prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",54kkr6,Sight Unseen,Julie Clark,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/54kkr6/,/short-story/54kkr6/,Dialogue,0,['Fiction'],87 likes,"
Sight Unseen
 
	Abraham Morgenstern reverently offered Sidra the Radio Shack catalog, as if it was his most prized possession. 
 
	“This is the new one,” he said. “Shall we begin with the CB radios and then move on to the antennas? And please, call me Abe.” 
 
	Sidra rolled her eyes, which fortunately Mr. Morgenstern – Abe – could not see, and started reading. She was barely through the first line, “Realistic TRC-410. Compact, but with all the necessary features. Hysteresis-type squelch…,” when noise from the street below drowned her out. Looking out the window, Sidra saw people at the bus stop cheering as a woman wearing a feather boa screamed “no money, no honey” over and over to some guy honking his puke yellow Mustang. 
 
	Abe seemed oblivious to the noise. And the heat, thought Sidra, as she wiped her face with the hem of her t-shirt. It had been particularly gross climbing the stairs to his room today. It was unusually hot for San Francisco and, with a dead rat in the stairwell and urine-soaked carpet in the hall, the Hotel Leo was even more disgusting than usual. Despite its supposed elegance in the early 1900s, it was now the Tenderloin’s most rundown flophouse. A fan in Abe’s room would help, but he’d told her fans interfered with radio waves. Go figure.
 
	“Please continue Sidra, perhaps with more zest?” 
 
	She made a face. Zest? She didn’t do zest. But if that’s what the old man wanted: “Big LED channel readout! An LED S/RF meter! Auto-modulation circuit! Ceramic filters!” 
 
	Abe clapped his hands with pleasure. “Magnificent!”
 
* * *
 
	The police had arrested Sidra a few months earlier for shoplifting a necklace. She’d had enough money to buy it, but stupidly wanted to see if she still had skills. It was her first offense as an adult, so the judge sentenced her to community service and a social services agency assigned her to read each week to blind Abe. As community service gigs go, it had sounded great. Way better than picking up trash, right? Not exactly. 
 
	On their first Saturday together, she thought Abe wanted to order something when he handed her a Radio Shack catalog. Instead, he politely asked her to read every single word in its 176 pages. For three solid hours she dutifully read each digit, acronym, and megahertz, but she only got up to page 99, coaxial connectors – whatever those were. She finished that catalog last week, and Sidra hoped that today she’d get to read a book or newspaper to him. But nope, he had handed her the new Summer 1981 Radio Shack catalog. 
 
	Sidra found Abe pleasant enough, but a bit puzzling. He only talked about radio stuff and there was nothing interesting in his room – two chairs, a bed, a dresser with a bunch of radios and antennas on top, and a hot plate. No photos of relatives or anything else with clues to his background. Sidra didn’t like people she couldn’t get a quick read on. Her superpower was staying one step ahead of everyone. 
 
	She glanced at Abe. His face lit up when she read certain descriptions in the catalog. It was peculiar, but she didn’t care enough to ask why. Still, no harm in humoring him. 
 
	“The priority switch gives INSTANT, DIRECT access to either Channel 9 or Channel 19!” She added a “WOW!” for good measure. 
 
	Abe glowed. 
 
	“A priority switch? Oh my, that is spectacular!” 
 
	Sidra couldn’t help herself – she giggled. What a thing, she thought, to be part of this man’s absolute, inexplicable joy. 
 
*  *  *
 
	A few weeks later, after reading about the six-band Realist DX-60 for the third time, curiosity got the best of her. 
 
	“Abe, what exactly is a shortwave radio?”
 
	“It is simply a radio frequency, like AM and FM. Shortwave can travel farther though, which means I can listen to broadcasts from all over the world.”
 
	He continued, excited by her interest. “Radio waves are a type of electromagnetic radiation, projected in different directions by antennas. Those in the shortwave band are reflected from the ionosphere – a layer of electrically charged atoms in the atmosphere. By tuning my receivers to specific frequencies, I can collect certain signals. It is quite something!”
 
	It was the most Abe had spoken to Sidra since she’d started reading to him. Unfortunately, she didn’t understand what he was saying.
 
