Historical
Future Disguise
How does a dream that’s interpreted as a miracle become a nightmare in reality? A question that Ruemaq had in mind when his eyes shot wide open. His skin was extremely slippery and the bed allowed his body to crease itself into a puddle. Ruemaq rested his hand on his forehead. “What is up with the heat today?!”
By Devond Devoe20 days ago in Fiction
Pernicious With A Purpose
“Olawdry, are you coming to bed yet?” Mairlz called from the bedroom. Olawdry was staring at himself in the mirror pulling down the bags underneath his red eyes. “Yes, sweetie. I’m coming.” He responded tiresome. He hit the light switch, shut the door behind him, and walked over to his side of bed where he could see the moonlight outside the window.
By Devond Devoe24 days ago in Fiction
Waiting for the Last Train. Honorable Mention in Last Call Challenge.
Sunday, 3 September 1939. 7:57 p.m. (19:57) German trains always run on time. Except when they don’t. My father told me that. His father was a Rabbi, a wise, gentle man. What would he have thought about this moment? What would he have advised? Would he have said my life is off track? I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I have so few memories of him, but one stands out. He said, “Always pray to God before taking any action. Always.”
By Paul A. Merkleyabout a month ago in Fiction
Voyager 1 . Top Story - September 2026.
The following story is a true "last call" story about Voyager 1. The Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena is a working place where engineers spend their days solving problems most people will never encounter. Computers fill the offices, technical information covers their screens, and conversations revolve around spacecraft, calculations, and systems that have been operating for decades. From the outside, there is little to suggest that this is where people are still maintaining contact with a machine traveling billions of miles from Earth, yet that is exactly what happens here.
By Nolan Reedabout a month ago in Fiction
The Last Innocent Second
The bomb bay doors snapped open at 8:15:17. Gravity took the weight Colonel Paul Tibbets had hauled across the Pacific for three days, and Little Boy dropped free, ten thousand pounds lighter, the Enola Gay jumping upward like a spring let loose. Tibbets threw the aircraft into a diving turn of one hundred fifty-five degrees, engines shrieking past their limits. The switch had thrown. A man can steer a plane. Recalling a bomb already falling through open air lies beyond him.
By Nolan Reedabout a month ago in Fiction
The Dregs of the Tontine
“Master, he won’t leave. What shall I do?” The bartender glanced in the corner, recognized the customer – well, not really. Instead, he recognized the bottle in front of the customer; it had sat in a corner cabinet for years, getting dusty. The former bartender-owner had gone through an old journal, his husky voice full of emotion, explaining the importance of the legacy bottles. That’s how he phrased it – “legacy bottles.”
By Meredith Harmonabout a month ago in Fiction
