Twenty years has eroded my willingness to escape. Each year that passes, I burn more options to leave this place, and when the pain is impossible to contain, I indulge in pointless regrets instead of finding a way out. I become a prisoner of my mind.
My name is Clarisse, and I was born with the gift of clairvoyance. My sister Irma has the more sinister power to ignite things at a distance, but she isn't good at handling it.
I knew she was up to something, I can sense it, but I wasn’t expecting that!
Ramon had a privileged childhood. His parents got him everything money can afford to counteract their ineptitude to give him affection.
Nowadays, he works in a nursing home where sometimes he has the opportunity to hug those that feel lonely, it’s a catharsis.
A beacon of light guided me through the fluid air and darkness, and then, I saw what I was longing for.
“Drop that heavy weight you carry,” a voice whispered. “You must let go.”
Then I knew that I wasn't ready.
During a trance, a gray, shaggy rat spoke to me in a squeaking voice: “You must kill them all,” it commanded.
“Kill who?” I asked.
“The cats,” the rat grumbled.
The spell broke, and I woke up, but a warning echoed inside: “I shall trip no more.”
I'm no hero. When a naked barbarian comes out of nowhere flanging a sword, I lock and load, yes sir. A child might shout and weep at the mere image of a man in Speedo storming at him, but not me. That's not what they taught me in the American Space Command.
Malevolent oracles guessed a war without heroes.
>Never mind.
In a glass bottle buried in the sand lies a poem that no one would read.
>Never mind.
Nature will try in another place.
>Never mi--
A hurt locker.
>Never--
A lost story.
>Nev---
It started as a thought experiment, a sort of telepathic link to communicate with them, but it turned out bad. I could not make sense of the abstract images they implanted in my mind. Is this their alien vision of us?
“The bar of social acceptance was set too high. Almost nobody could achieve the high standards they set for themselves. Unable to cope with failing, people focus on finding imperfections in others. Defamation and isolation were the norm.”
Excerpt from “The harmful effects of social networks,” Journal of Social Equality, Jan-Feb, 2151
A postcard of desolation, Urania has been transformed from a placid resort into a toxic landfill. We shall blame the despot that ruled this land for a brief period for this atrocity: Justinian II. His whereabouts remain unknown to the present day.
The next stop in our galactic circuit was the temple in Orion-B, a desert planet that we suspected to be artificial, an orbital habitat.
“State the purpose of your visit, Micronians,” said the Ashanti with an ominous voice.
“Knowledge,” we instinctively shouted.
The last dream of the night has prophetic attributes according to the musty book of dark arts I read.
My last dream was about the silhouette of a girl swinging on a tall willow tree, and a loud voice saying: “It’s not too late.”
When I figure it out, it'll be late.
Natty wasn't afraid of mirrors until she saw a picture her mother took when she was five.
“This is what happens when you aren't looking in a mirror,” said her mother, who was diagnosed with spectrophobia long before.
Natty hasn’t walked in front of mirrors since then.
The hallway in his dream was a repetition of regularities, exactly as his life was.
Any incongruity in his daily routine was a source of deep concern, an invitation to chaos. His life was about finding incongruences, an unpeaceful habit.
He was a wonderful archivist.
My brother always wanted to fly, so my father built this balloon gizmo for him.
We took a picture of him before the rope that held him got loose and the wind blew him away.
The police found him hanging from a power line and brought him back home. It was fun!
The eternal periwinkle of neon lights is the trademark of Neo Seoul's underground city.
The sky is a concrete vault where hanging cables tangled in a chaotic mesh. People abandoned the surface fifty years ago; radiation is unforgiven of organic life.
“Transient emotions that produce perdurable pain must not be treasurable memories. And yet, we indulge in evoking them,” the priest said. “We can live in heaven, and yet we choose to pay regular visits to the purgatory.”
The pragmatic idea molested some conservative minds.
A transient perturbation in a pattern sequence alien to us, that is all our lives are.
The universe is indifferent of our existence; hence it is up to us to find a meaning in our short lives. Immortality is ephemeral.
My journey took me to the desolated land created after the polar caps grew thicker, and the oceans retrieved.
My suit cannot insulate me from the sorrow left behind by the totems of this utopian civilization.
“You won't be forgotten.”
