#WEPFF Requisition (Science Fiction #Story)

Pixabay

*Author’s Note: This post will serve a dual purpose. One, to satisfy the word prompt for today’s Write28Days Challenge (Glory). Second, to participate in WEP’s February’s Story Challenge (theme: 28 Days). 

 

Requisition

 

Glory fingered a loose strand of black hair as her green eyes stared outwards. A warm breeze caressed her petite body as she sat on the wooden steps of the white porch. The air carried a mild scent of sweet honeysuckle which she slowly breathed in.

“Enjoying your final day?” Came a husky voice from behind.

She turned partially towards her housemate, an aging, thin man, sitting in the rocker, and nodded, “Yes.”

He leaned back as he took in the mountainous view spread before them.

“It’s a shame you couldn’t be granted another twenty-eight days here,” he said as his colorless eyes scanned the horizon’s deep purple and pink hues, “it makes no sense at all as to why they couldn’t allow you to remain here indefinitely.”

“You know that’s not how it works,” she muttered as her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Yes, but it is unfair, not to mention unjust,” the man tapped a finger on the chair’s armrest.

With a shrug, she replied, “I’m just grateful to have had this one last wish before it’s all over with. I mean, goodness, I had the chance to see all of my friends and family, to say my good-byes…even if none of it was real…it was nice.  Really nice.”

The man scowled as he nodded, “Yes…yes.”

“I know you try to understand, Jessup, and I appreciate it very much,” Glory said as she glanced down the expansive meadow where she could see the shadowy forms of buildings that made up her childhood town, “but you don’t have to stay any longer.”

Jessup let out a long exhale, “Yes, but it doesn’t feel right to leave you to -eh- to face your end.”

She smiled, “You are too thoughtful, but I will be okay.”

His eyes swept over her before he bowed his head, “As you wish,” and within seconds, his body dissipated into a thin cloud of mist.

Glory studied the empty chair for a moment before returning her attention to the sky. The streaks of purple and pink were quickly transitioning to layers of dark blue and black.  The usual nightly orbs obscured by a looming menace in the heavens where billowing sinister clouds barely concealed an enormous fiery mass barreling towards her.

A shiver ran through her body as she closed her eyes.

Will I feel any pain? She wondered as waves of heated air brushed over her.

The earth beneath her rumbled as the roar grew louder and louder until her body shuddered right off the porch, and on the rolling ground.

Crackling and sizzling filled her ears as she opened one eye to see where the fire was when she realized the sounds were coming from her skin.

Just as the burning grew unbearable, everything went dark.

*****

 

Bleep bleep bleeeeeeeep.

The blipping line on the monitor instantly became a steady line.

A tall man in a white jacket stood staring at the screen for several moments, the bushy brows burrowing which revealed the deep lines around his brown eyes.

“Dr. Cruz?” came a woman’s voice from the nearby console.

“I will never get used to this,” he said, “extinguishing lives all for what? Profit? So that our government can repay its debts?”

“No, it’s mankind’s next step in its evolutionary process. It has also helped science learn much about the human’s consciousness,” the same woman replied.

He bowed his head for a long moment, eyes closed as he pondered on her words. Then, he shook it.

“Those are just the Company’s taglines.  We are nothing more than an assembling line for repurposing human bodies for those who can afford them. For the few who want to extend their own selfish, futile lives.”

“Dr. Cruz,” the woman’s tone now stern, “I wish to remind you that everything said and done here are being carefully monitored.”

He clenched his jaw, “Time of conscious death, 23:02,” his fingers tapped hard on the blue-lighted tablet’s screen.

To his left, the woman in a white jacket turned to focus her attention on the various displays of electronic devices in front of her.

“Closing the file for collateral number 230645 aka Gloria Swann,” she said as she pressed on the glowing screen, “body already prepped and ready for shipment to recipient number 02A02,”

 

 

Advertisements

#Write28Days: Strive

 

 

For the entire month of February, I will be participating in a daily blogging challenge called #Write28Days (click on it for more information).

 

Strive

 

According to Dictionary.com, strive is a verb (action) meaning “to exert oneself vigorously; try hard: to make strenuous efforts toward any goal: or, to struggle vigorously.”

I believe each one of us have spent at least some part of our lives striving for something. It may be a singular thing, or it may vary over the course of our lives.

