An Awakening

An Awakening

by Mike Pollock 

(submitted to SFFWorld.com March 18 flash fiction contest)

The crowd moved and swayed to the cadence of Friar Collisson’s voice. With only words, he herded them deftly through fields of anger and seas of disillusion. Like an expert sculptor, he shaped them like clay with his lies.

“These heretics,” he cried, “are nothing but wolves who feed upon those of us with weak constitution and impressionable minds!”

The crowd reacted loudly, booing in unison. A single piece of fruit was a missile that struck the closest person on display in the large pillory.

From his place in the shadows, Keenan struggled against his instincts to help. He’d been tasked with observation by the Guardians but guilt at the impending executions of the men and women in stocks ate at him.

 “Today we will be resolute in rooting out this evil!” The Friar cried out again, and several hooded executioners hefting wicked looking axes made their way onto the stage. Keenan forced himself to relax clenched fists as the Friar continued spitting vitriol.

“Stop!” A voice cried out and a hushed silence worked its way over the crowd. Parting before her, a woman stepped out before the dais.

“And who might you be?” The Friar asked, poison dripping from every word.

“One who would question this public display of vulgarity!” She was small, dressed poorly in dirty rags. Clutched in her tiny hands was a worn out copy of My Truth, a book Keenan knew would mark her as a heretic too.

“These are the words men like him seek to suppress! Words of Kindness, generosity, science, and progress!” She cried out, now facing the crowd. It took nary a moment for the powder keg to erupt as the crowd began shouting and the Friar’s men moved to subdue her. Violently the carried her to the stocks and forced her down to her knees before Collisson.

“You see,” he yelled, motioning to quiet the crowd, “this is where these heretical teachings will lead you.” He motioned and one of the executioners moved to stand beside her.

“The God you claim to seek will turn his back on the lot of you. You are nothing more than a pack of wild dogs.” She spit at his feet.

Something inside of Keenan snapped in that moment. Was it her conviction? Her willingness to die for her beliefs? Was it that this tiny woman, whom knew none of the Keepers on that pillory, was willing to defend their beliefs when Keenan was hiding?

With a growl he threw back a hood that hid the black tattoos covering his head. Stepping out of the shadows, he pulled against the Source to imbue himself with power.

“Daughter.” He spoke, voice rising above the din of anger and bloodlust. Her eyes lit up as she found him. “Your faith has moved me.”
Through sheer force of will, the crowd around him was pushed back like parting seas. Cries of panic erupted as Keenan focused his power on those pursuing him. Energy coalesced into a mighty hand, sweeping the Friar’s lackeys away like nothing more than toys.

“Stop him!” The Friar cried out, panic creeping into his voice. He tried to run from the scene but was rebuffed by a wall of pure white light.

“Your crimes against those whom you claim to lead are many. The Keepers will not endure this mockery any longer!” Keenan cried out, tapping the Source once more and forcing those around him to their knees. The sheer force of will required to hold so many in check was taking its toll, and steady streams of perspiration began to form.

You must not fail. He heard the words echo inside his head. He smiled through the mask of concentration at the personal interruption. He only heard that voice when he was fully enveloped in the Source, as he was at that moment.

I will not. He echoed back, stepping closer to where the Friar sobbed and sputtered.

“Please, don’t do this.” Friar Collisson wailed, straining against the invisible force holding him back. His eyes locked on those of Keenan and real fear swept over him. “You’re all supposed to be dead!”

Keenan cringed, pushing down anger at the memory of the Inquisition the Church brought against his people. He focused once more and forced the Friar’s head down before him.

 “While death is your only escape from this, I will give you the mercy of allowing a few final words. What say you?”

Around them, the crowd watched with terrified attention. A quiet murmur was the only sound as they collectively held their breaths waiting for a response.

Suddenly the Friar found his courage as he spit at Keenan’s feet.