The morning light shone on the colossal behemoth, giving it a godlike aura. It passed by the farm walking towards the city, indolent. I observed it from the rooftop of our rusty car chassis by the tree.
No one believed me until too late.
The immense hull rising to the night sky, the dark cold water of the Atlantic, the salty taste in my mouth.
My limbs are getting insensitive.
The Titanic is going under, an ominous feeling.
“I can still hear the band playing… 'Nearer, My God, to Thee.'”
And then, only screams.
The tournament is over for today. The players of the game will test their skills again tomorrow.
“Our fortune is decided. The I-Ching will tell.”
“Yes. Let's eat before the next round!”
We are only feathers adrift in the flow of life; it's all we are.
Every summer, the temperature has been rising. People began to blame the developing world for the intense heat wave that transformed our countries into a seething stew. The truth is that we ignited the fire long before, they just added gas to it.
A parade of consumer society's illusions blunted my head once I warped backward in time; a Pegasus; a Pizza Hut place; celestial harp music.
My suite protects my body, but my mind cannot comprehend the intricacies of time travel in higher dimensions.
He sat down to watch the arcane idol; a kind of warning about the giants that once roamed this hunting lands.
Game is abundant only between ice seasons, and the flying animals started to hint them the end is coming.
My warnings of caution were ignored, and the experiment went terribly wrong.
A bubble of false vacuum appeared in the sky, and the restricted zone started to expand at the speed of light. We shot anti-protons at it with no effect.
We’re dead. I have no regrets.
When I enter the panic zone, I visit the pool and let myself sink to the bottom. I imagine myself floating in zero-g, just as it did before the accident and the station's evacuation. The storm quiets, I come back to bed, and only then, I can sleep well.
The bestiary has a section on the “lobizon,” a werewolf of a kind. A curious illustration in the book presents the magical beast being tightened with red wool strings, a method to humanize it. Once in human form, the beast can be killed using your favorite method.
“Where can I buy 'dulce de leche' in Toronto?” the newcomer asked with a tinge of skepticism; her growing heap of unresolved predicaments was not getting smaller. “Go to 'Honest Eds'.
” “What's that?”
“A place where magic is on sale this week.”
Behind that thick coat of confidence, her true intentions were purely monetary. Similarly, under that wealthy appearance, he was a dewy-eyed man of modest means. Perhaps, something would be born from their mutual deceit.
The crew wasn't ready for the superior entities they found in the planet Qatar.
Blindfolded by their arrogance, they were aroused by murderous desires.
The rescue mission found no survivors.
The road to hell is paved with the bones of fools like these.
Even the Emperor Claudio, indomitable ruler of the First Human Expansion, before being universally condemned by his inhumane brutality, was once a little boy who anxiously awaited for Christmas day.
I read that H.G. Wells could imagine an invasion from Mars and an invisible man, but he couldn't imagine an ‘invasion of invisible people,’ certainly he was unable to imagine this.
There are things in the world that you were unable to see, but now you can feel.
A great writer once said that his only regret in life was not having more time to read.
Since I died, I have had time to enjoy the solitude of this library, but I regret not being able to read these books since my ghostly nature prevents me from handling material objects.
“Our zeppelins are magnificent, Commodore!” the Kaiser said, “What’re the chances of plummeting?”
“None. The anti-grav generators cannot be stopped accidentally and our new shields are impenetrable by kinetic weapons.”
“Marvelous machines!”
“Indeed.”
I thought I was awake, but then I saw the city in ruins, your letter in my pocket, and the acid rain corroding my skin. So, I realized that I was still dreaming, a recursive mistake. The nuclear detonation will wake me up. I’ll sit here to wait.
Bringing back to Earth those transgenic potatoes they have grown in space was a dumb mistake, the commission said. Their resistance to radiation is superior, and their roots are strong, said Lay's, the sponsor company.
The impossible city was built on the inner wall of the O'Neill cylinder, spinning at a deceptive velocity in the vacuum of space.
Carla appeared, ignoring me as usual. I flung my lucky coin at her to steal her attention, but only cats responded. I'll try again.
A dimensional gateway opened inside the old house down the road. A flash of light followed by a thunderclap attracted the cats living in the barn. Tentacles broke the rooftop. A monstrous shriek broke the silence. The cats ran to hide.
