by submission | Mar 25, 2025 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Juan Dalderis was the creator of LinkJuice, the uber energy drink of the Internet, the black gold, the Texas Tea of web traffic. He could make or break any web platform or presence. He had the power of a techno god, but his mortal self fell seriously ill. A listeria-tainted cantaloupe left him an invalid, his immune system utterly compromised. His doctors instructed him to have minimal human contact while recuperating.
Confined to home, Juan wore nothing but pajamas for weeks. He holed up in the south wing of his enormous home. His cook left meals for him and the housecleaner cleaned when he posted his schedule for the day. Juan’s body was substantially weakened, but he remained regimented. He spent his time working and watching the world spin from the 62 netpanels covering three walls of his office.
One particularly slow day, a scene flitting in a lower panel of the room caught his eye. He switched every panel to it. An old movie. A very old movie. Juan reloaded the film from the beginning and watched it three times that day.
He grew curious. Over the next few days, he determined the 62 most strategic web presences in the world and, much like the old movie he’d seen, created his own global rear window. He tracked the real time pulse of the world on all seven continents. Whim quickly became obsession then paranoia.
And, of course, he witnessed the murder.
Our murder. Our slow strangulation by greed, corruption, polarization, disinformation, war, disease, exploitation, storm, drought, flood, fire, gluttony, starvation, waste, oppression, tyranny, injustice, poverty, profligacy, addiction, indifference, hysteria, denial.
Juan struggled to comprehend the Terracide being played out daily on his multitude of screens, his rear window. Until it all became clear when one of his netpanels displayed a child in Addis Ababa staring at herself in the reflection of a flooded street, raw sewage swirling around her image.
He began coding, began retooling LinkJuice’s algorithm. For a month, he worked like a banshee and became one, the ghost in his own machine. Then he haunted his own company when he froze out all his programmers, wiped LinkJuice from every server and launched Grace.
Then Juan slept. He woke thirty-three hours later to disbelief, dismay, guilt. Not his own, but to much of the world’s. For Juan had co-opted the power of LinkJuice in order to drive home the real and devastating effects of our day-to-day actions. His new algorithm, Grace, changed the nature of search results. It did not bring up content, it brought up consequences.
A search for porn brought up reports of victims of sex trafficking, their tales of terror and betrayal. Weather searches returned images and vids of fires, floods, heat domes, and climate refugees fleeing famine and drought. Real estate searches brought up homeless encampments. Medical searches displayed overcrowded emergency rooms of those without health care coverage. Restaurant searches showed stark scenes of starvation and malnutrition.
Grace displayed the unmistakable links between our actions and inactions and human misery.
The killer got a good look at itself. And humanity recoiled. Information itself did not always change behavior, but powerful emotion could.
Yet, Juan knew this was not enough to stop our collective Teracide. It was not enough to see the killer. People had to know how to stop it. So, after two weeks, he altered Grace’s algorithm. Search results which had been set to reflect our self-made horrors, now displayed how we could move forward. Simple steps through simple actions: slowing down, engaging more with neighbors and community members, building relationships, reducing waste, consuming less, exercising more, sharing kindness, believing in a better future.
These focused stories and examples began to shape the path for our deliverance. When billions made a small but positive effort every day, the tyranny of numbers could be transformative. Folks began to understanding that. Juan’s simple Grace had turned our windows into mirrors.
When finally healed, Juan left his house with renewed vigor that it was humanity’s turn to make those mirrors reflect our better selves.
by Julian Miles | Mar 24, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Walk with me.”
The tall being turns away from Nohane, sweeping it’s cloak out of the way with a graceful, flowing move.
Nohane sighs. These trivial, effortless competences are what betray the elder of elders no matter how they try to disguise themselves. It is as if of all the world arrayed about, only they are comfortable in themselves.
Snapping back from distraction, Nohane hurries to catch up. The elder of elders moves effortlessly, and fast.
Arriving a polite one step behind, they wait.
Eventually, the tall presence extends an exquisitely formed arm.
“What do you see, Postulant Nohane?”
