Friday, July 14, 2017

Mutiny

Mutiny
by Mike Pollock
(December 2016 Micro-Fiction Entry: SFFWorld)

Captain Farnham leaned back in his cryopod and watched his deep-space crew secure themselves before the flight.

“Atmosphere removal in 10…” Warning announcements blared over the ships intercom. Around the room pod doors slid shut; all but his own.

“Hey!” Farnham cried, fingers blindly tearing at restraints. The countdown completed and the roar of exhaust fans filled the room.

Panicked flailing turned his hands to fumbling and his vision grew dim. Darkness swept in around him as consciousness fled, and a masked face swirled into view.

A familiar voice spoke the last words he’d ever hear.

“Sleep well, my captain.”

Monday, July 10, 2017

Digital Scales of Justice (SFF World Microfiction contest: 97 words)

Digital Scales of Justice
by Mike Pollock

“The N.E.T. rests its case.”

The agency prosecutor nodded towards the juror’s box before returning to its seat. ‘Gordon’ swallowed as she stood; she took a major risk representing herself.

“Your honor,” ‘Gordon’ began, also casting a nod toward the jurors box, “I begin by saying I didn’t do it.”

Just then, video from Hazen’s VR feed swam with static, leaving her with nothing but her avatar’s audio.

“How does the Jury find the defendant, Hazen Gordon, on the single count of impersonating a N.E.T. agent?” The Judge asked.

“Guilty.”

Hazen cursed as her feed was terminated.

What it is

It’s like a childhood picture
Faded colors to grey
Like a memory of something
Someone or someplace
It’s like the answer to a question
You never knew to ask
Like fiction lined reality
A face behind a mask
It’s like the darkness of sleep
Even eyes open wide
Like the deepness of the sea
When your mind’s in the sky
It’s the drone of the static
And the faceless elite
It’s the rain pouring down
While you wander the streets
It’s the sweetness of breath
Like a warm summer breeze
It’s the heat of the sun
And the coolness of sheets
Colliding like airplanes
Eyes shut in their flight
It’s like the end is the beginning

And the day is the night. 

A Shadow Becomes

A Shadow Becomes
by Mike Pollock


So, here we are... war again. My old man used to tell me bout times when there was no war. People didn't shoot each other cuz' they looked different, or thought different... fuck, even smelled different.

Then again, my old man told me about squishy yellow cakes, filled to burstin' with sweet creams. Said you could buy em' at all kinds of stores. You know what I never seen? Stores full of candy and snacks. I never seen a restaurant, and my old man loved talkin' bout them. Men with puffy hats and sharp knives, he'd say. Sometimes they cooked in front of you!

Hell, I don't see what's so exciting about someone cookin' in front of you. I don't think I'd pay for that.

Anyhow, I thought I'd tell you a little bit about how I got here before I told ya where I was. Not sure this bears explainin' but in case somewhere in the world ain't fucked up, we'll start at the beginning.

Bout 40 years ago, a full twenty five 'fore I was born was when the Shadows first showed up. I thought they was demons, and I wasn't the only one. Others said they were just ghosts or aliens. We all ran, fast as we could. Hopped in our cars and took off to the country. My old man figured that if it was ghosts or demons, there'd be less of em' in the country.

The crazy lot that stayed, they told us it was cuz they were meant to be worshiped. Some fucked up old testament stuff, naked folks running around fires, asking for some devil to come and save em'.

Needless to say, they didn't make it too long. There was a few days while those crazies danced, and drank, and fucked, and partied thinking these flickering Shadows were comin' to save 'em. When they stopped flickering and stayed? Well.. we didn't.

I've been back there, a few times actually. Only at night, but that should be obvious to everyone at this point. So those folks that stayed in the first days? I found em still there... standing, sitting, sleeping, hell… taking a shit. Whatever they were doing when the sun hit 'em was the last thing they ever did. They never moved again, like some creepy, fucked up wax museum managed to suck out their souls for a quick exhibit.

They got my old man not long after that first night. We was draggin' some supplies back to where we were stayin' and he got stuck outside when the sun came up. We found him that night still standin' there, rope slung over his shoulder and look of determination on his face.

That was probably the last time I ever cried. Don't know why, but when I stopped, I knew I couldn't anymore. We lost a lot after that. Took us a while to figure out that it was somethin' about a foundation in the homes we were in during the day that kept em from getting us.

No, we weren't smarter than the statues... Just a hell of a lot luckier.

Friday, June 2, 2017

A Shade of Change

SFF World - Micro Fiction Entry (100 words or less, May 2017)

A Shade of Change

By Mike Pollock


“And you’re sure this isn’t him?” The guard asked, pulling the man forward by his bonds.

“No sir.” The boy said defiantly. “I never forget a face.”

His hands were a blur and a knife appeared in the guard’s chest. His cry was quickly muffled from behind by a manacled hand.

“Thank you, brother.” He said, lowering the body to the ground watching as shadows danced, swirling up and over the boy, obscuring him from sight. When they retreated, a twin of the guard stood before him.

Smirking, he flexed his new arms and legs. “As always, you’re welcome, brother.”


