by submission | Dec 5, 2014 | Story |
Author : Feyisayo Anjorin
When I was a child growing up in Akure, surrounded by hills and tall trees, and green fields, I believed the book of genesis. The first book of the bible was said to be about the beginning of everything. The first things, the newness, the freshness, the revelation. If life indeed has an end, the beginning must be like the morning of it.
We know a lot about beginnings in this place. A beginning of growth, a beginning of rot, an iroko tree could fall for the need of a power; flowers bloom in their time and wither. We know those mornings of rosy dreams and bright flags, when we were drunk on hope, when we were certain of our reason to believe the best.
There was a time when Africa was reborn; a new Africa from the ruins of slave trade, colonialism, and apartheid. Like a baby, and later like a child, we had our excuses. And we could be excused. The misunderstanding of the differing tribes and tongues could cause wars and start fires; we followed our rulers slavishly while children starved and became skeletons, and vultures waited, looking down, waiting for our dead.
We were poor because of the white man’s oppressive system that we hope to change. Soon change is coming. Soon. We were sure.
Now we’ve gone a hundred years into the twenty first century life. Akure, Calabar, Mangaung, Monrovia, Gweru, wherever; we are all Africans because we can still count our giant trees and green fields. We still have a home for lions, and monkeys, and rhinos, and rats, and bats. We have a home for them without needing zoos. Not everybody is as fortunate. All some people have now are videos and pictures of “wildlife”. Sorry for mentioning that word; but this is Africa.
Maybe we are not really behind because we still have to import almost everything needed to be twenty first century savvy.
And then this issue of the law enforcement robots. It doesn’t bother me one bit. The police were a mess before them. There was a time some terrorists abducted over two hundred teenage girls in Chibok and it took the army over a year to get them back. Happy young girls; innocent and vulnerable. Some came back with babies, some pregnant, some came back with HIV and STDs; they had all been raped. They were all scarred for life.
The law enforcement robots were imported two years ago. To be sincere, I’m baffled by their human rights records because of their slavish dedication to the law. I’m not happy that the tossed the most revered Yoruba monarch into the car trunk. I’m against the injury inflicted on those alleged to be resisting arrests. I believe they do issue too many speed fines. They need to put a human face on these things.
But you can see clear signs of sanity here! There was a time when the law meant nothing to government officials and to citizens. It was chaos and we were getting too attached to lawlessness; which was toxic!
This is Africa and our peculiar problems need drastic solutions and adjustments.
The law enforcement robots of Africa have now been programmed to shoot dead any African head of state that tries to go beyond the term of office.
I was glad to hear it as the sun rose this morning on Radio Alalaye while sipping palm wine by the window. I waited there, listening to the online analysis on the benefits and ills.
I got more palm wine. This is just a beginning.
by submission | Dec 3, 2014 | Story |
Author : JT Gill
Dad shuffled around the kitchen in his bathrobe slamming cabinet doors so hard they bounced back open. His muttering was punctuated with little crescendos each time something banged closed.
The roar of the shuttle could be heard from outside, though greatly muffled. Still, this only added to his garish business of making pancakes. I stood in the doorway, watching.
“You’ve known you can’t stay here forever,” I said.
“Why not?” He shouted over his shoulder, mixing a bowl of batter vigorously. Little flecks spewed everywhere. “You can’t make me move.”
I through my hands up in exasperation. “Dad, we’re done here. It’s time to go. Besides, Mom would have wanted you to move.”
He stopped whisking and turned to face me. Dots of batter had spumed into his eyebrows.
“How would you know what she would have wanted?” He hissed. The bowl and whisk were still in his hands.
“I knew Mom a lot more than you think I did.”
“You left us, James,” he shouted again. “Left us here alone while you made a name for yourself out in ‘the real world.’” He jabbed at me with the whisk, dripping globs onto the kitchen floor.
“Dad.”
