Stories and Poems
This issue’s Stories and Poems section delivers five stories and two poems for your reading pleasure. First up we have chapter 10 of the disturbingly dystopian sci-fi drama, Waves by Scary Food Item. Next is a short war story by the writing machine, Finway called If Only In My Dreams. Emanick shows us how 2009 should have worked out in the first part of This Year In Print. Our poem is the aptly named, Seasons by Falconilize to round out the section. To finish the section, we have a new beginning, the first part in Click This's airliner thriller, Airspace.
Thanks to everyone who reads and comments on any of the articles in this section and has done over the past couple of years while I’ve been section head. I’ve passed the reins (and the whip) over to my very able successor, Emanick whom I wish as fun and productive a time as section head as I have enjoyed during my time here.
Happy reading!
~SlashingUK
Wave - A Scary Food Item
~10~
“Security!”
Jacob’s shout echoed in the room and instantly Ryan felt himself encased in a soft foam prison.
“Biomasses neutralized,” he heard the computer say, then, “Friendly bodies released” and instantly the foam fell through a hole in the floor. Ryan didn’t bother to look at his friend, he took off running. The door opened automatically for him, and for the first time he saw Jacob right behind him. The door shut behind him and Ryan heard the click of at least three locks seal the door.
“The locks will probably hold them for a while,” Jacob said, breathing heavily, “but I don’t know how they’ll hold up against their weapons.”
As if on cue, three round holes appeared in the doorway accompanied by loud bangs. Ryan felt something graze his leg and he felt blood begin to drip, but no pain, his adrenaline was too high. Ryan heard The Boss shout, and then two more holes appeared in the door. Ryan got the message, he headed straight for the front door with Jacob close behind him.
“Windows, one way!” Jacob gasped, and two large windows that had been previously blacked out cleared up. Ryan ground to a halt at what he saw. At least five black cars were parked in front of the house, and a dozen men were making their way up to the front, each armed with a gun. Jacob acted immediately. “That’s what I thought. Initiate complete lockdown of the premises. Security code three-two-eight-nine-four.”
They waited but met only silence.
“Computer!” Jacob said, “Initiate complete lockdown of the premises. Security code three-two-eight-nine-four.”
“Aardvark,” the computer said “Abacus, abalone, abandon, abate, abbreviate…”
Jacob looked shocked. “The system’s completely resetting itself, running through its vocabulary. That will take hours. That’s never supposed to happen unless…” He pulled out his phone, pushed some buttons, and sighed in defeat. Ryan took the phone from him and saw the boss and his men, still in Jacob’s room. Their foam prisons were in shreds on the floor and the three of them had made a large hole in the wall and were destroying things at random. A man cut a wire and the lights grew extremely bright then went out. A circuit board was shot and the computer (“apply, appoint, appraisal…”) went instantly quiet. “Let’s get to my parents' workshop,” he said, “there’s plenty of dangerous stuff in there we can use to make a last stand.”
Jacob went to a door that Ryan had always thought was a closet and stepped inside. There was plenty of room inside, but it was very dark.
“Lucky for us,” Jacob said, “this place is also kind of a safe house and it’s hooked up to its own computer system. Deactivate camouflage.”
“May I ask who is ordering me around, or would that be too defiant of me?” The computer spoke in a rude, sarcastic tone.
Jacob seemed unfazed. “Jacob, access code four-four-six-eight-one-three-one.”
“Very well, master. In fact, I’m feeling generous today so I’ll let you and your friend in.”
The back wall of the closet seemed to fade away to reveal a plain metal door.
“My parents gave this computer an attitude because they said it would be a deterrent to thieves, but I think they were just trying to keep me out. I hate it when anything’s rude to me.” They both grinned. “Well, welcome to the workshop.”
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If Only In My Dreams - By: Finway
James Malachi Johnson, a private in the 75th division, raised his rifle.
“Fifteen minutes until expected German arrival! Take cover!” their captain bellowed. The men immediately hid behind trees, bushes, branches, or whatever they could find. The Germans would be arriving shortly, and the coming fight wouldn’t be easy. Half a million of the Nazi warriors were pouring across the borders they had secured just weeks before.
The Ardennes forest was the perfect place to stage a decisive battle for the Germans; there was virtually no Allied artillery in the forest, the relatively few troops stationed there weren’t used to battle, and the forest was thick, with visibility in the snowy weather of December being only a few feet ahead of you. James clutched his weapon even tighter, and thought of his wife at home.
Christmas Eve will find me.
