by submission | Aug 12, 2018 | Story |
Author: Lora Kilpatrick
Moon for Sale
Looking for space? No pun intended. 14.6 million square miles of untouched beauty (except for a few boot prints, rover tracks, and flags). Half of the property looks out into deep space—great for stargazing! The other half? WOW! Talk about views. The earth is your footstool! Current owners are selling to finance global resuscitation and solar revitalization efforts. Our loss, your gain. They aren’t making any more moons. Own yours today!
Earth for Sale
Being sold as is. Needs TLC. Natural resources exhausted but no problem for an intelligent species. A quaint fixer-upper. The planet’s sun is slightly enlarged but you could still get several millennia out of it. Previous owners did a lot of work to keep its star happy. Only the most advanced technology in solar life elongation used. If you like it hot, look no further. Property is move-in ready. There is a small population of humans that will be evicted upon transfer of deeds. No reasonable offer refused.
Gas Giant for Sale.
WIFE SAYS SELL! Beautiful Saturn sports one-of-a-kind ice rings. Comes with functioning floating helium mine. HUGE living quarters for this forgotten corner of the galaxy. 550 square feet to call home! The remodeled shower uses REAL water. Replaced oxygen generator last year. Several abandoned mines have great investor potential. Could be exotic resorts or high-security prisons or anything in between! This system’s sun is approaching red giant stage. It’s swelling a little larger than expected which means balmy weather on Saturn. Bring your sunshades and dreams with you! We hate to sell but wife wants to retire to Alpha Centauri. Saturn’s moons available under different MLS.
Black Hole for Sale
Includes 8 planets, 181 moons, and 1 ancient civilization. Great potential if you can extract them. Gravity is slightly strong. Small planet on edge of event horizon would make charming abode if you have strong suction cups. My Ancestor acquired property when it was projected to be white dwarf. It is believed the ancient civilization created the black hole after attempting to prolong the life of their sun. Rumored to be the birthplace of humanity. Historical significance.
by submission | Aug 11, 2018 | Story |
Author: Alex Z. Salinas
Erections used to mean something.
This is the summation of my research at the bibliotech. Long before Dr. Claude “Stretch” Kransenberry, “the Grand-Godfather of Teleportation,” untangled the stickiest of equations in quantum entanglement and completed the world’s first teleportation—a fly swatter from his kitchen table to his rooftop—there were planes, trains, and automobiles. Elevators and escalators, too. These were preferred methods of travel. These were the only methods of travel.
But the world has changed the past decade. Teleportation is en vogue. The largest corporations, regulars like Apple and Google, were the first to invest in the initial market-ready devices. The results astonished. Employees exhibited increased efficiency. They slept more, spent zero time commuting. Their job satisfaction reached euphoric highs. Now, most small businesses are on the telegrid—they get tax breaks. Commuting to work is a thing of the past. A choice. The only people who hit the open road now are hippies and ozone-blasters, it’s said.
With all the convenience that teleportation has provided, something’s happened in society. Something big. Something bad. Stretch Kransenberry never anticipated, quantum physicists never calculated, the erections.
I suppose Dr. Stretch earned his nickname. I suppose half the world population does, too. Male molecules, the very atoms of our maleness, once stretched out and relocated then put back together, remain, in certain nether regions, particularly stimulated.
The implication for this peculiar scientific phenomenon goes deep. Where erectile dysfunction used to be the talk of the town, now it’s erection dysfunction. Teleporting men, on average, experience erection dysfunction (ED2) for one hour up to several hours. Wealthier men have invested in personal teleportation—via the smaller, luxury model TRX-XX-MP3—to overcome their shortcomings, enhance their sex lives.
Men across the country—across the world—now regularly saunter around with obtrusions in their trousers. They’re everywhere afflicted with ED2. “Teleportation Trick.” God’s cruel joke on man for playing Him; His proverbial bird-flip to the sensible laws of quantum physics. Teleportation Trick is, in a word, real. Worse, it’s incurable. For now.
We’re in a bad spot. Women everywhere are scared. You can see it in their eyes. Teleporting men behave badly. It’s no secret that for too long, their blood has flowed—congealed—in all the wrong spots. Infidelity is up. Domestic violence is up. Homicides are up. Suicides are up. Penises are up.