“No. You wanted what you wanted to do. You didn’t care about us. That’s it. And you did it, congratulations, you did. The earth is round, and it can’t support us anymore. I know. My genius scientist son proved that to us all at least.” He spread his arms wide and waved them around. “Too bad he wasn’t even here when his own mother died.”
“You know that wasn’t my fault,” I yelled. “You know I was stuck up there. Dad, I was overseeing the facility that you will be living on.”
“The moon mansion,” he scoffed. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going up there.”
He began to stir what was left in the bowl, turning his back on me. There was a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I snuck two fingers into my pocket, pinching the pen-like object pressed against my thigh.
“You’re wrong, by the way,” he said, pausing. “She would have wanted me to stay.”
“No,” I said, walking up behind him. “She wouldn’t have.”
I pulled the syringe all the way out and jammed it into the base of his neck. The bowl of batter fell from his hands with a dull, metallic donk and rattled quiet as he struggled, but the sedative was fast-acting. After two jerks, he slumped against me like a limp noodle.
Gently, I eased him to the floor.
I whispered in his ear, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s all right, Dad. We’re going to live up there together.”
I stood, tossed the syringe in the sink and walked back outside.
Outside, the gusts from the shuttle whipped my hair straight back as I stepped onto the front porch. Two men in uniform stood at the base of the stairs. I slid a pair of sunglasses on.
“He’s in the kitchen,” I shouted over the roar of the engines. “Bring him out and we’ll be on our way.”
They jogged past me into the house.
“And be gentle,” I called after them.
I pushed my way through the squalls from the shuttle out onto the lawn. The grass whipped back and forth.
I looked up. Though it was a sunny day, the faint circle of an outline could be seen against the pale blue sky up above.
It almost looked like a pancake, I thought, ready to eat.
END
by submission | Nov 30, 2014 | Story |
Author : Curtis Brown
“What was that?” The Sheriff turned his head to one of his deputies after they heard a low rumble somewhere outside.
“Deputy, go check that out, I will handle this.” The Sheriff turned his head back to his prize: a short young man with a burnt-orange full length trench coat, spiked brown hair, and a pair of black goggles on his forehead. He sat across from the Sheriff in the tiny bright interrogation room with a little smirk on his face, and checked his watch.
“What, you got plans, kid? No, you don’t. Not anymore.” The Sheriff went on, smugly. “Stowing away on an interplanetary transport is one thing, but the Federation of Space Faring Nations does not tolerate theft aboard its ships.”
The Sheriff thought he hid his excitement well. On this space station, there was never this kind of action. He would hold the kid captive here, along with the evidence, to await the FSFN Marshals while the transport went on to its destination. The Sheriff would get a bonus for sure for his assistance in this, and if he got the kid to talk and spill something else, maybe even a promotion. The kid made it too easy. He still had that stupid smirk on his face. He would have almost felt sorry if it wasn’t for that smirk.
“You never had a chance kid. Even if you successfully grabbed the nano-processors there was no way off the transport. What were you thinking?” The Sheriff asked, probing for information.
“I was thinking, Sheriff, that it would be much easier to retrieve the nano-processors out of the evidence hold on a two-bit space station than off of a federal transport.” The kid stood up.
BOOM!
They heard a small explosion, seemingly just down the hall. The kids smirk turned into a full fledged smile, and the Sheriff stood up to face the kid.
“What was that? Where do you think you are going?” The Sheriff asked as the kid stepped towards the door,now confused and angry.
“That, my very perceptive Sheriff, is my ride. I’m leaving this piece of junk you call a space station.” The kid responded. The Sheriff was not pleased, but he heard the door open and was relieved.
“Deputy, cuff this kid, and take him to a cell.” The Sheriff commanded confidently.
“Excuse me?” Asked a rough voice.
The Sheriff turned toward the door and saw a portly man, dressed similarly to the kid, except balding and without goggles. The Sheriff did not know what to say.
“Its about time, Finley. You’re late. This guy almost cracked me.” The kid said as he pointed to his watch.
“The transport lingered. Come, the others have the cargo, lets go kid.” Finley lifted a pistol to the Sheriff’s face and smiled. “I trust you won’t mind letting our friend here go? Good, thats what I thought.”
The kid and Finley left the room. The Sheriff stood dumbfounded, and the only thing he could say, to no one in particular, was, “Well, there goes my bonus.”
by submission | Nov 29, 2014 | Story |
Author : Ian Hill
The day’s outlook was bright as my father woke me up with a smile on his facing, saying that it was finally time to visit the holy city. So it was that we hastily underwent our morning rhythm with a great deal of fevered haste. We, my father and I, boarded the luxurious royal train replete with yellow carpet and finely crafted oak furniture emblazoned with crushed velvet. Everything was decorated with faint translucency, almost as if nearly invisible substructures sat underneath the surface of every material on the immaculate train. It was a wonder to behold, a creation of the church’s most revered officials.
There were others on the train, taking the same pilgrimage as us. Like me, they were children accompanied by their white-clad parents. An odd pall of worry had settled over a few of the church officials that patrolled the train’s various cars. I, however, was excited for the prospect of finally beholding the glorious splendor of this legendary city that had been put on a pedestal of perfection for my whole life. Others had told me it was as if a segment of heaven had descended down to bless the scorched human reality below. The city shimmered gold as its rich banners snapped in the cold, infectious wind.
I gazed to my side, looking out the window and at the field of decay beyond. The train cut a clean path through the tract of ruined vegetation, leaving a billowing trail of searing heat in its wake. We passed by partially melted deserts, calcified remains of sea creatures from an evaporated ocean, and great prairies dotted with massive impact craters. Tooth-like metal structure jutted out of the purpled ground, too geometric to be natural but too marred to be recognizable. It too was a wonder to behold.
The voyage was progressing as it did everyday for a different set of inductees, but something was wrong. The firmament wasn’t obscured by the haze of smog that plagued the world. The sky was clear, sharp, and tinged with natural color. I marveled up at the wide plain of blue that seemed to bubble and swirl with life. Puffy wisps of radioactive material roiled as they dissipated into nothingness.
My father leaned over my seat and glanced out the window, his expression a mask of fear and confusion. A sharp cry echoed through the train as the lead engineer slammed on the brakes. The unpleasant noise of metal grating on metal sent tremors of discomfort through the bright-eyed pilgrims. Something odd was happening.
The train system was broken from its endless routine as the massive chugging machinery of the church faltered in response to the looming anomaly that descended from the heavens to meet the cowering people below. I covered my ears as a side door opened, letting in a rush of sickeningly clean air. Never before had I breathed such purity so deeply. My lungs were unfamiliar with the untainted oxygen, causing me to cough violently as my troubled father rose to his feet.
Gradually, we funneled out of the train and onto the landscape beyond. This marked the first time I had stepped foot in a realm not constructed by man. The ground was soft and flexile, almost as if it had been assembled by the almighty hand of randomness instead of the cold calculation of the church’s machine efficiency.
My father gripped my shoulders and tried to push me back into the train as we heard the voice rumble across the terrain and permeate our very psyches. I resisted, knowing that this was important. This was what we had been waiting for. The church officials collapsed to the ground in reverence, smelling the sweet rot of the irradiated landscape as the fresh air released its toxins into the burning atmosphere.
The other children and I remained standing, gazing up into the lacerated firmament where he reached down from his holy realm. For the first time, our eyes truly opened and we saw the being that our whole lives had been devoted to. The church cried out in terror as their synthetic prophet manifested into reality, breaking their widespread reign of endless paranoid prayer.
by submission | Nov 27, 2014 | Story |
Author : J.D. Rice
“So anyway, do you want to go out Saturday night?”
I asked the question abruptly, after an uncomfortable amount of small talk. Stacey’s eyes darted away from my own, looking across the park where we’d agreed to meet. I told her I just wanted to discuss our latest exam, but she saw right through me. Together, we’d endured the awkward conversation, the unbearably plutonic walk along the garden trail, and now the lingering silence that followed the true reason for our meeting. She would say no. I knew she would say no. I was prepared for it. And still it stung.
“No,” she said, offering little explanation. The answer was direct and blunt.
“Okay,” I said, sighing despite myself. I was prepared for this. “I’ll just try again tomorrow.”
“Really, John?” Stacey asked, watching as I pulled a small device my pocket.
“Really,” I said, pressing the large button in the center of the device. As soon as I pressed the button, her beautiful face faded from my sight, the sunlight went dim, and I felt a falling sensation as I awoke in my bed once again. It was 6:00 am, the same morning, and now I had a second chance at asking her out. I whistled along each step of my morning routine, readying myself for tackling the day once again. I showered. I shaved. I took extra care of my appearance, making some minute changes from the day before, wondering what would increase the odds of Stacey saying yes to a date.
As I slipped out the door a few hours later, on my way to the park where we were scheduled to meet, I picked the device up off the coffee table and read the meter on the back.
3-6-4, it read. Three hundred, sixty-four more attempts.
My second attempt went just as badly as the first. I fumbled through the same conversation again, trying entirely too hard to be likable and charming. In the end, she said no even faster than she had the day before. But, as the days stretched on and the numbers on the back of the dial ticked down, my performance with Stacey slowly improved. At day 3-2-5, she actually took some time to think before telling me no. At day 2-9-4, she actually managed to offer an excuse, rather than deny me outright. But it wasn’t until day 2-4-1 that I had a breakthrough.
“I’ll think about it,” she said, and inside I cheered. I waited all day by the phone, but she never called. I eyed the device at my side warily. If she didn’t say yes before the original 24 hours were up, the device would be useless, and it had taken me two years to save up to buy this one. What if she said no? After over an hour of internal argument, I finally snatched the device from my bedside and slammed my finger on the reset button. I proceeded to completely botch the next eight days’ worth of attempts, simply trying to recapture the magic of 2-4-1.
Finally, after over 150 attempts, I started to relax. I took the time to get to know her, to do research, to learn about who she was. This is what girls really wanted in the first place, if you believe what the movies say. On day 1-6-9 I learned about how her father had passed, leaving her family a small fortune. I didn’t quite care about the fortune so much as the emotional damage. Perhaps she was afraid to get close to anyone? On day 1-1-2, I learned about how she’d broken her arm as a girl, and how the pain reminded her of how her father used to mend her every bump and bruise. Finally, on day 6-8, she told me exactly what kind of guy she wanted to marry, feeding me exactly the information I would need to make the next two months of attempts worthwhile. Getting her to open up like this took time and patience, and I only had a handful of weeks to go.
Eventually, I dwindled myself down to the last week. My research was done. I knew her better than anyone I’d known in my entire life. I loved her, I truly did. I left myself the week to just enjoy her company, knowing I could make her say yes. Knowing that she would love me back.
When day zero finally arrived, I performed my role perfectly. It had become who I was. I spoke just the right words, said just the right things. I brought her flowers, which she found bold. I professed my affection, which showed honesty. I talked about my life and asked her to share nothing in return. I knew it all already, and I knew she found my earlier days’ pressings too invasive. I’d have all the time in the world relearn about her life.
When at last the day was done, and I asked her the question I’d been meaning to ask, there was only one thing she could say.
“Yes,” she said, and my heart skipped a thousand beats. I beamed at her, and my hand went instinctively to the device in my pocket. It had done so much for me, I wished I could give it some kind of thanks. But then Stacey’s eyes caught my own, they darted from my face to the hand in my pocket. “Did you…?” she asked.
The guilt was already on my face. She knew.
“I’m sorry, John,” she said, pulling a duplicate, all too familiar device from her pocket. “But I have to know if this was real.”
“No!” was all I could say before my vision faded, and I disappeared into nothingness, a remnant of a lost time.
