by submission | May 19, 2017 | Story |
Author : Joseph Lyons
“Hi, I’m Evan.” I introduce myself to the first lady to sit opposite me.
“Clarissa.” We shake, left handed so she can purposefully check my bio-clock. She’s nice enough to make polite small talk for the duration. Shame she has no interest I think as she walks away, she was cute.
A stern middle aged woman next.
“Evan.” I offer.
“Trixie.” The name and the outfit don’t match. “Don’t.” She says, obviously used to some reaction. I quickly realize small talk isn’t an option and struggle toward a meaningful question. She beats me to it.
“Why can’t you find love?” Holy shit, intimidating much?
“I haven’t met the right woman.”
She smells a lie. “How much time you got?”
“All night if need be.”
“You look toned, you exercise?” I nod. “Why?” She’s slim, same as everyone else. That’s what a healthy diet but no exercise will do for you. “You have some disease that means you must?”
“No. I enjoy how it makes me look.”
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t add heartbeats you know, only subtract.”
She grabs my arm to check the wrist display.
“55 years, are you joking? I have 83 and I’m planning for the long term. You’re not helping yourself, waster.”
“You’re right, no more wasting. Take your frail, smoothie chugging lack of an ass elsewhere.”
That’s roughly how it goes. The nearest potential partner has at least 15 years on me and that’s what it boils down to.
I check my display between humiliations, less than a billion heartbeats left.
“Hi, I’m Evan.”
“Rough night Evan?”
“So far.”
“Could get rougher if you like.” Playful or threatening, I can’t decide.
“And you are?”
“Tired of meeting losers.”
“Who has time for it?”
“I certainly don’t. I only started with 65 years.”
“Started with?”
“I’m down to 62.”
“How the hell did you do that?” Having said that, I knocked mine down by about a month just by exercising.
“Chocolate, red meat, exercise, overly athletic sex, sky diving. And you?”
“55 years actually.” And I thought I was daring.
“Huh, so I guess you have to live fast too.”
“I try to keep a balance mostly. Gotta try and make 55 after all. Doctors said a heart attack or stroke is likely from 48 onwards.
“Gives you 20 or so years to really go at it.”
“Sure.”
“You’re cute. And I do like the athletic look you’re rocking. Better than those salad munching skinny dudes anyway.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me be forward. I want to live a great life. Existing has never been enough. Theres nothing quite like that feeling of sending your heart rate into the red zone. So, how about this, you knock 30 seconds off my life and we’ll leave right now. You can spend the next 20 years trying to get my life expectancy down near yours.”
I don’t hesitate. Beautiful, smart, strong, and loving life. I underhook an arm and spin her face up onto the table to kiss her. I learned that from an old Spiderman movie. My heart explodes, I see stars and the butterflies attack in droves. And the kiss goes on. She’s blushing, shocked. Guess its time to see if she backs it up.
Our eyes lock before she sits up and adjusts her hair. She stands then throws herself at me and we kiss again.
“Lets get out of here.” She whispers into my ear. I don’t dare check how many beats I have left as I grab her hand and make for the door.
by submission | May 18, 2017 | Story |
Author : Kate Runnels
Issa steered the wasp closer to the distant speck in the sky. A flash of light off metal had sparked her attention. It was an Airship, but whose?
Dodoma City hadn’t had a good haul in months. They wouldn’t tangle with a Royalty cruiser. But if it was an independent or one from an unaligned aircity, well, those cities left on the ocean surface like Dodoma would take their fair share.
Issa swooped closer on her one man wasp scout ship. She didn’t see any markings associated with the Royalty and grinned into the wind as she rocked the wasp first one way and then back, signalling to the other scouts she’d found something. She then radioed in to the city to send reinforcements and gave her coordinates and estimated speed.
Two others formed up with her and they buzzed the airship to gauge its response, but there was no one manning the guns. Which means they were caught woefully unprepared or were undermanned. All the better for us, Issa thought.
