by submission | Mar 12, 2024 | Story |
Author: Majoki
The float bobs and I feel a slight tug on the line, a nip at the hook. A shiver of guilt, a nanosecond’s exhilaration. I finesse the reel, patient. What will rise?
There’s nothing like fishing in a black hole, quantum casting for bits and pieces of worlds beneath, within, among. You just need the right bait. An idea, a snippet, a premise, a promise. Lure the interest, get it close to the gateway, see what comes.
Fish or cut bait they say. Can’t do one without the other as I see it. Put something out there and see if the big boys will nibble up the food chain.
Entropy is fine for those who prefer calm waters. Me? Get me to the center of a galaxy, the edge of the event horizon, to cast a line or two. It’s bumpy there. That’s how you know it’s fresh. On the edges it’s stale, spoiled and sedate, spread thin, energies dispersed. Things there lack focus, become drab and purposeless.
A galactic whirlpool may suck your line dry, but bait is cheap. Lots of action. Procreative types. Yeah, bait is cheap there. Some say I just throw out chum and hope something will be attracted to all that blood in the water.
But, it’s not all blood. There’s some meat. You just gotta have a taste for it. Like I said, you gotta lure ‘em close. Better if they think about it first. Circle it a few times. If something bites, something bites. The game is the anticipation. The wonder. You can’t see what’s below. A minnow or a leviathan—then again, who’s to judge?
We’ve all heard fish stories.
Exactly my point. Put your bait out there and make up the rest. Truth is positional. The good and the bad. Cast away. The wine-dark galaxy is big enough for both.
by submission | Mar 10, 2024 | Story |
Author: Aspen Greenwood
In a world gasping under the heavy cloak of pollution, the Catalogers—scientists driven by a mission—trekked through dwindling patches of green. Among them, Maya, whose spirit yearned for the vibrant Earth imprisoned in old, faded textbooks, delved into her work with a quiet, burning intensity.
Each day, Maya and her team, respirators clinging to their faces and data tablets in hand, chased after remnants of nature. They sought out every leaf and vine like desperate archivists, their work a solemn vow to capture the essence of each plant before it succumbed to the toxic embrace of the world’s air.
It was on such a day, beneath the canopy of an almost forgotten forest, that Maya’s eyes caught the elusive glimmer of an extraordinary fern. It seemed to hold within its leaves the dance of light and shadow, an iridescence that whispered of mysteries untold. Hands shaking with reverence and awe, Maya logged the find, her actions a delicate balance between hurried necessity and the wish to savor this singular moment of discovery.
As the fern’s details spiraled into the digital void towards the global archive, Maya stood motionless, enveloped by a bittersweet solace. Each plant cataloged was a whisper into the future, a desperate plea for redemption. They were warriors in a losing battle, yet it was in these small victories that hope found a way to flicker and grow.
Amid the crumbling ruins of their world, the catalog stood as a beacon—a collection of whispers from the past reaching into the future. It embodied both the promise of resurgence and the lament for a beauty lost. And in Maya’s heart lived the fragile hope that someday, guided by their digital herbarium, humanity would sow the seeds for a new, thriving Earth, rising from the ashes of its own recklessness.
by submission | Mar 9, 2024 | Story |
Author: Janice Cyntje
Alfonso stood near the podium of his community center’s conference room and waivered. Although he was grateful that his niece had invited him to speak at this 12-step support group, he was nevertheless cautious of the emotional fallout from airing his life’s dirty laundry.
Beads of perspiration trickled down his brows as he thought about sharing his run ins with the law, orders of protection against 2 past girlfriends and a spotty employment history. A messy life, he thought, taking a step back from the podium; I’ll speak next month.
He turned his face away from the audience and started towards his chair, when unexpectedly, he heard a familiar voice call out from the back of the room. His niece Carmen had just arrived at Emotions Anonymous and beamed a smile towards him as she shouted, “Let’s go Tio!” pumping her fist in the air. Her enthusiastic reception warmed his heart and strengthened his resolve. Familia en la casa! he thought smiling.
