Engineers created robots that wrote music based on brainwaves.
We wanted to hear thoughts of wonder, imagining a new wave of ‘sub-conscious’ brain-raves.
Exhilaration turned to panic as a deeply buried sorrow filled our ears. A dying world screamed within our minds, and we had turned the volume up loud.
Beneath the majestic Tora Bora Mountains he pulled the trigger, then trailed his quarry into a nearby cave. He leaned over and peered into the man’s dying eyes, and was startled when the Arab’s bloody hand rose slowly and gently touched his cheek.
He decided this was his last kill.
“Hey! Stick your head out, Yank. Need some target practice.”
“How ’bout this, Reb?”
“What’s that?”
“Ham.”
“Dang! You got ham?”
“Reckon. Whatchew got?”
“Tobacco.”
“Meetcha middle the creek.”
“Hold your fire! Ham for tobacco!”
“‘Preciate it, Reb. Been dyin’ for a smoke.”
“Yup. How’s Mama?”
“Sends you her love.”
Henry F. Tonn is a semi-retired psychologist who has written a sterling novel entitled “Ascent to Madness, Zelda Fitzgerald’s Gilded Cage” which is is having a great deal of difficulty finding a home in the publishing world.
“We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry!” he shouted, thinking he knew what she wanted. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I can’t be the son you want. I’m sorry I can’t get my life together. You want perfection… I’m only human.”
“Ah,” she said, smiling sadly. “But you’re not.”
“Cappucino, love. Quick.”
He yanks the cup from my hand, throws change in my direction, and dives off, ticket in mouth. And the next suited man goes. And the next. I watch from under my cap.
The barriers slide open and each one glides off. The counter pens me in.
Matthew Keeley is a teacher and writer from Central Scotland. He is currently seeking representation for his first science fiction novel, ‘Turning the Hourglass’.
The baby dolls go with her everywhere. She cuddles the pale-faced one and croons, “Wittle sweet,” then kisses the dark-faced one and sings, “Wittle deaw.”
Everyone asks me why her babies have different skins.
I shrug. “She loves babies of all kinds.”
Why, they wonder.
I ask myself, Why not?
Mess-ups. Scratch-outs. We all have our moments. Life is full of mistakes. We all make them. It’s what makes us human. Our imperfections make us perfect in our own way.
But when we work together, we can overcome our imperfections and be an (almost) perfect team.
Even with our flaws.
The robots found the poet sleeping in an abandoned car. “You are charged with public drunkenness, tax evasion, and vagrancy. Surrender immediately.”
“I will, so long as you answer this question. Why does a cat sleep in the window?”
He smiled and closed his eyes as they contacted Central Server.
Jeff Holland is a handyman struggling to write. Fifty-word stories keep him sane. He needs to post more on his blog.
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.
The Infinite Spirit tipped Its head back and sighed, puffed out galaxies. Countless images and scents of Imperfection surged through Chaos. The Infinite Spirit lowered Its horns. And then It died.
Traces of Imperfection seared themselves on newborn stars. Those that remained found sanctuary on Earth. The Imperfections became men.
Danny Vagnoni is a highly esteemed writer at Moravian College. His fiction has been performed and published.