A Story in a Flash - A Collection of 300 Word Flashfiction Stories

by Michael Drake

  The mission was supposed to be a quick hit, in and out and back to a more stable present day. Not only had Kelly failed to carry out the plan, she found herself without a means of returning to her own time.

  The plan had been a simple one; to go back to a key event in former President Conover's past. Kelly was to take over the mind and body of a small girl in proximity to the President and kill her using a telekill attack.

  "These people are stupid," thought Kelly. "This girl’s brain can’t handle the telekill mind sequence. Nothing is happening to the President. Kelly could see the girl still engaged in play across the room.

  With horror Kelly realized that if her host’s brain couldn’t handle telekill it most certainly could not handle the mental sequence needed to return her to her own time.

  “I won’t live the rest of my life in this corporeal jail,” thought Kelly. “I’d kill myself living in this backward era.”

  Kelly’s host stared, possessed like. The whispering children had noticed. This was the clue the girl President had been waiting for.

  She walked over to the small, blank-eyed girl and took her hand, leading her to the coatroom.

  Kelly did not know how to respond so she followed the girl without question.

  The future president waited until they had entered the coatroom to use the telekill. Kelly was dead before hitting the floor.

  “Two can play this game,” thought the mind possessing the young girl president.

  “You can’t telekill someone who is expecting it. Good thing I was here to expect it. Now to cover this up and it’s back to my own timeline.”

  Decision Alpha

  By

  Michael Drake

  The members of Unity Moonbase Committee glanced furtively, through their dome shield, at the terrible results of Earth's nuclear Armageddon spread across the globe.

  The chatter amongst them was strained while they waited for the meeting to begin.

  Terrorism and Nuclear proliferation had been escalating since the turn-of-the-century. They had finally met in a cataclysmic unleashing. Entire continents lay in radioactive ruins shrouding the land and sea with turbulent storm clouds of debris.

  Mars Committee could be seen on the laser screen dominating the wall at the far end of the chamber. All ten committee members visible were the only people on Mars. They were each quietly seated staring intently at their own laser display showing the Moonbase committee chambers.

  Moonbase Committee Chair Freeda Wilson began to speak, "As you all know, we have not been able to establish contact with Earth for weeks now. We are beginning to wonder whether contact will ever be made and whether anyone has survived what looks to be the end of our planet as we know it. We have to assume that we are here to stay with no backup or support coming in the future. We may very well be mankind’s last hope for survival. Mars committee, as you know we have a very short window of opportunity to launch to Mars. Fortunately we have room for all of you to return to Moonbase, but that will mean the end of exploration on Mars.”

  The Chair of the Mars Committee, Freeda’s husband Richard, looked around the room at the committee members. “Those in favor of returning to the Moonbase, please vote now.” No one, including Richard, raised their hand.

  Freeda stared at the display, stunned by her husband’s decision. He did not make eye contact with her when he announced, “We’re staying.”

  Decisions, Decisions

  By

  Michael Drake

  I awoke in terror to the sounds of the cargo ship tearing apart. I watched my cabin being flung into chaos and realized it was my oddball choice of gravity bed that was saving my life at the moment. Trying to get my wits about me I grabbed my helmetsuit and put it on while knowing that the ship was dying and I had to get out.

  I secured my helmet just before a wrenching jolt shook the ship and caused the gravity bubble surrounding me to collapse. I was flung to the wall, which now had become ‘down’, my shoulder taking the fall. I palmed the doorplate, the doorway a hole in the now-floor in front of me.

  I dropped onto a debris strewn hallway wall and headed towards the escape pods. Though not planet worthy, a pod would last me a week in space.

  I nearly stepped on the Captain amongst the dense debris in front of me. His trapped and twisted body was beyond my help but I still felt a pulse. There was a beam across his back that had stopped him from palming a doorplate.

  I suddenly realized this door led to his private escape ship, one that could actually land on the Earth-standard planet below!

  The Captain’s palm still miraculously opened the door. I jumped in and used his palm again to activate the inside door, shoving his arm up through before it closed.

  After a harrowing but safe landing I flew to where debris from the crashed cargo ship had fallen.

  That wealth of debris is now my home. The escape ship, though planet-bound, allows me exploration. I’m discovering what an amazingly diverse and habitable planet I’ve landed on.

  I’m the only survivor but for now I haven’t turned on the rescue beacon.

  Dinner In

  By

  Michael Drake

  Beltway traffic was claustrophobic with every slot filled. I usually shoottube my way home from work but my back and the shoottube couch haven’t been liking each other lately.

  I had heard the same rumors that the rest of the Beltway system users had heard; a quake was imminent. I was trying to get home. I had my self-powered GuideMe unit monitoring my homepod located on level 3607 in the A1-InnerRing, only three podtowers and an Atriumtower away from my employer.

  RingCities have InnerRings for the poor Inne masses, like me and unconnected OuterRings inhabited by the Elite. Elite MansionOrbs faced outside with views of nature and a world off-limits to us Innes. An Inne’s homepod like mine looks on the InnerAtrium.

