Luke fired. The redhead fell and twitched helplessly on the sidewalk, emitting sparks. One criminal android eliminated.
Now the male.
Luke’s finger trembled on the trigger. His face…
A perfect head shot. The android went down.
Luke fell on his knees, unscathed but damaged. He’d just shot… his other self.
Sylvia Heike lives in Finland and loves her rabbits even when they nibble on her books. She writes poetry and flash fiction and is working on her novel. Check out her website at sylviaheike.com
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 time machine shimmered and was gone. She looked at the space it left and thought of the man she had just spoken to, gone to his fate in a destroyed world.
As he now kicked inside her she knew what might become of him.
She had better get started.
Steven Lee wrote this story.
“Attention. We are genetic perfection. We abandoned our defectives upon this planet long ago. You are their ancestors. Children. We should’ve emptied the planet before we left. We apologize for allowing you to love for so long. We’re going to correct this. All of you, go to your loved ones.”
Ryan Joshua Ouimet wrote this story.
I like sitting up here in the dark and quiet. Below it’s all noise, light and a smell of confined humanity which makes me nauseous.
I used to go right up and look outside, watch the storms roil in the sky. Now I have to make do with the memories.
Stuart is absent without leave from the majority of life and finds that writing helps him remain that way. He occasionally blogs a story at diamondsanddross.blogspot.com.
“We’re at apogee in five, four, three, two, one.”
The booster fired, then the engines; a sustained burn using half the remaining fuel.
“Systems are one niner zero and holding.”
Ahead, the gas giant started to swallow its moon, soon to be left behind again.
“Roger, and… Wait! What is…”
Stuart Turnbull is a feckless no-gooder with a tendency to fantasize. He mainly cares for the house, and occasionally writes a story or two.
2184: Earth’s survivors occupy government-controlled cells provided with oxygen, power and sustenance, or OPS.
Number 215296045 activates his TV to discover he is live on screen.
“Tonight’s randomly chosen contestant on ‘Dying to Live’ is 215296045. Your task is to survive one hour without OPS. Understood?”
“What’s my prize?”
“Another hour without OPS.”
John B Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
“Woah, what’s that?”
“A titan of eternal torment and fire, birthed from the maw of hell, knowing nothing of love or life, seeking only the end of all that has ever been and ever will be?”
“Yeah, but how did it get here?”
“You forgot to shut the door, Einstein.”
Brandon King is a volunteer for Leading Edge Magazine, an awesome sci-fi/fantasy publication that will publish and/or edit your short stories, poems, or artwork.
In fair weather or foul, the mail must get through.
No one knows why anymore. It has been possible for a decade to send any message electronically and to replicate or actuate any object that might previously have required physical transportation.
I suppose the mail carriers have a good union.
This story was based on the prompt “in fair weather” on TypeTrigger.
Their sheds and bunkers were overloaded with guns, ammo, rations, reactors, and even entertainment, everything they thought they needed. For five years they had readied themselves for the invaders’ arrival.
The one thing they hadn’t counted on was the aliens’ overwhelming cuteness.
Psychologically incapable of fighting back, they were overrun.
This story is based on a title suggested by David Paye.