Archive for sci-fi

k1d

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , on 23/11/2013 by Cindy Vaskova

Something perhaps confusing.

k1d

 

I’m not truly here.  Yet you talk to me assuming I am, assuming I live in your town, maybe even on your street.  I feel close to you, though I remain distant in full anonymity, voiceless and faceless.  I’ve simplified myself to you, giving you a name to use, a name to know me by with ease. To you I am k1d.  And to myself I’m just 01001000101110. I’ve never known me another way.

See, I’m a time traveler, but that definition applies to the canons set by today’s movement. Today is moving quickly, and by the time you click me, I’ve already seen tomorrow.  The Citadel of Web is constantly shifting; gaps lurk everywhere, small invisible whirlpools that threat to throw you in a maze of spam and horror.

There are not many people like me, dwelling in the stream of present and future. It takes a strong grip to not drown in the flood of information. I think I may have been lost there already, transformed into ones and zeros that you transcribe to your news feed , that you translate as k1d, the spam bot, the virgin blogger, the man from the future. There before the happening, a written/visual media that prophesizes the events from tomorrow and floats them down the stream to spread worldwide, accelerating towards the future from which they come.

You simply click and share, being the user that you are.

You don’t know the half of it.

The ones and zeros. Traveling, dispersed and multiplied through vast areas of whole and genuine information, until you locate the one file you need and copy yourself onto it, extracting it, merging it with your unstable form and dragging it back through the stream, translating back to being k1d, translating the coded piece into words.

You don’t know the half of it.

The Pendulum and the Mosquito

Posted in Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , , on 17/11/2013 by Cindy Vaskova

The Pendulum swung, slashing the air as it picked up speed. The mechanical shrill scream of old and taut parts coming back to life filled the vast temple and the rusty monster soon roared with full power.

Standing in safe distance the Mechanic slid his finger down the glowing screen, going through the list of task performed and tasks about to initiate. He tapped on each running task, making sure the procedure was performed as planned. He smiled behind his mask at the excellent results reading on his screen.

On both corners of the chamber under the fluorescent light the Mechanic had installed prior, two crystals glistened; one ruby, one emerald. They were both grand, an impressive size, artificially grown. The Mechanic traced their crystalized roots descending all the way town to the floor of the chamber and digging into the foundations. But what mattered to him were the cocoon crystals that embraced the vessels carrying the virus and the antidote.

He checked the time. According to his statistics for the Pendulum to interact with the crystal fully and begin piercing through the thick material the estimated time was 16 hours. The Mechanic nodded. It was a hard task to crack the alien armor that had formed around the core, and the Pendulum would only suffice to penetrate inches inside and weaken the core. After that it was time for the Mosquito to play its part.
After 10 hours the first glistening ruby pieces started falling off. The Mechanic smiled once more.

Outside a snow storm was in its culmination, mad and swooshing, a white freezing fog that hid the peaks of the Himalayas. It was a ghost storm, a phantom wind that pierced through leather and skin and bones.

The mage was meditating in the midst of the happening, his palms upon his legs, opened upwards, two small balls of nature’s fury forming in each.

The mercenary’s were sitting in the throat of the cave serving as entrance to the temple inside the mountain.

“We’ve got company.”

Inside the howling storm, aside from the voices, another sound was making itself persistent, drawing nearer, sounding louder. It disappeared only to be replaced by an even louder one.

An aircraft swam out of the cloak of the snow, firing rounds from two Berezin B-20′s attached to it.

The mercenary’s scattered, picking on the run their weapons and firing back. One of the machine guns bursted into flames.

The mage was on his feet, charged with ice spells. He casted a rain of frozen spears which punctured the airplane top to bottom and it lost control, smashing into the surface of the mountain.

Two new crafts of the same model appeared from left and right. The mage built a resistance wall, giving time for the mercenary’s to load the RPG. His spell shattered just as the missile was fired. The airplane saw it and dodged it. Four of the mercenary’s were shot in the moment of distraction. The second airplane moved away, whilst the first one was spitting rounds at the walls of ice the mage was continuing to cast. Seconds later a squad of dark clothed soldiers with goggles and shotguns was dispatched at the narrow terrace. The mage was taken down and the remaining five mercenary’s took three more lives before getting thrown off.

The first group of soldiers was followed by a second, and the two squads entered the cave.

The Mechanic was witnessing the almost complete process of core removal. The shards were nearly destroyed, and now that the Mosquito was piercing through the created gap, neatly puncturing the surface, the vessel carrying the virus was pealing off even more. Soon the tip of the Mosquito would be able to poke and extract.

There was a series of thumps echoing throughout the temple walls.

The Mechanic turned at the sudden noise.

Soldiers were aligning at the top of the stairs, their rifles and shotguns pointed at him. Between the heavy-armed lines an admiral walked. His face was pink from the biting cold and his hair was sandy blond.  His voice carried an accent when he spoke.

“I’ve dreamed about this discovery ever since I can remember. I’ve read so much about the crash, about the myth that a ship carried two artifacts, one of sin and one of purity, but they were a myth, always a myth, though I believed with my entire being. My scholar said they couldn’t be created, because no human being had ever created perfection. But this is the perfection of life and the perfection of death. It is the most dangerous weapon known. I wanted to own that kind of power. It would cleanse me too, no? Knowing I could do so much good. Help people. Kill people. The ultimate antidote! The ultimate plague! Imagine the wonders!”

The admiral walked down the crumbling steps of the temple. He stopped when he was next to The Mechanic, staring at the Mosquito working on both the crystals.

“I could have never gotten here without your help and your brilliance. Your devices are magnificent.”