  I’d figured Innes like me would never be allowed to leave the InnerRing even if an earthquake struck so I was heading home. Sadly it seemed like the rest of the Innes were trying to make a break for the exclusive Elite outdoors.

  I knew I would be safer in my homepod. I lived in the only original freestanding podtower and the only one flanked by Atriumtowers which I knew would provide buffering enough to withstand an earthquake. Every other podtower in the RingCities connected to another and would bring each other down like a circle of dominos.

  GiMe, who was thankfully illegally off the national Gridview, greeted me with grim news as I entered my homepod. 30,000 fellow Innes had been terminated trying to escape the InnerRing. Gridview along with electric power to the podtower had been severed.

  I decided to have dinner in that night with GiMe choosing from several thousand meals I had stored away. The earthquake came after dinner. My podtower was still standing as GiMe and I watched the rest of RingCity collapse.

  Long Road Down

  By

  Michael Drake

  GiMe, my newly independent, GuideMe unit interrupted my reverie as I looked out the window of our soon to be vacated RingCity podtower unit. It was the only podtower still standing in my RingCity.

  "Ready when you are, Tom."

  I turned to the portashelf unit from which GiMe was speaking. The portashelf, along with the rest of my podhome appliances were lined up before the door like a mechanical parade about to start. All the appliances were under the control of GiMe who I had fortuitously taken off the national Gridview service before last month’s major earthquake had wiped out that service.

  “I guess there’s nothing else left to wait for,” I replied, “Let’s get moving.”

  GiMe and I, post-quake, watched for rescue from ServiceNow but as the weeks dragged, the only activity was an initial flurry of NewsFlys that we’re seen buzzing outside, documenting our RingCity’s rubble. With food running out and no hope of restored services or rescue, it was time to leave. It was my survivalist supplies that got us this far and would b
e needed as I trudged my possessions to the bottom of the podtower.

  GiMe’s Abstractor created tool accessed and powered door controls despite lack of podtower electricity. My homepod front door opened for the first time in a month to an immediate stench of decay and rotting flesh thankfully cancelled by my nosecore filters.

  I hadn’t even left my homepod and my original plan of exploring the floors for survivors changed to having GiMe, as a SpyFly, do the floor searching while I work my way down the staircase at the appliance parade’s pace. We’ll camp and recharge, every 60 floors, in a corner homepod. One floor down, 3606 to go. I figure two months to the end of the long road down.

  Fatal Mistake

  By

  Michael Drake

  Tendrils of thick steam rose through the gunmetal stairway leaving ghostly swirls in my wake as I descended fading into the darkness below. Trust my leads and I had finally tracked down the ‘Weekend’ serial killer to his lair; find they double-crossed me and I was on a sacrificial fear driven denouement culminating in a fatal mistake.

  Adrenaline tinged clarity of senses wrestled, overwhelmed by the putrid sewer trough entrails and mold caked, slime encased wall coverings. Nosecores clamped into action replacing the stench with filtered air returning cognitive lucidity.

  I blink switched sEYEs control to infrared overlay, map swatch and NDM targeting in side pulls on my heads-up display showing target and gap calc. Steadying my pace enabled a constant 360 scan for unmapped defense system additions. An upward spiral of trepidation drove its corkscrew of dread through my nerves as I closed in on the hideout door.

  Phage nans detected in micro bursts reached the leading scoutbot‘s force field; their obliteration visible only through sEYEs as billowing clouds of color winked out, one pixel at a time until complete annihilation. Though the force field took care of every last phage nan, the unexpected deterrence had burned doubt in my mind as to the reliability of my sources. Assurance dissolved with each step as the penultimate moment to the unsettled engagement was upon me.

  Tag target display showed realtime nanfiltration progress. Nantags activated and sent on their path through jeopardized doorway integrity brought a new burst of color to the indicators. Target infiltration was successful and verification, via DNAnan returns showed positive identification. Relief swept through me; waves of confidence rolling over the shores of my doubt, washing it away with satisfaction.

  The killer’s body locked under the target nans, his mind left free to contemplate his fatal mistake.

  Fifth Back in the Third Row

  By

  Michael Drake

  No one will admit it but the fifth chair in the third row of Mrs. Rawling’s English class is possessed. I can attest to the fact, as I almost always end up having to sit there. My Math class, the period before English is clear across the school. So by the time I make it to Mrs. Rawling’s class most every seat is taken and it is always the cursed chair that the class has most carefully avoided sitting in.

  Oh it looks innocent enough; no different than any other chair in school, but I can assure you it has a mind of its own. I go to sit down and can be looking directly at it, but it still manages to shift at the last second, dumping me and my books in a spectacle on the floor. This, of course, is fodder for at least a few snickers and the daily admonishment of Mrs. Rawling.

