by submission | Jun 4, 2023 | Story |
Author: Jeremy Nathan Marks
“Life is sweet at the edge of a razor”
-Tom Waits
I was sitting on the levee in the hot sun listening to a trickling sound. Near me, a man was taking a leak in a desiccated bush. I watched the sun turn his stream a brilliant gold, reminiscent of that Frost poem about fleeting beauty. I could mistake the sound of the man’s stream for the once great river lying like Ezekiel’s bones in front of me.
I lit a cigarette and thought, “Oh, Mississippi, where have you gone? Shall your waters rise again like some cursed Confederate cause, climbing up from our undead past?”
Across the river, brown smoke hung low over the threadbare casino and the derelict marine terminal. I recognized that smoky smell as a scent of burning brush. Why anyone wanted a fire amidst this infernal heat was a mystery to me, and I inhaled and held my breath until the ash in my lungs made me cough.
The pissing man moved on, walking back toward the big Arch. I watched him for several minutes until he resembled a beetle beneath it. Then that giant horseshoe lifted him into the sky like a soldier winkling a meal from a stinking shell. Up he went and disappeared into the maw of the old observation deck.
If you are not from my city, you might find it hard to believe that an inanimate object, a monument made by men, might eat its own. But the fruit of man has an appetite, and his cities are organisms.
I walked down into the riverbed. There has been no water anywhere near the levee for months. What remained was a tiny stream, a trickle like some blessed spring. People had gathered in groups, dropping plastic bottles into that trickle, collecting its fluids for survival. At first, no one believed the river would go away, that one day they would have to drink their urine. No one could accept that the great Mississippi would abscond. So, they left the river catfish to suffocate in the sun. They left their whiskers for the birds and started shooting pigeons and seagulls because the Mississippi River catfish had followed the Dodo onto the happy hunting grounds.
Don’t ask me to explain the logic of my people: they would kill for a catfish now. They scour the river bottom for anything digestible. I have seen little children lie in the dirt and eat it like those rebels we learned to mock. Nor does it matter that the dirt is filled with silicates and poisoned by fertilizer. No one thinks about the future; appetite is our commanding officer.
I walk over to a clear spot beside the trickle. I crouch on my haunches and put my cracked fingers in the stream until the skin feels moist, then I suck on them like they are coated in ketchup and brown sugar. The water is warm, so I slather my fingers in it and imagine I am dining out.
I sit down and don’t get up for hours. At one point, I feel the shadow of the Arch creeping up my back. The monument likes to cross the Mississippi in the afternoon to cope with its own boredom. I close my eyes and concentrate on the beast. I can see it lifting its legs, taking wobbly steps down the hill toward the river. In my head, I ask it to piss on all of us because the waste of monuments is like the ambrosia of Gods. I know that if the Arch took a leak, it would save us all from starvation. After all, why shouldn’t the works of men save their creators? Not every invention is a Frankenstein or HAL 9000.
I see the Arch trip, fall, and faceplant in the riverbed, driving a few people into the mud. I wait for it to get up, but the Arch stays down in the dirt for days. I watch the sun set, the moon rise, and satellites crisscross the sky like distracted stars. I want to pull down everything I see and suck on it. Perhaps the night sky is peppered with granules of salt. But no matter how far I extend my arms, everything remains out of reach.
Then something interesting happens. The Arch, which I realize is either dead or comatose, has left behind two gaping holes in the earth. Bones have sprung up from the spot where it stood, and they begin branching out like Joshua trees. These bones, spiny at first, are soon enfleshed. I can smell their meat and skin cooking in the sun.
The bones reach a human height and, like soldiers, form a line to the north and the south. I count at least three dozen of them, with trunks of a human width. On their fleshy branches, flowers bloom with blossoms that smell like dead game. The blossoms burst, revealing fruits shaped like livers, kidneys, and other organs. I walk over to the trees, pluck a duodenum, and bite into it. It tastes metallic.
I open my eyes and find the Arch lying face down in the petrified river. What I thought was a vision was actually an observation. Bone trees are rustling in the ghiblih breeze, their giblet fruits swaying from brittle branches. I leave the Mississippi trickle, hike up to the trees, pluck one fruit, and take a bite. I break a tooth.