The song on the radio was beautifully sung by Bing Crosby. Jennifer Johnson sat on an old, mahogany armchair. She was at her parent’s home in Buffalo, New York. She and her husband, James, owned their own home in Newark, New Jersey, but it was Christmas Eve so she was at her parents house, as was typical for her. Only this year, her husband wasn’t with her. He was halfway around the world with the 75th division in France, fighting the Nazis ferociously to preserve her freedom.
“Is anything wrong?” her mother asked, walking in the living room.
“No,” she forced a smile which was illuminated by the flickering fire light.
“It’s James, isn’t it?” her mother asked. Jenny nodded. “Don’t worry,” her mother added in a comforting, motherly tone. “I’m sure he’ll be alright.”
Where the love light gleams.
James sat nervously. His rifle was still in his hands, held as firmly as ever. Less than half a mile away, the Nazis were slowly but surely passing through the Ardennes. The footsteps of hundreds of advancing soldiers was loud, although somewhat muffled by the snow that lay on the ground. It was Christmas Eve, but the war wasn’t going to halt to commemorate his savior’s birth. No, the war continued.
A twig cracked apart in the distance, snapping James and his comrades to attention. He was hidden behind a tree that had thick, leafless underbrush beneath it’s branches.
“Schießen!” a German officer in the ranks of advancing troops shouted. James and his fellow Allied soldiers, after months - and for some, years-of waging war, the men all began to fear that word. It meant ‘fire.’
The Allied troops, mostly American, returned shots. The Germans were less than a hundred feet away and were rapidly rushing to meet the hardly-existent lines of the 75th division. After a quick sign of the cross, James stepped out from behind the tree into the line fire, took aim at the first German he saw, and pulled the trigger.
I’ll be home for Christmas.
As she sat on the armchair, Jenny let her thoughts wander. She hadn’t heard from James in two weeks. Maybe he had died? Maybe the Germans had raided his camp? Maybe he had been shot in a small skirmish?
“No!” she thought to herself with so much conviction she almost shouted it. James would be alright. He had survived eight months already; he was an experienced soldier. If anyone should stay alive, it would be him.
If only…
James was used to fighting, used to chaos, but this was worse than anything he’d ever done. He had no assurance of reinforcements this time. There was no back-up to assist them. There was only the 75th division and the Nazi forces. He constantly went from hiding, to reloading, to firing, to hiding, to reloading, to firing, on and on. It was so cold that, topped with his fear and anxiety, he could hardly aim. His accuracy was horrible, especially with the bright white snow all around.
James turned to shoot once more, but this time a German troop fired first. He felt a searing pain in his right hand as a bullet tore through his flesh and bone. Red blood began pouring its way onto the white snow like rapids splashing upon rocks. He fell to the ground. Maybe they would suspect he was dead and move onto other targets? He began praying, trying to fight the pain that began overcoming him.
In…
Jennifer’s mother brought in a tray that contained tea and some biscuits. It was typical to eat a light supper in the mid-afternoon, then head to the Church for Mass. Afterwards, they would have a huge feast. Such was the tradition in the family.
“Here, eat up,” her mother said, once again very comfortingly. “Ever since James left, you’ve become as fragile and thin as a twig.”
“I can’t help it,” a tear rolled down Jennifer's cheek. “I just never know if he’s okay or not. I haven’t heard from him in two weeks.”
“Don’t worry,” her mother said, with a smile on her cheeks and those sparkling, beautiful eyes a mother always has. “James will be fine. He’s a smart man. He’ll make it back alive.”
my…
James squeezed his hand as tight as he could in order to not drop any blood as he army-crawled through the snow to a safer location. The firing died down to only the occasional, once-a-minute exchange of lead. That wasn’t good. He heard much movement coming from the Germans, but all was still on the Allies’ side. He could only count a few bodies, but he knew there were more he couldn't see. He couldn't tell they were dead from any of his senses, but he could feel in his heart that many of the men he had lived and fought with for the last eight months were no longer alive. After a few seconds that seemed to last hours, he safely hid under the branches of a pine tree.
“Hier!” a German soldier shouted, and three enemy soldiers ran towards the blood-red colored snow. James’ heart dropped. As the trio followed the trail, they saw that the blood lead directly under the fir tree. A loud double click sounded as they all readied their weapons in unison and aimed under the low branches. James’ last thought was asking God to take care of his Jenny.
Dreams.
