by submission | Jan 13, 2022 | Story |
Author: Brooks C. Mendell
Every few days, I tote a pail of apple cores, carrot peels and coffee grinds to the steaming compost bin at the far end of our grassless backyard. The chore takes twelve minutes roundtrip.
“That’s a minor inconvenience in the name of sustainability,” I said, delegating this task to my son. “And it will count towards your allowance.”
“Deal,” said Daniel, staring out the window at the darkening sky.
Minutes later, four inches of rain muddied our yard. To save Daniel from wading to the bin, Mom tossed the rotten cabbage from our fridge into the bushes alongside the garage.
I heard her talking to Daniel in the kitchen. “Your Dad isn’t going to like this,” she said. “If he sees it.”
The aliens living in the back of the fridge didn’t like it either. Ever since we picked up the compost bin at a yard sale, we halved the veggies lost to neglect by cycling out old produce. This kept the fridge from smelling like a rent-by-the-week kitchenette. It also cut the food supply to the Meagerbytes thriving in the shadows.
“Eh, Mischa, the mother took your favorites.”
“Aye, Moska, perhaps it’s time we move to the suburbs.”
“Yes.” Pause. “How do we get there?”
“The boy will take us.”
#
“Look, I don’t pay your allowance so Mom can throw old greens in the yard. Will you please put these in with everything else and haul it to the compost bin like we agreed?”
“Sure thing, Dad,” said Daniel, looking down into the pail. He winked at Mischa and Moska before dropping the rotten cabbage between them and carrying out the moveable feast.
by submission | Jan 12, 2022 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
Dean was amazed that he had managed to hold off for so long. He had decided to languish with the minority, but not because he was in any way pious or had some overly zealous agenda. Dean was a user, had been for all of his adult life, for as long – no actually, it was for longer, than he could recollect.
He remembered the illegal and addictive substances and had been a part of that world. It was a hard place and survival was a constant struggle. It was a shady and murky world and Dean did not want to go back.
For him the transition, like of most of his generation, was effortless and there had been no withdrawal. At first he had to buy the State sponsored substances but once he was working and earning enough they became part of the package and substances were simply something to which he was entitled. That gut-wrenching pain, the all consuming need, quickly became a part of his past and Dean was thankful and appreciative.
But the Grade was different and although not sponsored by the State it was not illegal. Almost everyone was using it and it was accepted. There was no stigma attached to it and no risks involved. It was just adding another pill to the State sponsored cocktail.
Perhaps Dean had held off for so long because to begin buying again felt to him like a step back toward the dark world from which he had managed to escape.
Dean was in the Works canteen, his colleague sitting directly opposite stretched out his hand and nestled in the centre of his palm were two pills.
‘Go on,’ his friend urged, ‘take one, what have you got to lose?’
Dean reached out and snatched one of the pills almost without thinking. He knew of course that it was the Grade. There wasn’t anything else it could be, that a friend could hold out in his hand and proffer.
‘Go on,’ his friend repeated. ‘Try it, you won’t regret it.’ Dean popped the pill into his mouth and swallowed.
But he did regret it, instantly. And throughout the day he became increasingly more anxious about how the Grade would affect him, what would he feel? Would it be something new? Different? Or would it be something old that he had forgotten?
Dean thought about the life he had managed to carve out for himself. The tiniest of slices in the largest of pies and for so long he had felt safe and secure. And then the Grade began to take effect and it did feel like something new and he felt different and he began to forget.
by Hari Navarro | Jan 11, 2022 | Story |
Author: Hari Navarro
I’d ask you to look at me, but I know now that you can not.
Will not.
How I too shielded my eyes from you.
King.
No, Devil — wrought within the arching serpents of molten plasma that leap and dive upon your very own crackling sphere of fire in the vast far flung out there nothing.
How special I thought you were.
How special you thought you were.
You’re gone but still your solar dynasty and its ancient moribund echo mists over the hurt that you layered upon my mortal ray-licked flesh.
But know this —
The flames eat and scratch at you far more than they ever did me. I hear your snigger, but it is true.
Listen, just listen.
I did love you so.
Can you see me?
Can you see through the broken veil of my hymen submission into the atrium of my likewise ruined core?
You came down. Stepped off of the stars and your feet gently swelled as they tasted of our earth.
You found me and you played me. You touched me and your fingertips drew back as if you would break me.
I thought that was affection but it was fear — fear of damaging a favoured chattel.
I had never known what it was that I wanted.
I had never thought of myself as weak. You gave me that.
You gave me all of that nothing that.
But now you have gone and my mind swirls around the cartographers lines and it inches up any and all of the mountains that lay ahead.
You gave me something. Or, I took it at least… I do not fucking know.
I am not afraid.
I can traverse any height as I know all peaks eventually fall and bend down unto the sea.
Right?