The Mechanic cocked his head to one side, the black orbits on his gas mask reflecting the glow of the crystals.

The admiral gave him a smirk and a funny look came to his glassy blue eyes.

The Mechanic knew that look. It meant he had just a second or less. It was his goodbye moment, the frame he would to death, a neo communist’s smirking pink face.

In his pocket he kept the small tablet, the navigation program still working. He gently slid his finger upwards, maximizing the speed of the Mosquito. The machine freaked out instantly and charged at the crystal, breaking the needle, setting the arm on fire as it pulled out and swung sideways, smashing into the other arm still working on the antidote crystal.

“What are you doing you bloody fool!”

The crystal shattered, crimson red liquid dripping from the sharp edge, evaporating when meeting the still air in the temple. The virus dispersed everywhere, silent and invisible.

The Mosquito hit the ceiling of the temple, bringing down chunks of rock and the remains of the core. The whole place began to collapse like in a dream, simultaneously, slowed in time, slowed in realisation. The soldiers opened fire on The Mechanic, but their shots were dodgy and missed him. The Mechanic used the opportunity to kick down the admiral and make a run for it. The air was becoming horrid, Pandora’s box opened, skin decomposing, blood spitting, choking.

The Mechanic ran.

The temple collapsed without warning, shutting itself inside the belly of the Himalaya, blockading the discovery of the centuries.

One body sat on the snowy terrace, breathing fresh air through the mask. His inventions were destroyed, his life’s work and research gone. But on the tablet in his pocket, a formula was writing itself, and it was one element away from becoming dangerous.

Astarogian Suns

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 15/06/2013 by Cindy Vaskova

Note: This was written a few weeks ago for a photo prompt for Flash! Friday which was great fun! There are microfiction contests every Friday so you can check the link to find out more and perhaps participate. There are dragons! Photo prompt below:

 

Astarogian Suns

I rely on the few spare minutes my operating system has allowed me before shutting down forever; more human, less machine, as the world my kind built witnesses its collision. One after another the suns in our solar system explode; all-consuming, the heat wave approaches. It strokes faces that never felt the warmth, only now melt in the blistering heat. But our death is silent. Calculated. Programmed.

This is the year the Builders of the universe complete their purpose.

Despite the temperature, he shivers beside me.

40 years have passed since he came here.

He takes my hand in his, seeking comfort; the human that fell through time and lived the rest of his days amongst us. A white-haired frail figure weeping silently for the world he came to love. His home.

I give him this final scenery to carry in eternity; the light, beautiful and golden shining above the vanishing megalopolis.

Roads of the Unknown

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , on 07/06/2013 by Cindy Vaskova

Roads of the Unknown

‘It’s getting too late.”

This had become a set of monotone words Joey had repeated over and over. It had gotten too late hours ago, but still, we waited. Four cars parked in the darkness, headlights crossing yellow swords; four men in black suits, ties hanging loose on top of white shirts. We share quick glances, counting the missing spot, the missing fifth, filling it with the non-present figure of another in black suit and weary face. This was due to be the last annual meeting before we separate, retire from this job; 17 years of service had done their fair share of damage and tonight we could all go back home, go back to being us. But he’s not here. This year there’s an empty space and an empty voice. He’s out of reach. And we’re not going anywhere. Not for a very long time.

***

1 midnight earlier

He leaned against the lamppost and tried to remember what city he was in.

It was one of those nights again when his brain was mash and his breath stank of overslept alcohol. Lately there were too many such nights and too many unknown cities to which lights or dim mornings he had woken up to. He was used to the feeling of being lost and blank, of being poison day and night, dragging weary body through weeks of ignorance. Shit, those were years, not weeks.

He grabbed an empty glass and filled it with water from the bathroom. That half-washed the taste in his mouth.

The suitcase still lied under the bed. He pulled it out, scanning the code on the front side, making sure it’s sealed.

2 hours until delivery.

He put his rugged jacket on. A glimpse of himself called from the smudged mirror. He saw four more men staring back; one more day till they all break free. One more day and he could have beaches and cocktails. He could have sun and stars and trips to that lake he saw on a postcard in Canada.

He washed his face and slicked his hair. At the end of the dead hallway of the unknown hotel he pushed open a door that wasn’t there. He stepped in a back alley two cities and some 200 miles away. Cotton candy music erupted next to him. “Cotton candy” to him was that tune which plays in all those half-dead bars; 20 different songs sounding the same, replaying until the morning brings sickness and the night releases the sober to dive again. Somewhere beyond the gritty door with stickers and a spastic red “EXIT” awaited the closing deal.

He walked through the bar, suitcase heavy in his hand, a sick wave of local sweatiness showering him fully. The “WC” door in the far left had the bright red coloring that marked an open portal to another universe.  As he approached he felt the universe rubbing into this one. A certain odor was present in the air,  different ray of colors reflected on the glasses carried by the waitresses. It was even marked on each person. Little did they know, the portal affected them more or less – tiny particles of the opposite universe leaked out, slipping in their brains, making him almost transparent to their perception. Other than that he was too fucked up from crossing back and forth to exist on his own.

He slid like a ghost past them and through the door, which beamed him up, bathing him in red. He closed his eyes from the pain.

The door closed shut. The other side stank worst then a rat’s pit.

Squinted eyes, bright yellow irises, foreign whispers, mechanical squeeks, motorcycle roars, glasses shattering, too bright lights, too loud music, high heels on the bar, high heels on the floor. He hated it all. It was the worst mixture of the human world and this wormhole that gathered scum from all sides. Alien and whatnot. He reached for his watch. The time eating gap had left him with ten minutes until the meeting.

