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.
Minuscule irritants in nasal passage of the cosmos, we insist on festering and aggravating, even destroying the dust particle on which we blew in.
While some continue solipsistic hedonism, others try to repair the sins done by action and prayer.
Watery-eyed, The Maker sneezes.
“Gesundheit!” an archangel declares.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion.
Our peaceful mission
which commenced in Roswell in 1947
Agents infiltrated the planet on periodic visits
successfully morphing into intelligent life forms to deliver our survival doctrine.
Warnings of the dangers of pollution, climate change, and chemical toxicity
Earthlings will destroy their own planet
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Our children lost their connection. They could have learned from our mistakes, but in our quest for secrecy we hid the wrong things. We gave them the wrong stories.
They must learn the Earth’s magic, forget their alien origins. Time grows short.
We will not take them to another planet.
Rae Stinger writes from her home in Salem, Oregon, and awaits the return of her alien ancestors. You can find her on Twitter. @raestinger
We’ve been furloughed until the city is sure that the storm has passed. A precaution.
Nestled between two large piles of various canned and dehydrated foods, hot coffee in my hands, I am prepared to watch the rain.
A few drops hit the window, and the glass begins to sizzle.
K. Victoria Hernandez is an ecologist and writer. She is a Clarion workshop graduate, writes short stories, poetry, and is currently working on a novel. Her favorite season is storm season, with a cup hot coffee for warmth.
Saw my first tree today. So beautiful! Even better than the picture.
The museum guy said that in olden days the whole planet was covered in trees! I couldn’t imagine that.
Put my name down for the draw for tickets to see a mammal next year. Hoping for a rabbit.
Mick Mangan lives in England and writes plays, poems, songs, fiction, and non-fiction. There is more about his music at mickmangan.com.
I don’t mind what you call me
Mum, Mummy, Mother
but I care how you treat me.
Have respect for me.
Care for me.
I am dying and time is running out.
There’s no going back.
So much wrong.
Too much to heal.
I’m your Mother.
I am Mother Nature.
Jean lives in Bath in the UK. She is trying to care for her corner of the world.
Seas warming by degrees, growing more acidic, weakening the skeletons of animals and plants. The scientists call it “mass bleaching.”
Giant clams with green dots on their flesh. The hawksbill turtle and hammerhead shark, damselfish and manta ray turn paler, swimming through rippling tendrils of ghost coral.
Nemo seems unaffected.
Beth Sherman received an MFA in creative writing from Queens College, where she teaches in the English department. Her fiction has appeared in numerous publications, including The Portland Review, Sandy River Review, Blue Lyra Review, Panoplyzine, Peacock Journal, 3Elements Review, Gloom Cupboard, The Delmarva Review, Sou’wester, Sinkhole, Compose Journal, Ponder Review and Marathon Literary Review. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has written five mystery novels.
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
The procession stomped past, kicking up red sand. Participants dressed in blue and green, holding banners in remembrance of Planet Earth, singing old songs.
Annie squeezed her grandmother’s hand.
“Nana. What are we celebrating?”
“It’s been fifty years since we had to leave,” she replied, gazing at the empty sky.
David Turton is a fiction author, flitting between science fiction, post-apocalyptic horror and straight-up terror. Look out for his published work across various online publications as well as a forthcoming Body Horror Anthology due in late 2017.