	“The radio waves are reflected from outer space?” 
 
	“Yes, that is it!” Abe said. “Although there are other ways to receive electromagnetic waves too.” 
 
	“Such as?”
 
	“Through your teeth. Just like Lucille Ball. One time she was on TV and announced that during World War II she had picked up radio broadcasts through her fillings.” 
 
	Abe leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “You should know that I, too, have communicated with other beings through my fillings.”
 
	Good lord, Sidra thought. That’s what I get for asking questions. She did not want to know if he talked to little green men with his teeth. Time to wrap things up.
 
	“How about if we finish this page and that’ll be it for today?”
 
    “Actually, I was hoping when we finished that you would join me for lunch,” Abe said. “If you have time.” 
 
	Sidra was taken aback by the invitation. But she was hungry. 
 
	“Sure, um, I guess so,” she said, hoping there’d be no more mention of outer space. “Thanks.”
 
	“Excellent! If you could get my cane from under the bed, I’ll excuse myself and then we will go. ” 
 
    Abe amused Sidra with his more formal manner of speaking – “excusing himself” meant using the restroom down the hall. She reached under the bed for his long white cane and saw a shoebox. Curious, she pulled it out. There were hundreds of tiny pieces of paper inside. Fortunes – from fortune cookies. What an odd thing to save. Underneath all the paper was a thick envelope and a rectangular case covered in dark blue velvet. Hearing Abe’s footsteps, she hastily grabbed the envelope and one of the fortunes, slid the shoebox back under the bed, and picked up his cane. 
 
	Abe opened the door and tilted his head.
 
	“Something is askew.”
 
	“I closed your window,” she said.
 
	“Thank you,” said Abe. But he looked pensive. 
 
*  *  *
 
	Abe held Sidra’s elbow while navigating their way out of the Hotel Leo, tip-tapping back and forth with his cane. She was amazed how many people greeted him, and how he recognized everyone’s voices – “Arnie, good afternoon to you,” to the hotel manager sitting in his usual haze of cigarette smoke. “Lovely song Marcus,” to the annoying man with the boombox on the front steps. “Jade, how are you feeling this week?” to the woman running the newsstand. 
 
	At the corner, they turned left and came to Happy Delight, a small Chinese restaurant she’d never noticed. The place was shabby, with chipped Formica tables and torn leather booths, but it smelled wonderful. An elderly woman hurried over as soon as they walked in, bowed, and patted Abe’s arm affectionately.
 
	“Hello Mr. Morgenstern. You brought a friend!”
 
	“Good day, Mrs. Huang. Yes, this is Sidra. I want her to try your remarkable lo mein.”
 
	By the time they sat down, Mrs. Huang was already back with two heaping bowls of chicken lo mein. Rejecting the chopsticks, which she had no idea how to use, Sidra took a generous forkful of noodles. She wasn’t big on Chinese food, but she’d try to get it down.
 
	“Oh my god! Abe, this is delicious!” she exclaimed. Seriously, it was incredible. 
 
    “That it is. I come to Happy Delight every Saturday for Mrs. Huang’s lo mein,” Abe said. “Chew slowly, so you can taste all the flavors and textures. Paying close attention changes everything.”
 
    “Sure thing Yoda,” Sidra said.
 
    “Yodel?”
 
    “Yoda. Y-o-d-a. You know, from Star Wars? The Empire Strikes Back? Yoda’s a wrinkly little wise teacher.”
 
     “It is similar to the Hebrew word ‘Yodea’ – one who knows. But Sidra, you do not need a Yoda. Everything you need to know is already inside you.”
 
	“And that’s why you sound like Yoda!” she said.
 
	When they finished their meal, Mrs. Huang brought two fortune cookies to the table. Abe asked to Sidra read hers aloud. She did so, while shaking her head at the irony: “To believe in the unseen is both a triumph and a blessing.” 
 
*  *  *
 
	That evening, back in her apartment, Sidra taped her Happy Delight fortune in a notebook and began to write about how ridiculous it was to believe in things you couldn’t see. Then she remembered the fortune from Abe’s shoebox – he would never miss it – and pulled it out of her pocket: “Be kind always. You never know what someone is going through.” She taped it to another page and wrote “kindness is overrated.” 
 
