by submission | May 5, 2025 | Story |
Author: Chelsea Utecht
Today is the day our masters treat us to sweet snacks of expensive corn and sing a song to celebrate their love for us – “Happy Earth Day to you! Happy Earth Day to you! Happy Earth day, our humans!” – because today the orbit aligns so that we can see a blue glimmer that is the planet of our origin. While this day will come to the masters ten or twelve times, we tend to only live long enough to see it twice (and I was too young to remember my first time).
“Look!” My master points, but their eyesight is better than mine. I squint, and they laugh, ruffling my hair, which they keep short so it sticks up on end. They sing, but I’m still squinting, wanting to badly to see that speck in the sky they say my ancestors once owned. They’re talking about the loneliness, living among other humans in cramped boxes, sometimes ten in a family. They’re saying I’m lucky to have all this space all to myself, to never even see another human but a few times an orbit. They’re saying we used to have no masters to feed us and groom us and pick our clothes. “So sad,” they say, pouring corn treats from Earth into my bowl, but I wonder if it doesn’t sound a bit like ruling.
“Eat up!”
I want to hush them as I stare desperately at the night sky that is a mess of stars, but they’ll take away my treats if I do.
There. Tiny. Blue. Somehow mine. “I see it…” I breathe.
“Good job!” They clap. “Quick with your treats. It is time to sleep now.”
I turn to look at them, wide black eyes full of the only love I’ve ever known. And that’s probably enough. Certainly Earth hadn’t been better than this. That’s what they always say.
They whisk me away.
Happy Earth Day.
I’m grateful for my master.
I’m grateful for my corn.
I’m grateful for my cage.
by submission | May 4, 2025 | Story |
Author: Kelleigh Cram
I told my daughter I didn’t want the dang thing but you know kids; they understand technology and we are just senile.
The robot folds my clothes, which I must admit is nice. The shirts are stacked so precisely I just take whichever one is on top, not wanting to mess up the robot’s hard work. Being a housewife for thirty-two years, I can appreciate the effort that goes into chores. Jenna worried so much when her father died, hence the robot. She always acted like he was the stronger one of us, just because he used to work and knew how to send an email. If that’s the case how come he’s gone and I am still here? To punish me, I assume.
The robot reminds me to take my medicine.
“Martha, it is time to take your medication,” the robot says, its computerized voice even more condescending than Jenna’s.
“Fine, I. Will. Take. My. Medication,” I say, one word at a time to mimic its tone.
The robot turns its head, the gears in its neck making a sound that must be the robotic equivalent of a sigh. The robot watches me swallow the pill and I open my mouth wide to prove I did as instructed before sticking my tongue out.
The robot cooks my meals. Today, lunch consists of chicken nuggets and corn. The food is bland, rubbery, forcing me to spit it back out onto the plate.
“Eat. Doctor’s orders,” the robot says when I try to excuse myself.
You mean Jenna’s orders, I want to say. I manage to force it down before going back to the living room.
“Can you make some tea?” I ask as the robot washes my dishes.
The robot sets the kettle on the stove, just standing there waiting for it to boil, something we humans know never happens. But it must have, because a few minutes later the robot sets a mug on the coffee table in front of me. I reach for the handle, but the robot grabs my wrist.
“Too hot,” the robot says.
I wait, watching the news, something about the decline of education since the introduction of simulated classrooms. Figuring the tea must have cooled off by now, I try again.
The robot stops me, its grip a little firmer.
“Too hot,” the robot repeats.
This time I give it so long the drink would be lukewarm at best, if not downright cold. I snatch the cup with as much speed as my frail arm can muster. I take a triumphant sip, spitting the liquid right back up. The inside of my mouth is scalding, the shock of it making me cough so hard I struggle to catch my breath. A heat retentive mug, it has to be. These were recalled after too many lawsuits, people burning themselves. I try to go to the kitchen, maybe get a glass of ice water to cool my throat. As soon as I stand the room starts to spin and I fall in a heap on the floor.
“Robot?” I call out.
“Robot, get help.”
“Robot, call 911.”
“Robot, call Jenna.”
I try different commands, hoping one of them will summon the robot to rescue me.