There’s a massive case on the ethical outcomes of teleportation brewing, it’s said. It’ll reach the Supreme Court, eventually, and once it does, who knows what’ll happen. There are only two women sitting on the Court, and one of them is unapologetically pro-business. The other, I imagine, is scared—scared she’ll be backed into a corner by her aggressive colleagues, seven of whom are Tricked.
I wonder: In the last sacred rooms on earth—the only sacred rooms there ever were—what do erections mean anymore? What does love mean anymore?
Since the slow first turn of a stone wheel, have we always been headed into this new age?
***
I admit: Teleportation was fantastic. It felt that way, at least, always left my body reeling with a sense of invincibility. My best work was penned while I was Tricked, I believe. It was charged, undeniably impassioned.
However, a week into using my new bicycle, I’ve slowly adjusted. A consistent burn in my legs tells me something good is happening inside. Something’s rebuilding. Growing naturally.
Speaking of which, I met a beautiful woman today. A walker. Our eyes met. We exchanged no words, just shook hands. To her touch, my body reacted.
I looked down. She was smiling.
by submission | Aug 10, 2018 | Story |
Author: Roger Ley
The Land Rover stopped, and Riley pointed, the prehuman footprints showed clearly impressed into the flat, dry, African rock surface. It was the third day of their family safari in the Great Rift Valley
‘We can spend a few hours here but we need to get to the next lodge before dark,’ he said.
‘These footprints are half a million years old boys,’ said Estella to her sons. Hank slipped off his flip-flops and tried one print for size, predictably his younger brother Cliff did the same. ‘Look, Dad, they fit,’ said Hank.
‘It looks like a family group, two adults, and two juveniles,’ said Riley.
Estella slipped off her sandals and stepped into the smaller adult set. She looked good in her shorts and tee, he’d always admired her Nordic looks. After some encouragement from the boys, he did the same. They tried walking forward, but the footprints were too far apart.
‘I think they were running Dad,’ said Hank. They all jogged forward, the hard stone became soft and damp. They were running across the mud at the edge of the lake, chasing the antelope they’d been following for the last four hours. It was tiring and slowing down.
The skin bag of flint tools banged against his side, tied with a thong around his waist, he’d wrapped the flints with grass so they didn’t rattle. He hoped to be using them to process the antelope soon. The liver would be first, easy to eat and full of blood. The woman looked across at him and grinned, she knew the end of the hunt was coming. Her white teeth contrasted with her dark skin, her dreadlocks flailed around her shoulders as she ran. They were all sweating freely and covered in dust, but they didn’t need to carry water this close to the lake.
He gestured to each of the juveniles to move around and flank their prey. He listened to the world around him and scanned ahead, hearing the birds call, the grunting of the antelope, a dust devil rose from the plain in the distance. There was a cluster of rocks ahead, some as big as an elephant. As the antelope passed one, part of it detached and jumped on to its back. The hominids stopped as more lions appeared and made short work of their kill. Three of the younger ones, who would have to wait their turn, were looking towards the hunters and sniffing the air.
At his gesture, the family turned and ran back in the direction they’d come. Their tracks in the mud ran parallel to the ones they’d made before. The ground was soft but hardened into flat dry rock as they ran.
‘Well,’ said Riley puffing, I didn’t realise there were tracks going in both directions. Our ancestors were running both ways, I wonder what that was about.’
They sat and replaced their footwear. ‘Okay boys, get in the car, you in a heap a trouble,’ said Riley. Nobody laughed, it was an old joke.
‘I wish you wouldn’t keep saying that Martin, we’ve heard it so many times before,’ said Estella.
‘Car start,’ Riley sighed as the engine whirred into life. ‘We need to get to the next lodge before dark,’ he said.
‘Yes, and you said that before.’
‘Car go,’ said Riley and the Land Rover set off.
The hominids washed and cooled down in the shallows, the lions had lost interest and returned to the kill. The female pointed at a fig tree a few hundreds of paces away. She gestured that the fruit was ripe. The male motioned to hold back and went ahead with his pointed stick, he circled the tree checking for leopards, there were none. He gave the ‘all clear’ and the family got on with the serious business of filling their bellies with fruit. They found a bird’s nest with two hands of big eggs, they shared the crunchy half developed chicks. It wasn’t real meat, but it was good. The warm night fell, and they slept in a huddle under the tree.
by submission | Aug 9, 2018 | Story |
Author: Hari Navarro
Large Hadron Space-Time Shunt, Saint-Genis-Pouilly/Global Broadcast in …3…2…1 – Transmitting:
“I’m no speaker. My life a desert of beautiful numbers, a place where words stick as I swallow. I haven’t been chosen, it’s but chance that I find myself blessed with the ability to calculate and decode this mad, brutal, gentle world.