	She hoped the contents of Abe’s envelope would be more interesting, but it was just a bunch of faded newspaper articles about the Holocaust and some hospital. She skimmed the clippings. Depressing, but not anything about Abe. Then two headlines caught her eye: “Holocaust Survivors Have Own Wing at Insane Asylum” and “Jews Attacked at Mental Hospital: 4 Die, 11 Hurt, 3 Blinded.” The last article said all “the lunatics” were “resettled” in San Francisco. 
 
	Was Abe a Holocaust survivor? Had he been in that mental health place? Sidra wished she hadn’t poked around in his belongings. His life wasn’t her business. She needed to do her community service stint and be done with him. The articles didn’t change anything. Or maybe they changed everything.
 
*   *   *
 
	Happy Delight became part of their Saturday schedule and eventually Sidra asked Abe why he liked Radio Shack catalogs so much. Without hesitation, he said the numbers were soothing, like a mantra – though admittedly an unconventional one. He also said the radios were more than electronics. They were connections. 
 
	He told her stories about the things he learned and people he met through his radios. On his CB, he talked every day to truckers all over the U.S. and Canada. His favorite driver called himself Charlie Tuna. He’d been driving a big rig since he got out of San Quentin and gave Abe weekly updates on his travels. Using the shortwave radio, Abe heard broadcasts from all over the world, telling Sidra about labor strikes in Paris and Queen Elizabeth’s birthday parade. She learned “ham radio” was slang for Amateur Radio, and not something involving pork, and that he used it to talk to people in Morocco and Brazil. Abe’s stories reminded her of Arabian Nights, where Scheherazade told the king a different story every night to stay alive. She’d read that book over and over in middle school, trying to escape the miserable reality of Foster Family #3. Like Scheherazade, the stories had kept her alive. 
 
	Each Saturday night, Sidra taped a new fortune in her notebook. The day her fortune said, “Your dreams are only your dreams until you write them down – then they’re goals,” she started writing about what each fortune made her think about. There was always some truth, some nugget of wisdom to extract. After getting “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page,” she wrote about all the places she wanted to go. When her fortune said, “An investment in knowledge pays the best interest,” she wrote a long list of things she wanted to learn about and sent away for college catalogs. “Don’t wait for anyone else to light your fire: you have your own matches,” was the incentive she needed to ask for a raise at her waitressing job.
 
	Sidra found herself smiling more. And talking to people she had previously ignored. It certainly improved her tips! But it wasn’t about the money. It was for the stories. They gave her an unexpected, totally unfamiliar, sense of something. She didn’t have a good word for it. It just felt good. Like last week, when she’d sat down with James, who was always in the hotel lobby with his mangy cat. It was like she’d handed him a hundred bucks instead of merely saying hello. He enthusiastically invited her to pet the cat – introduced as Bubbles – and, while scratching its ears (and praying it didn’t have fleas), he told her wild tales about when he worked on a fishing boat in Alaska. 
 
	She was enjoying Saturdays with Abe. Last week, as they ate at Happy Delight, Sidra had asked him why he had so many kinds of antennas. 
 
   “Oh yes,” said Abe, “I have been meaning to tell you about them. The antennas connect me beyond our earth and our solar system, to other galaxies. With the right antenna, I can communicate with extraterrestrial beings.”
 
    Sidra sighed – louder than she had intended.
 
	“You are skeptical Sidra,” Abe said. “But I assure you, we’re not alone. We are not alone in the universe. We share it with many other life forms.” He paused. “You think believing that makes me weird, don’t you?”
 
    “I didn’t say that.”
 
	“Ah, but I can hear your face,” he said. Then he chuckled. “That is fine. As I recall it was Dr. Seuss who said we are all a bit weird.”
 
	As she finished her lo mein, Sidra pondered all that she was learning – from fortune cookies, Dr. Suess, a trucker named Charlie Tuna, and a blind man who believed in space aliens. She broke open her cookie and had to laugh: “Do not be afraid to learn from everything and everyone.” Of course.
 
*  *  *
 
	Today Abe seemed agitated. He kept interrupting Sidra, asking her to start over.
 
	“What’s up with you?” she finally asked, putting the Radio Shack catalog down. 
 