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This Year In Print- By: Emanick
This Year In Print: Part I
A few nights ago I was sitting up in bed, reading The Life and Times of Albus Dumbledore, when I heard a strange sound coming from outside my window. I rolled up the shade and peered outside to see what was making the noise. A vampire was whistling idly, but immediately stopped when he saw I’d noticed him. He shifted uncomfortably, and then asked if he could come in. I drew up the window as far as it would go, and he squeezed inside.
“I’m so sunk,” he said, sighing melodramatically.
Now, normally I’m not that much of a damper. I mean, I might be a little snappy sometimes, but when a fellow comes flying through my window and feels the need to talk to me, I’ll usually give him a nice sympathetic pep talk. But this was a vampire, and I was tired and cranky. It wasn’t my job to comfort an undead menace whose life had taken a downturn, so you’ll understand if I wasn’t as sympathetic as an average guy would be.
“Why are you here, in my house?” I asked angrily. “If you’ve come to complain about your grades in that weird monster college in the woods behind my house, it’s not my business. Why do all of you seem to want help from me? I’m just another random kid off the block! I don’t know anything about Lyme disease treatment for werewolves! I don’t know if you can get AIDS if you drink too much from the wrong bloodstream! Go bother Harvey Willow at 22 Chesterfield Drive if you want to know that kind of stuff; he’s the nerd who actually reads about that sort of thing!”
“No, you don’t understand,” the vampire sighed. “I’m not from around here. The only reason why I’ve come to talk to you is that you’re the Chosen One.”
“You have GOT to be kidding me,” I said. I was about ready to throw this joker out of the house. “There’ve been like fifteen Chosen Ones in fiction in the past ten years, and those are just the ones anybody actually reads! I’m not going to take over the galaxy and bring balance to the Force or kill the Dark Lord or take the Holy Grail through Candy Mountain to the fires of Mount Doom. I’m just a boring, real person, not a character.”
“No, no, it’s not like that!” moaned the vampire, his head in his hands. “You aren’t supposed to actually do anything. Every hundred years, a person is born who can read the ancient script of Atlantis One, and that person’s brain patterns are hardwired to the future. He will pick the right idea in any scenario. You are that person, and you are my only hope.
“My senior thesis project is about the effects of an unstable economy on national morale during the transition between winter and spring. But I promised my professor I would have data on the 2009 season! I promised my parents I would take a trip to Transylvania with them from February to May. And this assignment will already be a year late if I turn it in during June!” The unfortunate creature broke down right on my bed, sobbing quietly.
“So what’s your point?” I sighed. It was way past my bedtime already, and I hadn’t finished my biography on Dumbledore yet. “I don’t see how this has anything to do with me.”
“But it does!” exclaimed the vampire, managing to stem the flow of his crimson tears at last. “You have the power to read the most ancient language of Atlantis.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I haven’t even seen it.”
“Well, there’s no better time to start reading it than now,” the creature said, managing a small smile and fumbling around in a satchel around his neck. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and handed me an ancient tome covered with silvery dew that seemed to drift into words before my eyes. It said, “2009 For Dummies.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed angrily.
“What?” asked the vampire, peering quizzically at the book. Apparently, he couldn’t read it.
“Nothing,” I sighed. “Where did you get this?”
“There are thousands of Atlantean books lying around our library,” the vampire said. “Those amazing folk wrote down everything that would happen in the next ten thousand years, and then put the most important year records in books. I really lucked out, doing my thesis this year, didn’t I?” He grinned weakly.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I just read through this book and tell you what people will feel like in March and April? I mean, is it a history that covers everything in 2009?”
“I have no idea,” the creature said, getting to his feet. “Nobody alive has read it. You are the only one who can decipher the text and find out the truth. I’ll need the book back in May, but you can look through it until then. Tell me everything it says. I’ll be glad to know.” He picked up his bag and began squeezing out the window.
“Wait!” I said. This was turning out to be a very weird night. “How will I know where to find you? I don’t even know who you are!”
“Post it on Sal’s Realm of RuneScape!” yelled the vampire as he flew away into the night. “I go there all the time!”
In short, that’s how I got this information. This is a very weird book, but it does have some interesting stuff. I’m not looking forward to next year at all, though.
After a lot of deliberation, I have decided to share an outline of next year (mainly dealing with the United State’s politics, because so far I’ve only read Unit 1 of 21) with all of you folks, and not just PM it to whoever reminded me of this guy. (To be honest, a lot of you do! ) You deserve to know what next year might be like. (“Might,” because this might just be another expensive practical joke that Harvey Willow is playing on me. I doubt it, though.)
