On The Plane

Passengers on a flight from Dallas to Los Angeles reportedly freaked out when they spotted a rat on board. No one airborne wants to see a rat running around. And yet...

Mel, one of the passengers, turned to the man sitting beside him.

“Mel's the name. I'm going to a dry-cleaning convention.”

“Dry cleaning, huh?”.

Otto Franzblau had forgotten to pick up his dry cleaning before the flight. As he explained to Mel, he was giving a paper on medical laboratory experimentation in Los Angeles.

Dry-cleaning? Laboratory experiments? Could anyone blame the rat for trying to get off the plane?

From Guest Contributor David Sydney

The Glory Days

Captain Sam of the starship Gillian's Folly watches as the stars pass in long white arcs of Doppler light. As a boy, he always wanted to command a ship. The power. The excitement.

In reality, today everything is controlled by the ship's intelligence. Captain Sam is a glorified steward, employed by the corporation to ensure all the passengers behave themselves. For some reason they find listening to orders from a man in a uniform easier to swallow than from a computer, never mind said computer controls how much oxygen they receive.

Captain Sam longs for the days of intergalactic war.

Panic At Sea

Mary attached her life vest to her body, squeezed through the screaming crowd and made her way to the lifeboats. The cold air chilled her body and numbed her feet; she could barely walk. Frozen in fear, she waited. After being placed in the lifeboat, panicked passengers tried to jump in as the deck hand began lowering them down. He took out his gun and started firing at no one in particular and shot a poor elderly man.

Mary, stunned, looked at the dark sea beneath, bodies floating by.

Titanic began to sink, and the lifeboat collapsed into the ocean.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Dangerous Waters

After smoking cigarettes with a few other men in the lounge, I walk onto the deck for some ocean air, and watch the water splash against the Lusitania. I rest my arms against the railing and look out at the great ocean. After taking a deep breath, I notice a ship in the near distance. Other passengers are pointing, and no one seems panicked, but I know. Below I hear a rumble and see something approaching at great speed. A torpedo.

I jump, and when I hit the water, a mental image of my family without me, aches my heart.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Conductor

Sunil's adolescent fantasy of being a bus conductor was now fulfilled. Nubile women pressed against him in strategic spots, he smirked.

At Valanchery, a horde of schoolgirls boarded. Sunil could barely squeeze through to sell tickets. This was heaven.

At Vattappara, thirteen aunties got on. Commuters. Other passengers were in hell. Sunil attained paradise. Though paradise was slightly suffocating.

At Kakkad, the tension eased slightly, but before Sunil could exhale, twenty quavering old biddies surged into the bus. A handbag knocked against Sunil's temple.

When the bus pulled into Ramanattukara bus stand, Sunil was no longer in this world. Literally.

From Guest Contributor Aparna Nandakumar

Aparna lives in Calicut, India, and writes stories and poems. Her work has been published in Atticus Review and previously at 100 Words, and is forthcoming in Cafe Dissensus and Red River Review.

Guilt

I wasn’t the only one at the metro station the evening one of the trains blew up. But I was among those who stood the farthest from the flaming train. I was among the lucky few who escaped unhurt. I was among those who smelt the burning flesh first. I was among those who saw the first streams of blood escaping the bombed coach. I was also among those who ran towards the exit as soon as the shock wore off.

And now I am among those who are haunted by the images of the passengers we could have saved.

From Guest Contributor Namitha Varma

Namitha Varma is based in Mangaluru, India. Her works have appeared in Sahitya Akademi’s journal Indian Literature, eFiction India, Hackwriters, MadSwirl, and Every Writer's Resource, among others. She can be reached on twitter via @namithavr.