I sense you now only in the glare of the midday heat. But like the flower of the sun you shy away as I try to speak.
To reason.
To something.
As you spread and glint upon the sea I look at the cursive waves and their foam tongues at the holes in my body. I so wish I was fresh as flowers given upon death — before they fade to pulp.
I did not ask for this.
This alien thing you gave. This thing that befriended me.
Coddled me.
Raped me.
You came into my bed. Like an uninvited God into a married woman’s womb and you took that which was never once offered.
I tried to resist.
I did.
I hit you with fists bound and laced with glass and your laughter it shattered in my head.
I’ve wished for this time. This time when you have left this place and I only sometimes hear whispers of the things that you did.
And, so I chew on the gristle of your residual fear. I tell myself you are only now in my head and I think I am right.
I have you caged and I am the owner of the key.
Am I stronger than you?
Will you ever even remember me? Will you remember the oh so trivial mistake you made?
You are a King, beneath a crown spiked in the most fathomless blades of energy and I am but a girl alone on a gently turning wheel — talk to me.
You are blind.
You cannot see what you have done. Your violations are but a creaking joint in your neck.
I feel you are a Viking craft set adrift — full of smouldering mythology but slave only to the push and pull of the tides.
Answerable to nothing. No one.
I have not a single further ounce of love for you. The fact that I ever did leaves tar on my lips.
I wish I was like you and could flare through clouds but all I see is ever-freezing waterfalls.
I feel you still as you rope my legs and pull me off of the road. The road that leads to the beach with the bridge and the dunes with the bones and the bunker.
I am not stronger than you. I am not.
But I am better.
by Julian Miles | Jan 10, 2022 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“We’re leaving Earth.”
I smile at the pale pink amoeboid that’s maintaining a human shape out of respect, and wearing clothes out of courtesy.
“Why are you doing that, Dorn?”
“The Council of Futures has decided we should seek a new species to mentor.”
“Not some of the pre-sentients here?”
“The Council of Futures has also decided we should absent ourselves from this planet.”
“Why is that?”
“When we first came to these lands, we were drawn by the optimism of those upon this world. So many dreams of hope and justice. A global will to do better than before.”
“What changed?”
“Nothing.”
I put my coffee down and regard Dorn where I consider ‘his’ eyes to be.
“You’re going to have to explain a little more, my friend.”
“After we made contact, we agreed with various ruling factions that our presence would remain anonymous. Our true purpose was never disclosed. We presented ourselves as refugees, and traded technology for a place to stay. Once that was secured, we started the real mission. For all our care, some – like you – became aware of our abilities.”
They’re dream technicians: working to change societies for the better. I’d thought myself unique in knowing that.
“I’m guessing some who found out did something unwelcome?”
“More unexpected than unwelcome. So much so, we have spent decades trying to understand and adjust. Yesterday, the Council of Futures admitted defeat.”
“What was it?”
“Soon after our abilities became known, three males from differing ruling factions approached us secretly. All three had the same idea: they agreed that societies such as yours, with the power to destroy or otherwise ruin themselves, needed help to make it past primitive urges. Each of them suggested that if we adjusted the dreams of the populace to match their particular beliefs, we would achieve our goal, because their way was the best way for everybody.”
That I can almost see: fervent men in expensive suits trying to harness an unchallengeable advantage.
“What did you do?”
“We asked for time to consider, then set our finest Dreamweavers to refining the dreams of those three men, so they would come to understand the underlying tyranny of their chosen ways.”
“How did that turn out?”
“Each faction then sent a female. She broached the same topic, but with more fervour. One of them clearly did so out of an underlying fear. The other two were as committed as their male counterparts.”
“So you modified their dreams too?”
“And those of their acquaintances. We worked our way through entire political groups.”
“To no effect?”
“To limited effect. However, what we noticed more was the clear division between what a person believed, and what they did to further their position within the group they clove to. A few changed allegiance, but not one tried to change the groups. Self-interest increasingly overrode all considerations of justice, mercy, compassion or responsibility. No matter how often we tried, the lust for power and advantage, coupled with an abject fear of the unknown, represented mainly by change, and often portrayed as some sort of evil alternative, prevented any real progress.”
I smile.
“I believe we term it ‘better the devil you know’.”
Dorn approximates a nod.
“That is the term we consider to be a distillation of the traumatic bonds that enslave you in so many ways.”
“What now, my friend?”
“We will leave you to those ‘devils’. We cannot help if you will not help yourselves.”
I nod.
“A bitter truth. Farewell.”
Clothes fall to the floor as my alien friend fades from view.
by submission | Jan 9, 2022 | Story |
Author: David Tam McDonald
“Cara, can you hear me?”
