by submission | Jun 19, 2024 | Story |
Author: Mark Renny
When Time stopped it was harsh; a blurred still but dense and difficult to navigate. When it happened to Damien it was fleeting, only for seconds really, a few minutes at most and he simply stood still and closed his eyes and waited it out. They, the men and women in the dark suits and the white lab coats, admonished him for this. They stressed how important it was that he move. They needed him to explore and report back to them.
Damien tried to make them understand that he felt trapped, as if the walls were closing in on him and the sky had fallen down on top of his head and the ground beneath his feet was rising up. He felt stifled and unable to cope with the lack, the absence, but he always stuttered to a halt, unable to find the right words.
They explained that Time stopped only for him and that his movement would indeed be limited. He wouldn’t be able to inhabit someone else’s space and there would be barriers that he wouldn’t be able to cross. But if Damien persevered, he would get used to it and find himself able to move around effectively.
Damien was disappointed in himself, and he did want to help. But he suspected that there were others like him, for whom Time stopped. How else could they know all of this?
As the months progressed, Damien was forced to concede that about one thing they were correct. When Time stopped for him now, it was no longer fleeting. Now, he lost at least an hour, or more accurately, he gained the time. But it didn’t feel like this as he stood in limbo, with his eyes screwed shut, terrified of what might be happening around him, or of what he might feel if he reached out in front of himself. Damien spent most of this time alone in his house. When he did need to venture out into the big wide world, he steered clear of others as much as was feasible.
It was a bright and sunny day and Damien was walking through the park and, when it happened, he didn’t close his eyes but just kept on walking. And gradually his surroundings came back into focus, and it was still a bright and beautiful day. The sky above his head was sapphire blue and the grass at his feet was emerald green.
As Damien began to make his way toward the park’s main gates, he noticed the woman and watched her as she pushed through them and when she spotted him, she drew to a halt at the edge of the scruffy patch of tarmac. There was plenty of space and Damien started to walk around her but when he glanced across at her he realised she was motioning toward him, beckoning.
As he moved closer, he could see that the air in front of her was misty, and drawing closer still he saw that she was standing behind what appeared to be a slightly opaque sheet of glass and with her hands pressed up against it.
Damien stepped in front of the woman. She was shorter than him, and looked up at him, imploring. Damien also pressed his hands against the barrier, and he pushed at it, first with his head and then turning, with his shoulder but it wouldn’t give.
Together they walked toward the gate and the road beyond the park, and they were almost touching, but not quite.
by submission | Jun 18, 2024 | Story |
Author: Jenny Abbott
For Harold Culpepper, the concept of dying had, until now, seemed like a relatively abstract event—something everyone had to do at some point, but tried not to think about and avoided discussing in polite settings. But now, as he lay bleeding by the darkened roadside, he was forced to reassess things. Struggling to reach the phone in his back pocket, he winced and fought against the idea that his last minutes might be spent 20 miles outside of Omaha, following a particularly unlucky encounter with a carjacker.
With effort, he managed to retrieve the phone and remember his passcode. The device had miraculously survived with a cracked but functional screen, and 18% charge remaining. He forced himself to remember the numbers “911” in that order, and dialed.
A friendly female voice answered promptly. “911, please hold.”
“No, wait! I’ve been shot! I need…” he started desperately, only to find himself pleading to a recorded voice set against the sounds of late 80s easy listening music. With blurring vision, he looked at the phone’s screen and wondered if he’d misdialed. Having made it to the age of 42 without ever having to call 911 before, his references for this kind of situation admittedly came mostly from pop culture. But, as best as he could recall, emergency services as portrayed in movies never involved holding. Or Muzak.
Finally, a woman’s live voice came on the line. “Thank you for holding. What is your emergency?”
“I’ve been shot! I need an ambulance!”
“I see, Sir.” She continued briskly, computer keys clacking. “And how would you rate the severity of your situation? On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being the least urgent and 10 being cause for the most concern for your wellbeing?”
Harold looked down at the blood pooling in abstract geometric shapes around his side. “10! I need an ambulance now!” His mind raced. “I don’t wanna die!”
“No, Sir, people in your position usually don’t. I do have to ask, though, that you let me know if that changes. That would need to be coded appropriately for your records.”
“Huh?” He rechecked the number on the screen. It read 9-1-1, as best as he could tell with narrowing vision. “I’ve been shot!”