Finally, the robot comes into view, sitting above me on the couch. The robot crosses its legs and takes a delicate sip of my tea before setting it back down on the coaster.
“Too hot,” the robot says.
by submission | May 3, 2025 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
He turned the corner at a run and slammed his shoulder into the white partition leaving a smear of sweat and blood but kept going. His bare feet slapped franticly on the tile-like floor as he sprinted down the hall. He wished he could wake, but he knew this wasn’t a ‘naked in school’ dream. This real nightmare was a thousand times more intense. And although the corridors somewhat had the look of an institution, he knew he wasn’t even on earth anymore. The differences were ominous, there were no doors anywhere, only stark blank walls. And no ceiling, just blackness overhead, an artificial light came from someplace illuminating the passages. He didn’t slow and the terror behind him was keeping pace. The passage he was racing down was coming to an end and he had to decide whether to go left or right. He had done this before, but he momentarily forgot where he was along the route and had an instant of panic trying to remember which way he needed to go. The wrong choice would mean he’d come to a dead end and be cornered and devoured. There was only a precious few seconds to choose as he struggled to gasp in air and push his legs an iota quicker. Left. He took the turn as fast as he could using his hands to propel him forward off the wall without slowing much. To his disadvantage, the thing behind him had remarkable agility because of its segmented body and it cut down the gap between them at each turn. Down the straightaway he accelerated to his fastest to stay ahead, the voracious snorts right on his ass a reminder of what awaited him if he stumbled for even an instant. One more turn, left again, nearly lost his stride, banged into the wall and pirouetted into a three-sixty, reestablished his frenetic pace losing only a fraction of time. But would that cost him? The end was ahead, sixty seconds of distance run, but the breath of the beast was rank heat on his back and thighs. Had to push the limitations of his body for the last stretch. Almost there. He dove over the threshold and the divider instantaneously closed behind him, separating himself from the pursuant. Whatever it was, thumped into the barricade and yowled in protest, having been denied its prize. Rolling onto his back, the cool floor solace against his fevered skin, he desperately tried to satiate his lungs. Opening his eyes he gazed up into the darkness above him wondering if they were pleased that he had made it again or disappointed that he was not caught. For the next few minutes, he slowed his hammering heart and smoothed out his breathing, knowing they were probably monitoring his vitals. Calmed to near normal, he finally rose and went over to the table and chair, dropping his bare ass into the seat. He partook of the fine meal that was laid out before him, all his favorite foods, or at least an incredible facsimile to the point that he could not detect the difference. As he enjoyed his dinner, he did his best to push away the thought that inevitably, one of these times, he was not going to be here eating his treat at the end. He was going to be the treat. Just not this time.
by submission | May 2, 2025 | Story |
Author: David C. Nutt
My team assembled on the roof of factory near Prahova, Romania. Our objective was the next building over. Non-descript, a gray cube with the latest security measures at all entrance points, to include the heavily tinted sky lights. That’s why we were going to saw a hole in the roof. Repel down to the floor, disable the fire alarms (who the hell does that?) and then torch the interior.
We ziplined to the target roof. The industrial laser we brought was more than adequate for the job. We dropped through the roof and hit the floor. NODS up and on, target acquired. Six palettes of interactive voice assistants, tablets, and laptops. Each one indistinct from any other of its kind on the market- except for some rather strange characters after the UPC stickers. Stamped on like stock or model numbers.
I bought my beloved his device for his 30th birthday, got a fantastic deal on it. He loved it and honestly it worked great. A timer. A juke box. An argument solver. A cookbook. A polite know-it-all. It really made our lives easier. I don’t know how many times I said “We should have done this a long time ago.”
Then he started getting sick.
At first, he was just tired here and there, but things were really hopping at work for him so it made sense. Then he was so tired on some days he could barely move. I took him to the doctors. “Chronic Fatigue Syndrome” they said. There’s no real cure for that so it was some over the counter energy boosters. It didn’t help one little bit. He just got worse.
They did blood tests. “Extreme anemia” they said. So it was shots and pills. The counts kept going down. He was not the man I married. Thin, gaunt, confused. More blood tests.