“You are an abomination! God will root out you and your kind and exterminate you for taking his perfect gift of life and twisting it to your beliefs. Those that are here today know you for what you are. A devil, a scourge, a wolf in sheep’s wool. You think your show of power here does anything to dispel the fear these people have of you?” He laughed then, a howling cackle.

Fatigue began to fracture Keenan’s hold on his power and he frowned at the man before him. Grimly he gathered what energy he could find around him and formed a sword from the light.

“May God find mercy, and judge you without bias.” He muttered, bringing the sword down in an arch, severed head rolling from slumping shoulders. Shock from the crowd rolled over him like a wave, sending ripples into the Source that only he could feel.

Weariness took him then as the power faded. Around him, the crowd began to disperse, fear and self-preservation taking over. The men and women had been freed from the stocks at some point and they surrounded him as he fell.

Before the darkness completely swallowed him, the woman’s face appeared, a wan smile on her face.

“Teach me.” she said, just before his consciousness failed him.

A Debt To The Dead

A Debt To The Dead

by Mike Pollock

(submitted to SFFWorld.com March '18 Micro Fiction Contest)

The soft light that greeted Lorne filtered through poorly boarded windows. Closing the door behind him, he stepped into a scene from a memory. A cautious glance confirmed the remains were still there.

“You shouldn’t have come back.” A familiar voice whispered to him. Terror flashed hot across his skin and he stumbled to the floor.

“How?” Lorne croaked, his brother’s face suddenly appearing just before him.

“I’ve waited a long time.” It said. Its twisted and ghostly hand reached out, passing into Lorne’s chest.
 A cold stab of fear twisted his face as Lorne’s heart stopped, all debts repaid.

Old Dog, New Tricks

Old Dog, New Tricks

by Mike Pollock

(Contest entry, February 18' Micro-fiction; SFFWorld.com)

Dr. Ivanov watched with growing horror as Patient 4 remained standing. An ear piercing siren blared each time he hit the button on his coding remote, yet it had no effect.

He croaked something unintelligible as 4 began to advance and he realized his frantic button pressing was in vain. 

A toothy grin infected the otherwise manic expression of Patient 4 and Dr. Ivanov noticed blood running from both ears from self-inflicted wounds.

 “What have you done?” he cried as 4 reached him, but his words fell on deaf ears.

Exodus

Exodus

by Mike Pollock 

(Flash Fiction contest Entry, SFFWorld January 2018)

Elijah sat silently, flanked on either side by his parents. A large woodgrain television now hissed, static having replacing a heavily synthesized voice beamed directly into every living room on the planet. The sat quietly like that, thigh to thigh, for a moment longer. Then the world seemed to end.

“Jim!” Someone cried, knocking hard against their front door. Elijah followed closely behind his father, leaning around him as the door opened to reveal a group of disgruntled neighbors standing on their front steps.

“Did you get the same message?” The man standing there asked, seemingly out of breath. Beyond them, people shuffled like zombies into their front yards, countless gazes pointed skyward.

“Yea, and I’d bet everyone in town did.”

“Everyone in the world.” Someone said sarcastically, their voice lost in a sudden wave of noise as they all began talking at once.

“Shut it!” The man in the lead yelled out, securing silence for a moment more. He turned his glare back to Elijah’s father, stepping in closer. “What have they told you at the Annex?”

Jim stepped back, nearly toppling over Elijah in the process. “Why would I know anything? I’m a numbers man in the computer bank. I don’t even have clearances above the main gate.”

Elijah took the opening then and pressed his way into the front yard, quickly scanning the sky like those around him. His jaw dropped as he caught site of the moon, glowing a bright blue.

“Eli!” His mother called out, catching up to, and tugging him back into the house. He heard his father telling the others to return to their own homes before he threw the deadbolt, locking them safely inside. Outside, he heard confusion set in, slowly devolving into confused shouting.

“Into the basement.” His father said, checking the windows in the room quickly to ensure they were locked.