“Yes, Sir. A lot of other people have been, as well. It’s been a busy night. I do appreciate your patience.” The keys clacked rapid-fire. “I just need you to answer 2 more questions. First, how would you categorize your shooting: was it the result of an accident, hostile workplace encounter, travel-related crime, or other?”
Harold became aware of the sensation that his head was drifting somewhere far from his body. With less than 100% certainty, he decided that a highway carjacking constituted the third category. “Travel-related crime. Please hurry!”
“Just one last question. Would you be willing to complete a short customer-satisfaction survey at the end of this call? Your feedback is greatly appreciated.”
“Yes! Whatever! I need an ambulance!”
“Thank you. We appreciate your input. I’ll have an ambulance sent to your location.” After a momentary pause, “I do ask that you stay where you are, so the paramedics can find you. We’re using the GPS coordinates indicated by your phone, so some margin of error is possible.”
“I don’t wanna die!”
“Yes, you’ve stated that already. Sir, I ask that you stay on the line until help arrives. It’s been a pleasure to serve you.”
With his last seconds of consciousness, Harold heard the opening strains of Air Supply’s “Lost in Love” drift soothingly from the phone. And then, “please hold…”
by submission | Jun 16, 2024 | Story |
Author: Nisheé
An enormous clear lake mirrored the cosmos. Water and sky danced in unison as the rhythm of the waves echoed from the sapphire mountain cliffs on the other side. A warm breeze blew through the rows of magenta palm trees that lined the white sand shore. An occasional beep from our trusty aqua-droid lu2x served as a reminder that this wasn’t a vacation.
“What took you so long?” I checked lu2x’s readings as Malik slid the pendant into my pocket. “You act as if you own this planet.”
“Everywhere the soles of my feet tread,” he said, winking.
“Very funny.” I looked down at lu2x to check the frequency status.
“Anywhere I’m with you is home, Nilay.” He stepped close enough for me to bury my head in his chest and take in his scent.
I pulled the pendant and its chain from my pocket. “Don’t act like you don’t like to be pampered, Malik. I’m gonna book a massage too.”
His smug grin dissolved. “Nah. Nope. That’s my responsibility. Only mine.”
“These unscheduled missions annoy me. Something feels different this time. I just want to go home.”
“Well, that took a turn.”
I exhaled and rubbed my thumb over the pendant’s smooth surface.
“You’re more breathtaking than the day we met.”
My feet sank into the wet sand as another wave retreated. I finally met his gaze.
“This planet brings out the violet in your eyes.”
“Let’s just go back, Malik. What if you’re wrong?”
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”
His frame blocked the path to our camp.
I let my jaw clench shut and crossed my arms again.
Ancient harmonies drifted up from the ocean, drowning out the sound of the waves rushing against the mountains.
“Atmospheric frequency is no longer optimum.”
I jumped at the sound of lu2x’s mechanical voice. I switched the alert to silent mode. “These readings are higher than I expected, Malik. I don’t think it’s the right time.”
He ignored me and slid off his wet sandals and kicked them toward the palm trees.
“Wait. What didn’t you tell me?”
“Don’t forget I tried to get you to stay home where you’d feel safe. We see how that worked out.”
“Stop babbling, Malik. You didn’t try that hard.” My voice rising further above the sounds around us.
“Okay, You’re right. It is different this time.”
A shooting star emerged from the blanket of twinkling lights in the sky. The golden reflection of its tail lingered on the pendant now dangling from my hand.
“I get it. It’s beautiful, but that’s all it is. We’re risking everything to come here for what? We have enough data.”
“Why do you think your father visited this planet so often?”
“You’re bringing him up now? Like really?” I refreshed the screen on lu2x’s oscilloscope.
“Do you think you can open the pendant?” It sounded more like a challenge than a question.
I stopped to examine its shiny alloy surface closely for the first time. “What’s different this time?”
He slid past me. His eyes now locked on the lights shimmering from beneath the water.
“Malik what didn’t you tell me? What about this is worth the risk?”
“Because it’s for you, Nilay.”
I reached to grab his arm, but he was already waist deep. I felt a warm jolt in my palm. The pendant released a gold sonic wave toward the water where Malik stood. It hovered there for a moment, then dispersed into the atmosphere. “Okay, this is different,” I whispered.
by submission | Jun 15, 2024 | Story |
Author: Tobias Hope Young
The falling star landed about fifteen years back. Killed everything in a ten-mile radial.
Science folks say it did this by changing the center of cavity in the area. Ya see cavity is the thing that keeps us from floating away, and the center of cavity is at the center of the earth, but since the falling star was magic it changed it so that inside the ten-mile radial the center of cavity was the meteor itself.