The invasion had begun.
When the invasion began, we had already left. The invaders guessed a trap, prized our wit; they left and marked the planet 'forbidden.' Nothing was wrong with the aero biology, but fear spread like a mind virus. That's how we won the war.
The jeep entered a vortex, and we fell; our bodies tore apart, merged. We were no more in the Sahara desert, we were anywhere and nowhere simultaneously. I woke up alone in a place the natives called Antofagasta. The year was 1666.
Neil had gone. We'll never meet again.
I usually refrain from talking about it, but if you listen, I can tell you about my gift. When I was younger, I found that I can move things, that included myself, using my will only. The problem is that it only happens when nobody sees me, and I’m not trying to do it.
Life has been less than kind to Cindy. She works at the local library, cooks dinner for her mother, and goes to church on Saturday evenings. But, every night she’s part of the biggest shared adventure in the metaverse: 'the game.'
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” said uncle Jack, who was the fishing savvy person to talk to in town, “Never adventure near the center of the lake at dusk because at that time is when they come out to hunt their prey.”
I ignored his advice, as everybody does.
When the other families started getting television sets, all the kids we used to play with in the afternoon disappeared, so I started to take care of my little brother until my family came back home at night; sometimes it was fun.
The enemy troops overwhelmed us shooting kinetic weapons, a feat in the Moon’s gravity. Their strategy was to cleave our formation, weaken our defense of the crater, and neutralize us. When the simulation was over, I knew we were going to lose this war.
She looked at the camera, smiled, and after a wink said: “You were made for me, darling.”
An angel fell from the sky before the director could close his mouth and say: “Cut.”
“I heard that the company is testing an emergency armor suit.”
“Yeah, that's what I heard.”
“Falling from orbit must be thrilling! I want to try!”
“Yeah, but they may have to scoop you from the asphalt if the armor fails.”
“Yes, I heard that too.”
The wind drew a wave pattern in the sand to insinuate the entrance to this new life: on one side, the pain I've already endured, on the other, the new suffering to come; the present was a mere waving illusion between the two.
The yellow feather, a fetish treasured in my tribe for generations, was supposed to guide me to an unbelievable treasure. So, I let the wind blow the amulet away, and followed it until here: a cupcake palace! Am I hallucinating?
Memories are just phantoms of the past, shadows in the theater of the mind. We molded them as clay figurines, distorting them to represent what we want to remember, but not what truly happened. He spends his life seeking her shadow in the silhouettes cast by other women.
“And we have a lift-off,” said the carousel man while laughing frantically at his flying gizmo. “We shouldn't have waited in line for this,” shouted my wife before falling.
I think it's worth every penny! The best Saturday evening I ever had!
A new engineered species, the ‘rinoceropterous’, has broken away from their constrained environment. Reports of flocks of them over major European cities started coming today. The Vatican's officials say that the dung falling from the sky is divine justice for our arrogance.
“Okay, boys and girls! We can quibble all day about how antigravity works, or we can try to learn physics from it,” the professor said.
“A note for our patrons: it will really help if you get one of these aliens alive next time they shoot a flying saucer down.”
Their last invention was the perfect, docile slave; their worst fear was to create a master race whose cruelty was comparable only to theirs.
For a while, masters and slaves had a symbiotic romance. But soon, the once slaves left for the stars, leaving them behind.
There was a time, before I lost my sight, when light used to sing to me in a symphony of color shades. But music was replaced by silence.
Eventually, I learned how to imagine light when it warms my hands and my face, and now I can listen to its music again.
“Your father will be remembered as a rebel with a cause, a visionary of a better world, not as a grifter,” she said to his baby while watching the beginning of the end. “Nuclear war couldn't be avoided, only delayed. You'll be a leader in the new world.”
Caren cut some flowers from a shrub by the station. “That’s poisonous,” said his father while hurrying to the train.
“Take me with you,” she said.
“Not today. Go home!”
That was the day of the train wreck. Since then, the sight of oleander flowers makes her heart ache.
Finaeus published a map of Antarctica in 1531 showing accurate locations of rivers and mountains as they may have looked eons ago when the weather was benign.
Finaeus never mentioned the enigmatic foreigner who drafted the map to him. The map was the message.
Copyright © Baltar Xinzo, 2025