“Elijah!” His mother called, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back into the house. He heard his father telling the others that they should return home before they were safely inside. Elijah tried to rush to the window but was cut off by his father.

“Downstairs, into the shelter.” He said, checking the locks on the door and on the windows. There was some shouting heard outside as confusion slowly turned to anger and panic. Eager to avoid begin caught up in any danger, they were ushered into the basement where his father closed a heavy iron door behind them. 

 “Jim…” Elijah’s pleaded tearfully as his father set to pacing the rows of stacked canned food and water. “What are we going to do?”

“I have no idea.” He answered honestly. They had all heard the robotic voice that had interrupted an episode of I Love Lucy. Through war and disease you have doomed your planet to destruction. Do not be alarmed, we have fail safes in place to ensure the survival of your species. Cooperation with the usher droids will avoid any further conflict.

“They said the moon was some kind of space ship!” She shouted. Elijah shrunk back from them, his own mind racing with terrible thoughts.

“That’s impossible. It has to be some kind of hoax. Probably something the commies cooked up to scare the bejesus out of us.”

Above them, from somewhere in the house, there came a loud crash and the sound of footsteps. They all three froze at that, and Elijah stared expectantly at the doorway for the stairs. It felt like an eternity as the thumping moved closer to the door.

As the moment stretched into forever, Jim finally stepped forward and called out, “Take what you want, just leave us alone!”

Again there was silence and the three held their collective breath.

“Please do not stand behind the door.” A synthesized robotic voice called out. They heard a grinding shuffle before a massive crack signaled that the door had been ripped from its hinges.

Through doorway slunk something that looked like it crawled out of a science fiction movie set. Several metal legs carried it quickly into the basement where it stood erect and swung a fish eyed lens around the room as if searching for something.

“James Ward.” It declared, as if that explained everything. “Please come with us.”

It turned to leave, spidery legs scuttling back towards the stairs. Jim made no move to follow and it stopped to regard him. “You may bring your family.” It said, and resumed its climb up the stairs.

Slowly, Jim ushered Elijah and his mother up the stairs, always keeping himself between them and the machine. In the living room, Elijah froze, staring slack jawed at a six foot tall pile of rubble that was once a wall in their home. Beyond it, in the yard, sat a ten foot tall metallic cylinder flanked by several more of the robotic beasts.

As they were escorted closer, he noticed there was only one other cylinder parked in their neighborhood, several yards down. An elderly man was forcibly being pushed toward the thing.

“Wait! Take me too!” A man cried out, cutting across lawns in a sprint towards the metal monolith Elijah now stood before. When he nearly reached them, the machine closest to him spun quickly and fired a blood red bolt into the man. He froze, not ten feet away, and looked down dumbly at the smoldering hole in his chest.

“Why!?” Elijah’s mother cried out as the man’s body fell to the ground. Elijah felt the bile in his stomach rising, tears welling in his eyes. Quickly his father stepped between him and the gore spreading on the ground.

“Only those selected can be retrieved. Limited space on the Ark.” The message seemed to play from several of the robots that stood like statues up and down the street. Quickly, Elijah found himself pushed through the small door in the craft and placed heavily in a padded chair.

From behind him, the wall changed shape, soft lengths of material draped over his shoulders and around his waist. Sufficiently secured, they seemed to harden to keep him in place. His mother and father were placed similarly beside him.

“What do you mean, ark?” His father asked, recovering a bit of courage and fighting back as the wall struggled to coalesce around him. “Why am I being taken?”

“To be saved.” The machine closest to them intoned. Beyond him, several other metallic creatures scuttled through the opening, taking up places around them. Their feet seemed to melt into the floor and the opening beyond glossed over as a door materialized out of nothing.

Elijah gripped the seat silently as a rumble rippled through the ship. He looked panicked toward his father who was staring through the lone port hole as they lifted off.

“Saved from what?” He muttered, watching the world fall away below them.

“Saved from yourselves.” A voice seemed to echo in the small space as they sped towards the future.