Stories on the Go: 101 Very Short Stories by 101 Authors

by Hugh Howey

  “Yes,” was the reply.

  “Commencing Operation Izanagi. All personnel, please evacuate the premises immediately.”

  Those were the last words the AI spoke. Those were the last words the Last heard. The AI turned itself over to the automated functions that comprised Operation Izanagi. The central column started blinking, its contents churning violently and mixing together. What had been rainbow-colored slowly became as white as snow. The noise in the room was deafening, but the Last did not care. He would not need his ears.

  As the contents of the giant tube reached critical mass, he who had once been known as the Mad Professor declared, “I am as a god!”

  A flash of light enveloped the world, and all was still.

  Darrin Perez

  has been writing stories of all shapes and sizes since his childhood. While he has a Bachelor’s Degree in Microbiology, writing is his true passion. He has earned several accolades on Hubpages for his video game articles throughout the past few years. When he’s not writing, he’s most likely reading, listening to music, and/or playing video games.

  Darrin Perez’s Website

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  Literary Fiction

  Martians For Neighbors!

  Frank Zubek

  “Mom! We’ve got Martians living next to us!” Simon said to his mom as he came in the back door after playing in the yard. When Simon and his mother returned home from vacation, they saw that the new neighbors had hired someone to put up a large fence that ran the full property line of the house. While it was only six foot high and made of wood, to Simon, who was just three foot high, it must have seemed like a monolith.

  “What makes you think they’re Martians?” Simon’s mom asked.

  “It says so on the mailbox in front of their home!”

  “Their last name is Martin, Simon.”

  “Oh,” he said as he picked at his food. “Okay. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Simon,” she said, smiling. “Finish your green beans.”

  After dinner, he played in the backyard with his toy rocket ships. As he did, he kept glancing at the fence. And despite his mom straightening out the mystery of the name on the mailbox, he wasn’t convinced that they were just ordinary human beings. Why would anyone need such a big fence? he thought.

  Nobody else on the street had such a big fence. A few homes had small white picket fences. The Smiths, one street over, had a chain link fence and the Andersons had a row of tall bushes that was like a fence. But none of them had anything that looked like this fence. Simon was sad as he thought of the way he used to be able to see past all six backyards to the end of the street. Now all he saw was the fence.

  And then it struck him…the fence was hiding their spaceship!

  Curious to see it, Simon remembered that his friend Billy, who lived on the street behind them, had a tree house! And so, the next day, Simon went to see Billy and they both climbed up into the tree house, hoping to see the spaceship.

  But their hopes were dashed when all they saw was a swing set, an above-ground swimming pool and a small wooden patio with table and chairs.

  “No ship,” Billy said. He was clearly disappointed.

  “Maybe it’s invisible?” Simon suggested.

  “Naw,” Billy said, shaking his head. “You’d be able to see the outline warping the light.”

  Simon agreed. “Maybe it’s in the basement!”

  “It would never fit through the door.”

  “It’s possible,” Simon countered. “My mom had a few friends from work come by when we moved here. I remember we had a really big couch she wanted down in the basement and it took them an hour to figure out how to wiggle it through the door. But they did it.”

  Billy thought it over for a moment and finally nodded in agreement.

  “Simon!” his mom called for him from the back door.

  “Got to go.”

  “Okay,” Billy said.

  Later that evening, Simon’s mom told him that she had invited the Martins over for dinner. After getting cleaned up and dressed, Simon sat alone in his room wondering what would happen. He had never seen Martians before. Well, he had seen a few on TV but that was in California and this was Ohio!

  Whoever lived next door would soon be inside Simon’s house! Aliens from a planet a million light-years away!

  Simon’s mom had had friends and neighbors over for dinner before and it usually took up the whole evening. Everyone sat around the table and had dinner and then they’d go on the back porch and talk about a variety of things. Sometimes they had kids who Simon could play with and sometimes not.

  But they’d never had Martians!

  Suddenly, there was a knock on the door! They were here!

  “Simon, get the door please?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “And remember to be polite, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered under his breath as he went down to open the door. As he grasped the handle, he took a deep breath, prepared for anything. But when he opened the door, he was surprised to see a man, a woman and a boy standing on the front porch smiling at him. They didn’t look like Martians at all!

  “Hello,” said the father. “You must be Simon. We’re the Martins. May we come in?”

  Simon showed them into the living room where, a moment later, Simon’s mother came and introduced herself and they all got to know each other. They all enjoyed a wonderful meal and during dinner, he found out that they had not meant to offend anyone, but they had built the fence for privacy. They both worked very busy jobs and liked to have peace and quiet when they were home.

  He also found out that their son, Albert, was his age, and liked to play the same video games he did. So that’s what they did.

  Frank Zubek

  lives in Ohio and writes in a number of different genres including flash fiction, young adult and paranormal. More info can be found on his webpage.

  Frank Zubek’s Website

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  Women’s Fiction

  Hit and Run

  Rachel Elizabeth Cole

  Gillian clenched and unclenched the steering wheel, her gaze flicking between the red light ahead of her and the clock on the dashboard. Six minutes to get to work. Six minutes to drive twelve blocks in heavy traffic. It was going to be tight, but if this light would change, she just might make it.