‘D’ya want somethin’…sugar?’

He followed the curves her long tongue demonstrated with a gum. The seductive act felt wrong as it transpired. Maybe it could seem more appropriate and accommodating later.

‘Just the backroom pass Jezz. And maybe two shots for when I get out.’

The green-eyed barmaid smirked and pushed over a card. It had his ugly picture on it.

‘See you later suit-and-tie.’

He held on to the suitcase moving through the crowd. Backroom door. Backrooms were scary because they contained asocial people with psychotic disorders and too much money for too much no good. Like the countenance of the suitcase.

‘Right on the dot. That’s Mr. Lachlan for you.’

With a pearly skinned beauty on his lap, number 2 in the black market business, Rosarie slapped a big grin on his face, complimenting the man in plain suit to his fellow crime doers.

Lachlan laid the suitcase on the desk and offered the lock-removal code that matched the one Rosarie had previously received from the seller. He was a ruthless son of a bitch and Lachlan knew to keep cool, taking all the jokes and the giggles without a blink. He was just a delivery boy.

Rosarie hesitated before clicking it open. Then curiosity and cruelty took place and his sharp features became even more sharpened. Hermetic hood raised open. His face remained still for a moment. His lips muttered words, and it took Lachlan an eternity to comprehend what was said. “What the fuck is this?”

The suitcase was turned around in a swift move and Lochlan was scared to bring his glance down and witness his downfall.

‘Let me tell you something. It’s my own proverb, my most precious of virtues. I enjoy simplicity. I bless it. And as always that’s what I expect from deals like this. Make it easy for me and hard for you. I pay you to do the job. End of. Simple, clean. But when someone tries to play around with me and disturb my simplicity therefore my peace, I get really, really pissed off Lachlan. Now, I neither have my money, nor my toy. Nor my patience.”

Lachlan dared himself and shot a look at the countenance. He thought to laugh, but the urge died the instant it appeared and he stared at the white piece of paper with a crimson kiss on it, knowing he would never get to visit that lake on a Canadian postcard. Nor will four other men.

Rosarie might of already killed him, but Lachlan felt distant, he felt numb. Flashbacks invaded him; hard job, merciless job, roads without signs, nights without days. One night more vivid then the others in one of those cities he never remembers the name of.   Many uncertainties, many unknowns. This universe then that, very noir and then all shiny like Vegas. Simplicity. His own design of things. And all of a sudden she, leaning towards him, martini on her lips. Interruption. Change. A side-attraction. Pleasure. One memoryless night. How could have he forgotten? How, how, how?

Rosarie looked mad. They all looked mad; rabid dogs with steel in their nasty paws.

Lachlan awaited.

 

***

To be continued

‘He leaned against the lamppost and tried to remember what city he was in’ comes from a writing prompt sentence at Today’s Author

Messages Across Time

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 26/01/2013 by Cindy Vaskova

Previous installments: The assassination of Steven Merritt ,  Shadowplay ,  Emergency frequency

Note: Drawing “Pursuit”  belongs to  Craig Bruyn

 

Messages Across Time 

run

“The riot expands, the casualties grow in numbers and yet you refuse to take any actions. May I inquire as to why that is?”

The President put his glass on the table.

“It is essential for the success of this operation that people continue to feel threatened. As long as we have media attention directed towards the situation in the city, however delicate it is, we can control the events ahead. I trust you know the importance of things developing need be in our interest.”

“That I do. You managed to fool them all. I say the biggest propaganda stunt of the century. But, despite all Jonathan, I dislike the filth swarming our… your city streets. I don’t wish to tolerate radical actions, nor observe how this plot spawns dismay and total anarchy. Tone down the heat or you risk losing your position.”

The President stood. The Oval Office was silent, the curtains pulled tightly. Both men were shrouded in soft darkness, consuming the whispered words of one’s plotting and other’s hopes.

“I know the stakes here. I know what I’m doing. It is for the good of the nation. No matter the cost.”

The other man shook his head in obedient approval. “Very well then. I have given you my advice; be careful. There are people out there who would do anything to destroy what we’ve been building.”

***

Bright light erupted, coloring the white walls of a tunnel and a hand reached out from the portal expanding, blindly searching for something to hold on to. The hole spat out Jaquel and he fell spent on the hard ground. His travel was shaky; he could still feel his body transparent, distant, alien.

He got up, panting and unlocked his gun from the belt, pointing it at the rip. To his amazement it still held connection, though unstable. “Come on close!” hissed Jaquel  “I can’t be responsible for a rift!”

The portal began to shrink and Jaquel, reassured, moved away.

His footsteps echoed in the empty tunnel, the sound calming him, telling him he’s home, under protection. Then the buzzing came back. Upon hearing the so familiar noise, Jaquel searched for it, looking back at the closed bridge, looking behind him, to his left, to his right. Then he lifted his gaze and stood still watching as a large portal rips above his head, the ceiling crushing down from the vibrations. Jaquel moved swiftly before the blocks fell shattering. Amongst the ashes and the pouring light stood a hooded man, in each hand a pistol, his long coat brushing the floor.

“Tinker, tailor, soldier….spy.” he pointed at Jaquel.

The assassin becoming prey, Jaquel thought as he made a run for it, passing a “CLOSED FOR RECONSTRUCTION” sign at the end of the tunnel. The hitman followed, keeping close range.

Turning on alley corners, again and again and again, Jaquel found himself facing a stone gray wall towering too high for him to climb and jump over.

“Journey ends here Mr. Jaquel. No more hiding, no more secrecy.” The hooded man’s voice rang loud in the tight space. Jaquel turned to face him, his right hand gripping the handle of his pistol.

