Every tick of the clock reverberated throughout the vast lecture hall. The biology students stared blankly as the lecture dragged on—monotonous drivel about clinical study results.
Post hoc, ad hoc, quid pro quo…
Twenty minutes in, only the snores made sense, and the rumbling from my stomach.
Christa is a medical writer with a passion for creative expression. She has had her poetry and short stories featured in several publications, including River Poets Journal, Tanka / Haiku Journal, Rune Bear, and Every Day Fiction. Currently she resides in South Jersey with her five feline muses.
“We have no choice,” the captain sighed as he initiated the release of the toxin. “He was getting too curious.”
The biologist’s eyes widened slightly as he died. The organic craft he had always identified as his appendix detached from his intestines and followed the flow as he voided.
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry close to the Donegal hills. His diverse writing disciplines and genres appear in international multimedia, recently with entropy2, Amsterdam Quarterly, Flash Fiction Chronicles, Plotters Ink, Alfie Dog, and 50wordstories. He has one imaginary cat, Stinky, who is mostly nailed to a board above a ruined allegorical flower bed.
Soft blue light illuminated the tank as Milton watched the cells divide.
2… 4… 8… 16…
He felt like Frankenstein, high in his tower, witnessing the inception of his creation. Through the portal next to his workstation the sun crested the Earth’s horizon far below.
It was a quiet birth.
Award-winning author of multi-cultural and transgressive literature, Pavarti K. Tyler can be found with Doc Martens strapped on over fishnets, but a girlish giggle as easily and likely as a throaty guffaw.
Something was wrong. It was a feeling more than an observation, something intangible, instinctive. Hannah backed away.
The creature seemed offended. “How typically human. You see a purely biological life form and consider me slimy, primitive, and murderous. How ignorant.”
The heads-up display built into Hannah’s eyes blinked a warning.
This story is based on the adjectives intangible, slimy, and murderous, as provided by @RubyCosmos.
The ant on Amy’s desk grew even bigger.
Amy looked around. No one seemed to notice.
The ant stared at Amy with its dinner plate-sized eyes, then sprouted wings and flew towards Mrs. Spencer, who screamed. Amy smiled.
”Do you find biology amusing, Amy?” Mrs. Spencer asked with a frown.
Emaan, 13, loves to write!