  The light turned green and Gillian stepped on the gas. She couldn’t believe she’d slept in. Okay, she admitted she probably should’ve put the Kindle down a little earlier, but the minute she switched off the light and started to drift off, what sounded like a herd of elephants in combat boots marched into the apartment upstairs. Then the elephants proceeded to tap dance, rearrange the furniture, and bowl ten frames. By the time they quieted down around three a.m., Gillian knew she was going to be hurting in the morning.

  Four hours later, she’d slept through her alarm and had barely fifteen minutes to get out the door. Then she ran out of hot water halfway through her already-rushed shower, her hair dryer packed it in, and she spilled coffee grounds all over the kitchen floor. The day had barely started and it couldn’t get much worse.

  A chorus of barking dogs filled the car. Her phone. Gillian fumbled her hands-free headset from the console and stuffed it into her ear. Probably work wondering where she was. Instead, her mother’s voice sang out. “Good morning!”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “And how is my favourite eldest daughter this morning?”

  “Fine. Just running a bit late, Mom.”

  “Are you on your phone in the car? You know you could get a ticket for that.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got a headset. Hands-free.” Ahead, the light changed to yellow. Gillian hit the brakes hard and the car skidded to a halt, halfway through the crosswalk. A heartbeat later, tires squealed behind her and then a tremendous crash! and the car lurched forward.

>   “Oh my God!” Gillian said at the same time her mother said, “What was that?”

  Gillian glanced into the rearview mirror. A blue BMW, driven by an attractive blond man with sunglasses, was bumper to bumper with her Hyundai. “I just got rear-ended.”

  “What?”

  “I’m okay, Mom. Just a fender bender. I’ll call you back.” She was just climbing out of the car, when the BMW backed up and sped away.

  “Hey!” Gillian yelled, but the car hung a right and disappeared into traffic.

  Lovely.

  Her bumper was caved in. Her brake lights smashed out. Her trunk popped open and looked like it wasn’t going to close again without the help of a body shop.

  The chorus of dogs started up again in her front seat. She got back in the car and checked the call display. Mom again.

  Ahead, the light turned green and a car behind her honked. Gillian shifted into gear and hit the accelerator before answering. “Mom, I’m fine. It was just a small accident. But I really have to go. I’m late for work. I’ll call you at lunch. Love you! Bye!”

  She tossed her headset aside and drove as quickly and safely—no need for two accidents in one day—as she could to Westside Animal Clinic.

  No sooner had she parked her car than her phone rang again. Really?

  It was her sister, Erin.

  “What’s up?”

  “You’ll never guess.” Her sister bubbled.

  “You’re right. So you better just tell me.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  At least that explained all the phone calls. “Congratulations!”

  “Craig and I are having a celebration dinner — just a little one — at Mom and Dad’s tonight. You’ll be there, right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Gillian tried to sound enthusiastic, but knew it sounded forced. It was bad enough her younger sister married before she did, now she was producing the firstborn grandchild. Gillian was guaranteed an evening-long interrogation of her love life — or lack thereof.

  She hung up, grabbed her purse and lunch and climbed out of the car. As she strode across the parking lot, her phone rang. Again. Now what?

  This time it was work. “Where are you? Dr. Michelson needs you in surgery right away. A hit-by-car just came in.”

  “I’ll be right there!”

  When it came to animals, Gillian was all business. She double-timed it to the operating room.

  On the table, a brindle Boxer lay sedated. At least she thought it was a Boxer. The dog was covered with blood and his front leg was badly broken. Alexa, the other vet tech, was starting an I.V. line. She glanced up. “About time.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Gillian donned a pair of gloves and went to hold the dog’s leg. “I was in a car accident.”

  Alexa softened. “You okay?”

  “Better than this poor guy, that’s for sure, but my car’s a mess. And would you believe the driver just took off? Not even an apology.”

  Alexa shook her head. “Some people are real jerks.”

  The surgery went well, and soon the dog, Bosco, was stabilized and resting in the kennel room.

  While Gillian was monitoring his condition, Dr. Michelson poked his head in the door. “How’s he doing?”

  “Good.” Gillian gently patted the dog’s head. “He’s still a little groggy, but he’s awake now.”

  “I’ve spoken with the owner. He’d like to see him.”

  “I think Bosco would like that.”

  At the sound of his name, Bosco thumped his stubby tail against the kennel floor.

  A few minutes later, Alexa directed a familiar-looking blond man into the room. “All right, Mr. Haywood, Gillian will fill you in on Bosco’s condition. He’s a lucky dog.” She left the room.

  Gillian stared at the man. Tousled blond hair, stunning blue-grey eyes, a strong jawline with just the right amount of scruff. It couldn’t be. What were the odds?

  Bosco whimpered a bit at the presence of his owner.

  “Sorry, buddy.” The man tucked a pair of sunglasses into his jacket pocket and knelt down to pet the dog, overwhelming Gillian with a heady shot of delicious masculine cologne.

  Gillian’s heartbeat sped up. It was him! The man who hit her!

  “You!” The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  The man glanced up, confusion turning to recognition, turning to chagrin.

  “You hit my car!”

  The man held up his hands, his blue-grey eyes locking with hers. “Please… let me explain. I would’ve stopped… I should’ve, but I had to save Bosco… He was hit by a truck… I’m really sorry.”

  All Gillian’s anger drained away. He looked so vulnerable, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and hug him.

  “My insurance papers are outside in my car. I can go get them for you.” He moved to get up.

  “It’s okay.” Gillian put a hand on his arm, her fingertips tingling where they touched his suit coat. “It can wait. It’s just a car. You got Bosco here in time. That’s what matters.”

  “You’re right.” He patted the dog again, then glanced at Gillian, his mouth widening into a lopsided grin. “And I’m very grateful for everything you and Dr. Michelson have done for him.” He glanced at her nametag. “Gillian, right? I’m Blake.”

  She shook his hand, hoping she wasn’t grinning like a fool.

  “Still, I feel so bad. Let me make it up to you. How about dinner sometime?”

  Now she really was grinning like a fool. “All right, but I’m driving.”

  Rachel Elizabeth Cole

  writes a mix of genres—from heartfelt literary and women’s fiction, to laugh-out-loud chick-lit, to quirky contemporary middle grade fiction. Her short stories have appeared in literary magazines both online and in print, including Cahoots, Literary Mama, and Flashquake.

  When she’s not writing, Rachel works as a graphic designer specializing in book covers. Her favourite season is autumn, she prefers tea to coffee, and she wishes every morning began at ten a.m.

  Even though she hates the rain, Rachel lives just outside Vancouver, British Columbia, with her husband, their two sons, and two very spoiled house rabbits.

  Find out more about Rachel or sign up for her mailing list at her website.

  Rachel Elizabeth Cole’s Website

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  Paranormal

  Lamron Ot Emoclew

  Matthew W. Grant

  The bold black and white sign a few feet down the road beckoned to ten-year-old Jeannie Williamson and her little brother, John. Jeannie’s flowing pigtails bounced effortlessly in the light breeze as John squeezed her hand and yanked her along rather ungraciously, much the way generations of inquisitive and excitable little boys have pushed, pulled, poked, and prodded their big sisters for years. In fact, Jeannie and John were very much like other children. John had a little red wagon and Jeannie had a favorite doll. They lived with their parents in a house with a big yard and a white picket fence.

  “Come on, hurry up,” John coaxed when Jeannie started to pull back.

  She made an abrupt stop in front of the sign. “Lamron Ot Emoclew. Nwonknu Noitalupop," she stumbled through it. “What does that sign say? I can’t read those words.”

  “I can’t read at all. I’m only in kinder-graten,” John reminded her while mispronouncing the word for the hundredth time.

  “Well, I’m in the fourth grade. I’m even in the Falcons reading group. I can read lots of words, but I’ve never seen these before. It’s like, they’re not, normal.“

  “Normal? What’s that mean?”

  “You know, regular, like everyone else. The way things are supposed to be,” Jeannie said impatiently because she wasn’t in the mood to give explanations.

  John was silent for a moment. “Oh, I get it. ‘Normal’ means that you’re not different."

  “Right.”

  “Like the other day, when Bobby Fenmore go
t glasses. We laughed at him and made him cry because he wasn’t — what’s that word? Oh, yeah, normal.”

  “That’s not very nice,” Jeannie began to scold and let her voice trail off, but stopped when she remembered she had done the exact same thing to a classmate named Marcy Eldridge in the cafeteria last year when a group of children were making fun of the birthmark on her face.

  The children walked along the dirt road. Out of nowhere, a sign just like the first stood alone in the middle of the woods. Everything looked the same as it had half an hour earlier, except it was getting darker.

  “Where is that town? We should have been there by now.”

  “My foots are tired,” John whined.

  “Feet," Jeannie corrected automatically. “I’m afraid we’re lost.”

  “Lost! Lost! Lost!” a sharp voice echoed from all directions.

  The children spun around frantically and bumped into each other. The sharp voice laughed in amusement at the spectacle. An owl circled above a pine tree and swooped down, whizzing past John’s left ear. “That was neat. Again.” John clapped. The gray owl landed carefully on a branch facing Jeannie. He moved his head slightly and blinked an eye.

  “Hoooo!” John made the sound he remembered his teacher said that owls make.

  “Hoooo yourself, you silly little boy,” the owl snapped.

  “Oh my goodness!” Jeannie said and jumped back in fright. “Owls can’t talk. That’s im-impossible,” she stammered.

  “It’s not normal,” said John with a triumphant smile at his mastery of a new word.

  The owl gave a disapproving look. “Look at your sister’s hair. It certainly is not normal for young girls to run around a forest with long blond pigtails.”

  “Of course it is, Mr. Owl,” Jeannie disagreed. “All the girls in school have pigtails.”

  “We are not in school, are we? Around here, a girl with pigtails might find them and herself on the losing end of a tug-of-war with a hungry grizzly bear. In the woods, normal girls wear their hair tucked safely under bonnets.”