That’s how those poor folks died you see, they fell into the center. But not all of them died. One young buck named Olaf Gunderson survived the fall and climbed out using two axes and a coil of rope. He said that the star had a quality to it, science folks called it an aura. He said that it changed the rules of things, turned people into other things and whatnot. No one questioned what he said when he showed them his axes. The aura had changed his metal axes into solid gold.
That’s when everyone began to build their hang towns, dangling platforms, homes dug into the earth in order to get closer to the aura. Prospectors came and the strip of land that the falling star fell into finally got its name, The Hanglands.
Dangerous place the Hanglands. All of those prospectors trying to get to the center of the radial. Trying to turn their metal into gold. But if you’re not careful you’ll find yourself going to the center a lot faster than you expected, cause you’ll be falling to your death.
None of the dangle towns have reached the center, apparently it gets more dangerous the deeper you go.
Not only does the aura create some awfully dangerous trickery but the cutters run rampant down there. Cutters are what we Hanglanders call the bandits around there parts. Get there names by threatening to cut the ropes that prospectors use to lower themselves.
Dangerous work prospecting. Easier to steal. That’s why the great state of Nevada hired me, to go to the Hangland and bring some semblance of safety and order.
No, I’m not a lawman. I sell rope.
Go ahead, laugh.
I remember a young buck not too much older than you is. Cept he was shorter and a whole lot stronger. He came to me, hat worn on the side of his face to keep out the sun and he laughed at buying rope too. Said he was gonna go down the same way Olaf Gunderson went.
And he did. He turned his axes to gold along with a few other things. Except when it came to climbing out he had a more difficult time of it, all that gold he was carrying was awfully heavy.
The boys from Fort Cling found him a week later, the cutters had taken his gold axes but had the decency to leave him in a tree.
The rangers almost shot him on account of how he looked. Thought he was some sort of bear. They had to telegraph to the outside for a doctor, cept they didn’t need one. The young man was healthy as ever, cept the aura had changed him. Instead of coming back as a hale young man he instead came back as a hale young platypus.
Don’t believe me? That’s okay, he’s selling rope of his own down the way. But you can’t buy good rope from a platypus, trust me, you’ll only be able to find good rope here.
by submission | Jun 14, 2024 | Story |
Author: Jennifer Thomas
Esteemed benefactors, honored guests:
Thank you for attending today’s repatriation ceremony.
We begin with our customary Planetary Acknowledgment. We gratefully recognize the communities on whose ancestral and unceded planet we gather today. We acknowledge the planetary dispossession and involuntary removals suffered by the inhabitants. While we have no intention of ceding the planet back to them, we honor them by humbly seeking knowledge of their history and customs.
Our subject today is the return of all items in Lot 864NV, here before you. Working with advisors from the remaining communities on this planet, the Provenance Research Unit has classified these objects as culturally significant artifacts. We determined that they were looted by the scouting parties who arrived here more than 300 years ago, in search of habitable land. Can you believe we treated our own planet like one big toilet back then?
But I digress. The items in question were stored away on the colony ship and forgotten. The trove was rediscovered when the ship, nearing the end of its useful life, was dismantled. The owners of the colonization fleet, baffled by what they had, sent the objects to our Interplanetary Museum Network. They were arranged as a traveling collection and have been on display throughout the empire ever since.
May I share a personal note with you today? As a museum curator, I wrestle with difficult ethical choices in situations like this. Children and adults alike have delighted in viewing objects from this planet. By returning the items, are we taking away meaningful learning experiences that can spark curiosity and interest in unfamiliar cultures? Well, probably. But the claims of this planet’s communities are unassailable. The objects were stolen and must be returned.
As an aside, I call your attention to Item 864NV-94. Curiously, our advisors have been uninterested in its return to the planet’s communities. We have sensed disdain for it, even revulsion, on their part. Yet it has been among the most popular with museumgoers as well as scholars, with its intricate metal latticework, its wheels, its peculiar script. The text appearing on the object was translated a decade ago, leading to much debate and endless dissertations on its meaning. What does it imply about the ancient diet, economy, geography, even child-rearing customs on this planet? With the object’s repatriation today, these questions may remain mysteries forever. I leave you with the words that mark the object, which I will try to convey in the original language. Forgive any errors in my pronunciation!
“Whole Foods A Subsidiary of Amazon Warning Do Not Leave Children Unattended In Carts Thank You For Shopping With Us.”
