The Glue

Victor Coolidge often referred to himself as the glue that held the city together (the joke being the reason he was so obese was that a city of one billion people needed a lot of glue). In the end, he was the snag that lead to the city coming apart at the seams.

When he told his media friends that Georgi was the infant predator, they seized on the story. A manhunt began. Top-levels began dying in the vents. The riots spread to the sewers and the ground levels.

Georgi became the eye of the hurricane that finally destroyed Colossopolis.

Part 5

This is the treatment for a sci-fi novella. I think it's definitely worthy of more than the 100-word treatment. Let me know what you think!

Victor Coolidge

The larger an election, the greater the opportunity for corruption. In the largest city in the solar system, people assume it's easy to manufacture tens of millions of votes. For this reason, no one believed that Victor Coolidge, mayor of Colossolopolis, was duly elected. But his grip on power hardened over the years and seemed unlikely to end in anyone's natural lifespan.

But when Coolidge was discovered eating infant flesh in the vents, the news spread through the city at light speed.

Not many people believed Coolidge could overcome the scandal, but he knew all he needed was a scapegoat.

Part Four

The Vents

In Colossopolis, the slums and sewers were home to escaped convicts, perverts, and the debt-afflicted--the least desirable elements of society. Most of the city's population would never see the sewers in their lifetimes.

Such people had never even heard of the vents.

The vents were for the mutants and genkies who had nowhere else to go. There was a division of Justice that specialized in going into the vents to retrieve wanted criminals or especially valuable contraband. They had an 82% success rate of coming back alive.

Georgi was born in the vents and he didn't want to go back.

Part 3

Neon

Georgi was having trouble seeing.

Vacuumers operate in shifts of 16 hours on, 4 hours off for five days in a row, with three days of downtime. During their breaks, most of Georgi's colleagues stayed in the seedier sections of the city, near the exteriors.

For the majority of vacuumers, it was enough to dabble in illegal, though lightly-monitored, activities such as drug use or gene manipulation. Only the most foolhardy went in for neon ingestion. Georgi, however, wasn't worried about harm to his nervous system.

But if he couldn't see, he'd be fired and sent back to the vents.

Part Two

The Vacuumers

A city of one billion people relies on many citizens and institutions to maintain order. But in Colossolopis, the world's largest urban center, everyone knows who the city most depends on for survival.

The vacuumers are the only civilians allowed outside the city interiors. Donning their radiation-shielded hazsuits, they crawl like insects on the rooftops, cleaning the air.

Some doubt that what they are doing can really be called cleaning. It has been generations since anyone has been able to freely breath the atmosphere. But if they were to stop, the toxicity levels would quickly breakdown even the strongest shielding.

Gently Home

Seagulls arced lazy turns as an angry ocean pounded my listing fishing boat. Separated, the submerged boat lights cast a green glow around me, making the ocean even darker as the light trailed into abyss. Floating, my thoughts went to all life in the ocean, reacting, surviving, inching slowly along the ooze and undulating mid-water with goals ingrained. Ocean smell, thick with sea spray and sargassum, cradled me like a childless mother. Dipping below the horizon, the boat disappeared, sunset style, leaving me with only the immensity of space. Gazing at weightless gulls, the blue mire pulled me gently home.

From Guest Contributor Wes Keller

The Man Who Knew Too Much

They came from miles around to ask him questions and he always answered truly. It seemed to those visitors that he knew everything. At least, no one could ever remember a question stumping him. He was worth every penny.

It was different for those who knew him. At first, they had been amazed of course. How did he know so much? But after a while, the novelty wore off and he began to get cocky, lording it over them how much smarter he was. And really, it was just plain awkward to be around someone who knew everything about you.

Picasso Painted Dinosaurs Now On Sale

Entropy Squared is happy to announce that our first collection of microfiction is now available in ALL major ebookstores. You can purchase it from Amazon, iTunes, Barnes and Noble and pretty much anywhere else you might want to buy an eBook.

The book is called Picasso Painted Dinosaurs, and it sells for the low and extremely reasonable price of $2.00. It features original artwork by Seattle artist Mike Simon. It includes 100 100 word stories, plus two essays on finding inspiration and writing flash fiction. I can promise there's something for everyone. If you don't like it, I will make you a pancake breakfast.*

Here are the links:

AmazoniTunesBarnes And NobleSony

And as an added thank you to all of you for your support, here is a picture of Vicki from Small Wonder:

Thanks for your support.

*Pancake Breakfast is subject to you being in my kitchen. I don't make house calls. Also, this guarantee is not legally binding. Please don't sue me.

Lucky Swing

The door opened. Selena, ready with the letter opener, attacked. She stabbed Stan right through the eye. He died instantly, falling slowly backwards in a tightly drawn arc.

It was a lucky swing. She was hoping to startle him just long enough that she could get past him and run for freedom. She wasn't trying to kill him.

And then she realized something was wrong. Stan wasn't wearing his black leather jacket and black denim jeans. He was dressed in a grey suit with a blue dress shirt. It wasn't Stan at all.

It was Richard.

Part Thirteen

Nerve

She waited in the closet while tightly clutching the letter opener to her chest. She'd never killed anyone--never come close really, unless you count the car accident and she'd been drunk so she never did. But she was going to kill Stan, or at least hurt him really bad. She knew she had to do it quickly, as soon as the door opened, because if she saw his face she'd lose her nerve. Not that he didn't deserve to die, but she'd be too scared.

She heard footsteps, so she stood next to the door, her whole body tense.

Part Twelve