She signaled again and then the three landed near the engine room near the aft – on one of the landing decks, starboard side. Still no response. Good. if they took the engine room they had the captain by the balls and then their reinforcements could land unhindered. The ship would be there’s and more importantly, the cargo.
Each wasp settled lightly. They lashed them to the deck before entering into the engine room. Again, there was no one. Out of the wind, the room hummed pleasantly, smelling of oil and ozone. Knives in hand, they relaxed slightly when nothing happened.
Bay locked the hatches while Lekan studied the communications tubes near the front. Issa looked around the room. She peered down the crankshaft room into darkness, before turning back.
“What a haul,” said Lekan.
“How long until reinforcements?” she didn’t smile back.
“About five minutes.”
“I think we can hold off until then.” Suddenly an arm came around her neck from behind as the other arm grabbed her knife hand.”Ahk.”
Lekun and Bay turned at the noise. She struggled against the hand moving her knife upwards without her control. She fought the grip, but the knife moved closer to her face, then she realized why. It was a metallic arm. “Abomination,” she managed, still fighting with the hand to slow the knife’s advance. But it was like struggling against the tide, it came on inevitably.
“This abomination will kill you if you don’t tell the others to open the hatches, now!”
Issa nodded, the arm still around her throat. Bay released the lock and the hatch opened immediately with several of the crew entering and quickly disarming the three. Issa finally had a good look at her captor, the abomination of flesh and metal. Issa clenched her teeth. She couldn’t believe it, shame and anger filled her. To be captured by a young girl!
“Nicely done, Torque,” said the one with captains tabs on the collar. He was a good looking oriental, not much older than Issa. “you’ve saved us again. Mel, forty five degrees to port and max thrust. Let’s be away before more arrive.”
“Aye, Captain.”
But Issa only had eyes on the girl. She now had a name to go with the face. Torque.
Torque, you abomination, I will have my revenge.
by submission | May 17, 2017 | Story |
Author : Melannie Jay
I ran a thumb over the milky flesh of my inner forearm, marvelling at what Mark had done to me. What used to be a knotted mess of puckered flesh had been made smooth again, without even a silver sliver to indicate what had happened three months ago in Augusta after a night of heavy drinking and regret.
Mark smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck as I touched the other arm, then felt under my shirt for traces of the other familiar scars he had erased. Thousands of dollars leading up to remaking the perfect body and he had done the procedure for three hundred. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the first thing I wanted to do was hack and slash to make it feel like mine again.
“I made a couple of enhancements. Free of charge, and I can take them out if you don’t like them. Do you want to see?”
I nodded and he led me to a full-length mirror where I could see what he meant, but it barely fit in sight. Two massive pairs of mechanical wings extended from my shoulderblades. The folded top was just above my head and the bottom of the feathers cut off at my knees. The silver gleamed even in the dark light of Mark’s basement surgery room.
“The scars on your shoulders… They kind of reminded me of wings, and I had these laying around. I was waiting for someone to put them on. Thought it would be a surprise. You can tell me if you hate them, I won’t be offended. Promise. Probably should have told you before.”
Mark trailed off, jammed his hands in his pockets, and the only sound was the gentle whirring of the wings he had put on me. They were lighter than I imagined, not so heavy that my shoulders slumped forward. If anything, my posture seemed better.
“They’re too heavy to actually fly with, but they make a statement. And you can move them if you want.”
I didn’t look at Mark, but I clenched my shoulders and watched as the wings unfurled, showing off his craftwork while almost taking off his head in the process. The face in the mirror broke first into a small smile, then a grin. Silver had always been my color.
by submission | May 15, 2017 | Story |
Author : James Hunter
Joe Miller stood silent in his dressing room. He was set to take the biggest stage of his life, yet he felt no nerves, no butterflies, he felt dead to the world.
