Author: Harrison Abbott
They slapped on the door. Their saliva lashed the glass, and their wings pounded on. But they couldn’t get to us; the glass was too strong. We’d already beaten them. I had the box with me. Our species was saved.
Marcy was crying below me, like a little girl. We both knew that my suit was ripped. I’d already pressed the airlock latch and the red sirens whirled about our heads. And I’d always found it scary, being in the lock when the latch was about to lift. But now I was already missing it, knowing I wouldn’t experience it again.
I was annoyed at Marcy for crying and I picked her up. I gave her the box. I told her it still wasn’t definite whether we would all survive. She had to reach Delta, make sure they got the box, before it could all be safe. I told her to stop blooming crying. I was glad because I knew she would be able to get to Delta. I was just trying to discipline her.
The creatures were still slapping the walls and Marcy wasn’t even afraid of them anymore. I still was. We’d been battling in this ship with them for nearly 40 hours. They were such a ravenous, horrific species, I’m amazed Marcy and I survived.
Marcy eventually stopped her grief and tried to stand up and face the latch. I could see the tears against her helmet’s visor. I told her you shouldn’t have a teary visor when heading into the abyss we both loved. But she didn’t have a torn suit. She’d be fine.
The lights changed on the latch, and moved up in blocks of blue, with the joyous bleep bleep bleep I knew so well. There was the rush of air. Marcy leaned out and took my hand. I clutched it as hard as I could, and I was trying to be the strong one for her, but when the latch opened and the blackness sucked us out, I realised it was the other way around.
Her hand was still griping mine, despite the ferocity of the non-air … I looked up into her teary visor and I mouthed, “Don’t watch,” and, for an answer, she let my hand go.
My body spun away as the vacuum worked under the hole in my suit. I watched the stars whizz about in crystal static. When I was a boy, I’d always thought that the stars were so far away. But I also would never have thought I’d be as close to the stars as I was then. I felt my body implode, fast, and in seconds I would be dead. And I had no clue where Marcy was. But I could still love the sight of the stars, nearest to them as I always would be.
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 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."
We're open to submissions of original Science or Speculative Fiction of 600 words or less. We only accepting work which you previously haven't sold or given away the rights to. That means your work must not have been published elsewhere, either in print or on the web. When your story is accepted, you're giving us first electronic publication rights and non-exclusive subsequent publication rights. You retain ownership over your story. We are not a paying market.
Voices of Tomorrow
Voices of Tomorrow is the official podcast of 365tomorrows, with audio versions of many of the stories published here.
If you're interested in recording stories for Voices of Tomorrow, or for any other inquiries, please contact email@example.com