Ingress
Author: Sukanya Basu Mallik
Every evening, Mira and Arun huddled in the glow of their holo-tablet to devour ‘Extended Reality’, the hottest sci-fi novel on the Net. As pages flicked by in midair, lush digital fauna and neon-lit spires looped through their cramped flat. Tonight’s chapter promised the Chromatic Gates—legendary portals that blurred the line between reader and reality.
Mira traced a fingertip through the floating text. “I wish we could step inside,” she whispered.
Arun laughed. “Yeah and never come back.”
A soft chime signaled the chapter’s climax. The tablet flickered. Words swirled into vortices. Alarmed, Mira cupped the device—but the whirlpool of letters tore free and engulfed them.
Arun opened his mouth, but only pixels emerged. Mira reached out—and her hand dissolved into code. The holo‑tablet winked out. Their living room vanished.
They landed beside a crystalline lake framed by glass-steel trees. A neon sun arced overhead. The skyline was straight from the novel’s cover art. Mira gasped. “We’re in Eidolon Park.”
Arun ran a hand through his hair. “No way. It’s impossible.”
Footsteps rang out. A tall figure in a flowing white coat approached, eyes gleaming like data streams. “Welcome, readers,” the Curator intoned. “You’ve overstayed your authorizations. Extended‑reality tourists must be deported at once.”
Mira tightened her grip on Arun’s arm. “Deported? How?”
The Curator raised a slender hand. “Please don’t resist. The extraction protocol is merciful.”
Arun shoved her behind him. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell us how to get back!”
He flicked his wrist; words from the novel’s glossary scrolled into existence. Arun leapt forward, weaving them into a binding chant. The Curator hesitated—the code shimmered.
Mira joined in, her voice steady. She remembered the Author’s Note about narrative loopholes. They chanted: “Scriptbreaker—Lexicon—Nullify!”
A crack fractured the sky. The neon sun shuddered. The Curator tried to clamp the rift—but the readers surged through.
They hit the floor of their flat, the tablet lying inert between them. Dust motes drifted in the lamplight. Arun scooped it up. The screen glowed: “Chapter 27: The Homecoming.”
Mira exhaled. “They rewrote us back.”
Arun tapped “Next.” The tablet displayed a single line:
Error 404: Reader not found.
They stared at each other, hearts pounding. Somewhere deep in the code, the Curator waited—beyond the next page.
The Past
365tomorrows launched August 1st, 2005 with the lofty goal of providing a new story every day for a year. We’ve been on the wire ever since. Our stories are a mix of those lovingly hand crafted by a talented pool of staff writers, and select stories received by submission.
The archives are deep, feel free to dive in.
Flash Fiction
"Flash fiction is fiction with its teeth bared and its claws extended, lithe and muscular with no extra fat. It pounces in the first paragraph, and if those claws aren’t embedded in the reader by the start of the second, the story began a paragraph too soon. There is no margin for error. Every word must be essential, and if it isn’t essential, it must be eliminated."
Kathy Kachelries
Founding Member
Submissions
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