The Last Verse

SFF World - Flash Fiction Entry (May 2017, 1000 words)

The Last Verse

By Mike Pollock

Taryn leaned back against the doorframe, a half burned cigarette in her hand spit wisps of smoke into the air. “He’s been like this as long as I can remember. Building things that is. I don’t think he’s ever spoken an entire sentence.”

“And how long has he been in there?” The man beside her asked. His pen hovered over the lines of his small notepad.

“He hardly ever leaves.” She responded, taking a drag. “He’s got a form of autism and this is his only way of expressing himself.”

Killian’s hands moved with a practiced efficiency as he placed a circuit board inside of a box. The man beside her jotted a few more notes, his eyes never leaving the boy.

“What is it he’s building?” He asked.

She thought for a moment, casting a curious glance towards her husband Kerry. “I’m not really sure to be honest. He’s always building something but never says much aside from maybe yes or no.”

“I see. Do either of you ever work on these projects with him?”

“Well, I’ve tried.” Kerry answered, stepping into the room. “But he’s incredibly protective about who he lets touch his little machines.”

“Has he ever built anything like this particular device before?” The man’s pen was a furious blur.

“No, I don’t think so. Usually it’s something that helps him get by. A couple of weeks ago he made a little box with fingers that helps tie his shoes. Clever little thing.”

The man nodded dismissively and turned his attention back to the boy. Something caught his eye; a spark of electricity as he placed wires on a large battery, and a familiar whinny as the device kicked on.

“Of course!” he yelled, and both parents jumped.

“What does that mean?” Kerry asked, following the man as he stepped towards his son.

“Oh, I didn’t want to believe it. The Council was sure but I hadn’t seen the signs. Still…” He paused, turning back towards Kerry. “The children.”

With an inhuman quickness, he struck. Kerry sailed, tumbling through the air to land beside his wife. She screamed, backing away as the man whirled on Killian. “Do not interfere.” He snarled.

He bent at the waste and lunged, his body a missile as he travelled ten feet across the room. He nearly reached the boy before there was a click and a near invisible wall sprung up before him. He hit it full force and collapsed in a heap.

“You little shit.” He growled, pulling himself back up. He struck the shield with balled fists only to be repelled in a shower of sparks and light. He struck again before pitching forward, Kerry slamming into him from behind. The two wrestled for a moment before Kerry found himself with an arm around his chest and a jagged blade to his throat.

“Take the barrier down boy.” He pressed a bit and blood rolled down his neck.

The boy’s eyes flicked between the man and his fathers. A look of sadness washed over him as he shook his head.

“Insolent child!” The man howled.

In an instant, the blade slit his throat, showering the translucent wall with blood. “You’ve caused this!” He cried, tossing Kerry away like so much garbage. “You!”

His fists pounded down, light flashing once more as he struck the barrier. Fireworks ensued as he assailed it with strikes, his anger distracting long enough for Taryn to sneak up behind him wielding a fire extinguisher.

The cylinder took him aside his head and he lurched. He turned on her in that moment and grabbed her arms as she lifted it again. Before she could twist free, he plunged the blade deep in her stomach. Twice he stabbed, and she fell to the floor with a gasp.

“It’s over boy.” He said, turning a wicked eye toward Killian. “You’ll be as dead as they are when I’m finished with you.”

“No.” Killian said forcefully. He stepped forward. “No more!” in his hand he held the box he’d been working on. The whirring was louder and he reached in through the lid when something popped.

Beside him floated a being of light and swirling smoke. Its patterns shifting along its amoebous form like mists in the morning.

“What have you done?” The man asked, suddenly wracked by a terrible paralysis. His muscles shook with strain but he was unable to move.

We are here.

The voice seemed to echo in their minds. Killian smiled; the man cringed.

“It’s too late.” He spat. “I can feel the others. Several have succeeded.” As he spoke as a gentle tremor shook the floor.

“Please.” Killian said, ignoring the shaking and pointing towards his parents. His mother laid shaking, hands clutched around the handle of the knife. His father’s glassy eyes stared at nothing.

He is beyond us, I am sorry. It said, now hovering beside them. But she we can save.

Her eyes did not move as it approached, its faint light painted across her shivering body. Soon she relaxed and slipped into sleep. The blade lifted itself from the wound and it healed with no scar.

“A wasted effort I’m afraid.” The man said, still locked where he stood. “You’ll all be dead soon, I can feel the shifting.” His eyes snapped to the window where the sky had darkened. “Soon this instance of earth will be erased from the Verse and we will return to occupy its space.”

You are mistaken. We will not allow it.

It pulsed with light and the man before them went limp, his body crumpling to the floor; dead.

Another tremor shook the room, and it returned to the boy’s side. You must come with us. Faint tendrils of light wafted from its form and wrapped Killian and his mother, and their skin glowed slightly from the touch.

He took one last glance into the workshop, feeling a familiar pang of sadness. Then the light around them grew, and they slipped away.

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Snatched

“It is almost complete.”

These words wake me, but they sound strange. I understand them but there’s a delay, like my brain is processing another language. I force fatigue out of my mind as I shift my gaze around a poorly lit room. My heart skips at the sight of unconscious bodies, all neatly tucked into green organic looking pods.

Help! 

I try to scream, but nothing comes out. Muscles disobey commands as I fight to move, like in the moments after waking from a nightmare.

“Relax.” The voice is almost a hiss. “It’ll all be over soon.”