Doomsayers warned of apocalypse. “Disaster from the sky will destroy the world and the entire species!”
“Ridiculous superstition,” trumpeted Tyrannosaurus and Brachiosaurus. “We rule. Always will.”
The prophets were right.
A puny bunch with no claws or sharp teeth took over and wreaked havoc.
But their end, too, would come.
Marilyn McFarlane is a travel writer and the author of Sacred Stories: Wisdom From World Religions. She also writes poetry, memoir, and fiction. She lives in Oregon with her husband, a sizable garden, and maple and fir trees. See more at marilynmcfarlane.com.
Of course, if someone successfully built a time machine and changed the past, the rest of the world wouldn’t have a clue. From our perspective, the future would unfurl exactly as it was supposed to.
I mulled this concept over idly as I drove my Triceratops to work.
Thomas Tilton enjoys restoring old woolly mammoths.
“I don’t like this alternate universe, Lucy.”
“Why not, Jerry?
“I’m afraid I’ll be bored to death. The only web browsers here are spiders.”
“You want excitement? Did you look closely at the steam-powered train?”
“What about it?”
“Forget cows and buffalo; the locomotive is equipped with a dinosaur catcher!”
John H. Dromey recently had short fiction published in Saturday Night Reader and a novella in Weird Western Yarns Vol. 3.
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.
Shifting his weight on the cliff’s edge, Fred wrapped his arm around Wilma’s shoulder. Silently, they watched as the last great herd of Triceratops slowly moved across the landscape far below. She leaned in close, trying to savor the moment.
Deep down she knew.
Times like these don’t last forever.
Jason manages a bookstore in Tennessee and enjoys writing short stories in his spare time. You can find more of his short stories, as well as his comic, at jasonlhart.blogspot.com.
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.
“Thank you all for joining us on this first annual Thanksgiving Day,” intoned Tyrone.
“Your hospitality has been wonderful!” said Brenda Brachiosaur.
“A splendid idea,” said Stewart Stegosaur. “Please do invite us back.”
“Actually,” said Tyrone, flashing his Tyrannosaurus teeth, “I expect we’ll be needing new guests next year.”
Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, everyone! (Americans: enjoy yours next month.)
My ears signal their arrival.
Clenching my eyes, darkness becomes twofold.
Immobile, I dare not move. Their interest sometimes dissipates quicker without a reaction.
I sense them closing in.
The squall of their voices becomes a terrible symphony of unspeakable horrors.
“Get a job. Get up and get a job.”
Craig Holzschuh (1973-present) is an American writer. He is best known for amusing stories and an overreliance on spell-check. His pseudonyms pout in jealousy.
Last night I went to bed early, which was a shame, really, because when I woke up (late), I found muddy dinosaur footprints all throughout the kitchen and dining room, and the big pot of soup in the fridge was empty.
I hope they come back again tonight. Chili’s on!
This story was based on the prompt “last night I” at TypeTrigger.