The headline says “Amazon clearance,” yet this isn’t an online sale but an example of the indifference of greed.
If trees could talk, they’d say: love us as we are, for gone is gone, and blackened earth and scorched ground will be no more than a footnote for future generations.
Henry Bladon is a writer of short fiction and poetry based in Somerset in the UK. His work can be seen in Fewer than 500, Pure Slush, Truth Serum Press, and Flash Frontier, among other places.
I was staring blankly at a dirty old apartment building, wondering whether more people go down fire escapes or up them.
You said, “It happened so suddenly; I found out yesterday,” and I wasn’t sure whether to slip out the back door, or embrace the opportunity to sneak back in.
Kim groaned and awoke.
It was early morning, but unusually bright and hot.
Kim slipped into her bathrobe, flung open the blinds, and screamed.
A dying red sun filled the sky. Earth’s orbit was rapidly, dangerously contracting.
Kim shrieked and hammered on her speed-dial. “Tan-Hut!? I need a pre-tan NOW!”