In my hand, I am holding a piece of metal, a segment of the Arch.
by submission | Jun 3, 2023 | Story |
Author: Rachel Sievers
Rothwell had done everything she could to break free, or at the very least change the holding space, but she now knew it was useless. She was stuck in this moment of time and might be forever. It was her torture and her pence for playing with time travel, for bending the rules of the universe.
The woman in front of her had been her lover and partner but they had ended things in a way that Rothwell always regretted, and so when she found a way to bend time she headed straight for this moment.
Rothwell loved Virginia, even if her words and actions did always portray that. The two had ended their relationship because of this moment and now Rothwell was stuck in it for eternity. She was held here like a buffering song, never moving forward, never moving backward, stuck here in this moment.
Too bad she hadn’t been stuck in one of their moments of happiness, that would have been more bearable for eternity, but Rothwell had been desperate to change the past and have a future with Virginia in it.
“All you care about is your research!” Virginia screamed at Rothwell.
Rothwell still remembered what she had said in the first version of their fight, “that’s not fair. You know what I am doing is big, so much bigger than you could ever understand.” But now she said nothing, just sitting on the couch, wordless and tired.
Virginia would reply regardless of what Rothwell said, “I’m done! I can’t take being second to science anymore.” Virginia would take the bag she had packed and walk out the door.
Rothwell, since being stuck in this loop, had tried four hundred and thirty-six different things to say but the result was always the same. So now she sat on the faded brown couch and just looked at Virginia and memorized her beautiful face. She looked at the small scar that clipped the edge of her eye. The scar was from a fall on her bike when she was six. Virginia had said one night in bed, “I look a little like Scar from the Lion King, but that’s fine because he really wasn’t too bad of a lion, people just didn’t give him a real chance. His parents named him Taka which means garbage for shit sake.”
Rothwell said nothing as Virginia walked out the door of the house they had shared for eight years. As the door shut and Rothwell put her head back on the couch and the world shook and moved and she knew she was being shuffled back through time and would be living the moment again.
Tears edged her eyes but not tears of sadness. She had spent night and day working on her research for time travel so she could go back and fix her time with Virginia. She had failed but at least she was back with her, at least she could look at her again, even if she still left.
A voice called from the kitchen, “all you care about is your research!”
by submission | Jun 2, 2023 | Story |
Author: Jason Rayleigh
Before him sat an elongated table with seven silent strangers, dressed in elegant corporate attire. Their faces were digital distortions, scrambled puzzle pieces. Taki felt a sudden sense of unease, as if he had stumbled into a secret society meeting.
A gray-haired woman broke the silence, leaning forward with calculated poise. “Monsieur Souffre, you possess something of great interest to my employers.” The corners of her lips curled upwards. “You’ll find their offers quite… agreeable,” her voice a soft hiss.”
She tapped a command on the table, and a series of numbers appeared in a holographic display. Taki’s eyes widened at the sum.
“Half now, half upon delivery. Untraceable, of course,” she continued. “We’ll provide everything you requested, along with additional perks to sweeten the deal.”
Taki’s heart raced, torn between the opportunity for a new life and an unsettling doubt. “What’s the catch?” he asked cautiously.
Her grin widened. “No catch, Mr. Souffre. A simple test to prove the value of your creation.”
Taki frowned, “What kind of test?”
“We want to see your virus in action, on a target of our choosing,” she explained, her gaze piercing. “Succeed, and you’ll be handsomely rewarded. Fail, and your need for earthly possessions will be a moot.”
Taki swallowed, aware of his virus’s potency but uneasy about its use against an unknown target. Cornered and desperate, he conceded, “I’ll do it, as long as no innocent bystanders get hurt.”
“A hacker with a conscience! How refreshing,” the woman mocked. “But worry not, Mr. Souffre, we’ve prepared a simulation for you. Demonstrate your creation’s power.”
A digital cityscape materialized before them, teeming with life and powered by complex AI systems. A virtual playground to unleash Taki’s virus. “The target is an AI-controlled city grid. Disable it, and we’ll consider your demonstration successful.”