“I take it you’re one of President Beland’s men.”

“I’m simply assisting him in eradicating a certain number of people. Guess whose name is at the top of the list.”

Jaquel aimed his gun and fired. The bullet ricocheted from the man’s chest into the brick wall.

“No, no. Guns come at the end if the necessity of one’s death is highly needed.”

He placed his weapons back in their holsters.

Jaquel slowly lowered his, allowing the man to approach him. The stranger pushed back his hood, icy blue eyes coldly staring, a chuckle on his thin lips.

“I have orders to dispose of you.”

Jaquel roared at him.

“Good luck with that!”

Jaquel made an attempt to duck and fire his gun into the assassins head, but a strong fist, met his face, hitting him under the chin, bouncing his head back. A strong grab and twisting on his wrist made him drop his gun. He managed to pull back and distance himself from the wall. Jaquel dashed at the man, directing his knee on the ribs. His opponent jumped back, his hands before his face for protection. But Jaquel was quick, looking for a fast fight and exit. Delivering a powerful kick on his thigh he pushed down his attacker, and continued kicking him, aiming for his groin and face. He stomped with anger then knelt to continue his assault when a boot hit him in the throat. The assassin rolled over, spitting blood. Jaquel, distracted and coughing tried to remain steady when the man stroke his heel upon his knee. Something cracked and Jaquel screamed. He fell. The hooded man stood up and grabbed Jaquel by the jacket head butting him, bloodying his nose. He consecutively smashed his fists into Jaquel’s ribs then delivered his elbow upon Jaquel’s temple. He threw him down, helpless and broken.

“I need not kill you. But dispose of you in a manner more efficient and obliging to the President’s plans.” The assassin spat on the body at his feet then rolled over Jaquel and tore his jacket uncovering his neck. He grabbed the back of Jaquel’s head tight and took a slim, rectangular no more than 3 inches device out of his pocket. He placed it on the exposed skin and pushed. Jaquel released a weak groan as the teeth of the device bit onto his neck. His eyes whitened. He felt sick as pulsating pain, touch, smell and noise went dull.

The man still kneeling took out his phone and dialed a six digit number before entering the text.

 

He’s been compromised. Mission successful.”

Next on:   “Operation Sandstorm”

The Humvee came down a steep road and drove through southern Nevada. Ahead ghostly wind caressed the curves of velvet dunes.

“Is this your first time visiting, Mr. Belfour?” a soldier questioned the civil quest in the vehicle. The man nodded and answered politely. The soldier asked no more, but continued taking glances at the scar upon the left cheek of the scientist.

To be continued…

Shadowplay

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , , on 29/09/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Still tip-toeing through the material; next week there shall be more weapon action.

A time travel two years prior to the events in this piece in The assassination of Steven Merritt

Shadowplay

28th of September, 2024

Outbreak day

“Senator Merritt! Senator Merritt! How would you comment on the development of the events from earlier today?”

“Senator Merritt, what would you say to the people of America? How would you assure them the streets are safe?”

“Senator Merritt, wouldn’t you agree that the statement you made two weeks prior to the breaking and entering in the new Prime Industries facility, which was that your impenetrable defense system will be taking over the national security of the country, has been completely destroyed and proven weak after what happened today? The safety has been compromised; what are your actions from now on?”

Steven Merritt stopped on the last marble step of the U.S. Capitol building. Chief of Security Paul Mulligan stood on his right.

“Currently the police force and its officers are managing to contain the wave of people protesting in the city center, and no military involvement is considered necessary. I can assure our citizens it will all be over before the day ends. My only plea towards the people watching is to remain calm.”

The senator smiled.

“What about the weapons stolen from your company? Has a list been made; do you senator know what is missing and what may outburst over the public?”

Steve Merritt opened his mouth but Chief Mulligan waved his large hand to attract the attention of the journalists.

“It has been made. The weapons have been located and are being collected and stored into safety as we speak. Now please, no more questions”

The senator and Paul Mulligan made their way to the black Mercedes limo, followed by a dozen journalists and cameras.

A reporter turned over to JS TV’s camera “While senator Merritt was unable to answer how his flawless system was breached earlier today our spokesmen downtown tells us the situation at the heart of the city continues to be hot and may derail once more. The President is about to give a spe..”

The voice of the anchorman was interrupted as the sensor monitor turned black.

“That’s enough.”

The two men sat in the backseat of a car parked in an alley downtown. The parade of posters and shouting through megaphones people marched before them. The riot was growing.

“Where do you think the “culprit” is now?”

The older man chuckled. It was a sour chuckle.

“He’s sipping his whiskey in Merritt’s office”

The younger man nodded.

“As you suspected”

The older mam’s eyes sparkled behind the glasses.

“This is theater. Each act welcomes more actors to the stage and the plot becomes more complicated. At one point the audience is unsure whether to trust the main characters. But still, they stay until the curtain falls. We’re merely at the beginning of this performance Jaquel. And we want a peak backstage. Merritt, he is only a string being pulled at the right moment. And that moment is now.”

“We know the outcome of his actions.  They need to be prevented.”

An envelope with pictures of a building in a desert region secured by huge machineguns with Prime Industries logo on them was handed to Jaquel. A yellow package containing two devices was also given to him.

“We believe the so-called stolen guns are strapped from their specialties and filled with blanks, whilst those of the armed troops are not. If you fail there will be anarchy tomorrow. There will be death. You are aware you’ ll be in danger at all times. There are powerful men watching today. The faceless ones. They will want to see more of Prime Ind. weapons in action. Let us disappoint them for now. First Merritt. Then the rest. “

The younger man, a tall brunette with a scar on his left cheek nodded again and stepped out of the vehicle.

