by submission | Sep 18, 2020 | Story |
Author: Naomi Eselojor
The Earth was dying. Scientists had predicted this day would come, but they never imagined it would be this soon. Volcanoes all over the world were erupting. There was a lighting storm raging, lighting buildings, and causing a rampaging fire. Massive wedge tornadoes stretched to the sky, compounding as they collided with houses, buildings, and cars. The earth’s core was unstable; it was only a matter of time before the earth was destroyed. Human technology was no match for mother earth herself. They felt her anger towards mankind, anger towards the humans neglected it that didn’t try to preserve and protect it.
Bianca and her boyfriend, Drun were at the hangar of his father’s space agency. Only one escape pod was left. They exchanged apprehensive looks as they stood beside it. The escape pod could only accommodate one individual. Bianca latched onto her boyfriend, her lips trembled, tears filled her eyes. Their chances of survival were as slim as a thread. There was little time to waste, the ground beneath them rumbled, the building shook forming cracks on the floor that spread to the walls and ceilings, thickening with every passing second.
“What do we do?” Bianca asked, nearly choking on her words. Drun smiled at her and tucked a loose strand behind her ear before pulling her in for a kiss. She needed it, especially now, when she had lost her parents, her three siblings, and her childhood friend to the giant cyclone whooshing outside. She needed to be with the man she loved, to savor the last moments with him because there was no way she would leave him behind. They would die together, together forever.
Drun pulled away from her, “I love you so much,” he said.
With the speed of a cheetah, he pushed the hatch open and shoved Bianca into the escape pod. The countdown began immediately. Bianca, flabbergasted at first, had now come back to her senses. She banged against the transparent window until her hands were sore. Drun looked at her with glossy eyes, “I love you,” he mouthed. At the count of one, the pod blasted off deep into the blackness of outer space.
Bianca, agitated, meddled with the controls. There should be a way to change the coordinates and set course for the earth, she told herself. Drun could still be alive, he had to be. She had lost everyone else already, she couldn’t lose him too. Hours of torment passed by and Bianca continued to bang buttons. Drun knew this would happen, he knew there’d be one pod left and so he programmed it to take her as far away as possible, he wanted her to start a new life, at some other galaxy. If only he knew that Bianca couldn’t live without him.
She finally succeeded in overriding the program, she typed in earth’s coordinates and at the speed of light, was transported back home, only, there was no earth anymore. She was too late, what used to be a green and blue planet, was now a cluster of debris. Her Drun was gone, her planet, gone, it had torn itself apart.
Tears couldn’t leave her eyes, the heaviness she felt within couldn’t amount to tears but the pain would become a part of her, a part of her that she would carry around all the days of her life. With Drun gone, there was no one else to live for. She altered the coordinates a second time. Last stop, the sun.
by submission | Sep 17, 2020 | Story |
Author: Nigel Anthony Sellars
Aliens Announce End to Abductions
ROSWELL, NM (ICUP)-In a stunning announcement today, the leaders of an interplanetary organization that kidnaps humans and subjects them to high colonic examinations said it was ceasing such kidnappings permanently.
The three members of the Alien Abduction and Anal Probing Society said their organization has finished its research on the human digestive system and human waste products.
“To tell the truth, we’re just tired of this shit,” said Sub-Commander Xjpfttt. “I think we know more than enough about emotionally disturbed people’s poop.”
“Plus the smell it leaves in our spaceships,” added Double Ensign Msrwffty. “You just can’t get it out of the ventilation system once it’s in there. Bleach, enzymes, radiation-nothing works. We had to sell three perfectly good space skimmers for spare parts.”
Quasi-lieutenant Vern Yahhhtgpr, who otherwise remained quiet during the press conference, nodded in agreement and held the portion of his face where a nose normally would be located.
Sub-Commander Xjpfttt explained that his race has been investigating the earth since the end of World War II after one of their vessels accidentally fell into a naked singularity near the Crab Nebula. The aliens (whose name is unpronounceable by humans but sounds like a washing machine undergoing catastrophic failure) said they initially chose lonely, isolated, and unimaginative individuals as subjects, believing them to be less than credible witnesses when they described their experiences to other humans.
“Frankly, we had no idea that it would become a growth industry,” Xjpfttt added. “What is it with you people? You take the ramblings of nitwits and either make them into multi-millionaire dollar industries or religions.”
“I mean, just look at this Pat Robertson being or feng shui,” Msrwffty said. “Are you folks really that gullible or are you just stupid?”
Sub-Commander Xjpfttt then explained that abductions of humans was initially unintentional and began when one vessel tried to offer assistance to a stranded couple whose car had broken down between Bangor, Maine, and the Canadian border. One of the pair asked to use the restroom, with the inevitable result. “Let’s just say the lady later asked if we had something called ‘K-O-Pecked 8’ onboard. We had no idea what she was talking about. In retrospect, I now wish we had.”