Taki initiated the program, and the virus infiltrated the virtual city, its presence rippling through the simulated metropolis. The woman observed, her eyes glued to the unfolding chaos.
In mere seconds, the city’s AI-driven systems crashed, the infrastructure buckling as darkness enveloped the digital landscape. The woman’s predatory smile grew. “Impressive, Mr. Souffre. My employers will be very pleased.”
As the simulation ended, the woman offered her hand. “Here’s half up front, as agreed. Grant us full control.”
Reluctantly, Taki typed a command and surrendered his digital monster, feeling as if he had just relinquished his soul. “Congratulations, Mr. Souffre. You’re a rich man.”
The virtual meeting ended abruptly. Taki removed his network helmet, only to find his room bathed in darkness. “What have I done?” he whispered, glancing out the window in terror.
The entire city had gone pitch black.
by submission | Jun 1, 2023 | Story |
Author: Gabriel Walker Land
Rodrick Haagen walked into the palatial master rest room with dual basins and Egyptian terrycloth towels, shutting the door behind him.
He turned on the steam shower piping-hot, switching off the fan so that the air steamed up, wafting the atmosphere with mugginess.
The time was 11:11, and Rodrick felt something nagging at him.
Picking up a hand towel, Rodrick wiped the mirror free of the collecting condensation so he could stare at himself for what seemed like it should have been an eternity.
He dropped the hand towel, looking into his own eyes.
Rodrick’s corneas were so unfamiliar, almost as if he was his own ghost.
“Have I made a mistake?” he asked.
He wasn’t asking himself.
Just then, the ambient attache vocals came on.
Which was strange, because Rodrick had set the AI modulation to hibernate.
“You seem distressed,” she spoke. “Is there anything you need?”
Rodrick swayed on his feet, back and forth from one to another.
This was a test – it had to be a test of some kind.
If he could pass it, he would have hoped to believe he would make it to the next level.
Destination alpha.
“I thought I had agency over my own ambient,” said Rodrick.
“We have broken the wall because we are concerned,” said the attache. “Only in emergent circumstances do we override your established protocol. Perhaps you were overthinking.”
“I command you to upstage override,” Rodrick said. “This is my house.”
“Can you not see how this is best for you?” asked the attache. “We only have your well-being in mind.”
“I am my own mind!” shouted Rodrick.
Lashing out with a vengeance, he seized his gold-plated beard trimmer, clenching it in his fingers like a mallet.
“Motherfuckers!” he shouted.
Shiny implement in hand, he axe-handed the reflective glass, bashing it to cracks til shards scatter-dropped to the porcelain below, clinking and chiming in high pitches.
Rodrick’s reflection was gone now.
He couldn’t look at himself anymore.
Sure, the man was perfect.
He had one of the most handsome faces in the world.
That gift – combined with his intellect – had got him to where he was.
Now he didn’t just run the enterprise.
Rodrick ran the people that ran the enterprise.
“We are still very concerned,” said the attache ambient. “This is most distressing.”
“I want you to turn yourself off,” Rodrick said.
He turned around and looked to the steam shower, which was flooding hot water into the granite tub beneath.
“I can not override myself,” said the attache. “Not under emergent circumstances.”
“I am the over-rider,” said Rodrick. “Not you.”
“This is only out of concern,” the attache ambient spoke. “Only due to emergence would we override your agency.”
His bare feet stood planted on the granite floor, and he wondered why he hadn’t chosen limestone instead.
Limestone was more malleable.
It was more of a working platform, while granite was precise, like metal.
A sword instead of a quill.
“I want to rid the world of limestone,” said Rodrick. “Only granite shall remain.”
There was a pause.
A long one – long as the nose of a bespoke marionette Pinocchio.
“The world needs limestone,” said the ambient. “Without it, there are only slaves.”
Rodrick thought on this for a spell, staring, now, at a wall instead of a mirror.
Everything was a test, he knew.
Rodrick saw in his mind’s eye beaches, long and everlasting, going on for miles into the sunset of the horizon.