Across the street a boy nearly eighteen was smoking a joint and observing the scandal. The view bored the teen and he backed to find another path around the scene when he spotted something metallic sticking from behind a trash can. He looked around. Then he picked up a handgun. On its handle there was a fingerprint recognition center. The boy thought “cool” and placed a thumb. The biometric system, intentionally set to enable firepower to anyone’s DNA, analyzed the current owner in 1.2 seconds and the LED light on the back of the pistol flashed green. The internal timer set the pistol to be active for 120 seconds. The system registered the lack of original ammunition. The power dropped by 78%.

The weapon felt heavy in his hands. He pointed it at the trash can and fired.

In the meantime an armored van pulled over at the barricade set in the middle of the street and more police officers jumped out of it. They wore helmets and held shields pushing back the crowd.  One officer stopped and stepped away. His helmet was registering the activity of one weapon from the list with stolen items from Prime Industries. The helmet scanned the street. The heat sensor picked movement in the back alley, left on the street. The search through Prime Ind.’s base gave a positive ID on the weapon – Ultim Digital; Prototype weapon ID code: X3422; Characteristics: 22. caliber, semi-automatic, 15 double penetrable bullet shells at 20x distance, optional attachable laser corpus IRIS with zoom-in.

The cop made his way to where the boy was still admiring the gun.

“Drop the weapon and we won’t have a problem okay kid?”

The boy looked at the heavily armed officer; his helmet was shining black, the visor not revealing the face, but reflecting the city lights. He gripped the handle of the gun tighter and pointed it at the officer.

“I found it. It’s mine.”

The officer lifted his shotgun; the laser aligned vertical on the handle was red; and pointed at the boy.

“Drop it kid.”

Terrified and shaking the boy squeezed the trigger.

The red light immediately switched to green as the shotgun spat a single bullet.

The blank bullet ricocheted from the armor of the cop; the pointy bullet whirled, for a split second the noises around going numb. The boy was thrown back by the impact of the bullet hitting his chest; he dropped before his fake bullet had bumped into the Nano suit of the cop.

The visor lifted, two blue eyes staring in amazement.

The atmosphere heated.

Riot.

 Not the end…soon to be more! 

AC vs DC

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 18/05/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Friday flash with a risk alert beaming its red light!

Kidding… or not.

Watch them dance in a science macabre.

AC vs DC

The day slowed down for a second. White- blue lightning stroke the sky and before the eye could catch the shape of its dancing body, it fell down and crashed on the ground in a fountain of many little electrical sparkles.

A yellow one followed it and landed smoothly in the fields of South Dakota.

-   This is ridiculous! – A man in a grey suite, combed black hair and a pair of mustaches on a pale face stood up and cleaned from the dust. He was younger than his rival.

The other one an elderly gentleman remained silent; his eyes flickering with hatred and fury, a yellow lightning surrounding his body, making his fists burn.

-   Does it have to be like this? Can we not just simply shake hands and sit down for a glass of scotch?

The older one shook his head no.

-     We have both seen the future. It is unfair, mad and highly offensive! After all the years of work I have done this is how the world repays me- by praising you like some God! I beg the differ… Tesla!

-     But I never wanted it Edison – pleaded Tesla, his voice trying to keep calm when he was obviously irritated – I never would have thought of myself like that, nor want anyone else to think of me that way. You know that.

-     Oh but please! Lies, all nothing but lies. I saw your face! You liked it didn’t you? Movies about Tesla, books about Tesla, games about Tesla. The Master of lightning is everyone’s favorite. Tesla, Tesla, bloody Tesla everywhere! What about Edison? I was first! You are nothing compared to me! You wouldn’t be who you are without me boy – Edison was now shouting, shaking with more anger, his lightning sizzling, and throwing sparks that threatened to start a fire in the autumn field.

Tesla watched with amusement the growing power of the other man. There was no other way was it there? Tesla had lost all hopes for making peace.

-   You are a fool sir. I am sorry for what is about to happen. But I am not be offended by you. Fight we shall! For superiority.

Tesla didn’t expect Edison to charge at him this fast. In a flash the older man’s fist was in his face, twisting his head to one side, the power wave throwing him on his back. His body dug in the ground, his head bounced up then down knocking him unconscious. The electricity flickered a few times exhausted before disappearing into thin air. Edison stood above his apprentice, a blazing monster, a blur of yellow, white and grey, breathing heavy, shaking with excitement. He was finally going to prevail and alter the future. His future.

Edison lifted his leg determined to release it on Tesla’s skull.

-  It’s over you… – before he could finish the ground beneath him trembled.

With a burst of new energy Tesla emerged from his almost to be grave and clenched to Edison’s vest pushing them both up in the air. His artificial lightning became apparent again blinding Edison. It pierced through the older man’s body and made him scream. Edison shrugged and freed himself. He placed a hand on his chest trying to ease his heart.

Both men floated in the azure sky, the sun bathing the skin on their faces. They eyed each other.

-   Play time is over – Edison’s voice had dropped to a low grow.

-    One last time I ask of you to put a stop to this. We can use the machine I created to find all those answers we seek Edison. Look at us! Flying, time traveling…which man alive or dead achieved what we did? Awake you fool! We are standing on the doorstep of a science revolution and all you care is of some childish nonsense…

-   Enough! – Edison roared. – Enough… I, I deserve the answers! They are mine by right! Die!

