Flash Fiction

If You Can Make It There

15,000 years travelled and I was finally out of gas. Gas, in this case, consisted of an atomic battery that was, unfortunately, quite impossible to recharge. Until I found another power source I was out of luck, stranded like a castaway on this unfamiliar world. It was strange to see it looking so bleak, lakes black with oily slick, birds were scarce and no human settlements visible. Animals in general seemed to have fled this area, and I was left wandering on a deserted highway with no real idea of what direction to follow. I had been attempting to get from a job I’d completed in the year 4600 to 1510, where I would investigate a cultural revolution which apparently was the origin of the great catastrophe of the twenty-first century. I had broken down early, however, and was now stuck somewhere post-armageddon.

The days passed very slowly. I was staying alive on rations and hydration pills. It took at least three days before I made it to the outskirts of a city. Towering buildings were lined in rows as far as the eye could see, like hundreds of dominos, some collapsed into the adjacent structures. I’d not seen any life and was beginning to think I was alone when I spotted some children darting across the street in front of me. I watched them as they ran into one of the old abandoned monoliths, clearly where they were living now. It was then that I saw him, the wizened old gentleman who was hastily carrying himself on crutches after the children. “Come back!”, he cried.  He waved his arms around in frustration, but they were too quick for him. He collapsed to his knees and held his face in bony old hands.“God damn kids took my last pair of glasses, I can’t see a thing without them.” The old man looked at me imploringly, as if I would produce a replacement. In truth, I had never seen a pair of spectacles outside of the museums.

We exchanged some information, I explained I was a traveller looking for fuel to get home.
“Join the club buddy, everyone’s had it hard since the disaster. You might be waiting a while…”  He confirmed my fears, I was going to be hard pressed to get back to 2580. The man introduced himself as William, and offered to help me find my way to shelter. By careful questioning, so as not to give myself away, I discerned that I had traveled nearly 500 years before the time I call the present. I could scarcely believe this was the same planet. Clearly, the technology to properly deal with waste had not been developed yet. All around were mounds of discarded food, plastics, papers and all kinds of rubbish. William told me that there were areas outside the city where the garbage was buried in the soil itself. “Most of the world is a landfill,” he said.

We found a building that was inhabited and had running water. William advised me to stay while I searched for fuel. I didn’t tell him that the fuel I wanted was most likely buried like those landfills he was so happy about. My new abode was high above the city, and I could see the ocean in the distance. It had encroached on the city somewhat; the water formed channels between what were once giant buildings and it reminded me of some of the books I read on the history of New Venice before my trip. They called it New York back then, New Amsterdam before that. When I looked out toward the sea I could see the head and shoulders of a woman poking out of the water. On her head lay a crown, framing a regal face like a monument to some queen of antiquity. I contemplated how sad she looked, drowning in the sea.

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Flash Fiction

Bombing

Bombing

“Oh the angels and the devils too”, she whispered as the blood poured in torrents from her; all over her body, endless streams. I tried to put pressure on the wounds, no good with medical things, that was how they did it in the films I suppose. “They creep around inside of you” The lady’s voice, unknown to me a few short minutes before grew frail and weak now as the death passed through her. Dragged her toward one of the emergency exits, but it wouldn’t open. Something on the other side held it shut, and the heat inside rose steadily. “They steal your heart and soul and fly” .

Why couldn’t the bleeding just stop, why was it so hard to get it to stop. They said in the films to put pressure on the wound, why did they lie? They always lie, about the important things. They make everything look easy, and it’s not easy, none of it is; they don’t prepare you for the fear and shock and the hero is always brave and perfect and gets everything under control. “And hold you when it’s time to die”. I wrapped my shirt around her waist but it was no good, she bled out. I wasn’t the hero, the heroes that night were clad in luminous jackets and held big red fire extinguishers in their hands. When the firemen arrived I was finally able to let go of her.

On the stretcher I stared at the stars, I wondered if life was worth all this violence and terror. I couldn’t shake the thought of men exploding from my mind, why they decided to turn themselves into fireballs for that brief moment and destroy so much innocence. I wanted to be a star but never in such a literal sense as these murderous fire-men, men who become fire instead of quenching it. that change the world in planes or trains or city buses. Dreamt about getting away from everyone, about the sea and about a world where we aren’t killed by our own kind.

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