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Archive for the 'Issue 1.06' Category
(4 votes, average: 3 out of 5)
Loading …Mabel looked at the alarm clock, trying to focus her eyes on the time. Her alarm, set for seven, wouldn’t go off for another two hours, but she couldn’t wait. She jumped out of bed and put on her shoes. She was so excited about her new job that…
Oops, shoes on the wrong feet. Her tiny feet slipped out of the pale yellow slippers. She adjusted them to the right locations, and started wiggling her toes back into them correctly.
Oh, no. Oops again. Forgot the clothes. My, this was going to be a long day. Better to start over.
(3 votes, average: 3.33 out of 5) Loading …“That’s it, we have no more work. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”, the foreman said to the crowd of twenty alien beings. Yuri, a human, was among that unwanted throng. Father of two, husband of Janna, Yuri had bought into the promises of financial prosperity offered by the planet Salis. Yet immigrants did not get great jobs, and had to scrape by to earn any credits. Still, Yuri had a few things going for him, he had no oversized wings to get in the way on a factory floor, and he didn’t have a million wiggling cilia to suck the life out of coworkers that disagreed with him. Humans were rather plain.
(3 votes, average: 4 out of 5) Loading …I was certain my eyes were deceiving me. Before me, nestled in the hand of this girl, was the one small item that could literally save my life. It was a pocket watch, but no ordinary pocket watch. I rested my elbows on the glass case and leaned over the far edge, marveling in the way the watch caught the light from my shop window; gazing in astonishment at how its 40 years had been so kind. As a collector of fine antiquities, I knew every detail about this watch. It was an 1890’s Waltham model 92; 21 jewel, Railroad Grade pocket watch with 14K solid gold hunting case, and a double sunk porcelain dial. I’d followed the value of this watch through the years as well, forever cursing myself for not taking the same model when I had my chance ten years previous.
(2 votes, average: 3 out of 5) Loading …John Pearson didn’t look like a conman. He looked like what he claimed to be, a balding, short mole of a exoteric physics professor, with glasses that made his eyes look like giant moths fluttering against a streetlight. A man that felt uncomfortable in his comfortable vacation clothing, a tshirt that said “Pi r squared? No, pie are round!”, obnoxious bermuda shorts and velcro strapped sandals. John Pearson looked like he would have been as equally uncomfortable in that outfit on a sunny day at the boardwalk as he was in the frigidly airconditioned holding tank of a room he was handcuffed to a chair in.
“Please,” he squealed, to the echoing concrete walls of the room that would have seemed cramped holding three people, but was resoundingly empty and alone with just one, “please!”
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