	“I am worried,” he said. “The solar eclipse is next week, and Jesse went to visit his daughter in Sacramento.”
 
	“Who’s Jesse?”
 
	“He lives down the hall. Without Jesse I do not know what to do,” Abe said. “He takes me to the park for each eclipse. We put on our hats and then, when the sun and the moon collide, Jesse’s eyes become mine.”
 
	Well, that sounded bizarre, even for Abe. He put his head in his hands, looking miserable.
 
	“What day is the eclipse?” Sidra asked. 
 
	“Friday.” 
 
	“I have the day off from the restaurant, so I can walk you to the park if you want.”
 
	“You would have to wear the hat.”
 
	“Sure Abe, I can wear a hat.”
 
* *  *
 
	On Friday, Abe met Sidra in the lobby with a lumpy helmet on his head made from aluminum foil. He held out a second, identical one to her.
 
	“Here you go. I made it yesterday and hope it fits.”
 
	“Abe…” 
 
	“It is your hat. You said you would wear the hat.”
 
	No way she was putting this pile of tinfoil on her head! But she took it. He’d never know if she just carried it.
 
	“Fits great,” Sidra said. 
 
	Arnie banged on the bullet-proof glass and yelled. “Abe, she doesn’t have it on!” Then he grinned and gave her two thumbs up. 
 
 	“Sidra, we cannot go if you do not wear your hat.”
 
	Well, it was, after all, San Francisco. Maybe no one would notice? She put it on. 
 
	As they walked, Abe continued talking about the helmet. “The radio waves during an eclipse are intense. It is most important to protect your brain…” Then, as if reciting scientific fact, added “otherwise the sun and moon will not have full access when our eyes switch. This time I hope to see beyond the stars.”
 
	Sidra stopped. “Wait, did you say our eyes switch?”
 
	“It is the whole point of the eclipse Sidra. We each put on the glasses and during the eclipse, there is a cross-oculisation. I will have your eyes and you will have mine.” 
 
	“Meaning I’ll be blind?”
 
	“Only for the length of the eclipse.”
 
	Okay Abe, she’d play along.
 
	“And my eyesight will come back?” 
 
	“It will. Jesse’s always does,” said Abe. “But you might see things differently than before.”
 
*  *  *
 
	Dozens of people with cameras and solar eclipse glasses were in the park setting up lawn chairs and telescopes. No one looked twice at the old man and young woman wearing aluminum foil helmets. Sitting down on an empty bench, Abe opened the beautiful velvet case she’d seen in his shoebox, under all the fortunes, and pulled out two pairs of exquisite, antique gold eyeglasses with amber lenses. 
 
	“One pair for you and one for me,” he said. “With these, during the eclipse, that which has been cloaked in darkness will become visible.”
 
*  *  *
 
	When the moon took its first bite of the sun, Abe reached for Sidra’s hand.
 
	“The trees, Sidra!” Abe exclaimed. “The flowers! The fountain! The park is as breathtaking as I remember. Now for an opening, so I can peer into the cosmos. ” 
 
	Sidra couldn’t see a thing.
 
	“Abe, this isn’t funny.” 
 
	Suddenly Sidra’s darkness turned blood red and what looked like human remains rose from the dirt and began to wail. What was happening? She screamed. Or thought she screamed. Swirling straightjackets surrounded her as shadowy figures called out. She had to be hallucinating. Is this what was in Abe’s head? His mind’s eye?
 
	It was as if he knew what was happening. He wrapped both his hands around her trembling one. “Breathe, dear Sidra…breathe,” he said. “Nothing you see can hurt you.”
 
	Sidra slowed her breath and as she did, glimmers of soft light began to appear and slowly grew bigger and brighter. She felt Abe’s energy and kindness flow through her as everything came into focus. There was an explosion of light around her. Or inside her? She wasn’t sure. But the frightening shadows faded, transforming into kind faces and stories and radios.
 
	Sidra wasn’t sure about the whole universe – but, she thought, perhaps on this planet, she was no longer alone.
 
