I could not believe my eyes after peeing on a stick. We were only playing around, and we never had the intention of reproducing. I was young and he was too, so we were unsure about what to do. Newly wed, we wanted to live our lives like partners where one is a full person together. This does not mean we were incomplete without the other, we were simply better together, and ourselves with one another. There was no boundary between his dreams and mine. We shared the pillow and we never fought for the duvet. But this would change with a third human on the table.
The echoes of the sirens still resounded in the empty streets as Bill and Emily reached the only house with its porch light still on. 24 Wilberforce Way. Emily imagined the Entity wrapping invisible tendrils around them both as Bill hammered on the front door, ignoring the buzzer. This was no time for niceties. They had perhaps two minutes to gain access before things became really dangerous. Emily leaned against a pillar, struggling to catch her breath.
There was something almost magical about space walks. The chance to experience space, like actual space without the confines of the metal box we lived on. It was something that never got old. Just floating in front of potentially millions of miles of nothingness, of void scattered with the occasional star, or a bit of debris, or whatever else happened to be drifting out there. Just being a tiny little thing on the edge of so much vastness, it has a way of leaving anyone in awe.
The last five ships in the 2249 New Bengal Stakes came around the limb of the planet Prospero. It was the final minutes of the twenty-fourth hour of the race. After an entire terrestrial day of circling the planet, one ship was about to claim the biggest prize on the interstellar racing circuit.
Dead grass and weeds fill the yards of suburban houses. Vines and shrubbery wrap around whitewash fences. A garage door creaks open a tall man in a white hazmat suit runs with two white bags towards a blue trash bin. The man stops for a moment, throws the trash in the container, and presses a button on the lid, and it incinerates. Burnt plastic fills the air with its toxic odor. He then hurries back in the garage and slams the door shut. Sweat beads off the man’s bald head as he pulls off the hazmat helmet.
I was there when it happened. The colony at the crossing of Mills Road and 12 Dwellings has had its share of flooding and predations, but I had never seen anything so catastrophic as the upheaval.
Zen’s Log: September 8, 2026
J. ‘Max’ Maxwell Approx Words 3100
Grandma and Mary exchanged glances and then nervously looked at George, who was clearing cups and saucers away. He had stopped momentarily and was giving them all an odd look. He made a noise that sounded like he was clearing his throat, if he had actually had one, that is. He spoke in a disapproving tone.
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