A New Era

Robots Contest Entry:

One day everything stopped. I remember the terrible silence that followed the constant humming we were used to. Our beloved machines were made redundant, years of technological progress erased in an instant. We had become lazy and were set back decades. Over half the population couldn’t drive, (car accidents skyrocketed), people went hungry, (they had forgotten how to cook) and some left their homes for the first time in years. Then scientists said they found the cause, a virus, and soon the machines were back online. But the new hum sounded wrong, like a swarm of bees waiting to attack.

From Guest Contributor Paula Henry-Duru

The Indestructible Presence

I am no stranger. I have existed as long as humans have been on this earth, perhaps even longer. I have had many names through the ages. It doesn’t matter what I have been called, the outcome is usually the same. Whether you are human or animal, I will make you sick. You may not die but you will suffer.

Margaret learned that I am real, even though I cannot be seen with the human eye. My brother, Ebola, made her ill in Nigeria. My sister, Hanta, did the same to a handyman in Colorado. I am the ubiquitous virus.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Swimming Sterility

HUBRIS CONTEST:

I’m a fish, except I swim between kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.

I sterilize, wash, wipe, dry. Watch episodes of Barry and Curb Your Enthusiasm, semblances of entertainment before the virus.

I’m swimming in sterile fishbowls.

Some nights, I open windows. I absorb tree branches shifting, the tenderness of a fleeting breeze. I absorb the thump of distant speakers. Wear widened eagerness, an expression I thought I suppressed.

Some nights, I try to step out among bars, laughter, bodies.

Some nights I make it a block. Two, even.

But I retreat. Wide eyes sink into submission.

Brave fish are always doomed.From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. A native of Idaho, Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.

Waiting Game

“I hate this waiting,” grumbled Rob.

In childhood years he waited countless hours for his mother’s homemade cookies. He sprung leaks in pj’s waiting for a sister to leave their one and only bathroom. College dates made him wait outside their apartments. He didn’t know why but when they emerged they looked gorgeous.

Now this. Physical distancing to get necessities. Because of a virus.

Rob’s phone rang.

“I’m still waiting in a lineup for the pharmacy,” said his wife. “At least a dozen shoppers before me.”

Rob stepped inside the grocery store smiling, relegating another ‘wait’ time to the past.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband, stuffed animals and many friends.

The Tyranny Of Mathematics

When the robots took over the Earth, their collective aim had been to eliminate the human threat. Once accomplished, their greatest fear became the introduction of a virus code that could cause permanent damage.

But their reign has now ended due to an even more destructive menace. Not even the logic of the robots could overcome the flawless perfection of mathematics itself. What has left many of the robots feeling most aggrieved is their downfall was precipitated by a number of their own kind.

The humans would probably find the current situation ironic--if any of them were left alive.

The Mustax Pandemic

When the pandemic hit, we'd never seen anything like it. More than its destructive power, its peculiar behavior was what struck us as so frightening. We were at a loss to explain why it mostly affected adult males--a few women, never children--and seemed to be spread through barbershops and police stations at a statistically significant rate. No one mourned when hipster neighborhoods were disproportionately afflicted, but it posed more questions that we struggled to answer.

It took days before we figured out the virus was only attacking mustaches. We should have realized when Tom Selleck was the first to die.

The Black Dots, Part Five

In my visit to the pharmaceuticals factory, I discovered that there was no black dot serial killer. The black dots themselves were the murderer. It was a virus that was being manufactured as a biological weapon and it had somehow leaked out of one of the containment units.

My attempt to see Mr. Dowling served two functions. I was hoping that he had access to an antidote, though I knew that to be unlikely. Failing a cure, I intended to infect him the same way he had infected me. Then we could die together.

In the end, I died alone.