","August 11, 2023 22:41","[[{'Sarah Hinkes': 'Julie-\nThis is a story that will stay with me for years to come. I am a true believer in the power of kindness. Thank you for sharing this. I look forward to more in the future.\nSarah', 'time': '15:48 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Jody S': 'Wow!! This is beautifully written! The story just carried me along faster and faster wanting to know what would happen next! You have wonderful imagery and a fabulous imagination! Thank you for sharing this!', 'time': '19:09 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Geir Westrul': 'Wonderful story, Julie, and a well deserved win. \n\nI loved the subtle way the 1980s was worked in (Radio Shack, Boombox, reference to the Empire Strikes Back).\n\nThe fortune cookies reminded me of how Philip K. Dick used I Ching hexagrams in ""The Man in the High Castle.""\n\nSidra felt very real. I really liked way you brought out her ""hard shell"" personality through subtle subtext (her superpower was staying one step ahead of everyone, Foster Family #3, like Scheherazade the stories had kept her alive). \n\nAnd then, as she got to know Abe, you s...', 'time': '12:26 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Georgia Blair': ""What an excellent story! When I read stories in writing contests, I usually read with an eye for craft and technique more than story. I couldn't do that with this one, Julie. At some point when Abe and Sidra were having lunch in that Chinese restaurant, I realized I had forgotten my mission. I was lost in your words, reading for the sheer enjoyment of the story. I'm dimly aware that it clicked all the boxes: characterization, change, etc. But it was magical, weaving all those things with invisible skill. So well done!"", 'time': '13:26 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Julie Clark': ""Thank you so much for your lovely comments - and I'm so glad you enjoyed my story! I'm still new to writing fiction (I've focused more on poetry and creative nonfiction), so comments like yours are encouragement to continue. I really appreciate you taking the time to write."", 'time': '15:07 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Julie Clark': ""Thank you so much for your lovely comments - and I'm so glad you enjoyed my story! I'm still new to writing fiction (I've focused more on poetry and creative nonfiction), so comments like yours are encouragement to continue. I really appreciate you taking the time to write."", 'time': '15:07 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Scott Taylor': 'Greetings,\nDuring the early 70s, I ventured into Amateur Radio after a brief stent fooling around with CBs. I also happened to manage a Radio Shack. Is that why I read your story? Perhaps, but I was also intrigued by your style.\n\nWhile my reasons for radio were similar to your character’s, ‘meeting people all over the world,’ I was taken aback by Abe’s ability to brighten the days of the people he interacted with.\n\nCongratulations on the win! I look forward to reading more of what you write.\n\n-Best', 'time': '18:31 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Raven West': 'I too was a RS store manager, 1979-1982 in L.A.  - GREAT company at the time!', 'time': '13:22 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Scott Taylor': ""Ha, Yes Radio Shack was great. I worked at Olson's Electronics before RS in the early 70's.\n\nNot too long ago I bought the contents of a Radio Shack that was going out of business. I still dabble as an Electronics person; the parts were an easy decision to buy. \n\nMy store was in North Dallas."", 'time': '04:10 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Raven West': 'I too was a RS store manager, 1979-1982 in L.A.  - GREAT company at the time!', 'time': '13:22 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Scott Taylor': ""Ha, Yes Radio Shack was great. I worked at Olson's Electronics before RS in the early 70's.\n\nNot too long ago I bought the contents of a Radio Shack that was going out of business. I still dabble as an Electronics person; the parts were an easy decision to buy. \n\nMy store was in North Dallas."", 'time': '04:10 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Scott Taylor': ""Ha, Yes Radio Shack was great. I worked at Olson's Electronics before RS in the early 70's.\n\nNot too long ago I bought the contents of a Radio Shack that was going out of business. I still dabble as an Electronics person; the parts were an easy decision to buy. \n\nMy store was in North Dallas."", 'time': '04:10 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Julie!\nWhat an exceptionally heartwarming tale of friendship! I loved the weather these characters, interact with each other, and how they weren’t entirely certain of their roles in each others lives in the beginning. You wrote about blindness so eloquently, and I appreciated that it became a symbol throughout the piece of what being able to see truly means. Nice work!!', 'time': '18:26 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Richards': 'What a beautiful story! Loved it!', 'time': '16:30 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Erin Van Kal': 'Wow, this is an incredibly creative take on the prompt and a much-needed tribute to the holocaust survivors! This is an amazing piece :)', 'time': '00:28 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kristi Gott': 'So unique, clever and unexpected!  I love this story.  The wonderful unusual nature of it is captivating.  