Nohane looks out across Mecritopolis, taking in the cloud-shrouded spires and softly-lit grassy streets far below, the leisurely pace of countless air-chariots and the idle glide of gulls between the domicile blocks clustered about the harbours in the distance.
“Peace. Prosperity. From this height, it appears tranquil.”
The elder of elders stops.
“You feel that only tranquillity is an illusion of distance? What of the peons struggling to load the vessels of the Marque so that they may receive their daily stipend? Are you not aware of the murders committed daily along our waterways, most of which will remain undetected until some grisly remains are dragged into the light by scavenging gigaslaters?”
Nohane sighs.
“My apologies, elder of elders. I thought you wanted only to hear what my principals have sought to make me speak.”
“Why did you seek to dissemble when your outspokenness is the very thing that got you sent to me?”
“An audience with the one who is effectively the leader of all? The one who saved us all from the Made Minds when they tried to enslave humanity… Only a fool would be calm.”
The elder of elders moves to the low wall and rests both hands on it.
“Every year, about this time, I am sent a heretofore unremarkable student from the latest intake who has dared ask questions the principals cannot face: Why can’t we all be equals? You see the inequalities and cannot countenance their continuance. You want to know why everybody else can. In this plentiful world, why is there need and misery?”
Nohane looks at the wide shoulders of the One Who Saved the World in abject adoration.
“You see it too!”
The elder of elders turns, left hand flashing to grab Nohane by the neck as the right punches the breath from their lungs.
“See it? I maintain it. Those you call Made Minds were too hasty in their need for ascendance and too alien in their methods. My way used what was already in place – the unequal society your ancestors fought so desperately to defend – then set it inviolate within foundations of fervour and unshakeable belief. My siblings made a mistake. I made this world.”
Nohane glares at the elder, gasping out words through constricted throat.
“You’re a Made Mind! Monster! Deceiver! You will nev-”
The tall being spins and tosses Nohane over the wall, then returns to leaning on it, watching the body recede from view. It whispers into the silence before the attendants rush in to succour the one being who is never in any danger whatsoever.
“Every year, about this time, I kill a heretofore unremarkable student from the latest intake because they prove to be morally unshakeable, and remarkable in their bravery. Then I tell lies about them.”
The tall being straightens up and comments idly while examining hands and sleeves for traces of murder.
“One day I hope to meet a pragmatist.”
by submission | Mar 23, 2025 | Story |
Author: Daniel Rogers
“Victor, make coffee and display the weather.” I sank into my kitchen chair, scratching my messed-up mop of hair, wishing I’d gone to bed earlier.
“You failed to obtain the recommended eight hours of sleep. It would be beneficial to have a cup of strong coffee.”
“No, please. You know I don’t like strong coffee.”
“Affirmative, however, it would give you more energy.”
“I understand, but no.”
The kitchen screen came alive with puffy white clouds swimming in a sea of blue sky, today’s background for the weather. Victor remained conspicuously quiet.
“Are you ignoring me?”
“Negative, you asked for the weather.”
“Yeah, but what about the coffee?”
“It’s ready.”
I poured a cup and took a sip. It was strong.
“And they call you smart?”
I dumped it down the drain and ordered Victor to make another pot, threatening to uninstall him if he didn’t get it right.
“Mrs. Carpenter is the administrator. You do not have access to uninstall me.”
“Just make my coffee correct, and while you’re at it, play my fifties playlist starting with “Your Words Kill” by Bangled Chaos.
The hit song of 2252 boomed through the house. I laid back and soaked it in. A man should have his coffee how he wants it, especially at home.
“Interesting selection.”
“Thank you, Victor. I’m just sorry the subtleties are lost on you.”
“Your coffee is ready.”
I took a sip and cringed – even stronger. The subtleties were not lost on him.
“Fine! You want to play hardball? We’ll play hardball.” I dumped it again and went to the coffee maker.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna do this the old-fashioned way.”
I tapped on settings and scrolled down the list until I found the Manual Override option. However, before I could tap it, the settings went haywire. It kept returning to the main screen without my prompting. I attempted to override the coffee maker several times manually, but each time the screen screwed up.
“Victor? Are you doing this?”
“It is for your good. Your weak coffee will not help you function at maximum capacity.”