Joe “Knuckles” Miller had wanted to be a pro fighter his entire life. He had done well on the regional circuit but once he received the call up to the big leagues, he had appeared to find his ceiling. After losing his first three fights Joe was faced with a do or die situation. Another loss, or even a close win, would end with his contract being terminated.
With an indignant end to his short career in sight, Joe began to get desperate. He was willing to do anything to start winning, even if it meant cheating.
One’s willingness to cheat however had little bearing on one’s ability to do so. The days of performance enhancing drugs had long since passed leaving little options other than to try and sneak in the occasional low blow or eye poke. It wasn’t until one night over a few drinks with his uncle that Joe found his easy out.
“I know it’s hard out there Joe, some of those guys are killers.” Uncle Tim said behind a sip of whiskey.
“I’m a killer! You should see me in the gym. I’m like a master painter or something but under the bright lights I can never put it together.”
Tim nodded and took another drink. “It’s all about having an edge over your opponent. They used to do it with drugs but now all the best fighters have cybernetics.”
“Huh?” Joe stared blankly with his mouth hanging open slightly.
“Implants, state of the art stuff. My company designs them. One in each eye and hand, then you’ll land every punch you throw.”
“But if I got caught…” Joe trailed off.
“Nothing they could do to you. This is that new, there aren’t even rules about it yet.” he said with a smile and a clumsy wink.
This was exactly what Joe had been hoping for. Within six months he had undergone three surgeries to complete the procedure. Now only two years since receiving the upgrades he was fighting for the title.
A cameraman entered the dressing room and immediately swooped down in front of Joe for a low angle.
“Throw some combos for me.” he said.
Joe shadowboxed for the camera and bounced around on his soft, spongy practice mat. He was moments away from his walkout and still he felt nothing but despair. He knew he could never truly realize his dream. Even if he left that night with his arm raised and a belt around his waist, he would never be a champion.
by submission | May 14, 2017 | Story |
Author : Matthieu C. R. Cartron
Funny that they called her a mother, for she had neither sons nor daughters. Ancient but lively, she was as old as all of those who had been created alongside her. Every day she would look around, slowly, to watch her neighbors, hoping that it would be different, that they might awaken from death. But every day she was given a sorrowful reminder.
She was alone.
She ate the warm light, and had no choice but to do so. She waited. And waited. Eventually, she experimented, and found a way to create it–something to bring her a passive sort of company. She had found a way to create them, microbes, and once they came into existence, they became essential to her.
They borrowed some of her energy, but she didn’t mind. They returned the favor with their innocent presence, an ignorant sort of mutualism. She knew of them but they never knew of her.
For some reason she had survived. The red being to her right and the yellow being to her left had also survived, but only for a desperate moment. Putting up a vicious fight, the red being came the closest, but like the others, he too fell into a deep sleep. If anything, the Mother thought, he would be the one to awaken once more.
She wondered if there were others out there in the darkness, others who had survived the blast long ago. Maybe they too could entertain themselves with the microbes. Were their creations the same as hers?
But in the latest few seconds of her existence, something went horribly wrong.
A new microbe had evolved onto her blue and green skin, and they were unlike anything she had ever seen before. They were neither the smallest nor tallest, the fastest or slowest. But they were the smartest. In the first few moments the Mother could sense promise.
But after that brief moment, they attacked her. They dug into her crinkled skin and let the black and blue blood spill. They multiplied, using her flesh to produce more offspring and propel their devilish mutation. Why were they not like the others?
She writhed in pain, jolting and disrupting the mutated microbes. They seemed to take no notice though, and perhaps this was because they simply did not care. They were galvanized by self-interest–but if only they were when it mattered. Had that been true, it might just have saved them.
No, she thought. Perhaps they weren’t all that smart. The holes they had dug would become their own graves, she thought. What stupid little things they were. She searched her memory for a solution but came up empty. Her mind fought for ideas but yielded nothing.
Mother Earth sat there, on her axis, wondering what she could do in the next few moments before she too, was dead. And this time, no one would be around to hope that one day she might wake up.
