300 Word Writing Challenge -- #55 (October 2024) -- VICTORY TO MOSAIX!

[The Judge]

The inspiration image for Challenge #55 is:

Image credit: Mike Masnick


THE CHALLENGE:

To write a story in 300 words or fewer

INSPIRED BY

the image provided above
in the genre of
Science Fiction, Fantasy, or other Speculative Fiction


The winner to receive
the Dignified Congratulations/Grovelling Admiration of Your Peers


THE RULES:

Only one entry per person

All stories Copyright 2024 by their respective authors,
who grant the Chronicles Network the non-exclusive right to publish them here

This thread will be LOCKED until October 10th 2024

As soon as the thread is unlocked, you may post your story

Entries must be posted no later than October 31st 2024 at 11:59 pm GMT

Voting will open on November 1st 2024 and will close on November 15th 2024 at 11:59 pm GMT
(unless moderators choose to make an extension based on the number of stories)



We ask all entrants to do their best to vote when the time comes

but you do not have to enter a story to vote
as we encourage ALL Chronicles members
to read the stories and take part in choosing the winning entry!


You may cast THREE votes

NO links, commentary or extraneous material in the posts, please,
as the stories must stand on their own


PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A FAMILY-FRIENDLY FORUM

For a further explanation of the rules see Rules for the Writing Challenges


This thread is to be used for entries only
Please keep all comments to the DISCUSSION THREAD


** Please do not use the "Like" button in this thread! **
​

 

[Karapace]

A light-hearted one

Nightmares

Every night little Tommy Fenbarrow was visited by bad dreams.
And every night he slaughtered them
Vampires were rendered ash, werewolves eviscerated and banshees died screaming.
It got so bad that none of the nightmares wanted to haunt Tommy’s dreams.
“It’s not natural,” said Slenderman. “Small boys should be frightened of us not the other way round.”
The Eldritch Queen leaned forward, eyes blazing. “Suggestions fiends? Our reputation is at stake here.”
The Blob raised a protrusion, “What about Beetle-?”
“Dead, dead, DEAD.” They all cried.
“We could kill him?” suggested a zombie.
The others rolled their eyes, some of which rolled off the table and were lost. “Don’t you think we haven’t tried?”
The Eldritch Queen scowled. “I don’t know how he does it. I’ve sent wave after wave of gruesome horrors to take him out; Rawheads, no heads, bogeymen, bogeywomen and bogey-nonbinaries, hobgoblins, ghosts and ghouls, all went into that damned kids dreams but not one came out.”
“May as well get jobs in IT,” said a sombre Gremlin.
Just then a small voice said, “Let me try.”
They all looked down at the small nameless dread. “What do you think you can achieve when the best of us have failed?”
“I can enter his mind and learn his fears.” And with that it drifted off to Tommy’s house.
Later, in the dying hours of night before a cold dawn sent vampires scurrying to their tombs, the nameless dread returned, though somewhat shaken it seemed.
“What happened?” the nightmares asked.
The nameless dread replied, “Oh my horrors! I whispered to Tommy but he whispered back and… darkness and doom… He wants to join us.”
The anxious nightmares shivered at the thought but the nameless dread added brightly. “He does have some very good ideas mind.”

 

[Astro Pen]

The Sun Prince

John kept walking. He knew it was close now. In the beginning, when he invented it, he wasn’t sure it was even real, so faint. But now it was undeniable.

It was his star. It grew and ultimately consumed everything. The bullies at school, his pesky sister, the fox that ate grandpa’s chickens, - and mother, most importantly it consumed his mother, who grounded him and made him do his assignments before he could play video games.

Especially the game that inspired him, The Sun Prince. The boy who could focus the energy around him like a lens. Bring it to a white hot point, and move it, by sheer will, to melt through steel, and kill enemies. No prison could hold the Sun Prince, there was always energy to focus on locks and guards.

But there was another kind of prison, one John, too late, had just learned about. Now that they were all dead, everyone, he was alone. He wanted his perfect world but he had destroyed everything. All people were just small piles of carbon dust. Those who ran from his star were shapes on walls like Hiroshima shadows. People were the problem, he had reasoned. All the troubles of the world were caused by people. No people, no problems. Destroy them all.