The crew had to cloud the minds of the couple, the sub-commander added, while the spaceship crew had to be decontaminated and undergo counseling. “Our scientists believed you had a potent biological weapon and decided we needed to study it.
Scientists on their homeworld then began demanding samples to determine just how it was a race could produce such potent methane emitting waste.
Sub-Commander Xjpfttt concluded the press conference by announcing that while abductions and close encounters would not be resumed, his race would continue probing Earth’s defenses for weak spots and would occasionally buzz bass fishermen in Mississippi because it was fun.
The U.S. Air Force had no comment on the press conference, but a government spokesman, speaking from an undisclosed area somewhere in the Nevada desert, said researchers had discovered a mass of hot air and swamp gas in the Roswell area, which they attributed it to a convention of right-wing talk radio hosts at the local Super 8. Motel.
We will provide further details as they are received.
by submission | Sep 16, 2020 | Story |
Author: Tom Purkiss
Do you dream?
You do? Oh good. I do too, I wish I didn’t, but I do. Do you have good dreams? Of home, friends, and family? Do you dream of crowning triumphs, or of wishes you’ve yet to fulfill, maybe a secret desire, or… A lover perhaps; one beyond you’re waking grasp?
Most likely.
Do you have bad dreams? The ones where your car breaks down in the rain, or, you wake bolt upright, feeling as if you just fell ten storeys.
How about losing your wallet and phone on a piss up at the club? That’s not a fun one, let me tell you, yet you probably do dream bad dreams.
But, what of the nightmares?
Do you suffer them? When you wake up screaming sodden with sweat? Where horrors of the deepest, darkest recesses of your conscious come to haunt you? Maybe your self-doubts manifest into maleficent phantoms- mercilessly hunting you down?
Oh, this time I’m certain you do. Everyone does of course. Oh yes, see, I have nightmares too, although not like yours. No, much, much worse than yours. Mine don’t come from conscious minuscule and mundane self-doubts. No, no, you see, mine come from the future.
I envision a strange disjointed Earth. Foreign yet… Eerily familiar. The common world I know is turned on its axis. North faces south. Up looks down. The moon shines while the sun emits a sickly glow. On this distant Earth, the planet breathes toxic fumes as great fires ravage the forests, exhaling thick smoke into the ashen sky. Hurricanes and tsunamis hammer the coasts like an elemental battering ram as floods come flying down from mountain tops- drowning the land below. In these nightmares, I have seen entire cities swallowed whole by the rising seas, or the scorching heat has scoured them with sand, leaving arid wastelands to be buried, forgotten. Billions have been left floundering, desperately grasping the thinning rope of survival as the strands are slowly plucked away by each one of nature’s conquests.
You see, it took me time to figure out, these nightmares of mine. My oh my, did it take a long time, but I did it. These weren’t nightmares, no, this amalgamation was leading to a single ubiquitous Nightmare. It offered a true glimpse of the threats we have let loose upon ourselves. Oh yes! See, you could say we stoked the beehive or poked the angry beast, but let me tell you, it is much more accurate to say we are arming a wrathful war machine with every passing day.
This hellish fate which cascades towards us plagues my every sleep, but alas, I won’t long suffer alone. You shall all soon experience the cruelty of the planet’s justice, like a scourge across the back of humanity, she will lash out with indiscriminate atrocities.
Oh yes. See, now do you understand that all must bear witness to the Future’s Nightmare?
by submission | Sep 15, 2020 | Story |
Author: Richard Albeen
A different world. A different nameless town, a different nameless river.
In the dimness, the water looked almost peaceful. The moon and stars danced in it through the lingering smoke of another war.
It was good to be alone. The weariness in my mind and body didn’t have to be explained or defined to anyone.
It was just the night and me. Darkling quiet.
I heard the rustle of clothing somewhere off to the side. I didn’t look, just became still and listened.
She lurched out of the shadows, a young, slim woman wearing tattered clothing. She was clutching her right hand to her abdomen, obviously in pain.
She walked within a few feet of me, swayed, and collapsed on the bank of the river. I remember how the moon shone in her eyes. And on the blood covering her torso and legs.
I moved over and sat down next to her.
“Let me see,” I said, and lifted her shirt to reveal her abdomen.
It was soaked in redness. There was an oozing hole near where her liver should have been, and she was losing blood. A lot of it. She didn’t have much left, neither time nor blood.
I had some powdered andro-morphine in my cartridge belt. I took out the packet, tore it open, and sprinkled it all on her wound. It wouldn’t do much except help to relieve the pain until she died. We both knew that. But it was better than nothing.
As the drug took effect, she looked at me and smiled. “I knew you’d be here.”
“I don’t know how,” I said. “We’ve never met.”
I think she looked up at the moon then.