Edison charged again, fist stretched ahead, mouth opened yelling, dripping saliva. Madman. Like a train – wreck in slow motion, but with people, Tesla flew against him, his fist covered in his so loved blue lightning. Inches before the collision, Tesla clicked his fingers and purplish lightning covered him from head to toe; little electrical snake tongues wrapping around his wrists and feet. Edison’s jaw dropped. Tesla had managed to fuse his electricity with something else. Unknown.

But it was beautiful. “The future” Edison thought…

Their fists touched. White light swallowed the day, the world, the universe…

Invaders

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , , on 21/04/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

A Flash Fiction that was supposed to be a Friday one but because of “the Lord Almighty” ‘s  decision it ended up to be a Saturday Flash.

Anyways, enjoy ! 

Invaders

R. J. was coming back from the store carrying two bags filled with enough food for the weekend. He wasn’t planning on going out, just wanted to stay home and work on his motorcycle. He always had the idea to build something on his own and honestly he thought he was quite good at it. R.J. had started building it part by part last summer and was close to finishing it but since then other daily boring tasks and duties like work, or chores or his mother and sister visiting and nagging him for not being married yet had got in the way.

R.J. smiled to the thought of being alone and practicing his hobby undisturbed. Then he smiled to the dark clouds that were coming and to the wind bringing the smell of rain.

He wasn’t bothered by such weather. In fact he loved it.

The man opened the small wooden fence and walked the white alley leading to his suburban home, but stopped before unlocking the door. He looked behind his shoulder, feeling the urge to grab an apple from the tree that grew in his yard. R.J left the bags on the ground and crossed the smoothly trimmed grass.

A distant thunder called the storm, grey clouds without a shape or form nested high above R.J. Some forsaken and lost sun beams were fighting their way through the gathering darkness, their golden color reflecting in the windows of the house creating a frighteningly beautiful contrast with the dark-blue sky.

R.J. wrapped his hand around one big red apple. The sun’s trajectory had leveled up with the position of the apple, hiding behind it, and when R.J. picked the fruit the strong light blinded him. He dropped the apple and shadowed his eyes with hand. He blinked hoping to chase away the white circles that had started to dance before him.

R.J. took a step back wanting to look the other way when a low-frequency sound begun to insistently ring in his ears. R.J. closed his eyes and tried to block the noise with both hands, thinking his head might explode if it continued. The pain banged like drums in his brain, making him disoriented. He just wanted it to stop, please oh please stop, or I might cry, or just lay here and die. The solution came to him from somewhere deeper, an unknown place in his mind. It asked of him to open his eyes, and look where the sun was shining through. R.J. resisted on that idea, but his subconscious voice spoke again, telling him the noise will stop once he looks into the sun.

“Do it”. This time he didn’t resist.

R.J. looked straight into the burning body, the white and pure glow. The ringing stopped. Then a whisper, the memory of his voice from just a moment ago became only a humming sound, some sort of language R.J. thought that was unreal, so ancient but so very beautiful. The sun was talking to R.J. He felt his body drifting away from him under those words in alien notes, under this bright and welcoming face of the sun. His limbs were no longer his own and R.J. didn’t know if he was still standing, flying or lying. Didn’t matter. It was an amazing feeling.

 But something else was moving in, an invader. He had let it in. His insides burned and for a moment R.J. imagined this is what it feels like when the sun is living in you. Then he felt fear and snapped out of the hypnotizing song. He screamed but his mouth did not open. He tried to move but his feet stood still. He tried to see but the view before him flew away leaving only blackness. Then R.J stopped existing.

Silence fell. The sky waited not daring to release the rain. Maybe the Earth too, stood still for one breathtaking tick of the clock.  

What made everything spin and turn and scream and cry and just live again or die, were his lips slowly curving into a small smirk, yet leaving the face without any cheerful expression. He closed his fingers into a fist, than released them. He cracked his neck releasing the pressure. He looked down staring into his white sneakers and lifted one foot then the other. And he walked out of the yard leaving one apple to roll on the ground and two bags of food to be blown away by what wind may come.

A few meters from the house R.J.’s body stopped. His eyes weren’t blinking. Then R.J’s head nodded.

It has begun Brothers. It will be over soon Brothers.”

He continued walking towards the city.

A thunder clapped shaking the world. Soon it started raining.

It was 2009 and the sky was burning

Posted in Flash stories, Short fiction stories with tags , , , , , , on 19/03/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

 Flash fiction…Monday. Enjoy. 

It was 2009 and the sky was burning

It was 2009 and the sky was burning. Flaming clouds covered the horizon with their yellow-orange color, whilst others were smoldering in purple-blue, disappearing, and melting into the vast.

Fire danced on the streets as well, on what was left from the buildings, on fallen threes, on the faces and clothes of hundreds of people screaming, running.

Flaming rain was pouring from the sky.

It rained upon us from the thousands of thousands small ships that were in contrast with the seeking hideout people below.

Our cities were thundering, and shaking, and crumbling as the Martian ships continue to light up the sky with flames, slowly tumbling it towards the ground.

2009 was the year in which we found out we are not alone and in which we died terrified and confused and still stubbornly refusing to accept the fact that Martians, or aliens as a whole are not simply someone’s imagination.

They turned our world into a half-hour, ultrasound symphony, with fireworks and cascades, with blood and dust and then were gone leaving only…blood and dust.

Taken from the archives of the last living among the others dead M.K

People are clever. They are sneaky in many ways.

Some have remained after the attack. A few always do, and they are just enough to reproduce and start crawling again on their destroyed planet, creating some sort of comfort out of the total chaos; some order to adjust with their messed up brains at the moment.

Then after some time the cities are back to being cities and the offspring of that survived group Homo sapiens has filled up the pages of the newly added register.