Squaring his shoulders, he took a step towards the microphone again, and in a subdued but clear voice said, “My name is Alfonso Rodriguez, and I-am-powerless-over-my emotions.” Looking over at his niece, he raised his forearm and clenched his fist, “Today is step one.”
by submission | Mar 8, 2024 | Story |
Author: Jennifer Thomas
Get advice from three generations of Thompson women: Sara (age 90), Lydia (age 60), and Willa (age 15)! They all receive the same questions but answer independently. Today they discuss the most-asked question of the year!
Dear Thompsons,
My partner and I are arguing about whether to have children. I want a baby, but he’s reluctant. Sometimes it’s the other way around. Is it fair to bring a child into the world today, given humanity’s uncertain future? Is it selfish to have a baby—or to not have one?
—Cautious
Dear Cautious,
Sixty years ago, I didn’t want children. I was a newly minted aerospace engineer, happy to focus on my job and my marriage. But birth control was unavailable, I was careless, and Lydia came along. With no childcare options, I lost my job. My husband, disgusted with my “diminished horizons,” left me.
Despite all that, Lydia was the best thing that ever happened to me. She gave me something to live for. I wish I could have paid more attention to her, but she turned out fine. When the inundation began, we hit the lottery and got to relocate together. I’ve been able to help out with Willa and keep the family’s spirits up.
What does my story have to do with you, Cautious? I’ve learned that our desires have little to do with how life unfolds—and sometimes children just want to come. My advice is to loosen up and don’t overthink it. Even here, the kids will be all right.
Kind regards,
Sara W. Thompson
Dear Cautious,
You and your partner are right to be cautious. My mom will tell you I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She tells me that too, but it wasn’t easy for us. Especially the time we lived in her car. Maybe that’s why I waited so long to have children myself.
I got pregnant once our family settled into one of the new 3-D printed bubbles. We were thrilled when Willa arrived, with her lusty yell and thatch of hair. But think about it: no outdoor play, few companions, no school. I’d say she was a free-range child, except there’s no range. I’m not sure what she has to look forward to.
I don’t foresee changes here any time soon. Take that into account in your decision. And beware of the zealots urging baby-making for home-planet repopulation. Sara, who was a scientist, says they’re telling us a fairy tale.
You might find the hardest part of parenting is knowing when to stop lying to your children.
Sincerely,
Lydia T.
Hey cautious I say don’t bother being cautious do what your heart says if you want a baby have one if your partner says no use some frozen sperm or I know someone who might help you what else is there to live for besides new life nothing ever changes here nobody has time for me we’re just trying to stay alive and we’re just waiting but I don’t know what for I heard there’s progress on earth so who knows maybe when baby cautious gets older they’ll see trees growing and birds flying and fish swimming like sara tells me from before the water and cockroaches took over and maybe when people return to earth they’ll have a big parade like I’ve seen on the vids you can go with your baby maybe I can go with you I’ll be 16 earth years old soon good luck love willa
by submission | Mar 7, 2024 | Story |
Author: Jeremy Marks
One morning an unfamiliar odor filled the air. Sweet at first, the scent soon reeked of rot. It was not a domestic smell but something wild: a floating carpet of flowers a few kilometers offshore.
Townsfolk used spyglasses to study a mysterious group of floaters, a floating carpet of uncountable horned plants. Giant things, they sprouted yellow cones or “horns” at least a meter high. Surrounding the horns was a corona of leaves fanning out several meters in every direction. The leaves were white with magenta striping and magenta with white streaks. While the plants undulated with the ocean tide, they made no move toward shore.
Most of those who saw the plants, which they called “the beasts,” were frightened. The arrival of strange organisms was, to them, an ominous sign.