Love it!!!', 'time': '23:02 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J. S. Bailey': ""Some bumps on the road as your pros were twisted at times but what a ride it was.\n\nI love both Sidra and Abe as characters and the quick, concise scenes moved the story along nicely. You said so much with so little and great use of show don't tell. Lovely story."", 'time': '20:09 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Cain Griffin': ""Wow, incredible character depth and attention to detail! If I could write half as well as you, I think I'd be content. Best of luck!"", 'time': '06:03 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Congrats on the win. Well deserved for such a wonderful story. And only you second entry. Well, done. Not always so easy:)', 'time': '00:30 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thanks so much! I just found out about the Reedsy prompts this summer so hope to write more stories - this was fun to do.', 'time': '01:04 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thanks so much! I just found out about the Reedsy prompts this summer so hope to write more stories - this was fun to do.', 'time': '01:04 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Carol Boeth': 'Congrats Julie, very interesting.  I truly enjoyed it.', 'time': '19:40 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '02:08 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '02:08 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Alexander Durig': 'Congrats on your win! I liked when things got really weird at the end! Very creative!', 'time': '01:13 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Helen A Smith': 'Brilliant story Julie. Very moving and covering so much. Rewarding to read. Loved it.', 'time': '11:03 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': ""Thank you so much - it's encouraging to get so many lovely comments. And I look forward to reading your work on here!"", 'time': '15:32 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Julie Clark': ""Thank you so much - it's encouraging to get so many lovely comments. And I look forward to reading your work on here!"", 'time': '15:32 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Miyah Jones': ""I love the story it's very interesting and unique I have a question about the contest it says you've won did you receive you payment or was it false"", 'time': '03:29 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Russ Hussain': 'Congratulations ! Love the pace and that kind of neutral but assiduous style  capturing the essence and complexity of how  interaction can change. Plus a lot of truth, but then great literature has that. This was an orchestra. Thanks.', 'time': '04:31 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thanks so much for your kind comments', 'time': '02:58 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thanks so much for your kind comments', 'time': '02:58 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Such a great story Julie! I love stories where people impact each other in a positive way. Seeing the world through each others eyes is a great gift, and Abe gave that gift to Sidra (literally and figuratively). Well done! Congratulations on your win!', 'time': '03:43 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '03:01 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '03:01 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lorne Mitchell': 'Well done! A really good story and very moving. It reminded me of a time when I met a blind man on the London Underground waiting for the next train. I asked him if he needed help. He said he would welcome some help getting on the train. When we were on the train I asked him where he was going. He told me and I looked quickly at the route planner to see how many stops he needed to take - five stops by my calculation. I told him that he needed to stay on for another five stops. He told me it was actually six. I looked back at the route planne...', 'time': '20:37 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'J Oiamed': 'I listened to a lot of shortwave radio in the 1980s with my DX 100.', 'time': '18:31 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Raven West': 'Got to the first paragraph and LOVED the story... because I not only was a Radio Shack store manager (#1 in the district), but met my husband there, named our first daughter Tandy, have my TRS-80 model II in storage along with one of the last  catalogues! SO glad you won!! I also worked for the post office and had an on-going relationship with the post master for 30 years  - wrote an entire novel ""First Class Male"" about the P.O. so will try to use it for this week\'s contest! Again, CONGRATS!!! and thanks for the memories!!', 'time': '13:21 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Congratulations Julie! Wow you covered a lot of ground in this very impressive and two brilliant characters. Well done!', 'time': '08:52 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'This story was so unique, creative and unexpected in all its details and twists and turns. And an optimistic story arc of people understanding each other better, with no dead parents or grandparents involved.🥳🎉🏆', 'time': '03:34 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Debra Snyder': ""'Cross-oculisation', who knew that was a word?! So cool! What a lovely story, the characters are so well-drawn, and Sidra has a lovely character arc. Great ending! Congrats on the well-deserved win!"", 'time': '01:28 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Daniel Yokum': 'I found this story very moving. Relevant to pretty much everything. