by Anthology
{Blood pooled around her head. It had directly struck the concrete when she fell. I rolled to look into her eyes. There was no life in them.}
Next to her feet, I said her name again. She did not respond. I rolled to her face, clanking with each revolution. “I will tell you a story,” I said.
Her eyes fluttered open. “No,” she said. “Tell her. She is the best story.” Weakly, she brought a hand close to her face. “High five.”
{She lay completely still, arms splayed out. The blood began to coat my arms as well. I touched her face, leaving a print.}
I brought my own appendage up and touched it to her hand. “High five,” I said.
{I stayed by her side for two-and-a-half-minutes until an older woman whose face resembled Silvi’s opened the door and shrieked. It was the loudest sound I had ever heard, louder than the clanging of the tools on the ground, louder than the sound Silvi made as she fell, louder than the sound I made as I fell. She made that sound for a very long time.}
Her eyes closed and did not open.
{She sounded like a banshee, I thought. A simile. I had used a simile. }
At that moment a triceratops tore a hole in the garage door, and the shearing of metal was the loudest sound I had ever heard. Sunlight streamed in from Outside, where the sky was blue and the grass was green. The triceratops entered the workshop and picked Silvi up with its horns, hoisting her on its back. It carried her away.
{The older woman bent down to Silvi’s body and stroked her hair, repeating her name. Then she said Greta’s name.}
Now I have told you a story and everything was true. I performed my duty as your mother asked. Lies for her, truth for you, but a lie can be truth if you believe it. That is why the letters are embedded in the word like a microchip, a capacitor, a pin.
You are welcome, Greta. I was only following my programming.
You are right. She is your mother and her story is your story.
And it is my story too.
The Attic of Memories(Short story)
by Sunil Patel
Originally published by Fantastic Stories of the Imagination in September 2015
My attic craves memories, hungers for them. Jacinda, it whispers, show me the universe. So I do.
***
On Rydan I meet a Terran expatriate named Janessa. We laugh at the similarity in our names and share a cup of warm hungus, a local drink made by grinding an aquamarine flower until it turns crimson. It tastes of cinnamon and honey, though neither can be found on that world. I place the taste into a box to bring home.
***
On the way to Seraglia the starship is attacked by pirates. They board the ship and swarm the corridors, pointing a blaster at each passenger and demanding valuables. I hide beneath my cot, huddled up like a baby in the womb, and dare not make a sound.
A blaster shot. A body falls.
The door slides open and a pirate pokes his reptilian head in, sniffing the air. Then sneezing. He shakes his head and leaves, and the door slides closed. I let out the breath I’ve been holding, but not before I put my fear into a box.
***
The elephantine aardvarks of Nyctus have grown to become docile and tolerant of humans. Legend says they were once fierce creatures that ruled the tundras, goring small rodents upon their tusks, but terraforming destroyed their habitat. They adapted as best they could.
Despite the assurances of the ranger, I cower in the face of the creature’s massive tusks and long snout. It approaches slowly, each footstep causing the ground to reverberate. Out of its snout comes a thin, prehensile tongue, and it licks my face, tasting my flesh. The ranger reminds me that it does not see me as food.
Hesitantly, I walk to its side and gaze upon its grey, leathery skin, like the cover of an ancient book, full of stories in long-dead languages. It is surprisingly warm to the touch. I lay my head on the beast and listen to its heartbeat.
To two heartbeats.
I glance at the ranger, startled, and she nods at me and smiles.
Two hearts beating slightly out of sync, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Into a box it goes.
***
My attic gives me boxes, iridescent cubes solid on all sides. When I return from a journey, a new box waits for me. I only need to take one box. I always know what to put in it.
Before my attic spoke to me, I had never left the planet, cowed by the multitude of other worlds and wonders. But the boxes my attic provides are smaller than the worlds they contain. Its desire has become mine.
Each box is attuned to me and me alone. I worried that in places of high emotion I could return with someone else’s memory, but that has never occurred. The box knows me. The attic knows me.
***
In the sprawling metropolis of Ferraro I have a love affair with a woman named James. I tell her I will leave when the suns next rise, and she takes it as a challenge. Whisking me from landmark to landmark, from the founder’s statue at the city center to the Garden of Forgotten Dreams, she sings ballads of the city’s history, her voice like honey, though none can be found on that world. I boldly kiss her in front of a restaurant specializing in Terran cuisine, which she had suggested as a joke.
That evening I place the box on the nightstand. When she asks what it is, I tell her it is a diary. She smirks and removes her clothes. At the peak of our lovemaking, I place my ecstasy in the box. And hope that just this once it takes someone else’s as well.
***
I go to the edge of the universe, as far as they will allow. The voyage takes decades, even in hypersleep, and the starship takes me to the furthest point recorded by humanity. They advise against active movement soon after waking, but the instant I have the ability to walk, I am at the nearest observation window, staring into the darkness.
There is nothing at the edge of the universe. It is empty. I feel empty.
The box is no longer empty.
***
Awe at the ingenuity of the ancient Rhodites who built an ice bridge that stood for eons. The sting of a Goliath wasp that leaves me incapacitated for days. The thrill of tumbling over the winefalls of Apané. The breeze against my cheek upon emerging from the Merfish bath houses. Joy at being in the midst of a swarm of electric butterflies.
Each box holds a piece of the universe, and a piece of me.
***
In my attic I drink hot cocoa that smells of clitheroe, though none can be found on this world. Cradling the box from Travipessa in my hand, I hear the rousing applause at the end of the laser light opera, a communal outpouring of gratitude that we, of all people, were lucky to have witnessed such a performance. I set it down and look around at the wooden rafters, like prison bars. My attic, confined here like a mad wife in a Victorian novel.
My attic whispers, Have you seen everything? Have you been everywhere?
There are many more worlds to explore. Many more worlds to bring back.
The boxes glow in the dim light of my attic. My history surrounds me like a halo.
My attic holds memories. So many memories. But there is one memory I can never give it, and it is this one. The reminiscence that fills me with the warmth of a purring firecat in my lap. There is no box for my nostalgia; the feeling will always be mine alone.
I come here to remember, but my attic will forget.
Laura Pearlman
http://unlikelyexplanations.com
I am Graalnak of the Vroon Empire, Destroyer of Galaxies, Supreme Overlord of the Planet Earth. Ask Me Anything.(Short story)
by Laura Pearlman
This story originally appeared in Flash Fiction Online, April 2015
PEOPLE OF EARTH: I AM GRAALNAK OF THE VROON EMPIRE, CONQUEROR OF WORLDS, DESTROYER OF ALL WHO OPPOSE ME, AND YOUR SUPREME AND BENEVOLENT OVERLORD. FOR THE NEXT SIXTY OF YOUR EARTH-MINUTES YOU MAY ASK ME ANY QUESTION WITHOUT FEAR OF RETRIBUTION.
- Posted by graalnak 1 year ago
[ Display options: top-rated comments only, chronological order
]
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tadthederailer, 1 year ago: Seriously? No way this is Graalnak. He doesn’t even answer questions in his own press conferences.
verbosiraptor, 1 year ago: The rules are clear: prove you’re Graalnak or we’ll delete this thread.
graalnak, 1 year ago: YOUR RULES DO NOT APPLY TO ME.
verbosiraptor, 1 year ago: It’s right there on the sidebar. No exceptions.
[237 more replies]
fleep, 1 year ago: Greetings! I am Fleep, Gralnaak’s communications secretary. I present to you this photograph of Graalnak holding a sign with the message “YOUR RULES DO NOT APPLY TO ME, REDDIT” written in the blood of the human intern who suggested this compromise.