I’m not a particularly brave man, but I do not fear this mission. However, I fear the privilege it is to afford this message. We’re few, we who find ourselves addressing not just our nation but the planet entire.
It a privilege generally delivered after the unachievable has again fallen to the ebullient progression of human achievement. Spoken in the afterglow of unprecedented success, in which we celebrate the advancement of our species as we reach into darkness and return with the grandest of tales to tell”, Dr. Francis Hing coughs into his fist.
“As I literally prepare to step into the future, I can but return to the children of your children’s children, and to them, I will speak and my words will be yours.
So, I ask of you one thing – stop. Address the self-destructive tendencies that have plagued our race since the first instant we formed groups and looked upon each other as rivals and not merely as mates.
Peace can no longer be talk tossed as uncaring coins into the hands of a curbside mendicant, no hollow resolutions, no cease-fires brokered on the backs of munition strafed children.
Cradle this world, smooth for me a destination worthy of return. Allow me to step from this pod and say it was you that built the paradise upon which the future now flourishes.
Shun territorial greed. Be first to slam your compromise on the table, shrug away entrenched bigotry as you dress the wounds of your enemies. Reflect religions inward, for they are personal and not able to be consumed readily by all. Listen to those who warn of the effect we are having on this planet and know – we’re human, we’re family and we’ve no place else to go.
I trust your ability to consider these words, again, they are not mine but ours – stop – listen – build. I’ll miss you all”.
The Hadron shunt fires and then…
Incoming Transmission:
“Dr. Hing, I realize you cannot reply to this message. The answer to your probable first notion is yes, there is a problem…
Eleven months ago a massive earthquake laid waste to your city, your home. That simple building that you instructed must never be entered until your return. And it never was, until the earth smashed and tore it to a shell.
The words of your parting address gripped and a global peaceful evolution miraculously replaced the violent revolutions of the past. Heralded as our greatest and most affecting of voices, oh how we awaited your return.
We cried when your hallowed shrine it fell to ruin and we cried again as the children were found desiccated and dismembered in its walls. You weren’t stepping into the future Doctor, you were running.
As result of the accords formed from your teachings execution is no longer an option, but we must heal, find due punishment for your crimes and the lies you set at our feet.
Our scientists have modified your course, infused in it a flaw. You’ve now arrived at your destination, but never will you disembark – entombed in these my words”
Terror scratches the doctor’s eyes and then, a confused smile as a voice breaks the silence.
“Dr. Hing, I realize that you cannot reply to this message…”
by submission | Aug 8, 2018 | Story |
Author: Irene Montaner
The pink young woman was followed by a green man. A deafening explosion and hundreds of sparkly green dots illuminated the night sky. His features could be properly distinguished against the darkness. A middle-aged frowning man; he wore glasses and was already going bald.
The people cheered and clapped their hands gladly, forgetting for a while the hardships of their daily life in this brand-new global autocracy. Tonight, and only for one night, was a time of celebration to commemorate the first five years of peace since the arrival of the Mayor to power.
Everyone marveled at those splendid fireworks that depicted human and animal shapes so realistically. Some said it was the Mayor himself who came up with this new powder mix that rendered such beautiful fireworks. Most people knew this wasn’t true, though, but they played along and passed on the lie. This is how you got by these days.
A pretty couple closed the show. A golden boy and a silver girl illuminated the sky one last time, their sad faces clearly signifying the end of the happy holiday. Everyone was to go home and be up tomorrow at 6 am, just in time for the pledge of loyalty to the Mayor’s government.
“Seems like people enjoyed the show,” said a coarse voice. Ton looked up to see Joris’ face emerging through the smoke that still hung in the air.
“Yeah,” Ton replied and continued cleaning the debris that was left after an hour of fireworks. “We’ll see what we can grind for next year’s celebrations. Each day there are fewer dissidents left.”
Joris shrugged. “Never mind, I’m sure the Mayor will provide us with some other useless souls. There’s always something unsettling about them anyway, the dissidents. They don’t sparkle as much as the rest.”