But there were some others, less incurious and more daring, who desired to put to sea to make an inspection. For several days, they watched and waited, hoping one would wash up on the beach, wishing the general hysteria would cease. When neither thing happened, they plotted to sneak out after dark and attempt contact.
The night sky offered its usual brilliant bouquet of stars, lighting the sea like a moon. In the starlight, the precise position of the beasts proved deceiving; they appeared either closer or farther off than in fact they were. Several times the boaters believed themselves to be within arms’ reach of a leaf. Later, more than one boat actually bumped into the flowers by surprise.
Each beast was magnificent. They measured, on average, five meters across. But more startling than their size, or the height of their cones (which were actually over two meters tall) was the odor. Even though the boaters had smelled it onshore, the stink was blinding at close distance. On the long row out, the smell of sweat and salt water had insulated the boaters.
Now, upon contact, they vomited before succumbing to stupor. It was well past dawn before anyone revived.
The beasts were mystifying. Their horns, yellow from the shore, up close resembled ivory tusks, but with a translucent quality allowing each to absorb and project sunlight. They emitted a friable, pollen like powder despite presenting a burnished surface. Equally surprising was how, when a person touched a horn, the beast’s odor evaporated.
But it was when a young woman grasped a horn and pulled it toward her that something frightening happened. The horn collapsed and as it did, a hole appeared, about a meter and a half wide. It offered a sheer drop into utter blackness. She gasped. Others inspected what she’d found. Oddly, the hole had no effect on the water around it; it did not draw in the sea like a whirlpool. This was no Charybdis.
For awhile, the boaters remained practically motionless. The sun beat warm and silent on them, the beasts, and the sea. Then, after some unmeasured interval, human curiosity took over. The boaters needed to know just how deep the hole went. With no instruments other than their eyes and ears to bear witness, they grasped whatever solid things they found in their pockets and dropped them in the holes, waiting to hear something land. It did not.
If that were not frightening enough, the boaters began to feel something stirring beneath them. Whatever it was, it was moving; the water seemed to thicken against their oars. Several people looked into the holes but found no clues. Then the boats, and the beasts beside them, began to rise.
All around, the world dropped away. Rising from the sea, with people and beasts on top, was a vast white wall, extending to the north and south and far out to sea with no apparent end. And the holes rose with the wall.
*
On shore, it looked like the ocean was baring a giant tooth.
Watchers panicked, running inland, seeking any rise in the ground that would protect them from the sea. Surely the tooth had to be part of a larger mouth that would swallow the shore. It was a remarkable spectacle, the ocean flashing its teeth. But if that were not startling enough, the sea began to bellow.
It was a roar, a sound not quite liquid and not quite solid, but certainly of the depths. It shook the shore, the water, and the sky. I It bellowed like a creature rattling the bars of its cage in the hope that a voice could shatter a prison. It was a shout unheeding of reason or reassurance.
The boaters were practically deafened by the sound. Their eardrums thrummed and their heads throbbed with pain. In their heads they only heard the sea -or was it the wall- taking control. And as it spoke, every beast dropped its horn to amplify the sound.
Then, the world fell silent, at least for the boaters. They heard nothing, only felt what the wall wanted them to feel. The shore had become an unreachable world, a home they would not see again. Even if the wall expelled them, they knew they could not return to it. For several minutes, the silence throbbed around them; even the air felt as sonically solid as the mass beneath. Then the solidity broke up.
Each boater was floating; they remained in the boat but felt that it had fallen away. They could no longer touch one another. Those who had clutched another’s hands seeking comfort, no longer experienced that touch. The world, still visible and moving, was, to each of them, void of anything but sight.
On land, each person, whether in town or fleeing, soon had the same experience. All they possessed was what their eyes showed them. No one felt this was the work of the wall; the suspicion was that an alien, or perhaps divine, intelligence was at work. It was the curse of an angry God or, perhaps, God’s rival.
But it was neither: it was the wall. And they could not see that.