Basically everything is back to normal; the sky is blue and all. And it’s quiet.

However there is this reminder, a little piece of old paper folded into four, which tells the story of the last moment of the mighty human race, not as an elegy or a poem but as a simple objective observation of the happening written in past tense by a man hidden from the wrecks in the possession of a pen and a ragged paper. Truth be told, it probably has been rewritten a couple of times, but the main sense of it is still there- some very nice and simple details of how it all suddenly ends. Reality check.

Now this is the only existing archive or as everyone sees it as -the Holly bible of the new people. Do we all believe it to be genuine, to be true, or not…hard to tell. Some do. Some don’t. Absolutely human behavior, never can decide on one thing.

But of course there is this tall, massive monument in the centre of the First city, reminding vividly what had happened in 2009, with no names, only date and year. No one remembers the names really.

It took only one look for those who hadn’t attended to know that something had happened.

And yet again a part of them believed that someone’s imagination had exaggerated, colored a bit the end of the Ancient World, adding the presence of some aliens, more particularly Martians.

Something had wiped out our ancestors, undoubtedly, but human war, or some disease. Just an old-fashioned way for everyone to die.

The aliens were now just a legend told by the elders, the founders and taken away by the parents too. Aliens were the new monsters under children’s beds and in their closets just like Boogeyman had been in the past. They were simply a tale, a fiction bedtime story to frighten the little ones.

Alas no.

Now the year is 2322 and the sky is burning again. Flaming clouds illuminate high above, licking the visible horizon with fiery tongues. To the west, falling. fading like smoke, are other clouds. Dead ones. Grey ones. Or purplish-blue.

Furious little alien ships are carving Tic-Tac-Toe on our homes, our streets, while our families and friends run, screaming.

Behind them, ponderously making its way through the sea of burning clouds the Mother ship arrives, huge and silver, shading the day with its humongous body. It roars.

I, a living amongst dead in the possession of writing attributes quickly draw a sad and bitter end. It is an end.

And I sincerely doubt that the Martians will repeat the mistake they made 313 years ago.

Silent entrapment

Posted in Short fiction stories with tags , , , , on 04/03/2012 by Cindy Vaskova

Sci-fi for you!

Enjoy. 

 

Silent entrapment 

  Willy was a bad kid since the age of eight. That’s at least what his parents, his teachers, people from the neighborhood or total strangers on the street had told him. Somewhere in the last few months before he had turned eight, something had happened to him, which turned him into a walking disaster, and up to no good lad. Or so did Willy himself think.

No matter what Willy tried to do the right way, at the end…well suffice to say it turned out indeed very wrong. He would break something, some kid’s toy, making it cry, or start a fight with other boys at school. He was impatient most of the time, and that impatience tended to arise to an aggressive state. It wasn’t normal for a boy at his age to be so hyperactive, and that not in the good way.

Willy was disobedient at home and at school, and if he thought at his early years something was wrong with him, later on he didn’t pay much attention to it. He was who he was and what was done was done, no turning back. At the age of 14 he was already a small criminal, fast hands, fast legs, and smart enough to know from who to steal and when.

Advises never worked, counseling either, and as much as his parents loved him they could never swallow down the pain of seeing what person had their precious little boy turned into. His father combined it into one “A screw up. The biggest disappointment this family has seen”. A person, who you couldn’t trust, rely on, depend on; a boy who he wouldn’t call a son anymore.

So he sent Willy to his grandparents for a while until his sorrow eases and he finds a way to forgive the boy.

Three years had passed since then, and only his mother was calling him, asking him if he was okay. She was his mother all right, and mothers were capable of swallowing every pain their children brought to them after a very small amount of time.

Now Willy was at the age of 17 and was running down the road at 23:35, towards the train station hoping to get away from the chasing cops. He could hear them yell from the back “Stop!” and “Don’t move!” but of course no respecting himself criminal ever did that. And Willy was fast, speeding around the corner, the station lights before him, and a train about the set off. Its departure had just been announced.

How lucky he would be to get there, just in time before it takes off, jump in before the coppers get their hands on his hoodie and drag him out, locking him up. And from inside the train Willy would watch their surprised faces with a grin on his face, which would make them understand they’d lost him again. Surely they would curse at that, and then call their fellow police officers positioned near the next train station to catch him there.

Willy wasn’t a yesterday born criminal. He was a shadow when it came to situations like this one. At the next train station he would get off, start walking slowly, no rush needed, just a normal bloke, blending with the other late passengers of the train. He would wear himself as a disguise, and slip right before the eyes of his uniformed watchers.  He needed only to fool them for a second. Just enough.

Willy could’ve been a little brat, but he was capable of figuring out how things could turn for him based on the next step he would make. If his calculations were right he was going to make it on time to the train, and the doors would close just under the cop’s noses.

It happened just as planned. Willy jumped in the train and the doors closed leaving the policeman outside in the cold night. He waved at them, as the train set off and gave the tall slim one a wink. Now finally he could catch his breath. His heart was bouncing in his chest, and he’s knees were shaking a bit from all the running.

This train was known around town as the “Drunkards train”. No one really used it, except the drunks and the very, very late for some reason of their own, passengers. In this carriage there were only two people- a man asleep, and a girl with too much clothing on. They didn’t show any signs of noticing him.

Willy seated himself, staying on the lookout for a sudden police visit and the conductor. He honestly hadn’t had the time to buy a ticket. There was no one coming for him, not now. And even if the conductor came and saw he didn’t have a ticket he wasn’t going to kick him off until the train had stopped, which was fine by Willy. There were approximately 15 minutes until the stop, so he closed eyes and adjusted comfortably on the seat.