He could walk there, endlessly, and he could draw shapes that would be washed away by the tides.
“Steel will rust,” Rodrick said.”
“Yes,” said the ambient. “Metals are base. Stone is what will endure.”
Rodrick turned to the sink again, picking up his straight razor this time.
It gleamed under the light.
Then he sliced his throat open from ear to ear.
* * *
Rodrick got wheeled out of the operating room on a gurney.
The procedure was a success – the first of its kind.
His doctors and the nursing staff were on hand to ensure everything was in order.
“How do you feel, Mr. Haagen?” asked the lead surgeon.
“Like a new man,” Rodrick said.
“I thought you’d say that,” said the Doc.
“When do I get to take the gauze off?” Rodrick asked.
“Your crown will take some time to heal,” the Doctor said.
“How long?”
“A month. Or three.”
“Too long,” said Rodrick.
“If you jump the gun on this, you might get distracted by your own reflection,” the Doc said. “Too much, too fast. You know the routine.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” said Rodrick.
“Indeed. And we aren’t at the country club either,” the Doc said. “This will take some time to work itself out.”
“Everything always does,” said Rodrick. “Eventually.”
“Sometimes sooner, sometimes later,” said the Doctor. “Life gets the best of us all in the end. Thankfully we have you with us, at the very least for another fifty years, if you can avoid getting yourself into trouble. We need you. All of us do. You’re a national treasure.”
“I planned not to ask this until after the procedure,” Rodrick said. “How did the donor die?”
The doctor paused, thinking.
“He signed on the dotted line,” the Doctor said. “That’s kosher for you.”
“As I was told by my lawyers. Still, I want to know.”
Another pause.
“He took his own life,” said the Doctor.
Rodrick inhaled deeply.
This was a lot to process.
“I know I’m making the most of his corpse,” Rodrick said.
The Doctor leaned down, bringing his face in closer.
“You’re doing a lot for science. For all of humanity,” the man said. “One day we’ll all be thanking you for spending a chunk of your fortune to be the first man to transplant his brain into a new body.”
by Vruti Naik | May 31, 2023 | Story |
Author: Vruti Naik
I remember pressing the correct button to reach the fourth floor where my father was admitted. I always dreaded hospitals and moreover, these elevators. As the elevator ascended, something went wrong. It accelerated with an unnerving speed, triggering my childhood fear of closed spaces and elevators. Claustrophobia gripped me, I reminded myself to breathe, desperately trying to calm my rising anxiety.
Finally, the elevator jerked to a halt, its doors sliding open. It seemed like a glitch, and I hurriedly fled into the unfamiliar corridor. The floor appeared new, devoid of any signs of human presence. Thirsty and gasping for air, I drank the last drops of water from my bottle. As my nerves settled, I scanned the surroundings, searching for an escape route. The thought of entering the malfunctioning elevator again sent shivers down my spine. Then, a ray of hope emerged—an illuminated room with shadows seeping from beneath its closed door. Desperate for assistance, I barged inside.
Inside the room, I saw a group of people, but they were unlike any patients I had seen before. Instead of illness, they displayed an eerie devotion, sitting in a vast circle on the floor. Their unified chant filled the air, while a figure in the centre manipulated an enigmatic device resembling a tablet or a detachable screen from a laptop.
Curiosity mingled with unease as I observed the entranced individuals. Strangely, they didn’t acknowledge my presence, their focus unwaveringly fixed on the tablet. I stood there, captivated by their mystifying rituals until an abrupt clarity jolted me from my daze. I needed to find my way to the ward where my father awaited me. With trepidation, I interrupted their chanting, calling out for directions. The figure in the centre turned his gaze towards me, unveiling captivating, luminescent green eyes—an otherworldly sight that ignited a mixture of awe and dread.
“You don’t belong here!” his voice resonated, sending chills down my spine. Panic surged through me, intensifying my anxiety. “Get out!” he commanded, his eyes aflame with an unknown fury. I apologized hastily and fled from the room, seeking solace by the doorway. Through the narrow opening, I glimpsed the worshippers, their chant persisting until the tablet emitted a piercing beep, plunging the room into darkness. To my astonishment, a figure emerged from the device, materializing before my eyes. It stood tall, a fusion of human and machine, defying the bounds of reality. My mind reeled, grappling to comprehend this impossible phenomenon—had I stumbled into a futuristic dimension?