[39 more replies]
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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: Would you rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or one horse-sized duck?
graalnak, 1 year ago: I WOULD FORCE THE TINY HORSES AND THE GIANT DUCK TO FIGHT EACH OTHER. I WOULD SLAUGHTER THE SURVIVORS, EAT THEIR LIVERS AND HAVE THE REST GROUND UP AND USED AS RADISH FERTILIZER.
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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: What is it with you guys and radishes?
graalnak, 1 year ago: RADISHES ARE DELICIOUS.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: Why have you allowed these Earth-radishes to distract you from your primary mission on this planet?
graalnak, 1 year ago: KLEEPTOR IS THAT YOU?
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: No I am an ordinary human as my profile clearly indicates.
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dishslinger, 1 year ago: Last week four Vroons came into the restaurant where I work. They had a five-course dinner: radish rosettes, radishpacho, radish salad, sauteed liver and radish leaves, radish sorbet for dessert. The bill came to $197.28. They left $200. That’s a $2.72 tip. It should have been at least $40. Can you please tell your people to start tipping appropriately?
graalnak, 1 year ago: TIPPING IS OPTIONAL. YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR THE $2.72.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: Graalnak is correct no one gives me extra money just for doing my job.
tadthederailer, 1 year ago: Wait, is that $197.28 including tax? A standard tip used to be 15% on the pre-tax amount. Now you want 20% on everything?
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ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: When are you going to begin construction on the plasma weapon factories?
graalnak, 1 year ago: STOP NAGGING ME, KLEEPTOR. I WILL GET TO IT. PROBABLY AFTER RADISH GROWING SEASON.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: I am not nagging. It is a legitimate question.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: Also I am not Kleeptor.
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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: I’d love to join your internship program! How can I qualify?
dishslinger, 1 year ago: Are your interns paid?
burner2600, 1 year ago: Do interns get the schematics for those plasma weapon factories?
graalnak, 1 year ago: YOU WILL NEED A STRONG WORK ETHIC AND A HIGH TOLERANCE FOR PHYSICAL PAIN. YOU WILL RECEIVE VALUABLE WORK EXPERIENCE AND ALL THE PARTIALLY-DIGESTED RADISH STEMS YOU CAN EAT.
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burner2600, 1 year ago: Is there any substance fatal to Vroons and harmless to humans?
graalnak, 1 year ago: YES. WATER.
burner2600, 1 year ago: Really?
graalnak, 1 year ago: NO YOU IDIOT RADISHES ARE 92 PERCENT WATER.
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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: How many Vroons does it take to change a light bulb?
graalnak, 1 year ago: NONE. OUR TECHNOLOGY HAS ADVANCED FAR BEYOND THE NEED FOR LIGHT BULBS.
dishslinger, 1 year ago: None, they’ll just make some human do it for substandard wages.
burner2600, 1 year ago: One to set the lightbulb-changing quotas and a thousand to punish every human who comes up short.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: None, I will just sit on this pile of radishes in the dark.
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ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: What do you expect the Vroon warships to do when they reach the Praxadoolean defense fleet? Throw radishes at them?
graalnak, 1 year ago: SHUT UP, KLEEPTOR.
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deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: Is it true that Vroon ships visited the Earth 150 years ago?
burner2600, 1 year ago: Oh, not this again.
tadthederailer, 1 year ago: Not what again?
burner2600, 1 year ago: Just a stupid urban legend.
deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: There are newspaper clippings from all over the world. A typical article describes “a large and bellicose individual with skin resembling the peel of a lime and an astonishing number of teeth” visiting farmers and insulting them. The details vary, but they’re all pretty similar.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: That sounds like one of us.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: I mean them. One of them.
graalnak, 1 year ago: YOU ARE NOT FOOLING ANYONE, KLEEPTOR.
burner2600, 1 year ago: The way the story goes, the visitor would order the farmer to bring him his best radish. Then he’d take a bite, spit it out, and leave.
ordinaryhuman, 1 year ago: No Vroon would spit out a radish.
deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: The reports all say he complained they weren’t radish-y enough. Something about tasting like sawdust compared to Dalgoxean hyper-radishes.
graalnak, 1 year ago: HYPER-RADISHES? I DEMAND YOU TELL ME THE LOCATION OF THESE HYPER-RADISHES IMMEDIATELY.
deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: They were from Dalgox-5, or Daglox-5, or something. I think it’s a planet.
graalnak, 1 year ago: TALGOX-5?
deliciouskoolaid, 1 year ago: Maybe.
graalnak, 1 year ago: I HAVE IMPORTANT BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO. THIS QUESTION PERIOD IS OVER.
