The Zombie Contingency (Sunday Photo Fiction)

Photo Credit: Anonymous

For centuries, the Ectos chose to live peacefully in the shadows. A once mighty race, the atrocities of the Hominini forced them into exclusion. The Ectos could not understand why the larger and more powerful Hominini feared them. All the Ectos wanted was to co-exist. But how?

‘Maybe if we show them a better way,’ said their Queen. She sent out her best messengers to teach the Hominini the secrets of a perfect society.

‘To their builders, share the secrets of our architecture,’ she said

‘And to their scientists, teach them the ways of travel.’

She sent messengers to their government leaders, extoll the blessing of communal living and shared responsibility, and to their artists, the path to creativity.

No secret was withheld. The Queen waited for news that the Hominini were ready to join with them in peace.

But none returned.

In her anger, the Queen declared: No more will we hunker in the shadows. We gave them a choice and they refused. Now they must suffer the consequences.”

 “What will you do, mighty Queen?”

‘The Hominini have one great fear that will be their undoing. Time to execute the Zombie Contingency*.’

* The Zombie Contingency is a fear that every bug you ever killed will one day come back to seek revenge. Once executed, there is no turning back. All we can do is pray. 

 

Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

 

 

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. Thank to the anonymous contributor for this week’s challenge.

 

 

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One Night (Friday Fictioneers)

Photo Credit: Sarah Ann Hall

Seventeen vases stood in plain sight on the mantel; an unspoken confession of her love affair with William. She displayed them in order; starting with the small red vase that held the single rose  William gave her their first time together. A strange affair; they met one night a year. William  brought her flowers, she brought a vase. Together, a symbol of their union.

The next morning, an empty vase took its place with the others, symbol of her loneliness.

“I see you have a new vase.” Her husband’s eyes glanced over the top of the newspaper, then disappeared.  “Pretty.”

 

Friday Fictioneers is a weekly challenge to write a complete story in 100 words or less based on a photo prompt. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting this challenge and Sarah Ann Hall for this week’s photo prompt

First Date (Sunday Photo Fiction)

photo credit: A Mixed Bag (Al Forbes)

“Are you kidding me! This has got to be the worse movie ever!”

Deb’s remarks vibrated throughout entire theater, answered with a resounding ‘SHHHHH’.

Wyatt tried to calm her down.

“Baby, please, you’re disturbing everyone.”

Deb lowered her voice but not her insolence.

“I can’t believe you brought me to this…. whatever you call this movie.”

“Plan 9 from Outer Space. It’s a classic.”

“It’s crap Wyatt. OMG, do you see the strings attached to the planets? What kind of person brings a first date to a movie like this?”

“I thought you’d like it. You said you liked Sci-Fi.”

“I like Star Wars. Real science fiction. My little brother could do better with his Legos and a point-and-shoot camera.”

A few moments later, Deb stood up and announced she was leaving.

“Can you get me some popcorn when you come back?”

“No Wyatt, I’m leaving the theater. For good. And don’t bother calling me again.”

After Deb walked out, the man in the seat behind Wyatt tapped him on the shoulder.

“Man, tough break, but good riddance is all I can say. How could anyone not like this stuff.”

 

Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly challenge to write a 200-word story based on a photo prompt. As a fan of horrible science fiction, this was a no-brainer. 

Sunday Photo Fiction – Three Choices

photo by A Mixed Bag

Sephtis stared at the space suit hanging next to the escape hatch. It was a NASA circa 1970 model. All space stations carried one on board for luck, so he thought. Sephtis now knew otherwise. The suit served an unimaginable purpose.

“You have three choices.” The recorded voice was soft, sensual, and female. An attempt to lessen the impact of the words. Sephtis thought she was a cold-hearted bitch.

Did he misunderstand? Sephtis replayed the message.

“… spacecraft malfunction…. living in a dream state…. technology to return you to your own time is imminent…. three choices”

Sephtis’s heart pounded in his chest as reality set in. His world was a thousand-year nightmare, interrupted for one purpose only: to make a choice. He could go back to sleep for another 100 years and hope someone figures out how to get him home. Or, Sephtis could remain awake and help the scientists solve the problem, hopefully before he dies of old age. The final choice: put on the spacesuit, open the hatch, and step out. The suit would release a toxic gas, killing him as he floated into space. The humane choice.

Three choices, thought Sephtis. But really only one.

This story was inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction and the idea of writing a story prompted by the weekly photo using 200 words.