But loneliness and guilt now racked his soul. Tears ran down his cheeks. There was no reversing this, no reset button for the dead. There was nothing now because people, he realised, were everything.

The ball of energy followed him everywhere, like a faithful but vengeful puppy.

He stopped walking, and turned to face his creation, “Take me now,” he said. “For I am more evil than those I took.”

He closed his eyes and waited for the incandescence to consume him.

 

[Rafellin]

Interventionist

It’s three in the morning and my mind is trying to get me to click ‘Buy it Now’ on things I don’t need. I hate the coming of winter: bleak weeks like a hangover after too much summer, with only Saven and Fawkes Night as relief until Christmas brightens the gloom.
No more. I close the laptop, grab my smokes, and go outside.
A very bright outside…
Oh, damn. They’re back.
I light up and wander across the road, then up the wide track until we’re equidistant from the lantern that marks the way to the meeting house.
“Wilfred. Still killing yourself slowly, I see.”
“Weird girl. Still backed by B-movie effects, I see.”
She giggles.
“Give you that.”
Exhaling slowly, I watch skeins of smoke drift away.
“What am I doing for you this time?”
“There will be a derailment at 08:53 next Tuesday, north of Haywards Heath. The house adjacent to Borde Hill Lane Bridge will be destroyed. The spawn of the family that dwell there will be sat in the primary vehicle, waiting for their parent to emerge. You will take it, drive four hundred meters north, then exit the vehicle.”
The next bit I know.
“Depart swiftly. Do not engage. If necessary, be threatening rather than conciliatory.”
She gives me a little round of applause.
“You remember.”
“It’s the screaming that does it. People don’t like being saved while their loved ones die.”
“That is why we use you. A mystery man is easier to comprehend, and for authorities to ignore, than what we would have to reveal to achieve the same result.”
“The pact still stands?”
“Yes. You will never be caught for your past crimes.”
“Tuesday, then.”
“Goodnight, Wilfred.”
The light goes out. Night returns. She’s gone… Probably.

 

[RTGR]

Paradise

And now? I’m here thinking about how I will interact, how I will integrate.
Perhaps an exhibition would be the most ideal? But I remember this has not worked in the past.
Little by little, perhaps. I need to spend more time because everything is finite, and I know that.
These people are very similar to me. I always do some research before moving.
Thinking it through, I believe I’ll decide this will be my final destination.
There is light, warmth, water, and plenty of food.
Who knows, maybe I’ll reproduce once again? I already have two children who are out in the universe. Dealing with children is not easy, but at least I’m not alone.

(activating self-destruction)

Done. Nothing better than taking action to define my future.
First, I need to find a place near the water, where I can set up a home.

(explosion in the distance)

Eight billion is plenty of food to sustain me for a long time. After that, I will select the healthiest ones for reproduction and rebuild the local nature to stay here forever.
I always need to remember that the last time I did this, it didn’t work out because I didn’t keep some aside for reproduction.
In this place, it will be easy because, when they find the source, there will be less than three billion left. If they find it. They are intelligent but confused and lost in their own technology.

Thinking it over, maybe two of us wouldn’t be a good idea because there isn’t enough food.
No reproduction.

 

[THX1138]

Illumination

“William, time to come in, dear! You’ve been out there long enough!”

William’s mom stepped back inside as she shivered from her brief exposure to the cold winter’s night. Her son enjoyed going out in nights like this; dark, cold and still. Whether it was snowing or not, like tonight, the sight of his breath and the sounds of snow crunching beneath his feet helped to calm him, so he claimed. But who was she to question him? Morning spring showers or gentle nighttime winter snow falls, he always came in so much calmer and happier. But standing there, looking at that strange glowing light for so long?

She paused and held her head as she reflected on recent events. Her husband’s death, their daughter running away and the rejection of family and friends. It was too much for them both, so they moved to a new community out in the country.

Getting impatient, she stepped back out calling to him again. “William! Come in now!”

She went back in as William turned and walked home, the glowing light faded out yet was still aglow, as if suspended in reality.

“Get in here before you catch pneumonia!” She said as she hurried him in, helping him out of his coat and boots. “There, now. I have a movie waiting. How’s does popcorn and hot chocolate sound?”

“Sounds good, mom!”

They settled down on the couch, drinks in hand as the movie started.

Turning to her. “Mom, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, sweet pea.”

“Have you ever considered the existential consequence that mind traveling the universe has on broadening your self-awareness, in comparison to the theory that you don’t exist unless you believe you do exist?”

Fading away, her cup shattered when it hit the floor.

 

[Guttersnipe]

Before the World Wakes Up

Michael went outside at 4:00, just like he did every morning. The adults were not yet awake, so they couldn't tell him not to play outside. The cold air nipped at his nose, and he felt as though icicles were congealing in his nostrils within minutes. He didn't mind. In fact, he loved the winter, loved the white powder that covered the hills. The red sun was slowly but steadily climbing above the horizon. There was time.

Michael made what he called snow angels and stuck out his tongue to catch what he called snowflakes. The trees, dead and dying, were all frosted up. He touched the boles, rubbing them like bellies, feeling the slippery coldness of them. Michael sometimes wished other children were around, at least ones who were brave like him and didn't do everything their parents told them to do.

This was winter. The North Wind blustered and bit his way through the vacuum of air. It reminded him of home.

Home, where he didn't need to steal out at 4:00 in the morning to play. Home, where adults would play with their children as well. Home, where an imagination was applauded and pessimism rejected.

He looked down at his hands, red with cold. They were also wrinkled, despite his youth.

The lights in the house went on, muted by curtains. Michael mentally cursed himself, and wished there could be more time. Time had passed him by far too quickly.

Suddenly, his father opened the door and called out to him.

"Michael, I told you to stop playing out there! Get inside, now!"

The lonely child came in from the snow that was really ashes falling. From the air that could hardly be called cold. From the trees that were not there. Michael dreamed, and Michael cried.

 

[paranoid marvin]

It's Been Emotional

Ella, I'm waiting outside in the snow for you. I've been waiting for an awfully long time now, and I'm starting to wonder if you'll ever come.

We've had so much fun together, you and I; all the games we've played. And afterwards, how we would laugh like drains at the pain and misery that we had caused.

I fed off the emotions of the people we played our games with. Remember old Mister Jackson? So much blood... it went everwhere. His terror tasted so delicious. And Miss Brady with the long, elegant legs. Not quite so pretty after the bear trap we set for her. What screams she made! Such a feast I had from her.

But then you changed; you started to cry afterwards instead of laugh. Sometimes you would even refuse to do the things that I whispered in your ear; and suddenly it wasn't half as much fun hanging out with you any more.

And now I'm waiting in the freezing snow; waiting for you to come visit me, as you always have. But not so frequently of late. That young man in the village; the blacksmith's boy Tom. You've been spending an awful lot of him recently; time that you should have been spending with me.

I think I shall go and pay him a visit; perhaps I'll find you with him. I'm sure I can think of a fun game we can play together. You see, I'm not just hungry now, I'm starving. Here I come Ella, ready or not!

 

[Victoria Silverwolf]

Sunrise

Miyumi Nashimura felt like a clumsy robot in arctic clothing and oxygen mask, but it was better than a spacesuit. Tiny bits of ice – real ice, not that carbon dioxide stuff – glittered near her heavy boots as she shuffled through rust-colored sand and rocks. After decades of superhuman effort, this part of Mars was wetter than Death Valley, warmer than central Siberia in winter, and had almost as much breathable air as the top of Mount Everest.

Dozens of similarly dressed people, some young enough to have been born here, stood on a low rise just ahead, gazing up at Phobos. The potato-shaped moon wasn't much to look at, even now, at dusk, when Sol was nearly directly opposite. Quite a bit smaller than Luna seen from Earth, and not anywhere near as bright, but something more than just another star.

Miyumi turned around to watch the sunset. Pale pink above, deep blue near the horizon. Soon there was only star-sprinkled darkness.

"You don't want to miss the big show." Jira Anong stood at her side. He always looked like a dancer, graceful and powerful, even in heavy winter gear. "Just a few minutes left."

They joined the others on the rise. Some kind of human instinct to seek higher ground, she supposed, even though the view would be the same from a crater.

The crowd cried out, almost as one. Many raised their arms, as if they could touch the sky. Phobos blazed overhead, a new sun born from controlled fusion. Somewhere on the other side of the planet Deimos did the same. Was it really already warmer now, or was that her imagination?

"We'll have to rename them," Jira said. "No more Fear and Terror."

"Yes. Elpis and Chara. Hope and Joy."

 

[Cat's Cradle]

Snow Globe​

His world is a snow globe, a diorama of suburbia in near-darkness with himself as its focus, standing lost at night on a wintry street.

Winds howl around him, having swept over nearby hilltops, having been channeled towards ground on their pine-covered slopes, having found him in the street, and having icy fingers that search through every opening of his clothing, pickpockets of warmth.

His head aches, seems to be freezing from the outside in. He reaches up – there's no hat, no hair, no– But that's impossible, he thinks.

Just hold on! because sometimes dawn assails the darkness, and a beam of light piercing the horizon washes over him and elicits from his confusion thoughts of another world, hope, a presence behind the beam, and if they'd only reach out to him, if they'd only–

"Help."
~~~

The being clicks and trills commands to servitor AIs to swing open the door of the medical cooling drawer, and slide the surgical bed out of its dark interior. Wisps of ice crystals are blown out by fans whirring inside the refrigeration unit.

It looks down upon the human lying there, inspects recent incisions on its brain, runs tendrils along the smooth surface of bone where the cranium had been removed.

Under the human's head it places a specimen dish, then activates the laser microtome, which glows brightly.

It looks to the subject's eyes – sees them focus momentarily – then applies the sectioning laser. Its beam sweeps along the brain's surface, slicing samples which fall onto the dish; these will be examined microscopically later.

From the human comes the thinnest of unintelligible sounds: "help".

The being click-trills commands to increase the flow of paralytics and controlling psychotropics, then issues another that retracts the surgical bed into the refrigerator and closes its door.

 

[Aethel]

Síðasta​

Síðasta stood motionless while the frosty tendrils crept on her in a slow dance. All around her was quiet. All around her was still.
On the murky horizon a dense ball of muted fire was rising impossibly slowly.

“Call to me!” she cried.

An ancient street lamp nearby flickered feebly in response.

“Please!” she begged. “Call to me!” her voice steady and firm, in stark contrast to her words.

All was quiet. All was still.

“I didn’t agree to this,” she said in a voice of a peeved child.

The red ball of muted fire seemed to wobble just then but perhaps it was a mirage. One of those horizon slights of vision. Or, did it really wobble just now? She strained her tendrils towards the sky.

They melted.

“I guess that’s settled then,” said the boy, his cheeks ruddy with the cold, and he pulled hard on his hat so that his eyes were almost covered up.

“No!” cried Síðasta. “I did not agree to this!” she spoke with a deep rumble and somewhere on the other side a volcano erupted.

“It doesn’t matter what you agreed to, does it,” the boy said bravely but a small pebble of fear got caught in his throat just then. “You don’t really get a say in this,” he sniffed.

Síðasta was quiet for the longest time. When she spoke, it was to say one word, the last word.

On the horizon the muted ball of fire woke up with a wobble and burst out like an over ripe tomato.

The boy evaporated in an instant.

Síðasta reached out and hugged her mother and as she did they were one again.

 

[AnRoinnUltra]

The Spacelord of Bearnagaofa


Recycling Technician Ted Flannery was late for work.
A shortcut through Bearnagaofa had seemed the solution.

• Until mist set in.
• And slowed his journey.
• And Ted spotted an enormous scaly humanoid welding shut a hole in the universe.

‘Damp old morning for it’, noted Ted.

The creature stopped what it was doing.
If Ted had been from anywhere other than Earth he would have immediately recognized the Pronded Interfludes and rounded Gomnongles of a Spacelord. But Ted, being human, just thought the creature looked odd.

‘You can see me!’, honked the creature, ‘Amazing! You must have discovered Predestined Cosmic Logic. Well done. Incredible that a mortal could have done so, no wonder the Universe ripped! You, my friend, are certainly no simpleton. No simpleton at all.’

Ted didn’t reply, he didn’t have anything to add.

‘Tell me’, continued the creature, ‘how did you happen upon Cosmic Logic?’

‘Eh?’ said Ted.

‘What brought you to here right now?’ explained the creature.

‘I was late for work.’

‘Fascinating. That’s Predestined Logic for you. Everything with its cause’ noted the creature, ‘You were late, had your realization, universal coherence ripped, and here we are. Amazing. Please, go educate others of your kind.’

And then the creature was gone, leaving Ted very late for work.

‘Nonsense’, yelled the shift supervisor after Ted gave his excuse.

The yell caused everyone to stop working, and listen to what was being said.

‘Wait till ye hear this lads,’ announced the supervisor, ‘Flannery reckons he met an extraterrestrial on the Bearnagaofa road.’

‘And I discovered Predestined Cosmic Logic’, added Ted.

‘Go on professor, give us an example of how Predestined Cosmic Logic works?’, sniggered his colleagues.

‘Sure’, said Ted, gesturing around him, ‘was anyone else late this morning?’

Nobody replied.

‘Well then ye are all simpletons’, explained Ted.

 

[Starbeast]

Blade Runner 2166​

My hovering police spinner spotlight highlighted the missing person. “I’ve located the girl in Philip Kay Park.”

“Nice work, Detective Harrison.”

A thousand thoughts of the past raced through my mind as the happy teenager approached. I thought about a decade ago when detective work was far more dangerous. Violent criminals, murderous replicants and citywide corruption was the norm. Relics of the past. Nowadays, It’s all light work. I’m not complaining, I sleep peacefully at night.

After the kid climbed in, we sailed through the night sky toward precinct thirteen. She charged her phone off my vehicle’s dashboard as we floated through billowing factory steam clouds. Androids are the labor force now. Very few people live on Earth. Seventy percent are now on other planets. I’m not leaving, I like it here. No wars, no food shortages, plenty of jobs and best of all, lots of living space.

Reuniting the missing girl with her mother made me feel like a warm, sweet cup of coffee.

“I’m Cynthia. Thank you for finding my daughter, Rhonda. Detective..?”

“Scott Harrison”, I replied. Our eyes locked. It was at that moment we both knew that our quest for a life partner was over. We married a year later. Cynthia’s daughter, Rhonda, turned out to be an android. We had her reprogrammed to be a housemaid and a nanny for our children. Years later, Rhonda informed me that it wasn’t a malfunction that made her wander away from home. She told me that she was searching for a purpose in life. When she was rescued by me, she knew that Cynthia cared about her and decided to go back home. I lovingly told Rhonda, that she was responsible for giving us all a purpose in life. She hugged me. Androids are wonderfully better than replicants.

 

[Luiglin]

The Wasteland​

A whistle, a steam driven scream of release, echoed behind me. Far, but not far enough. I banked the coals in the boiler. Clouds of steam billowed forth, roiling and cavorting in the dawn light.

I took a bite out of the last withered carrot. It barely tasted of anything, a drab remembrance of yesteryear.

The green place had to be nearby. I could smell its feint glory on the last breath of the night wind.

Another whistle, and another. Nearer this time. They were close, no doubt Humungontan Broch pushing them on. Like myself, desperation drove them. Desperation for the green.

I released the steam, the car shooting forward with a joyous whoosh. The last of de Laval Interceptors, she had remained my only friend in this ghost of a world.

Clouds of dust showed close behind, heralding my pursuers, hiding their numbers.

There, not far away, a chance. A rictus grin settled on my face.

I got ready to hit the compressor, keeping one eye on the pursuers, now so close I could almost feel their spittle on the back of my neck.

The compressor set the de Laval screaming over the tar pit. Those behind, had no chance. I braked, leaned out of the window, and watched as they sank, one by one.

My name is Max. My world is fire and steam.

Once, I was a rabbit. A cottontail searching for a carroty cause.

As the world fell, our burrows broke. It was hard to know who was crazier. Me... or the foxes. We can discount badgers; those bleeders have always been mad.

I am he who runs from both the living and the dead. Hunted and haunted, I exist in this Wasteland. A fluffy bunny reduced to a single instinct: survive.

No change there then.

 

[mosaix]

A Friend In Need…

“We were on a camping holiday and he wandered off into the woods one evening. Says he was following a light. Lost for hours. Took the police with a search party to find him. He hasn’t been the same since… When he does talk it’s about imaginary friends… He says things like…“

“Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Most children of his age have imaginary friends. That’s quite normal. But perhaps we could hear about it in Frankie’s own words? Frankie? Are you happy to tell me about the night in the woods when you got lost?”

“I didn’t get lost, Miss. There was a bright light. I went to look at it and it moved away into the woods so I followed it.

It stopped and then they spoke to me.”

“Your friends?”

A nod.

“What did they say?”

“Not words. They spoke in my head. Told me stuff. Secret stuff. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up there were police and lots of people and they were worried. But I was okay.”

“And do these friends still speak to you?”

“Yes. But I don’t talk much about it. I’m only talking to you ‘cause Mum and Dad asked me to. I like my Mum and Dad.

I don’t really talk much at all anymore. I don’t need to. The kids in class don’t like it. Some call me names, say I’m different. Kids like Dan…”

“Dan Watkins? The boy that went missing?”

“Yes, Dad. I talked with them about it. I didn’t like him.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s okay, Dad. Really. It’s fine. He doesn’t bother me anymore. All sorted. Just like your husband, Miss.”

“What about my husband?”

“Don’t worry, Miss. He won’t be bothering you anymore either. I like you too.”

The telephone rang.

 

[johnnyjet]

One Foggy Night

One foggy night something happened.

Luna had wished for a birthday gift her parents could never fulfill. Never withholding the hard facts of life, they told her the truth. That's how nine-year-old Luna ended up outside on a cool, foggy night, long after midnight on the eve of her birthday.

Foggy nights comforted her. However, this night she needed the fog to clear.

Luna searched for the stars behind the fog.

"I wish for a star to call my own, that will shine for me whenever I needed it."

She squinted. Nothing.

She hugged herself against the chill of the night. She should've brought a sweater.

A glint of light near the shed caught her eye. Did someone leave a light on?

It moved closer and grew brighter.

She couldn't move. What was keeping her frozen in her tracks? Fear? Curiosity? Something else?

A floating, spinning globe of light slowly approached her, halting inches from her. It stopped spinning. A narrow beam of light radiated from the globe, striking her right hand. Her hand rose, palm up.

Her eyes widened. A small glowing ball, about marble-sized, hovered above her hand, spinning like a top.

The large globe floated away, disappearing into the fog. The tiny globe ascended until it hung in the air before her face.

"Are you the answer to my wish?" she asked.

The glowing marble turned from white to yellow and back.

She smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

She could move now. She turned and walked toward her house. Without looking back, she knew her gift from the stars was following her.

Luna didn't believe in coincidences. Tonight, however, she believed that wishes could move faster than the speed of light.

 

[Parson]

Look to the Light

Glendale had heard the phrase “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” but he had never really understood it until he found the painting in a small tent at the county art fair. The piece hanging in the prime spot was $125. But the piece he held in his hands, “Look to the Light,” was $35. The price revealed to him that most people considered it junk art. Even the artist didn’t value her art that highly. Yet, somehow, the piece spoke to him.

He handed the artist a fifty, didn’t wait for his change, and carried it home.

Each day Glendale would gaze into his prize possession and feel the tug of it deep in his soul. He began to see something behind what was visual. He was the man, and the light was a rip in reality; his reality. All that he had accomplished in his reality began to pale. He could see there was more to his existence than what he had experienced and that more, was more important, more necessary, and more meaningful. Life was meant to be lived in God’s love.

The changes came slowly. When the waitress overfilled his coffee, he smiled at her and said, “No, problem.” When the black Buick cut him off in traffic he didn’t curse and fly the bird. He slowed and remembered that sometimes he too made bad driving decisions. For the first time he took a day off work for his wife’s birthday. He took her to the beach that had always seemed too far away and a waste of a day off, but the joy on his wife’s face made it more than worthwhile.

At the end when he gazed into the light he heard: “’Well done good and faithful servant.”

 

[Elckerlyc]

Ignis Fatuus

I watched how the last of them hurried into the Light, afraid to be left behind. They vanished into the unknown without so much as a glance back, leaving me the sole citizen of what was a thriving town just 4 weeks ago. Could an abandoned place still be called a town? A dark, deserted planet a home?
It was an eerie place now. Streetlamps and traffic lights illuminated my way as I meandered through empty streets, along houses with doors left open and lights burning or shops showing flashy ‘OPEN’ signs but otherwise still, except for the humming of air-conditioners and freezers. I pinched some frozen meals.

While my meal was spinning in the microwave I switched the TV on and flipped through the channels; all of them still showing the same Limited Evacuation Offer, over and over again, since the sun refused to shine – or rise, nobody really knew. Nothing else seemed affected – and the Lights appeared.
Was I really the only one to resist the invitation the Lights embodied, to see the insincerity? Was I the only one not being blinded or the blinded one?

After my sleeping period – day or night rendered meaningless – I opened the door and nearly stepped into the Light. It had moved and positioned itself right before my front door. Aggressively being chased by a Light was not how I had imagined spending my days. I slammed the door, retrieved my gun and left via the backyard.
Thankfully, tranquility at the graveyard had returned. Lately it had been awash with people disinterring their loved ones, to bring with them. Open graves, resurrectional frauds, pockmarked the graveyard.
“Well Margie,” I sighed, settling myself at my wife’s headstone, gun in lap, “It looks like I’ll be joining you sooner than expected.”

 

[chrispenycate]

At the end of the tunnel​

Elsewhere, it might have been the light of a mirrored carbide lamp, illuminating the tow path for the faithful, plodding oxen dragging essential luxuries along an iced-up stream, the barge's weight either crunching its hull through into the crackling water or its runners riding the uneven frozen surface, pushed off from the bank by the heavy poles of of the crew.

Anywhere else but Hillborough, where the town had been located on the critical solstice point, calculated by the greatest astrologers in the land, with the felled trees giving clear view to the chasm through the mountains, and the cleared lands becoming productive while most of the buildings except the temple are wooden, considerably more comfortable than stone, if not as long-lived. Far more practical than towing megaliths across the countryside, or piling up ziggurats.

Obviously, there were cloudy years, and foggy, and storms - but this was no worse than for any of the other cults, and it took a lot more fog or drizzle to hide the truth of our seasonal revelation.

Only one manmade light was visible, the high priest's dim lantern illuminating the graven wooden sheets he had no need to read, as firmly written on his heart. There were more inhabitants of our township than any other point in the year. The local cultivators and merchants, the makers and decorators for days of walk around, and the visitors from much further - from the sunburnt lands to the far south, or from the frozen lands, the merchants from everywhere, crowding temple, guesthouse, barns and spare rooms or tents and living wagons taking up frozen, harvested fields. Later the firewood piles would blaze heat, and light, and food. The town would feast, and dance, and celebrate.

But now one man explained his truth into the sunrise.

 

[Bren G]

Into The Darkness

It was the way his tired dark eyes, flickering by the campfire’s light, drifted away into a distant night, as if the demons had escaped his shattered mind and took refuge there in the darkness. He spoke, slowly at first, careful at each step, before his pace quickened, his tales stranger than fiction.

I leaned in, searching for the thread that ran through them, trying to sew those torn fragments of his memories into whole cloth. As the fire turned to embers, I had pieced together just a tattered rag, when his eyes rolled back into his head, as if a recollection, from somewhere deep, had wholly overtaken him. What he said next terrified me.

I was thirteen then. Had hitchhiked many miles to find him, the author of the bestseller that led me here. But as I clutched the tiny toy in my palm, a talisman to my trembling nerves, I knew then he had written the truth all along. And that he knew what had happened to my big brother.

He sobbed uncontrollably, begging for forgiveness for sharing these horrible things. Then he slumped forward as if he had done the work of Sisyphus, when the trees shook, the wind raged, and the fire’s sparks flared up like angry bees. And a blinding light pierced the darkness before a loud whuump boomed through the forest, as if the hand of God himself struck the earth. The man’s eyes widened with horrible familiarity. He screamed, “It’s them! Run lad!”

But I rose instead, clutching my brother’s toy spaceship ever more tightly. Finally, I knew where I could find him! Turning my back to the fire, I stepped into the light, slowly at first, careful at each step, before my paced quickened.

And what I saw, was stranger than fiction.