Smog Moon

It's one of those days when the pollution's so thick, you can stare directly at the sun and it looks like the old Japanese flag. We call it the smog moon.

We used to get away with a lot on smog moon days because most sensible people staid indoors. But as the pollution got worse, and the blue sky days less common, people stopped thinking about what the air was doing to their lungs and just went about their business.

Now, most of the gang are either dead, in jail, or under contract, and smog moons make me sad remembering.

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.

Road To The Suburbs

Her house was situated next to a busy route. A road which connected the city to the southern parts of the suburbs.

The whole year, living in that house without wired broadband, with the incessant dust of the road, and the smell of pollution as the trucks roared by; she could barely sleep.

In her dreams she murdered and killed drivers of four-wheeled vehicles, and imagined a day when she could make their lives miserable.

The next year the media went gaga over the unaccounted increase in car crashes on that road. She was not on the list of suspects.

From Guest Contributor Debarun Sarkar

Debarun sleeps, eats, reads, smokes, drinks, labors and occasionally writes stories and submits them. Recent works have appeared or are forthcoming in Off the Coast, The Opiate, Aainanagar, Rat's Ass Review, Cerebration and here at A Story in 100 Words. He can be reached at debarunsarkar.wordpress.com

Pollution

My pager summons me to the Master Observation Analysis Lab (MOAL).

Based on the theory telescopes will see pollution in the atmosphere of planets which have, or had, industrial life as we might know it, MOAL is analysing photographic images of planetary atmospheres.

Initially we agreed upon three levels of pollution, Minimal, Moderate, High, which are yet to be calibrated into sub-levels.

“We've found the very first planet with measurable readings and in the High zone,” calls the Manager to me excitedly. “We need you to verify.”

“Wow! Fantastic! How many light years away?”

“It’s in our own solar system!”

From Guest Contributor Barry O'Farrell

Barry is an actor living in Brisbane, Australia. Barry's other stories can be found on Cyclamens & Swords, 50 Word Stories and of course here at A Story In 100 Words.

The Secret To The Answer Is The Correct Question

"You may begin your journey," she said."Wise One, how far must I drive?" he asked."Until the pollution of light dims into darkness and the stars shimmer free," she answered."How far, Wise One, must I then walk?" he asked."Until the pollution of noise fades into the distance so that you can hear cicadas harmonize with the wind," she answered."How long, then, must I stay, Wise One?" he asked."Until the pollution of your mind drifts away like smoke," she answered."Then, Wise One, what must I do next?" he asked."You may begin your journey."

From Guest Contributor, Karen Burton.Karen is an MFA student at Lindenwood University in St. Charles, Missouri.

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.