I opened my sticky eyes to see a doctor standing over my bed. A nurse stood next to him looking concerned. “I know you must be confused, and I’m sorry to rush you but we haven’t much time.” he said. “Do you remember before you went to sleep Cara? You were very ill and your parents put you to sleep, until we could cure you. Do you remember that?” I didn’t remember, but somehow I knew it was true. “We can cure you now Cara, but we haven’t much time.” The doctor’s voice was urgent and the nurse was fiddling with something in the background. “We really are very short of time to do it. We didn’t wake you until the last moment, until the theatre was prepped, so you need to be ready now Cara? Are you ready?” I nodded and felt a jag in my hand. The doctor told me I was going to sleep again, but this time only for a few hours.
When I awoke for the second time I was in a nicer room with a window looking out onto some trees and this made me remember trees and the outdoors, which in turn made me remember going inside the capsule, to go for my very long sleep. I remembered saying goodbye to everyone and I remembered being scared. The trees were nice so I tried to shift myself to get a better look at them, but there was a sharp pain in my lower belly and I flopped back onto the pillows, exhausted. Also, there was a very old man sitting in the chair next to my bed. Between the pain in my belly and my fuzzy thinking, I didn’t have a chance to be frightened of him before he smiled at me. His face trembled and his eyes watered but he looked deeply happy.
“Cara, you’re awake, we’ve been waiting so long for you.” He reached out to me, but then stopped and put his shaking hands in his lap. “How do you feel? Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?” I gestured to the water jug next to the bed and he stood and fussed with it for some time before passing me a slick glass, half-filled with water. “I’ve had decades, a lifetime really, to think about this moment and how to tell you everything. I’ve imagined this so many times, rehearsed it in my mind, but now that it’s come, now that you’re here, I can’t think what I was going to say.” He smiled, and then laughed. “I’m sorry Cara, you must have so many questions, so please just ask me.”
I did have questions; about my family and friends, about my illness, about how the world was now. Going by his face and the way his hands shook I had been away a long time. As we talked memories flooded back and when we talked through the good ones he would laugh and also cry a little. After a while he leant forward, his elbow on the bed, took my hand and just held it. I was sure then it was really him, and I felt safe, finally, so I fell asleep again. A real sleep this time; from tiredness, not from medicine, or from that awful capsule.
We were both sleeping, still holding hands when the nurse came in to check my stitches. But when she woke me, the old man, my brother, he stayed asleep.
by submission | Jan 8, 2022 | Story |
Author: Rohan O’Duill
Dylan strained as he twisted the rusty locking mechanism. Ever so slowly, the door groaned open, and the golden glow of the setting sun crept in through the widening crack like a shaft of light into an ancient burial chamber.
The young man stood silent and still, transfixed within his protective yellow suit. I waited a moment, allowing him to drink-in his first image of the Up Above.
I tapped his shoulder, motioning for him to get moving. He nodded and struggled his arms through the straps of the haversack before walking hesitantly out through the breach.
I didn’t miss carrying all that gear. Heedless to my objections, the council had insisted I bring Dylan along. It sounded like kindness, but I knew they were just scared the old man wouldn’t return.
Dylan had spent hours studying the map, but still, I had to keep him from veering off the pathway in this world, so alien to his eyes. The council didn’t understand that there is no substitute for experience, of which I had plenty. The annual journey to the station had been my responsibility for over thirty years now.
We left the stony track and squelched carefully across the toxic mire in the fading light, the muck sucking at our boots, thick as honey. We navigated the safe route with some difficulty and paused a moment before starting the ascent to the station.
Soon I could smell the delicate perfume of aged rubber and body odour accosting my nostrils as the rubber suit became a sauna, every breath steaming up the plastic visor.
I struggled to keep up with the younger man, but I was determined not to let him see my frailty as we converged on the summit together. Dylan dropped the pack and crouched down, catching his breath before standing up to survey the world. It didn’t take him long to spot the lights and smoke in the distance. He pointed excitedly. I nodded enthusiastically — like I hadn’t seen them the past eleven years.
Unpacking the equipment, I started servicing the battered monitoring station. It hadn’t functioned for at least fifteen years, but I had to make a show of it for my companion. After fifteen minutes, I stowed the gear and noted down the seized readout.
Dylan looked over the readings and raised his hands questioningly, pointing towards the far-off lights. I shrugged my shoulders and pointed down the hill. He reluctantly complied, marching back the way we came.
I drew up close behind him as he entered the mire, I tapped his shoulder, and as he turned, I drove my razor-sharp blade deep into his stomach again and again. I thought it would be tougher, but his soft and doughy belly accepted the knife readily. Bewildered eyes stared out through his visor.
‘Sacrifices have to be made to keep us safe. It’s for the better.’
I let him fall face-first into the mud and removed the pack before the swamp swallowed him whole.
‘RIP, my friend.’
They better not send anyone with me next time— those born below never survive the trip to the Up Above.
