It all started as a joke, but thousands of us did end up camping in the desert. We couldn’t get any closer than five miles from Area 51 because of the military roadblocks, but a large tent city quickly emerged. When the alien ships arrived, the joke was on us.
Eddie D. Moore travels extensively for work, and he spends much of that time listening to audiobooks. The rest of the time is spent dreaming of stories to write, and he spends the weekends writing them. His stories have been published by Jouth Webzine, Kzine, Alien Dimensions, Theme of Absence, Devolution Z, and Fantasia Divinity Magazine. Find more on his blog.
He swirled his spindly grey finger in the air before pointing randomly at the galactic charts.
“So where are we going for our vacation?” she asked, with bated breath.
He drew back his finger, revealing an isolated blue and green planet.
“Darn! Practice shot?” he asked.
“Practice shot,” she agreed.
Melanie Rees is an Australian author. She has published over 60 stories in markets such as Apex, Daily Science Fiction, Persistent Visions, and Aurealis. You can follow her on Twitter @FlexiRees or at flexirees.wordpress.com.
The saucers appeared at 12:15 pm on Feast Day, when we celebrate victory over body shaming and our collective morbid obesity.
The saucers searched for intelligent life, abundant natural resources or a population able to power their work force back home.
The saucers left at 12:16 pm on Feast Day.
Chelsea Roberts on most days can be found writing essays and short stories at pastpaperanswers.com.
Andile could trace his family back to an eighteenth century shaman, but he was sure this was a first. Torso and abdomen were insectile; gonads mammalian in defiance of bio-mechanical laws. But the brain…? It phased in and out. His scalpel hovered…
The attackers were advancing to claim their dead.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration.
As the eradication patrol passed, creatures emerged from the shadows, balancing on spindly limbs as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
They approached the embassy timidly, tiny eyes peering up into the perimeter viewer.
The ambassador was nearby.
“Let the humans in. It was their planet.”
Hatched in the spire of Saint Eugene’s cathedral in Derry, or close enough for reality not to be offended, he swoops down with the odd Science Fiction manuscript which is duly transcribed from bird-scratching by his alter ego under threat of a severe head-clawing. Refusing to be identified, his partner in crime will only admit that Falcon, a Peregrine, can be seen vole-hunting in the local cemetery to feed his family. This is presumed to be a source of inspiration, but who can tell with raptors.
He squinted at first, but then shielded his eyes when the light proved too overpowering.
“Why me?” he bellowed in the direction of the source. “Surely there are better specimens for you to abduct.”
Move your hand, came the reply, unspoken and foreign, yet understood. We can’t see your face.
Eldar is currently wondering (1) what achievements are considered noteworthy enough to include in a bio, and (2) whether perhaps a blurb highlighting failures is more telling and useful. He figures that some governing body has already addressed and decided on this issue.
Abby had been missing for over five weeks. Her family was close to giving up hope when one day a local farmer found her lying in his wheat field, fast asleep, surrounded by crop circles.
When asked what had happened, she always responded with three haunting words:
“I went home.”
Quentin Norris is a fiction writer and filmmaker who enjoys making small comics in his spare time. He attended film school in North Carolina and currently lives in Austin, Texas.
Ed is fishing a few miles off the coast of Florida. Suddenly a U.F.O. appears above him.
A thin wire rope descends from the flying saucer and wraps around Ed and pulls him up.
Moments later, he is thrown back into the ocean as he hears someone say, “Too small.”
Denny E. Marshall has had art, poetry, and fiction published, some recently. See more dennymarshall.com.
Brandon watched them roaming inside the fence. “Cool.” He climbed higher, ignoring the torn sign that flapped in the breeze: “You assume the risk of—”
“Get down,” Dad said. “You’re much too close.”
“Aw, Dad…” Brandon threw one leg over, heel kicking the post.
The aliens turned at the sound.
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction has appeared in Vine Leaves Literary Journal, Every Day Fiction, and Twisted Endings.
The alien invaders were dead.
This was our world after all. Men were once again free to work out their own destiny, for better or worse, without interference.
Man might fail, but if he does he will fail on his own terms.
If he succeeds… The universe will surely weep.
Justin Moody lives in Texas with his wife and three sons, and is a reader and writer of short fiction. Follow him on Twitter.