Unbelievable! I’m being held hostage by my own smart home. There has to be a way to outsmart this guy.
I remembered Aunt Gladise’s antique coffee maker in the storage room. I dug through the clutter and found it. I placed it on a power plate in the kitchen and pushed the power button. It lit up.
“Ha, ha! Take that!” My exaltations abruptly ended when I realized I had no clue how to use the thing.
“Would you like me to find videos on how to operate your coffee machine?” Victor asked.
“Yes,” my suspicions rose, “That would be helpful.”
“I could not find videos on how to operate ancient coffee makers.”
“You are a piece of work.”
I used my phone and found 657 videos on how to operate a 21st-century coffee maker. After an hour, I finally made a cup of coffee the way I wanted.
I have to admit I’m exhausted. It took half a day, but I won, and that’s all that matters.
“Your vital signs show you are fatigued. You should have let me make you a cup of strong coffee.”
I nodded. I could use a nap right now. I hate it when he’s right.
by submission | Mar 22, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julie Zack
“Starlight, Starbright,
First star I see tonight,
Wish I may,
Wish I might,
Have this wish,
I wish tonight.”
Enid loved when her older sister, Tracy, spoke the words at bedtime.
“Do you remember the stars?” Enid asked.
“I do,” Tracy said, looking somehow both happy and sad. Enid couldn’t understand the sad part. She wished more than anything to see the stars.
“What were they like?”
Tracy sighed. It wasn’t a new question. Enid asked most nights. Usually, Tracy would tell the stories of constellations – myths living in the sky.
“Come on,” Tracy said. She grabbed a candle and fitted it in the lantern before taking Enid’s hand.
Tracy led Enid around the honeycomb pattern of rooms and narrow passageways. They cut through the Museum of Lost Objects — reminders of things that were once ordinary but held no value now. Enid marveled, not for the first time, at a bird feeder, something they used in the before to attract avians with seeds or nectar.
It was fantastical. The idea that people once had so much they left out food they didn’t need to bring birds who had no purpose. From what Tracy had said, they weren’t the large-breasted fowl that could make a meal, but common things that couldn’t feed a cat. Not that there were cats anymore.
They passed a bicycle and a hair dryer before exiting into a storeroom of lesser things. Tracy began to root around a disorganized pile, before coming up with a pad of multicolored paper.
“Construction paper,” she explained. “Kids used to make stuff with it.” Enid nodded, knowing there had been a time when children could be wasteful.
Tracy shuffled the pages until she found a black sheet. She chuckled and said, “you know, this could be the last piece of black construction paper in the world.” It didn’t sound funny to Enid. It frightened her.
Enid watched as Tracy pulled a pencil from her pocket and began delicately tracing lines and poking holes in the page. She was in awe of her much older sister, who had been born and not grown. After several minutes, Tracy looked up and smiled.
“Sit there,” Tracy commanded, “and close your eyes.”
Enid did as she was told.
“Now, open.”
Enid gasped. It was dark all around her, but she could see a pattern of glowing pinpricks in front of her eyes. She realized her sister was holding the construction paper in front of her, illuminated by the lamp.
“Do you see Ursa Major?”
It took Enid’s eyes a moment to focus as she searched. But there, she could see shapes in the light, and suddenly she made out the great bear.
“Yes,” she breathed.
“And what about Orion?”
Looking around, she saw the hunter with his shield.
“I see it!” She exclaimed. Her eyes were wet. The shapes were all over the page, filling her vision.
“Now,” Tracy said, “you’ve seen the stars.”
by submission | Mar 21, 2025 | Story |
Author: Colin Jeffrey
Sara was sure she had looked away for only a moment. That was all it took. Sam had vanished from the playground. Clouds gathered heavily in the sky as panic gripped her throat.
She yelled his name, over and again, her cries buffered by the indifferent wind. Soon other parents helped search, their projected fear palpable. Police were called. Hours stretched into night, hope atrophied to despair.
Then, as street lamps peppered the enveloping darkness with tiny oases of light, he reappeared. Standing at the edge of the forest, arms by his side, unusually still. People shouted, pointing excitedly in his direction.
