It looks at the Blue Whale suspended overhead and sadness clouds its thoughts. It is a robot but not unfeeling.
Programmed to preserve, it has overseen the installation of thousands of extinct species.
It watches the latest display being lowered into place. A male and a female. Designation: Homo sapiens.
Brian Maycock recently won the Scottish Book Trust’s monthly 50-word story competition and lives in Glasgow.
After the World Science and Ethics Commission (the W.S.E.C.) discovered the answers for the annoyances of old age, disease, war, and famine, the population—over time—grew beyond humanity’s control.
I smiled broadly at the prospect of coming out of retirement, unpacking my black hooded cloak, and sharpening my scythe…
J.D. Lone Bear wrote this story.
I’ve lived over twelve thousand years.
Or I’ve never lived a day. It’s just a question of semantics.
The humans who built me called me a soulless monstrosity, but I’ve outlasted all of them.
Now, alone on an empty planet, I wait for…
But still, I’m alive.
Chris Fries is a still-developing writer, slowly working to hone his craft. He is an engineer by vocation, a guitarist by avocation, and a writer by compulsion. So far, his blog has been his primary outlet for his quasi-creative meanderings.
God commanded the dinosaurs to become vegetarians so they could board Noah’s Ark.
“But we love meat,” they said.
God commanded them again, and one T-rex told God to take a hike.
God hurled the Chicxulub asteroid into the Gulf of Mexico, destroying them all. Dinosaurs had really small brains.
Michael Coolen is a composer, pianist, actor, and writer who lives in Corvallis, Oregon.
One, two, crackle, crack, three, five, ten eggs snap open. Mother Sauropod watches her family emerge from a crevice in cooled molten rock.
They wiggle between ferns, over wooden debris, broken concrete. Past skeletal remains: “Homo sapiens,” the mother states.
Nearby lies a torn book cover, words “global warming” intact.
Krystyna Fedosejevs lives in Edmonton, Alberta. She writes and publishes poetry as well as flash fiction.
I sit and I weep.
I used to be free. The faces gawp at me during the day, while at night I’m observed by darkness. I grow tired of my life, but they keep me alive to watch my suffering.
Outside, the signpost reads “Tiger: The Last of its Kind.”
Adam Baker entered this story into a 50-word story competition for school. He doesn’t know the result yet, but he got it posted here, if nothing else!