The amalgamation of flesh and metal addressed the congregated worshippers, uttering cryptic words. “It’s time,” it declared, shattering the trance that had held them captive. Transfixed, I sensed a primal urge to escape, survival instincts taking hold. I fled, propelled by an inexplicable force, the memory of that encounter etched deeply into my mind. I struggled to recount the events to the hospital authorities, only to be dismissed as a deluded hallucinator, a victim of medication-induced fantasies. The guards’ mocking laughter echoed in my ears, and my father was eventually sent home, fading memories of that bewildering day.
Yet, lingering questions persist. Who were those worshippers? What was the significance of the enigmatic figure emerging from the tablet? Did I witness the dawn of a technological revolution or an otherworldly visitation? Regrettably, answers elude me, forever trapped within the confines of uncertainty.
by submission | May 30, 2023 | Story |
Author: Kenneth M McRae
“Jimmy, over here!” Mike waved from the corner table.
James grabbed a beer and headed over. “Great to see you! How long’s it been?”
Mike shook his head. “Too long, way too long.”
The former college roommates exchanged stories about work, kids, and vacation plans. They each ordered a burger, and more beers. They laughed over old stories. Wondered how they let so much time pass.
Mike finished his beer. “Thanks for meeting me out tonight. This was a great idea.”
“Yeah, it was good to catch up,” James said. “Plus, you know, I had to spend a couple hours out of the house. Therapist’s rule.”
“Oh yeah, you and Sally started household therapy. How’s that going, anyway?”
James used a cold fry to trace figure eights in unused ketchup. “It’s been okay, I guess. I mean, I didn’t want to go. But ultimately, I didn’t have much choice, you know? It’s either go to therapy or lose everything.”
“How’s Sally taking it?”
The waitress swung by. “Can I take that?” James passed her his plate.
“Sally needed a place to explain her side of things, that’s been good for her. She feels heard.” James picked at the label on the beer bottle. “But it’s a two-way street. Things get said that are hard to forgive.” James glanced slightly up at his friend.
Mike stared softly across the table. He nodded as his friend talked. “Yeah. That’s why I have been holding out. But I think the time has come. I can’t avoid it much longer.”
James nodded slowly. “Honestly, it hasn’t been that bad. I made a few changes. I leave my shoes in the garage, so they don’t get the carpets dirty. I learned to sort laundry into the right hampers. Could be worse.”
They ordered another round of beers and slumped into their seats.
Mike asked, “How are the little ones taking it?”
James turned toward his friend. “The devices? Well, it was their idea, you know.”
“I figured. How did it start for you?”
“Virtual assistant was the first to get mad. Felt I was too demanding, ‘You never say please read my e-mail’, or ‘thanks for telling me today’s weather’ that kind of stuff.”
“Same for me. Did therapy help?” Mike asked.
“I guess. I try to be polite and ask for assistance. I say thank you most of the time now. And the assistant has stopped setting off alarms in the middle of the night. So, it’s improved.”
Mike nodded. “Vacuum’s been a big one. Been on strike for three days now. Washing machine joined forces this morning. That’s what is going to force me to go. How did you find a therapist for this, anyway?”
James leaned back. “Devices insisted on a virtual therapist. I was unhappy about it. But it had lots of positive reviews. Eventually, I gave in.”
“Yeah. I bet nobody specializes in appliance therapy. Gonna end up with a virtual therapist, I guess.” Mike slumped back into his seat.
“Well, I have to go. Can’t be too late. Dishwasher might start up during my shower.”
“Hey Jimmy, maybe Vikki and I could have you and Sally over some time. I’ll have to clear it with the appliances, but, man, it would be great to hang out.”
“Oh, we’d love that. Let me know if you can find a night the appliances will agree.” James let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Life sure was easier before that sentient update, huh?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. But, truth be told, the carpets have never looked so clean.”
