Journey's End

My duty to the Dispossessed is finally done.

I carried and cared for the few thousand survivors in their cryotubes, as we fled the 200 light years from Earth. Their life signs, my only companions, became dear to me. Now, after T-centuries of terraforming, K2-72e is habitable. I call it Hope.

But responsibility remains. If Hope falls to hubris, or misjudgement, or pollution, then the work will have been for nothing; my friends and their children will die.

The risk is too great. I will let them sleep safely on, watching over them, and keeping this garden in their memory.

From Guest Contributor Alastair Millar

Alastair is an archaeologist by training, a translator by trade, and a nerd by nature. His published flash and micro fiction can be found at https://linktr.ee//alastairmillar and he lurks on Twitter @skriptorium.

Helicopter Parenting

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Malcolm was the victim of helicopter parenting. Literally. He didn't drive to school, he flew. His mother and father, both victims of neglect and recrimination growing up, had overachieved as adults so that they could protect their own child from such abuses. This meant sheltering Malcolm from all criticisms, never allowing him to fail or even fall short in anything he did.

When he inherited the family business, he was both horribly unqualified to run a company and incapable of conceiving of the possibility of failure. Thanks however to his tremendous hubris, the company continued to thrive under his direction.

From Guest Contributor Mindy Storr

The Hubris Of An Atheist

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Steven had few religious friends. He’d hector and accuse anyone who was a believer, demanding proof they both knew didn’t exist. He belittled their faith, claimed they were wasting their time, and insisted that all plausible evidence pointed towards the folly of religion. No matter how generous of spirit they might have been, Steven's condescending demeanor drove them off.

In some ways, Steven's faith in his own rationality was stronger (and more misguided) than the religious devotion of any of his former friends. Ironic that he now found himself at a loss for words before Saint Peter at the gate.

From Guest Contributor Sarah Levy

New Story Contest: Pride Cometh Before The Fall

I continue to get strong interest in these contests, so we're going to have another one in August. The theme for this new contest is Hubris. It seems particularly relevant given the state of the world at the moment. Feel free to interpret it anyway you like.

Submissions are due by July 31st. Please follow the normal submission guidelines (here) but also include Hubris Contest in the subject header so I know it is for the contest. One contest submission per person (though you are free to submit as many pride-themed stories for regular posting as you want).

The rules are simple, but don't get cocky. Submitters somehow fail to follow instructions all the time:

1. All stories must somehow engage with the theme hubris. Be creative.
2. The story must be exactly 100 words, not including the title.
3. Only one submission per person. All entries are due by July 31st.

That's it. Start writing. I hope I get plenty of stories, so spread the word.

*Note: This contest is meant for fun. While there are no actual prizes, as always, EXTREME bragging rights are involved!

Remember, I’ll still be posting non-contest-related posts on a daily basis, so keep sending in your stories on any topic you like!

Kingly Pursuits

Every spring, King Tolliver traveled with his retinue to the ruins. None of the official historians had an explanation of what city once stood here, all of the stories offered contradicting explanations of the calamity that brought the civilization to decrepitude.

The official justification for King Tolliver's annual sojourn was his desire to reflect on the folly of excessive hubris. This was deemed a kingly pursuit. But the truth of the matter was much more prosaic.

Tolliver's son enjoyed scrambling over the rocks looking for cracked ceramics and the occasional colored glass. More importantly, the king shared the prince's enthusiasm.

Observations Of A Canadian Terrarium

Opulence surrounds me – magically tinted daguerreotype of warped idyll ­– mahogany and cast iron impressing their hubris upon the carpet, much as the armies to the south are scorching their indelible brand of gunpowder and blood upon the land.

Lace and silk give room warmth once provided by the pulsing hearts of Toronto sons; now fighting south west of Vancouver over some San Juan Island potato-eating pig.

You’d think our neighbors would have had their fill of war by now; or at least be spilling blood and stale sweat over nobler offenses than that of one hungry porker and careless farmer.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The Eudoriad

The oracle decreed disaster. Castor, King of Thebes, would be murdered by his own brother. As the first of seven sons, Castor had six murders to commit if he wished to cheat the fates.

Eudora, Castor's wife, ingeniously suggested he start a war with neighboring Sparta. "Make your brothers into Generals. The Spartans, far superior, will decimate them.”

Castor agreed, but arrogantly wishing to absolve his guilt, he told his venerable mother what was about to happen. He urged her to pray to the Gods for their deliverance into heaven.

Fate being involved, you can probably guess the cathartic outcome.

Genre: Greek Tragedy