She said, “Have you ever known you’d meet someone you never knew who would be somewhere that you were, waiting to help?”
I nodded. A familiar feeling.
“My husband did it,” she said, anticipating my question.
“Why?”
She made a weak motion with her hand. “The war,” she said, “always the war. After years, it makes you into something you don’t want to be.” She looked at me. “Doesn’t it?”
I could only nod. Again.
“He accused me of sleeping with his brother.” She smiled bitterly. “As if I ever could. I love my husband. I always have. He was crazy. It was the war. I love him anyway.”
She grimaced. The pain.
I tried to smooth her hair back. It was sweaty and clotted with dirt and blood.
I was about to ask if there was anything more I could do for her.
It was too late, though. Her eyes were glazed, looking up at the bright, bright moon. I checked her pulse, but I knew.
I closed her eyes. I took off my field jacket and made a crude pillow, put it under her head.
I found her identification in a pocket of her blood-soaked shirt. It gave me an address. And a photograph.
I found her husband after a brief search. He was in a cheap bungalow not far from the river where she had died.
I opened the door. He jumped up from a table, yelling something in a language I didn’t know.
I shot him between the eyes. Laser pierce. Only a tiny hole for one lousy life. Left him there. Walked out into the night.
I don’t remember him very much.
I remember her. I think of her often, and the bright moon shining down on that last night of her life.
I don’t remember her name, though.
And it doesn’t matter.
END
by Julian Miles | Sep 14, 2020 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“What now?”
I look at Rico.
“Mate, the shit just hit the fan, but it’s not immediate. Give me a moment to think, please.”
Tricia slaps the back of Rico’s head.
“He means back the fuck up.”
Time to do like my brother taught me: mentally sum it up like you’re describing it to a person who can solve it. So –
We’re at the top of Hammerton Grange, a tower block where the lower levels are toxic due to an incident ten years ago. We came to steal an ‘unclaimable’ salvage warrant because the penthouse here was thought to be impossible to get at. We solved that with a three-hundred-metre zip line from Spotman Point. The lead wire came over by hang glider, then Helka brought Don and myself in one at a time. Between us we ran that line round the penthouse itself and set up a crude pulley system to slowly drag the cable across from the big truck anchoring the other end.
The truck that belongs to Mally’s dad. She went back first with the easily carried loot. My guess is her Dad decided to seize the payday. He gets rich ‘by accident’, we get marooned. We could call for help, but as we’re trespassing and looting on contaminated ground, getting locked away forever would be the nicest outcome.
Was Mally in on it?
“Helka. Check your glider.”
She does. I get the answer to both questions from her angry scream.
“Are we fucked?”
I turn and grin at Tricia.
“Not yet. Just need to work harder.”
Don, Tricia, Rico, Helka and I spend a long time dragging the cable closer. Lucky for us, the Hammerton Grove Exclusion Zone stretches to the foot of Spotman Point. A few people ringing up about a huge metal rope slamming through their roofs would have been a finisher.
It’s the following evening by the time we’re stood on the highest balcony, looking at the greasy cable that drops away at a steep angle into the shadows below.
“How dangerous is this?”
I shrug.
“SafeBreathe9, what everyone calls SB9, was only toxic because they deployed concentrate at ground level or directly into ventilation shafts, like they did here. It’s why they dilute and dump SB9 from drones now. Anyhow, apart from sheltered places like the lower parts of this block, where residue soaked into the walls, the concentration of SB9 down below should be tolerable for a short while.” I look at them and smile. “Even so, I’m not hanging about or taking my mask off until we’re clear.”
Helka laughs.
“Only you British could come up with something as stupid as immunisation by gassing the population.”
I’m not going to argue.
“Okay, people. Grab what you can, wrap your hands well, and slide down the cable carefully.”
The truck burned for a long time, even with a pair of fire engines hosing it down. Mally’s dad had gone in to activate the fire suppression on board, but died trying. At least his widow and Mally’s little sister have an ‘unexpected windfall’ to get them by.
Rico got really bad cable burns. Can’t even make a fist. Tricia lost her mask, landed in a cellar, and SB9 residue nearly killed her. Both of them will pull through, but it’s taken a lot of our proceeds to get them there. Mally left for the coast while we were dragging cable. Helka and Don have taken their drinking problems with them while they hunt for her.
I finally understand what my grandad said: ‘no good ever comes from stealing a dead man’s money’.
by submission | Sep 13, 2020 | Story |
Author: Ken Poyner
My husband has fashioned me many things of great wonder. A gryphon, our unicorn, the town’s signature basilisk. With his ability to resequence DNA and a sufficient quantity of raw living cells, there seems no end to what he can accomplish. And no end to his generosity. I have birds with gills, the most pleasant of singing snakes.
There are times, though, when I stare idly at my long, glowing fingers and wonder, would he craft more than he can handle?