“He has a rare type of hemophilia,” they said. “Not much in journals about it yet but the symptoms are lining up.” He died four days later. Then our kids started getting sick. “Mommy, daddy keeps coming into my dreams and sitting on my chest.”
That was my wake-up call. I sat bedside with my littlest that night. Around 3:00 am a mist crept along the floor. I was prepared. I turned on the UV grow lights. The mist retreated and back into our beloved virtual assistant. The speaker even made its signature two- toned “off” chime.
I went back to my room, went online and discontinued the service to our device. The next day I unplugged it, bashed it all to pieces and left it out in the sunlight. A few moments later, it burst into flames. My kids didn’t have the dreams that night.
Fast forward back to today. We’re done at the objective and back on the other roof, watching the flames rise. We see ground hugging mists gathering, exiting the building, coalescing. “It’s a dog,” one of my team says. “No,” says another, “Look, it’s a child.”
Whatever it was, it was moving fast, but not fast enough. The light of dawn hit it and there was a bright flame, and it was gone. I switched channels on my radio and keyed my mike. “Mission complete, target eliminated.”
Once, they occupied bodies of loved ones and walked the earth. Once, they had to be invited in, step across actual thresholds. Now? Say a pet name for your device into thin air. Click for notifications.
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by submission | May 1, 2025 | Story |
Author: Nicholas Johnson
“But what if you didn’t have to experience that pain now? What if you already did?”
The doctor leaned forward, placing his elbows on the shiny glass desk, smiling with predatory teeth.
I tapped my knee and tried to avoid eye contact, angry at my therapist for suggesting this treatment.
“All pain is temporal,” he continued when I didn’t respond. “We get to decide when to deal with it. Why do you think people drink?”
I sensed I was about to fall into his trap, but I couldn’t find an escape route. “Uhmm…to get drunk, I guess.”
“Sure. But mostly they do it to shift when they experience pain. Feel a little better now, a little worse tomorrow.”
I rubbed my forehead and tried to process. I shrugged in acquiescence, unable to handle disappointing him.
“And this is the same,” he continued, leaning back into a perfectly ergonomic chair. “Life is simply choosing when to confront pain.”
“We eat junk food to feel better now but worse later,” I said, a little surprised with myself.
His smile could have jumpstarted a classic car. “Exactly! And here we use that simple concept, that pain is linked to time, to create a new method for processing. We call it temporal pain displacement, TPD. You currently deal with pain now or in the future. But,” he leaned forward to set the hook, “what if you already dealt with it in the past?”
*
The TPD implant changed my life. No anxiety, no depression. Somehow the thing convinced my mind that past physical pain was instead processed emotional angst. That broken leg when you fell off the swing? Getting laid off last week. That time you got hit by a baseball when the pitcher’s curve didn’t curve? Your cute coworker rejecting an offer to grab a drink.
“It’s Your Pain. Why not USE it?” The pamphlet sat alone on my coffee table—two days with the implant and my apartment had never been cleaner. Almost everybody I knew had the implant. Why wouldn’t they? It was like those weight loss shots that were controversial a century ago but were now used by basically everyone. TPD implants kept our minds as healthy as our eternally skinny bodies.
I mused which injury my brain had used to process the divorce. The car accident when I hydroplaned into that streetlight?
Despite the amazing relief, a question lingered at the back of my mind—was I going to run out? My childhood had been relatively cozy. Other than some sports injuries and a couple car wrecks, had I really suffered enough to sustain a lifetime of mental anguish?
I rose from my couch and started to panic.
It vanished.
Fuck! I thought, followed by relief. I must have just used some minor knee scrape as a kid or something. I flipped through the pamphlet but couldn’t find if pain can be used more than once. I sensed I was burning through past injuries as fast as I could worry about them. Pain is temporal, but is it finite?
I felt a momentary wave of envy, instantly cleansed, for those lucky bastards who had been severely injured as kids. Broken spines, fractured vertebrae. That would cover so much mental anguish!
I looked at my freshly cleaned window. Only the fourth floor. I would almost certainly survive a fall to the grass courtyard. I would probably break some bones! I would be able to immediately recover from like the next ten breakups!
My heart never felt lighter, my spirit never freer. I smiled like the doctor the whole way down.