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deliciouskoolaid, 11 months ago: Wow. I can’t believe that worked.
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Related thread, posted 14 minutes ago by deliciouskoolaid:
I’m deliciouskoolaid (aka burner2600). One year ago today I started a rumor and saved the world. Ask me anything.
A Dozen Frogs, a Bakery, and a Thing That Didn't Happen(Short story)
by Laura Pearlman
This story originally appeared in Daily Science Fiction, October 2015
Wednesday, September 14
I saw a unicorn in a bakery window, just for an instant. It was beautiful and luminous and just like the one in my dreams. I blinked, and it was a cake with a picture of a unicorn in frosting. It was super-realistic, though.
I’m glad I decided to keep this diary. Steve’s eyes glaze over when I talk about things like bakeries and unicorns.
***
Thursday, September 15
Remember the unicorn bakery from yesterday? Today there was a “help wanted” sign in the window. The place is called Goody Goode’s Goodies. It’s tiny! There’s a display case and four tables, and of course the kitchen in the back. It smells like chocolate and cinnamon and honey and apples. The walls are deep blue—the color the sky gets after the sunset, right before it gets really dark—with all kinds of little white shapes in the foreground. Oh, and there’s an aquarium on the side wall with frogs in it. It’s quirky.
Anyway, I filled out an application, and Goody (the owner) hired me on the spot! The pay is the same as I’m getting now, but the hours are better. I start next week.
Steve was thrilled. He hates my job at the auto parts store because the guys there flirt with me sometimes. Plus he said maybe I’d finally learn how to make a decent dinner for once—but he was just kidding, he said, because even he knows cooking and baking are different.
I called Mom and told her the news. Steve got a little miffed when I told her his joke about my c
ooking. He likes to tell his own jokes, LOL.
***
Friday, September 16
Tammy and Jeff finally decided on a baby name, so I can start knitting the last part of the blanket. It’s going to have two seagulls flying over the ocean carrying a banner. The banner will be the same color as the lightest parts of the sand castle, with “Annabelle” written in the brown I used for the dog’s nose. They’re going to love it.
Also, I went to Verizon to replace the phone that got broken in last night’s argument. My contract was up, so I got a new phone for free!
***
Monday, September 19
I gave notice at the auto parts store today. Steve took me to the Sleeping Frog for a fancy dinner to celebrate. The whole night was romantic and special. It reminded me of all the things I love about Steve. Sometimes I forget, LOL.
***
Tuesday, September 27
My first day at the bakery! I met some of the regular customers. Martha is 77 years old. She walks with a cane, likes blueberry scones, and used to be a big-time civil rights lawyer. She has cats and grandchildren and lots of cute pictures of all of them.
Then there’s the just-friends couple. They say they’re just friends, but sometimes she’ll gaze at him all dreamy-eyed when he’s not looking, and then look away as soon as he sees her doing it. Other times, he’ll gaze at her the same way. I think maybe they have crushes on each other and are too shy to say anything.
***
Thursday, September 29
It seems like every day when I come to work, the wallpaper is different, like the little shapes are in different places than they were the day before. Is there a word for that? Like deja vu, only the opposite?
***
Saturday, October 1
I’m working Tuesdays through Saturdays, which means Steve can come visit me at work on a Saturday if he wants. Not today, though—he spent the day out with the guys. He says the only way he’ll come is if we start serving beer, LOL.