For me, it was trying to find the one thing I could be really good at.

Diagnosed with moderate to severe hearing loss at the age of 5, I battled with feeling inferior to other “normal” kids. When ,at the age of 8, I discovered I could run faster than most kids (even those who were several years older), I latched on to it, and strove to become better at it.  Running became an integral part of my life for over seventeen years. I competed in college as well as after, and have placed (in the top 3) in a number of meets/races.

Then came the next challenge.

While still in college, I was diagnosed with Retinitis Pigmentosa (a disease where I was slowly going blind). Devastated, I gave up on any dream aspirations I had. I did finish college, but the degree was just a piece of paper. Nothing more. A few years after my diagnosis, I married only to be widowed less than two years later.  Broken. Severely depressed, I withdrew from the world and into one filled with darkness and loneliness (of my own choosing).   Through two special people, I learned to embrace another gift I’d discovered as a young girl but never truly took seriously, writing.

In the beginning, my writing sucked. I mean that sincerely. But, over time, through hard work, it did improve.

Poetry. Short and long fiction. I strove to find that niche I was destined for.

I’m still striving, still learning, still writing.

Since then I have remarried, and gave birth to a son who is nearly sixteen now. I have faced many other challenges as well but the same thing remained for me.

I’m still striving to be good at that one thing, and this keeps me going no matter what life throws at me.

Friday Short: Fire

Click on image for the original post

 

This micro-story was written for this picture prompt (click on the image to read the original post):

 

Fire

 

She was kept in a cold, dark prison for eons; now the light beckons her to take flight once more, to freedom, to the fiery death of all who stand in her way.

#FlashFiction #Story Tuesday: Dark Possession

 

 

Dark Possession

 

There was a place my mother once told me about.  Forbidden for any to enter.
The locals refused to speak of it.
In this forest, the sunlight never reached the ground.
Forever enveloped in an impenetrable fog.
The same ground where a boy was rumored to dwell in
Spirit? Demon? Or perhaps undead?
My best friend made a dare. A dare I could not refuse.
I won, but really I lost.
As my best friend never left the forest
where it claimed another soul
Now, they are
one and same.

 

#NeverForget September 11th (The Bench)

September 11, 2001 changed America.  Even after seventeen years, I can’t shake this dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Every time I hear a plane fly overhead.  Or, enter a high-rise building.  Or, see a fireman walking past me on the street.  Certain images and sounds would transport me back to that fateful day.

In fact, I went nearly seventeen years of not stepping foot on an airplane.  Until July of this year.

I was born in New York State, and spent the first 30 years of my life there just five hours north of where the World Trade Center once sat. I had just moved to Raleigh, NC (May 2001) when this horrific day took place.

As the events of 9/11 continued to haunt me, I decided to write a micro-story and then turn it into a microfilm, The Bench.   In a way, I did this to try and purge some of these feelings of intense sadness and of the anger over what we all had lost that day.  I wrote this from a fireman’s perspective drawing upon a specific story I saw on one of the many 9/11 documentaries.

 

I then realized I could not remember the name of this fireman.

For the next two days, I hunted online for his name as it’d been several years since I last saw his story.

Finally, I found it in this article:  Husband and Wife Survive World Trade Center On 9/11

Someone also took the iconic picture of him sitting on the bench when he couldn’t find his wife anywhere—

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although his story had a happier ending, I wrote my story with the thought of so many others who’d lost their loved ones.  And even worst, never to have their remains found.

So, let us never forget the sacrifices of all those who died on that day, and continue their legacies into our future generations.

 

A Soul’s Exodus

Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images

 

As I lie in the white bed, in a white room, I close my eyes to try and ignore the sounds of machines that surround me.

Home is where I prefer to be.

A place where golden fields ruled the landscape.

Where my body is constantly caressed by the light Northwest breeze, opening my senses to all that nature has to offer.

A place where peace and calm reign.

This is my earthly heaven.

But, there’s another calling to me from beyond this physical realm.

Just as beautiful and serene.

I’m struggling to accept the finality of leaving this home for another.

Am I so bound to this world which makes it difficult to want to move on?

Will it hurt to let go?

The blipping sounds of the machinery are beginning to fade…

                                                                                          …until all I hear are the songs of doves.