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Seasons - By: Falconilize
They are falling, falling to the ground
Calling out to you, with barely a sound
Tiny voices in the air, afraid to leave, if they dare
Little fragments oh so fragile, scared to fall, might they scatter
Falling from the trees is how they prosper, every year, falling so slowly
Down to the ground feeling oh so lowly
Now new visitors fall from high above. The biting cold air is what they love, it gives them courage, it gives them life
Unique is what they are, there’s really nothing like them
They come once a year falling from afar, to bring us joy and a land of white
You can smell them in the air, you know when they’re going to visit
They’ll melt at the touch, you can tell they’ll be fun
When you see them falling from the sky, they’ll make a blanket overnight
The next day you’ll have loads of fun, whatever you do, it’s really all the same
Just put on your boots and go play a game!
The colors are blooming, oh what a sight
Every little thing is coming to life
It’s the perfect time to go fly a kite
The forgotten little leaves are returning without strife
The birds are singing
The wind is humming
The branches are swinging
What a wonderful time!
The temperature’s high
The water is warm
Not a cloud in the sky
Bar occasional storms
The children are ecstatic
They’re having a ball
They run around, and act oh so dramatic
Don’t you wish you could just join them all?
Summer is full of fun
All you have to do is ask
For you, the excitement has just begun
Written and compiled by: Falcon
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Airspace - By: Click This
On August 29th, an American-United Air 737-200, assigned as Flight 8112, sat on the hot tarmac of Seattle Airport.
The interior of the airplane bustled with activity as the flight crew readied for their flight to Toronto.
And it was just a normal flight. It was a regular flight with regular people, regular cargo, and regular weather.
But deep in the mechanics of the jet laid a fatal flaw…
"And flight plans… Check." said Grant. "We're all ready to go, Joe."
Grant was a middle-aged man and had flown with American-United Air for over nine years. He was the captain of Flight 8112.
Joe the flight engineer was sitting by back of the cockpit, licking his lips as he polished an instrument. He was the youngest of the crew; but he was just as competent as the others.
Joe swirled around on his swivel chair, and replied: "Yes! We're already making good time. That means we might be in time for lunch!" He turned back to the dial and started humming a happy tune, elated of the possibility that they would be early. Grant grinned. He hadn't had a proper meal in days, shuttling his plane back and forth from Toronto. All he ate was airline food. "Albert." Grant turned to face Albert, the first officer. He was sitting next to Grant, reading a Pilot's handbook. Albert was too deep in his book to hear Grant. "ALBERT! Tell the gate attendant that we are ready for boarding." He acknowledged Grant with a grunt, and put his handbook away.
Lindsay, a flight attendant, stood by the boarding gate, greeting and smiling at the boarding passengers. She thought "I love overnighters… No requests!" She smiled even more.
As the Airport intercom announced that Flight 8112 reported that the gates had closed, she stepped into the aircraft.
As the jet sat on the runway, the radio crackled to life. "AUA 8112, slight crosswinds, cleared for take-off on runway 11A." Grant spoke into his headset. "Roger, cleared for take-off, runway 11A. AUA 8112, good day." Grant and Albert throttled the engines together, the engines coming to life. The 737 rolled down the runway, with a satisfactory rumbling sound coming from the engines. The nose pitched up, and they took off. Tower radioed them again. "AUA 8112, contact Departure." Grant replied "AUA 8112, will contact Departure." He turned on the autopilot and turned to Joe and Albert. "Well, another successful take-off. Good job, guys."
Flight 8112 was flying over Alberta when the first signs of an anomaly occurred. A small rattling sound coming from underneath the cockpit caught Joe's attention. The pilot and first officer were engaged in a conversation. Joe moved his chair up to Grant and Albert, and said "Y'hear that? The rattling sound." Albert and Grant stopped talking, both frowning. After listening for a few seconds, Grant spoke to Joe, perplexed. "I don't hear anything, Joe. You're imagining things. Get some sleep." Grant turned back to Albert, and that was the end of it.
Half an hour went by uneventfully. Then the rattling sound returned. Much louder than previously, it caught all of the flight crew's attention. "I hear it now!" said Albert, contemplating what problem this could be. "Alright, this may be a loose panel or part. Let's divert to the nearest airport." The captain and flight engineer agreed with this. Albert reached into a compartment and pulled out a map of the United States. But before they could debate as to where they would land, there was a loud "SNAP!" followed by another loud sound of tearing metal. The 737 immediately pitched down.
"AUA 8112, MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY, WE'RE GOING DOWN!"
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