  That would be enough embarrassment for the day for a nerd like me, but it never stops there. At least once during class it will decide it’s more comfortable leaning back on two legs instead of four. Back I’d go; no ability to right myself. Eventually it would get bored perching on two legs and promptly drop me in a spectacular crash that couldn’t be ignored.

  One day Mrs. Rawling had enough and decided to blame the chair’s antics on me. I, of course, didn’t have a leg (chair or otherwise) to stand on and had to report to the janitor that afternoon for a repentant cleaning session.

  I realized that the janitor wasn’t keeping a close eye on me and took my chance.

  *****

  I’m never late to Math class where I now avoid sitting in the fourth chair back in the fifth row.

  Flight of the Newling

  By

  Michael Drake

  Teggly had spent most of the nightglow finishing his cloud hanger so that it would be ready for the most important morning of his life. The six digits on his fifth hand grasped the hanger firmly as he pressed instructor leaves into their corresponding slots. The hanger, no larger than Teggly's middle torso was shaped the same, like a flat toroid. It pulled on Teggly's grasp as it tried to float free through the ballast hole in the ceiling.

  Teggly secured thought vines to the outer ridges of the hangar and was about to secure the first vine to the floor anchor when it slipped from his grasp. The hangar began rising quickly towards the hole. Teggly compacted his lower torso and with a rapid expansion propelled himself up at the escaping hangar, his fourth hand catching it just in time. One mistake could cost him his escape from the Ringlands and thus his life. Any unlaunched braidhomes would be left by the rest of the escaping newlings. The harsh winter guaranteed no survivors.

  Streamer winds were beginning to sound the roof chimes. The cloud hanger rocked in the wind above the opening, tethered now on all sides with the vines which had begun to glow pinkish with use.

  Teggly adjusted his skullrod and inserted it into the cloudhangar’s largest instructor leaf. Communication was instantaneous. The hangar fed Teggly realtime weather conditions which Teggly used to find the perfect streamer, one that came so hard it began ripping the chimes from their holds. Teggly concentrated, releasing the braidhome holds. The hangar, with braidhome in tow, rose through the clouds.

  The successful escape meant a continued life for Teggly, one no longer tied to the trees. They would still be waiting centuries later when he returned to spawn his own newling.

  Forbidden Eden

  By

  Michael Drake

  Darwin had finished carrying the last of the fleshfruit from the north orchard down to his makeshift fruit cellar and decided he was ready for a break. The cool damp cellar felt refreshing after working in the late September sun but Darwin knew that days with warm sunshine were becoming infrequent and he wanted to enjoy the warmth. So with a victory fleshfruit in hand he climbed back out of the cellar and on up into a peppermint tree next to the cellar entrance. The tree was an easy climb and offered a breathtaking view of the entire north quadrant of Area 77.

 

  Area 77 had been a top secret government research area for agriculture and food production. Its containment field had miraculously held steady for the past decade keeping the Millennial plague at bay while protecting crops inside.

  At the turn of the century the Plague had wiped out all but a few thousand people across the US. Most survivors had fled away from Area 77, but Darwin instinctively knew it was the safest place to escape the plague. After breaking into the forbidden research area and dragging the dead guards outside he had sealed himself permanently inside. He didn’t care that the plants were all gene and nan experiments. Eventually he would discover the food they produced not only protected against the plague, but every disease. Darwin had become the first totally immune person.

  A breeze gently rocked the wide branch that Darwin chose as a seat. Propping a foot on an opposite branch, Darwin pulled the fleshfruit from his pocket along with a few mashed potato beans that were left from the previous evening's meal.

  “I’ll never tire of the endless variety of food….” thought Darwin with satisfaction. “…and I’ll never tire of my Garden of Eden.”

  Message In A Bottle With Wings

  By

  Michael Drake

  Darwin sat cross-legged on a small couch at the corner of the Area 77 computer lab, with a wireless laptop that was connected to the main computer system. He finished putting final touches on his creation and sat back wondering if it would work t
he way he hoped. He knew it would be weeks before he would find out.

  Since the Millennial plague wiped out most of the population a decade previous, Darwin had been living, alone, at the agriculture gene and nan research facility.

  As Darwin's loneliness increased over the years so did his knowledge of the self-sustaining system left at the research facility. The state-of-the-art assembler and computer system had been used for building new plant seeds for experimentation.

  Darwin became proficient at creating new seeds after only a few months but it took him several years to figure out how to build a living insect. His first experiments at creating a butterfly were wrought with failure, but he didn't give up and was soon making eggs that grew through caterpillar stage to become butterflies.

  This latest experiment modified the butterfly into a messenger; tuning it to human pheromones, it would seek out remaining humans and deliver an invitation to Area 77.

  It had been two weeks since Darwin released the butterfly. He had almost given up hope until one morning he woke to a sound he had never heard before, the guard door buzzer. It took him a while to clear the barricade he had built before he slowly opened the door fully for the first time in a decade. Much to his surprise standing there was a girl his age holding his butterfly.