Dinner Time

Sam sat, crossed his hands over his chest, and sighed.

“Baked chicken, boiled potatoes, and string beans. Really, Mom?”

“You know the doctor wants you to eat healthy,” she answered, filling his dish.

Sam swallowed a piece of chicken and it was like a rock had hit his stomach. He missed the crispy taste of fried, juicy white meat.

“String bean pie for dessert,” he chuckled and noticed a hair on his dish.

Sam removed his hat and a clump of his hair fell on the table.

“Does this mean the radiation is working?”

His mother gasped at the sight.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Life’s Surprises

I’m walking along the parks path and the sun is so hot, sweat drips down my neck. The trees are full of sparrows chirping in unison, and the benches are full of elderly men reading the newspaper or just staring ahead. One man is eating chips and crumbs stick to his mustache. I chortle and move along. Mothers with children, some eating ice cream, drop sprinkles on the ground and the ants come in droves.

It’s days like this I don’t take for granted. Life is full of surprises and I never know what will be, once I start radiation.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

An Alcoholic, A Nuclear Bomb

Fact: an atomic bomb was detonated 8.4 km from where Wally Kazinsky was repairing the toilet in a decent brothel. The brick house shivered violently from the blast, a few windows shattered. There’d been talk of an attack, and Wally considered the possibility. He grabbed his glass of scotch before he went to look out the window. His legs were wobbly. Maybe nervous, but definitely drunk.

People were crying, hurt, bleeding. Fuck. They were probably already bathed in radiation. Wally was dizzy but lucid enough. Time for emergency measures. He found his hammer, and headed to the corner liquor store.

From Guest Contributor Wil Wang

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.

Stardust

In the fairy tales, people go chasing after stardust because of its supposed magical properties. Legends are passed down of heroes anointed with the stuff and of diseases cured. There was one tale that my mother used to tell of a unicorn who had never tasted anything but stardust and you could ride her into magical realms. Stardust is the tears of angels, the remains of miracles.

Maybe there is some stardust in the universe that's like that, but I have found it's nothing but radiation and horrific burning. Leastways, it's the stardust that gave me all these awful scars.

Radioactive Contraband

The space haulers needed two years just to reach the asteroids. In the same way that planes fly over the North Pole because it's more direct, the cargo ships slingshot around planets to save fuel and gain momentum. The biggest danger to the astronauts was monotony.

Captain Ott never complained about his meager salary, though he knew the company made huge profits on the minerals he returned with. Complainers generally never got to fly again. Instead, he took his own share of the uranium and sold it on the black market. The cancer was worth sticking it to his bosses.