Illustration: “Huh” © 2005 by Romeo Esparrago.
Professor Anderson relentlessly scanned the skies
Searching tirelessly for that elusive prize
Of a signal with subtle hints of intelligence
Plucked from the universe’s chaotic cadence
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Illustration: “Herr Highness” © 2005 by Romeo Esparrago
“A ship landed at the port!” Danny said, pacing frantically. “I saw it! I know I did! This one is real!”
“How long has it been since your last episode, Danny?”
“I’m not seeing things! Not this time.” Danny whirled about to confront Leslie.
“I’m sure you’re not,” Leslie agreed as she appeared. She hugged her lab coat tighter, though I could still see the crystal the size of a fist dangling from her neck. Her eyes fell to his ankle. “When did you cut yourself?”
“I did?” A long, narrow gash revealed itself when he twisted his leg. “I don’t remember.”
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Dear Editor:
I’ve just added your great site to my links section, amazed I haven’t come across you before. I run a site for readers and writers of alternative fiction called Authoretica.com.
Kind Regards,
Marcus
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Illustration: “Paradox” © 2005 by Ellie Jane Tull
Ahmed Cohen is standing on the edge of the building looking down through the hundred metres of thin air which is, at the moment, the only thing separating him from something very wide, flat, and hard, not to mention a tad unfriendly to those who attempt to play chicken with it. It seems to him to be looking up and smacking its lips as if in anticipation of a good meal. The course the rest of his life shall take hangs on whether or not the policeman below him, the fat one with the megaphone, succeeds in trying to talk him out of jumping….
“Now look, son, what have you got to gain by jumping?” asked the fat policeman in a nice friendly tone.
“What have I got to gain by not jumping?” shouted back Ahmed.
Ummm, thought the policeman. “What about your life? Isn’t that worth living for?”
“Life? Don’t talk to me about life,” retorted Ahmed.
“Look, why don’t you just come back down here and we can talk about your problems?” pleaded the policeman.
“Believe me, no one can solve my problems. I’m a Physical Impossibility,” Ahmed replied, with a hint of ironic pride.
“Why don’t you give it a try?” suggested the policeman, unconvincingly.
Ahmed seemed to think about this for a minute or so, and then looked down again at all that oxygen between him and the horribly messy death which might await him. He seemed to come to a decision.
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Illustration: “Lab Rat” by Patrick Stacy © 2005
Michael Delaney was in his cubicle at Consoldyne Aerospace Industries, rotating a view of a new jet engine design on his workstation, when his telephone rang. He released the computer mouse and picked up the phone receiver.
“Delaney speaking.”
“Michael, it’s Kay Dunston.” It was his girlfriend’s mother, but her voice sounded strange. “Do you know where I can find Paula?”
“I haven’t seen her since Monday morning, Mrs. Dunston. I was going to call her tonight to see how she’s doing.” Michael thought of Mrs. Dunston as a prim, controlled woman. He was amazed to hear her start sobbing.
“Michael, I don’t know what to do. I haven’t seen Paula since before that awful fire. Now, with the police asking all of those questions…”
“Don’t cry, Mrs. Dunston. I’ll be right over.”
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