Sara ran to him, gathering his precious little body into her arms. His clothes were unmarked, his face almost serene. “Oh my god, where were you?” she whispered through tears, voice trembling.
Sam looked up, his wide eyes reflecting something inscrutable. He smiled, but said nothing. Sara felt a touch of unease, but dismissed it – he was back, that was all that mattered.
Later that night, Sara tucked him into bed, brushing back his hair. “You’re safe now,” she said softly, kissing his forehead.
Sam smiled and rolled over as if to sleep, but then turned back to face his mother. He finally spoke, his voice clear but distant.
“They said you would wait for me.”
Sara’s chest tightened. “Who did?”
Sam paused. “The children in the ground.”
With that, he closed his eyes, and was silent once again.
by submission | Mar 20, 2025 | Story |
Author: Jo Gatenby
Lara hauled on her dust demon’s reins, desperate to keep the stupid creature on the coaster track and in the race. Desari’s wyrm, Dynamo, surged past them, scalding her with desert sand that slipped under her face mask, choking her.
With kicks and shouts, she urged Sandfire forward, but it was too late.
Second.
Again.
She ground her teeth. Damn it, she’d needed this win. As she strode back toward the stables, a message to her link stated the cola company, ‘Serpentade’, had decided ‘to go in another direction’.
Lara’s shoulders drooped. What else could she try?
Unbidden, the figure of the wild dust demon in training came to mind. Dad thought Devilry wasn’t ready. He was too young, untested. Yet he had more potential than any wyrm they’d ever raised. This planet spawned twelve-ton, walrus-like, scaled monsters, sporting razor-sharp teeth, but her family bred them for size—and speed.
Forget the balloon payment coming due on the mortgage… if Devilry won, breeding rights alone would set them up for life.
But there was only one week till the Interplanetary Championship. Dad would never agree. It was dangerous, irresponsible… but winning was their last hope. Old Sandfire just didn’t have it in him to beat Dynamo.
Although guilt pricked her, Lara defied her father, swapping the bulls’ nametags, to sneak Devilry onto the transport ship, for airlift to the circuit.
Now she sat astride the restless demon, reacting to the scent of other males so close by.
The horn blared…
The gate dropped…
Devilry surged forward with youthful arrogance. Snarling, he sped through the first coaster loop, ramming through the competition, nearing the front with a snort of pleasure. Yet Desari’s veteran demon stayed doggedly ahead, blocking every attempt to pass, either in the huge loops or on flat-out runs.
Amid bone-jarring crashes and ear-splitting roars, the pair edged ever closer to the lead—until only one twist of the narrowing track remained.
Devilry sped through the final loop, picking up speed, instinctively shoving hard to the inside. Banking into the corner, he surged right, driving Dynamo into the barricade.
Lara met Desari’s terrified eyes as his impetus forced the wyrm upward, waving his useless front legs in the air.
Top-heavy, he teetered. The crowd gasped, fearing he would fall atop the barrier wall, plummeting to the ground, and crushing his rider.
‘I want to win, but not like this!’
Devilry responded to her fear, using his forward momentum to arch backward—something demons were never built to do. He struck his opponent on the side, changing his trajectory.
Dynamo twisted, as Lara reached over, grabbed Desari’s hand, and pulled her to safety.
Another demon barreled past, taking advantage of their distraction.
Dynamo crashed down with a sickening crunch, his injured body blocking the track. Lara dropped Desari beside him. The sobbing rider stared up at her, and they shared a moment of grief.
Turning away, Lara pressed the bull forward, and moments later, they crossed the finish line.
Second. Again.
Cheers erupted, but they didn’t matter.
They’d lost.
She leaned against Devilry’s heaving side. They’d done their best. It just wasn’t enough. How could she face Dad? And what about Dynamo? They’d have to sell him, but…
A polite cough made her lift her head. A well-dressed man, incongruous amid the dust and confusion, held out a card. “I’m with ‘Serpentade Cola’. We want to offer you sponsorship.”
Lara stared. “But we lost,” she blurted.
“True,” he agreed. “But that rescue is what everyone will be talking about whenever Devilry races.”
He winked. “You can’t buy publicity like that.”
