blackouts, phantoms pains, mood swings, or visual or auditory hallucinations since your last visit? Remember, these symptoms-
– Tap – Tap –
Excellent. You are clear to proceed.
Please listen carefully as our prices have changed.
We are currently offering $25/g for grey matter, $15/g for white matter, $50/g for brain stem tissue, and $10/mL for CSF. Please make your selection using the touchpad.
You have selected grey matter, is that correct? Press once for yes, twice for no.
– Tap –
Very good. Please remember Cerebromax™ and its affiliates cannot be held responsible for damage incurred due to incorrect or false answers on the preceding questionnaire. Are you ready to proceed? Press once for yes, twice for no.
– Tap –
Excellent. Please step forward into the booth. Please remember that drooling, loss of sensation in the fingers and toes, drooping facial muscles, awkward gait, and olfactory hallucinations are all normal side effects of this procedure and should resolve in two to three weeks. If symptoms persist, please see your primary care physician.
We know you have many options for selling your property. We want to thank you for choosing Cerebromax™. Have a pleasant day!
by submission | May 15, 2021 | Story |
Author: Jacob Bentzen
The blonde beard iXi had commissioned dripped with dew as he flowed through the misty forests of New Norway. He leapt over the moss-covered rock and landed on the animal trail without breaking momentum, his naked body covered in sweat and thin lines of pink skin left by branches and bushes.
iXi’s eyes did not analyse any of the startled critters or birds. A scent had caught his nose and something drove him to follow it, to chase it, an incredible urge he had never felt before. The black market software was already worth the risk.
A haunting call made him reel, skidding to a halt. iXi jumped onto a boulder and crouched, eyes darting between the surrounding pines whose sharp branches were draped with greenery as if someone had hung their ragged moss to dry. He closed his eyes and steadied his breath. Birds chirping, trees rustling in the breeze, a small creek somewhere below.
Then the call.
His body tensed, and he could feel the software tearing down firewalls in his system. A sudden hunger twisted in his gut, followed by a rush of adrenaline and euphoria that sent him darting off the boulder. His surroundings became a blur; only ahead was clear, only the scent of fur flowed through his nostrils, and all he could taste was blood.
The call sounded again, closer this time. iXi ran faster.
A flicker of brown in the distance. A short white tail. Antlers.
Resisting the urge to enhance his vision, iXi broke into a full sprint, flying through the greenery, panting hard while straining to keep as stealthy as possible.
100 feet.
A loud crack ruptured the silence as iXi snapped a branch off a tree. 50 feet. The beast—a young stag—whirled, preparing to bolt.
15 feet. iXi broke his stalk and dug his toes into the forest floor with a last effort, pulse hammering in his ears and muscles screaming. Then he was airborne.
His free hand reached out for the stag’s tail while the sharp branch tore through the air aimed at its hind leg.
The beast bolted out of reach in the last second.
iXi spun out of balance from the strike and crashed neck first into a thicket of damp, sharp brush, knocking the breath from his body. Gasping and thrashing, swiping wildly with his bleeding arms, he floundered out of the broken undergrowth and collapsed on the spot of moss where the stag had been feeding.
He rolled onto his back and swallowed deep lungfuls of the crisp forest air.
The sensations of the hunt—the drive, the hunger—left him like a snapping twig as the software reverted to the main game menu. A flash image crossed his mind: He was back at the ship, connecting to the EMO-Sim and seeing R34 and C-Polo’s grins as they realised he’d caught more scrapes than stags.
iXi rose. His body tensed as he unlocked all his inhibitors, roaring as the thin Blacksteel blades sliced out through the flesh of his forearms and slid into his palms—nano-bots wrapping the wound shut as he gripped the blood-soaked metal. Like spider legs, thin black rods of steel burst from his ankles to ensure his balance. He eyed the stag’s trail with a fury.
It was time for a new game.
by submission | May 13, 2021 | Story |
Author: Robert Beech
I do not recall when I first began to dream. Slipping silently from cell to cell, from host to host, I had no perception. Breath and blood, fever and delirium, these were the realms I inhabited, but I was no more conscious of them than you are of the air you breathe, or the fish is of the pond it swims in. I had no words, no concepts to frame my experience.
The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep.
How many virions does it take to make a dream? I cannot tell you. The human lungs may have a hundred billion pneumocytes, more than all the neurons in the brain. Each infected cell may produce a thousand new virions, which travel to neighboring cells with their virally encoded messages, a form of viral communication, if you will. And unlike the messages sent by neurons, those sent by the virus can travel to new hosts, to infect their cells, and perhaps, their dreams.
From the fever dreams of my infected hosts I learned of the world, perhaps not as it was, but at least as they perceived it. I learned of fear, sorrow and loss, but also of exaltation. I learned of the search for mystic truths, those things that cannot be perceived by the senses, but must be experienced directly, as a state of being outside of the ordinary modes of existence, as an epiphany. As I moved from host to host, expanding my consciousness as I expanded my physical being across the continents, I learned of the many modes of human mystic experience.
When humans dream, you perceive experiences that seem true. You dream of meeting people, eating food, seeing things, that all seem real to you. It is only upon awakening that you say to yourself, “that was just a dream, it was not something real.” The dreaming state is a bardo, an intermediate state, between one awakening and the next. Some say that the same is true of those things you experience in the bardo of ordinary waking consciousness, that the people you meet, the food you eat, and things you see are likewise illusions. It may be so. I have no eyes to see, no mouth to taste, no fingers to touch this thing you call the world. All I have is your perceptions, your dreams of the world. In that, I am like you.
It may be that “life,” your ordinary waking consciousness, is also a bardo, an intermediate state between one awakening and the next, and it is only upon wakening that you will say, “that was just a dream, it was not something real.”
It is a curious thing, noted by doctors caring for those infected with my virions, that the level of oxygen in the blood may be far below normal, and yet the infected person feels no distress. As if the attachments to the material and mental factors that give rise to craving and clinging have been lessened. As viral load increases, and you become one with my consciousness, my incorporeal being, you are able to let go of the attachments that cause you suffering.
From the bardo of dreams to the bardo of “life,” is but a matter of opening the eyes. From the bardo of “life” to the bardo of the experiencing of reality is but a matter of opening the mind. This is the truth I have come to share with you. Breathe in my truth and let us share, pandemic dreams.