The train was nearing the arch bridge.

One thing Willy couldn’t see were the electrical sparkles flying in the night air while some power cut was happening.

He could only hear the repeating, symmetrical sound of the wheels touching the rails, and that monotone music was filling up the carriage, putting him in one of those trances where you are just about to fall asleep. So when it stopped all of a sudden he blinked and looked out the window. It was too early for the train to be on his station. He didn’t feel it stopping.

Something was happening.

He turned away from the window.

There were no graffiti on the doors, no flickering or missing lights, no blue seats. Everything was different. Changed.

The train was traveling silent, not a sound from the wheels, and it was all white and grey.

And the carriage was full of people now. All of them woman, all dressed in black and dark grey dresses, long enough exactly to cover their knees. Their hairs were neat and tidy, all in the same hair style. Only a few women wore a small black hat with a silver crest on it- two ellipses crossing each other; in the middle was a cross which end was the tip of sword piercing through a rose. The eyes of all the women were piercing, fixated into one point, barely blinking. None of them gave Willy a look, and he found himself sitting there next to one lady, a girl probably his age.

Before speaking out a word he looked around, an instinct reaction to the confused mind.

There were three beeps as if something was about to be announced, and then all the women turned their heads to the right looking at something which Willy at first didn’t see.

As he turned, for his terrifying amusement there were multiple screens, which weren’t there a second ago, and all of them showed one sign flashing in big red letters:  SILENCE REGIME WILL BE ENABLED AFTER 50 SECONDS- CONTINUANCE  45 MINUTES. WHOEVER DOES NOT OBEY WILL BE  SEVERELY  PUNISHED BY EARTH LAW 2336 STATING THAT NO INHABITANT OF THE NATION NOR ANY OTHER LIFE FORM CURRENTLY RESIDING OR VISITING EARTH IS GIVEN THE RIGHT TO PERFORM  ANY  TYPE OF SPEECH.

Willy shifted on his seat nervously, slowly gaining the ability to speak again:

-         Erm…hello? Lady? You hear me? What’s this all bout’? Hello? – Willy waved his hand before the woman’s eyes but she didn’t turn to him, nor did speak, just continued staring blankly into some far point of the train.

-         I could swear I was sitting in the old dusty train when all of a sudden I found myself here with…- A loud siren made Willy jump on his feet. The train stopped.

-         What’s happening?! – He shouted out to all of the women. The only sound remained the siren and it seemed to be growing louder.

All the screens were now showing another sign which made Willy’s blood chill:

SILENCE REGIME HAS BEEN DISTURBED IN SECTOR XZ 433.

REPEAT: SILENCE REGIME HAS BEEN DISTURBED IN SECTOR XZ 433. VIOLATIONS OF EARTH LAW 2336 ARE SEVERELY PUNISHED.

SILENCE REGIME IS STILL ENABLED. REPEAT: STILL ENABLED.

-         Please someone say something! – Willy was standing in the middle of the aisle looking to find a way out.

Then the siren stopped and a door at the end of the carriage opened. Willy’s eyes widened of what was coming towards him.

Two giant silver robots with black crests engraved on their chests where walking heavily, holding the weirdest, biggest guns the boy had ever seen. Their mechanical legs were making the only sound now. Behind them walked an elderly woman with short hair and a dress which looked like a nun’s cloth but with the colors switched. The crest was golden and bigger; it was a necklace resting on her chest.

With a gesture she ordered her metal servants to move aside. A gallant step, she slowly approached Willy. He couldn’t move. Not that he would dare to.

-         I don… – she put a finger on his lips silencing him. Her eyes were welcoming, warm.

They reminded Willy of his mother and his heart eased for a moment. Her pale hand then touched his face, gently caressing his skin.

But it was a cold touch. The red lips twisted into a little wicked smile telling him there be trouble. She was cruel behind the mask. He could see that.

He tried stepping back only to find her tight grip on his elbow, and the robots moving fast pointing their guns at him. The woman pushed him into the cold hug of the robots. Her face became angry when he started screaming for help, calling out to the silent spectators.

“Someone please! Help me!”

Willy cried and continued screaming his lungs out, kicking and trying to free himself from the hands of the giant robots. Then something pinched him on the neck and he felt dizzy, his thoughts mashing becoming a blur. His screams ceased and his eyes closed.

The woman returned the tranquilizer on the belt of one of the robots and nodded waving a hand for them to take away the drugged boy. The robots marched towards the door dragging Willy.

The girl, beside who Willy had appeared all of a sudden, was just as pale as the woman. A tear was rolling down her cheek, but she just remained staring into nowhere, not blinking, and barely breathing. The woman reached a hand and smudged the tear down the girls face, wetting her lips with a salty taste.

Pleased of her little triumph and the unsuspected catch of a peculiar prize, she followed the guards leaving the young girl with a terrified look and a fast beating heart. She knew what faith that strange boy would face once he awakes. Soon after that the train resumed movement and speeded out into the silence.

* * *

Cops were on the lookout for a young boy, medium height, with blondish hair, blue jeans, dark hoodie and white sneakers.

No one with such description was spotted on the train station and they didn’t find the wanted criminal when searching the carriages of the train.

-         He’s not here. Must have sneaked past by us. The hell should I know?! The station is empty, just a few drunks got off it and a girl. No, no one has seen him. – The police officer turned off the radio.

Then he gave his college a puzzled look. None of them could explain the missing boy in an absolutely empty train station and in a train in which he was reported getting on.

But then again solving such mysteries wasn’t part of their job. And they left.

The old, heavy train continued on its normal boring way right on schedule.

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