“Surely, Doctor, there must be something you can try. Please!”
“I’m afraid all we can do is make you comfortable, my dear. Although…”
“What is it? Tell me!”
“Well, it’s a long shot, but you know what they say about laughter.”
“That it’s the best medicine?”
“Exactly! It’s a punacea!”
The ant on Amy’s desk grew even bigger.
Amy looked around. No one seemed to notice.
The ant stared at Amy with its dinner plate-sized eyes, then sprouted wings and flew towards Mrs. Spencer, who screamed. Amy smiled.
”Do you find biology amusing, Amy?” Mrs. Spencer asked with a frown.
Emaan, 13, loves to write!
No one in Joel’s family knew the difference between alligators and crocodiles, so he decided to find out for himself.
Joel stalked Florida’s swamps, taking pictures and making notes. After several long, hard weeks, he had his answer:
The alligators liked eating his legs, while the crocodiles preferred his arms.
“As I suspected, Gling, the human aliens are paranoid and aggressive. He ‘killed’ the dummy in order to escape.”
Gling gargled. “But this one had a weapon. We must test others.”
Kling shrugged.
They watched as Herbert Cralston flung the hospital doors open and sank to his knees in despair.
Herbert peered very cautiously around the corner. The hallway was empty.
No, wait. One of the inhuman creatures was lounging in a chair just beside the exit with its back turned.
It was all or nothing.
Herbert crept up behind the creature—
raised the steel letter opener—
and struck.
Freedom.
Herbert slid his shirt on over the bandages covering his sides. The wounds were painful, but not crippling.
Picking up the steel letter opener, he realized he didn’t really care how he had come to be here. All he cared about was getting out.
Unfortunately, he still had no socks.
“Consider us philanthropists,” gargled one of the inhuman faces.
Herbert looked woozily around the room. His tattered clothes were draped over a chair. The steel letter opener was lying on the floor.
“May I get dressed?” he asked. “Privately?”
“Certainly. Your wounds are healing well, but be gentle.”
They left.
Herbert Cralston blinked heavily. Light poured into his eyes the moment they opened, forcing him to shut them again.
He groaned.
“He is awake,” said a gargling voice.
“Very good,” responded another voice. “Dim the lights.”
Gratefully, Herbert eased his eyes open.
The faces he saw were definitely not human.
PIs’ apartments are worthless, but this was mine.
The thug inside had broken my seal on the door. The tape was like my services: cheap but effective. I felt less fear than the tape, though.
I relieved my holster of its lopsidedness.
The doorknob was cold. Soon, he would be.
Charlie Dunn is a college student studying abroad in Japan. He also wrote Full Count.
When they finally landed, they knew their plane would never fly again.
They gathered driftwood and heaped it into teepee-like piles. “These are not for cooking or warmth,” the captain said. “They are beacons.”
He hoarded the matches for weeks and used the last of them to signal the rescuers.