Night TerrorI've got a problem, I know. And hey, I'm really sorry you had to come to my neighborhood, my home, with your obnoxious yappy dog and obnoxious yappy kids and obnoxious yuppie wife. No, it isn't your fault that I was brought into your life. But now that you're here, well, you know, I've got this problem. This, uh, itch that must be scratched.Night Terror by SgtPossum
I'm very old. You people, when you get old, you get grumpier, usually a whole lot eviler too. You think the world owes you something, you think morality is just a fairy tale the big man used to tell you to keep you in line. Imagine if you could grow as old as I. If you could watch eons pass as I have. Do you believe you'd take any solace in acts of heroism and charity? You're an idiot. You'd think of human life in the terms I do.
So, in a sense, it's you who has the problem. You can't understand me. You can't conceive of the ancient years that have blurred past me. Might as well try to hold a steady conversation with somebody plucked out of Stone A
4242: Rough LandingA tranquil scene in a desert canyon landscape was broken by the thunderous roar of an interstellar shuttle crashing through the atmosphere at terminal velocity, its nose white-hot and its fuselage leaking a long tail of smoke and water vapor. A herd of strange creatures with five-fold symmetry watched its descent toward the crest of a rocky ridge, their eyes and hides a shade of reddish orange very close to the color of the sand. They drank from the oasis at the center of the canyon, and though they were intelligent enough for curiosity, they did not have the patience for the drama unfolding miles away.4242: Rough Landing by SgtPossum
The shuttle's pilot had no patience or concern whatsoever for the animals far below him, though he too was more than intelligent enough to consider things with wonder. His name was Oswald Ferdinand-Rogbert, and his only concern at that moment was trying to survive the last few seconds of his long ride across the galaxy. He fought the controls for stability, gripped its handles and playe
VaporI always thought that if I was going to die before my time, it would be in the middle of a blizzard or late at night or in some terrific natural disaster. I always thought the weather would be awful and help would come right away without serving a purpose. I was wrong.Vapor by SgtPossum
A rain storm was on its way out, and on the horizon the sun grew purpler and purpler in its slow descent. The air was warm and smelled sweet, the fields of canola were a brilliant shade of pink in the twilight. It was the sort of day I would take my kids to the park or have a beer on the porch.
Instead, I laid on my back, two neat holes in my chest and a big, gaping mess on the other side, blood pouring into the dirt. I could feel my life draining out of me, and once the initial panic faded all there was left to do was watch the sun set. It was such a nice day.
I reached into my pocket and slipped out my cell phone, dialed 911. It didn't matter that I'd be long gone by the time the ambulances arrived. It didn't matter th
LiquidOnce, when I was a child, I heard the trees scream.Liquid by SgtPossum
They had nothing to say.
Agony is like that; when your psyche is most active is when it is least able to express itself.
Like when a lover deserts you or your baby is stillborn or your car breaks down a hundred miles from anywhere.
A hundred miles from anywhere, there is no cell service.
That's what those trees were going through when they shrieked.
Whistled, a few of them, when they ran out of breath.
I guess they learned to imitate humans or some other animal: trees don't have lungs, after all.
Then they shut up, and I don't remember why.
The other day they screamed again.
I'm twenty-two years old now, and at first I thought I must have just gone insane.
Out of the blue; I caught the schizo, instead of the flu.
That isn't how it works, you know.
So I thought about it.
I thought, why would I hear them scream now, what have I done this time?
And I figured it out when I listened close.
You see, through that
The Next StageDis Carson and Zriz dropped their guns and raised their hands—on in Zriz’s case, claws—into the air. Zriz spat at the feet of the Eubolan holding them at gunpoint. Dis shared the sentiment. Out of habit, he berated himself. He should have seen the signs of ambush before boarding the derelict and called in the authorities. As if the life of a search and rescue unit wasn’t dangerous enough, he’d had to go charging into the dead ship looking for survivors. Trying to be a hero.
Instead, it looked like he was going to be just another victim. A five-year veteran should have known better.
“Look, just take the rations and go,” Dis said. “Shit ain’t even expensive.”
“Do not tell me you are afraid of death, Carson,” said Zriz with that clicking noise he had for a laugh.
“Hell no,” he said. “But dying at the hands of a filthy pirate over a measly box of food rations isn’t what I want carved as an epita
sewing the seeds of change.Silhouetted against the artificial sun, a man spotted me from across the plain and waved unceremoniously before turning away; he was the first human being I’d seen in six months. I did what any person who’d been alone that long would have done. I threw down my hose (the wheat would survive a few minutes without my care) and ran after him.
He walked slowly underneath the watchful eye of the solar lamp, the only one of the three in the station that remained operational after the end, and I kept running until I could touch the back of his shoulder with my calloused hand. Managing corn stocks and digging up potatoes had worked my hands into rough mitts that scratched on anything like sandpaper on silk.
“Who are you?” I asked, but he did not turn around.
He was looking at something in the distance, where my pseudo-sun barely touched. That part of the plain had wilted away, and had become the spot where I fermented plants and waste into mulch. I still had to
she whispers sweet nothings, i scream profanities.I found Beattie within the confines of a ruined church, cowering underneath the front row of pews with her hands over the back of her neck. She was convinced that the whole place would come down on top of her, and she always had to be prepared to protect her spine. I couldn’t blame her for that, only because you couldn’t get far in a ravaged world if your legs and arms didn’t work. She’d been dressed in her Sunday best for six months, though one of her white shoes was missing a heel.
“You should probably go somewhere else,” I advised her, taking a seat in the pulpit to light a cigarette. I set my guns down first, knowing that a girl like Beattie wouldn’t try anything dumb with me. If she did, I knew that I could take her head-to-head. “The insane people always scope out churches, thinking that God will save them.”
“God will save us,” she whispered, voice as quiet as a mouse in a fitting location.
Winter and FrostWinter sat outside, staring in wonder at the dwindling snowflakes dancing from the sky around her. She loved winter. To her, it felt magical. Sure, summer was gorgeous and fall was wonderful with all the colors, but nothing could compare to the sparkling frozen beauty of winter. And here she sat, in the midst of that beauty.
She was in the middle of a field, way past dark. Heavy snow had fallen only a few hours before, now only a few snowflakes fell from the dark sky, and the smooth blanket of white was undisturbed by even the animals.
Winter didn't want to leave, but the numb cold state of her body forced her to stand up and trudge through the powdery snow back into the small town where she lived.
The collection of cottages and other small buildings looked like a shadowy mass in the low moonlight, individual houses only distinguishable by the few that had warm yellow lights glowing in their windows. The lights disappeared one by one as she got closer, the late hour driving people into
A drunk Albertan, I'm a writer. I write stuff, and shit, and other things. Feedback is always appreciated, positive or negative.|
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