Interstellar Rebellion

"Red Alert!"

Captain Spiff dashed to the bridge of his sentinel frigate, shocked at what he found. Thousands of enemy warcraft descended on the capitol planet's defenses, seemingly out of nowhere.

Emperor Devane had ruled the galaxy for more than 2700 CR (Capitol Revolutions) with no hint of rebellion. Entire systems were wiped out for causing the slightest upset to the Emperor's mood. Coordinating such an attack must have taken years, yet his daily security briefing had offered zero hint of the possibility.

Spiff's final thought was to contemplate what promotion might be available were he to defeat these insurgents.

Authority

I know only one enemy in this world, that person who holds power over me. No matter how slight the exercise of authority, how minor the inconvenience, any attempt to coerce me in any manner, even if I would have otherwise been inclined to act in the desired fashion, will be met with the strongest disagreement within my power.

You insist I should eat more vegetables. I will only be eating meat from now on. I am a rebel. I am the rebellion. Tell me what to do one more time, and I'll be the leader of a third-grade revolution.

Imminent

The blow knocks me and my horse to the ground. I reach for my sword and swing at the enemy, his roars deafening. My leg is cut, and the breath is knocked out of me, but I endure the pain for my king and country.

Another foe is coming toward me. A comrade rushes to my aide and stabs him in the abdomen. He gushes blood from the mouth and dies.

I manage to fend off my attacker for now. One of us will tire.

And so, it seems death is imminent for him as my sword pierces his heart.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Chaos

George fires his rifle, and the bullet hits the enemy in the gut. The man lands with a thud, and blood drips from his mouth. George seeks cover in a nearby ditch, men screaming and dying all around. The sun is fading, and the firing hasn’t stopped. He can’t stay there any longer. One of his comrades jumps in.

“Charles, we need to get out soon or we’ll be sitting ducks.”

They wait until the firing slows and run.

George gets to the other side, but Charles gets fatally shot in the chaos.

George continues running and never looks back.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Leaving Home

When he slammed the door, he did not say goodbye. He just left. He left the house, the street, the small town, all the narrow-mindedness he had endured for eighteen years. No one was going to tell him what to do or what to believe.

He boarded the train, and soon he was in boot camp. Then he was a full-fledged soldier. He had enough anger inside to slay the enemy. Before long he was on a troop ship, and then in the forests of France where he began to miss the town where he grew up.

It was 1942.

From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman

The Path

I hurried, heart trilling, feet moving. Left turn, right. The path was familiar, an old enemy. Left again. I could have screamed. It was here somewhere. Right turn.

Yes. There it was, the candy-red button. I pressed it down. A tray burst open with the pellet inside. I crunched into its horrible glory. Relief.

“Nice work, Algernon,” the human said, her thick hand lifting me from the labyrinth and setting me in fresh sawdust. I curled my tail around me. If I slept now, I would reawaken to the path and begin again. Did I have a choice?

I slept.

From Guest Contributor Ryan Doskocil

Turning The Tables

The darkness was like ink, but that did not bother the mouse's keen eye sight, and smell told him where to go for the food. Its tiny heart was racing with fear because its mortal enemy was out and about as well. He’d lost several of his litter mates to that awful feline beast, but tonight things may be different.

Suddenly there was that awful snarl. Behind him its claws slashing through the air, where he’d been just seconds ago. Twisting and turning, he dodged; suddenly that awful snap of the trap! The cat cried out, the mouse scurried away.From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie

The Trenches

Joseph lived in the trenches. The others came and went, firing weapons at the enemy location before marching elsewhere. Joseph always stayed.

The soldiers ignored him, except to push him aside when he got in their way. On occasion, an officer noticed him and ordered that he be taken away, but then a bomb would explode and Joseph was left to his own devices.

Joseph had a reasonably comfortable spot. He mostly just lay in the soft mud. It no longer mattered if he was face down in the pool of water at their feet. Breathing was no longer necessary.

240th

Baldwin kept careful track of his place in line. It was important that he always know exactly where along the front he was in relation to the enemy. At this moment, he was 240th back. That didn't mean he was going to be the 240th soldier to die. Death was random in war. He'd kept track of enough battles to know that sometimes the 240th person would be shot in the head, and sometimes he'd be injured by shrapnel, and sometimes he'd remain unscathed. There was no pattern, but it still helped him feel in control to do the counting.

Watch Out

Time is my mortal enemy.

There are never enough minutes in a day. No matter how scheduled and organized I try to be, time always manages to sneak up on me, slipping through the cracks, flying past me unnoticed, baffling me every time. It’s a constant battle that begins the minute I wake up each morning. I start each day feeling invigorated and optimistic, but no matter how much I accomplish, there are still tasks left unfinished, boxes left un-ticked. With each passing day, I slump away feeling defeated.

In an effort to boycott time, I never wear a watch.

From Guest Contributor, Kristen Lum