by submission | Mar 13, 2024 | Story |
Author: Frederick Charles Melancon
The scars don’t glow like they once did, yet around my pants’ cuffs, neon-green halos still light my ankles. Mom used to love halos—hanging glass circles around the house to create them. But these marks from the bombing blasts on Mars shine so bright that they still keep me up at night. So, maybe, the scars haven’t changed at all, and it’s just that the people in this lunar town don’t stare like the ones from the last city we evacuated to.
Dad carted me off here when he finally found some work filing insurance claims for war veterans. It didn’t require him to limp around on his legs that aren’t marked like mine but are all one shade of green, so here we are—with the people who don’t stare.
To fight the loneliness, I talk about the injuries, whether the people here ask or not, especially while we wait in line for rations. Usually, it’s quick. The food phases in, and we pick it up. But sometimes, there are delays. One minute the food appears by magic and the next not. Back home-home, these transporter pads are how we got everywhere. We just transferred in—no lines. There’s no system like that here.
Before the bombings started, the only time we actually stood in line was the day of the blast. It was Dad’s idea to get to school first. He’d heard his father once talk about waiting for school to start in the morning. Mom thought he was crazy. Before the energy blasts, people just showed up on time. But Dad wanted to be the first at school with his daughter—waiting in the front of the line like he’d won.
So that morning, we woke up an hour early. While Mom slept in, I fixed breakfast, and Dad packed my bag. When the time came to phase there, I held back a yawn as my eyes adjusted from the lights of our home to the distant security lights outside the school building. And I admit it. I was disappointed, maybe even a little mad, when the two human shadows outlined by the light coming through the glass doors stood first in line.
Worse, they were nice. The mom and boy were from outside the city from the same place where Dad grew up. When they said our family name, it wasn’t like the city people said it. It sounded like music. Our name, Bellicomb, was a country name, and people in the city said it like belly comb just like they do here. At first, it was funny until it was repeated, but that mom said it right—bellacawm. For a minute, I was more than the girl the teachers always made the class giggle at while they read the roll.
She was talking about her old school, and then it seemed like the sun rose too early and bright.
I woke up in the hospital with these scars. The rivers of green down the right side of my body and all over my legs could be seen when the lights were turned out. The other patients regularly complained that it kept them awake.
Dad glowed too, but the mom and boy weren’t ever found by the paramedics. The scars remind me of them and what would’ve happened to us if we were just a little bit earlier for that line—or just stayed home with Mom.
by submission | Mar 12, 2024 | Story |
Author: Majoki
The float bobs and I feel a slight tug on the line, a nip at the hook. A shiver of guilt, a nanosecond’s exhilaration. I finesse the reel, patient. What will rise?
There’s nothing like fishing in a black hole, quantum casting for bits and pieces of worlds beneath, within, among. You just need the right bait. An idea, a snippet, a premise, a promise. Lure the interest, get it close to the gateway, see what comes.
Fish or cut bait they say. Can’t do one without the other as I see it. Put something out there and see if the big boys will nibble up the food chain.
Entropy is fine for those who prefer calm waters. Me? Get me to the center of a galaxy, the edge of the event horizon, to cast a line or two. It’s bumpy there. That’s how you know it’s fresh. On the edges it’s stale, spoiled and sedate, spread thin, energies dispersed. Things there lack focus, become drab and purposeless.
A galactic whirlpool may suck your line dry, but bait is cheap. Lots of action. Procreative types. Yeah, bait is cheap there. Some say I just throw out chum and hope something will be attracted to all that blood in the water.
But, it’s not all blood. There’s some meat. You just gotta have a taste for it. Like I said, you gotta lure ‘em close. Better if they think about it first. Circle it a few times. If something bites, something bites. The game is the anticipation. The wonder. You can’t see what’s below. A minnow or a leviathan—then again, who’s to judge?
We’ve all heard fish stories.
Exactly my point. Put your bait out there and make up the rest. Truth is positional. The good and the bad. Cast away. The wine-dark galaxy is big enough for both.
by Julian Miles | Mar 11, 2024 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
Condor’s back. Ten years ago he stood in front of me, the rain streaming down his face failing to dim the fire in his eyes. In reply to my question about why I should hold off reporting, he offered me a datacard.
“Your enthusiasm gets you involved in dangerous events. Bad things can happen to good people for no reason, yet you go hunting bad things. You’ve heard the old one about a ‘get out of jail’ card?”
I nod.
“This is a ‘get out of hell’ card. One day, you’ll be in so deep nothing can help you. Use this. We’ll come. That’s why you’re going to hold off broadcasting.”
I cursed myself up and down for complying. Lost a promotion over it, too. But something about his words struck deep. I’m a reporter. It’s a career that’s never been highly regarded, especially by those with things to hide. In a universe-spanning empire of very human bureaucracy, corruption, and power games, that card gave me the confidence to do things my competitors wouldn’t. I made my name as fearless and incorruptible. But, like he hinted, bad things will eventually happen. Yet, even when they did, I held off from running the datacard until I lost my drones, the mercenaries, my crew, and my left arm.
His eyes haven’t changed.
“Camilla. Problems getting in or out?”
I smile: “News is news. The scope has widened. The access hasn’t.”
He gestures to my stump.
“You left it until limb loss.”
“The missile convinced me I was in too deep.”
Which I’ll never forgive myself for. My crew didn’t deserve to pay that price for me.
He frowns.
“It happens. Now, we upset a lot of people on the way in. I’d like to know who we’re in opposition to.”
‘Upset’? I saw dozens of them out there, with armoured vehicles and everything. All owned by –
“Alouize Barch.”
He and his team exchange looks, then nods. He crouches down.
“Then the easiest way out is by finishing the exposé you started. Without him to fight for, our drones will force the rest to break and run. I presume you were about to reveal his private army, but got ambushed?”
“Yes.”
“Then you deserve a few words with him. Come on.”
What?
The team move smoothly into some formation that seems to let them shoot everywhere. The one who tended my arm carries me through ten minutes of screaming chaos and gunfire. I have no idea what’s going on! There are explosions, falling masonry, and burning people. The team stalk through it all with practiced ease.
After an intense moment of firing, a door ahead of us explodes and we storm into a luxurious office. In the silence, I’m deposited in an armchair facing a desk, behind which I can see the pasty features of Alouize Barch.
“Councillor Barch. Care to explain why her friends are dead?”
“No.”
Condor points an enormous gun at him.
“Humour me.”
Alouize shrugs.
“She’s part of the conspiracy. This planet is run by weaklings. The people need a true leader.”
I lean forward.
“Like you?”
He smiles.
“Obvious, isn’t it? Me, leading a glorious hierarchy. Those who obey will prosper.”
“Those who don’t?”
“Will serve.”
“You lost the last election with that.”
“Corruption! The people wanted me.”
“Even if they didn’t vote for you?”
“I was cheated of my just victory.”
The enormous gun fires. Alouize vanishes from sight.
Condor shrugs.
“You can’t win with his ilk. Kill or comply are the only options.”
Sadly true; rarely acknowledged.
“We need better politicians.”
He grins.
“Too right.”
by submission | Mar 10, 2024 | Story |
Author: Aspen Greenwood
In a world gasping under the heavy cloak of pollution, the Catalogers—scientists driven by a mission—trekked through dwindling patches of green. Among them, Maya, whose spirit yearned for the vibrant Earth imprisoned in old, faded textbooks, delved into her work with a quiet, burning intensity.
Each day, Maya and her team, respirators clinging to their faces and data tablets in hand, chased after remnants of nature. They sought out every leaf and vine like desperate archivists, their work a solemn vow to capture the essence of each plant before it succumbed to the toxic embrace of the world’s air.
It was on such a day, beneath the canopy of an almost forgotten forest, that Maya’s eyes caught the elusive glimmer of an extraordinary fern. It seemed to hold within its leaves the dance of light and shadow, an iridescence that whispered of mysteries untold. Hands shaking with reverence and awe, Maya logged the find, her actions a delicate balance between hurried necessity and the wish to savor this singular moment of discovery.
As the fern’s details spiraled into the digital void towards the global archive, Maya stood motionless, enveloped by a bittersweet solace. Each plant cataloged was a whisper into the future, a desperate plea for redemption. They were warriors in a losing battle, yet it was in these small victories that hope found a way to flicker and grow.
Amid the crumbling ruins of their world, the catalog stood as a beacon—a collection of whispers from the past reaching into the future. It embodied both the promise of resurgence and the lament for a beauty lost. And in Maya’s heart lived the fragile hope that someday, guided by their digital herbarium, humanity would sow the seeds for a new, thriving Earth, rising from the ashes of its own recklessness.
by submission | Mar 9, 2024 | Story |
Author: Janice Cyntje
Alfonso stood near the podium of his community center’s conference room and waivered. Although he was grateful that his niece had invited him to speak at this 12-step support group, he was nevertheless cautious of the emotional fallout from airing his life’s dirty laundry.
Beads of perspiration trickled down his brows as he thought about sharing his run ins with the law, orders of protection against 2 past girlfriends and a spotty employment history. A messy life, he thought, taking a step back from the podium; I’ll speak next month.
He turned his face away from the audience and started towards his chair, when unexpectedly, he heard a familiar voice call out from the back of the room. His niece Carmen had just arrived at Emotions Anonymous and beamed a smile towards him as she shouted, “Let’s go Tio!” pumping her fist in the air. Her enthusiastic reception warmed his heart and strengthened his resolve. Familia en la casa! he thought smiling.
Squaring his shoulders, he took a step towards the microphone again, and in a subdued but clear voice said, “My name is Alfonso Rodriguez, and I-am-powerless-over-my emotions.” Looking over at his niece, he raised his forearm and clenched his fist, “Today is step one.”
by submission | Mar 8, 2024 | Story |
Author: Jennifer Thomas
Get advice from three generations of Thompson women: Sara (age 90), Lydia (age 60), and Willa (age 15)! They all receive the same questions but answer independently. Today they discuss the most-asked question of the year!
Dear Thompsons,
My partner and I are arguing about whether to have children. I want a baby, but he’s reluctant. Sometimes it’s the other way around. Is it fair to bring a child into the world today, given humanity’s uncertain future? Is it selfish to have a baby—or to not have one?
—Cautious
Dear Cautious,
Sixty years ago, I didn’t want children. I was a newly minted aerospace engineer, happy to focus on my job and my marriage. But birth control was unavailable, I was careless, and Lydia came along. With no childcare options, I lost my job. My husband, disgusted with my “diminished horizons,” left me.
Despite all that, Lydia was the best thing that ever happened to me. She gave me something to live for. I wish I could have paid more attention to her, but she turned out fine. When the inundation began, we hit the lottery and got to relocate together. I’ve been able to help out with Willa and keep the family’s spirits up.
What does my story have to do with you, Cautious? I’ve learned that our desires have little to do with how life unfolds—and sometimes children just want to come. My advice is to loosen up and don’t overthink it. Even here, the kids will be all right.
Kind regards,
Sara W. Thompson
Dear Cautious,
You and your partner are right to be cautious. My mom will tell you I was the best thing that ever happened to her. She tells me that too, but it wasn’t easy for us. Especially the time we lived in her car. Maybe that’s why I waited so long to have children myself.
I got pregnant once our family settled into one of the new 3-D printed bubbles. We were thrilled when Willa arrived, with her lusty yell and thatch of hair. But think about it: no outdoor play, few companions, no school. I’d say she was a free-range child, except there’s no range. I’m not sure what she has to look forward to.
I don’t foresee changes here any time soon. Take that into account in your decision. And beware of the zealots urging baby-making for home-planet repopulation. Sara, who was a scientist, says they’re telling us a fairy tale.
You might find the hardest part of parenting is knowing when to stop lying to your children.
Sincerely,
Lydia T.
Hey cautious I say don’t bother being cautious do what your heart says if you want a baby have one if your partner says no use some frozen sperm or I know someone who might help you what else is there to live for besides new life nothing ever changes here nobody has time for me we’re just trying to stay alive and we’re just waiting but I don’t know what for I heard there’s progress on earth so who knows maybe when baby cautious gets older they’ll see trees growing and birds flying and fish swimming like sara tells me from before the water and cockroaches took over and maybe when people return to earth they’ll have a big parade like I’ve seen on the vids you can go with your baby maybe I can go with you I’ll be 16 earth years old soon good luck love willa
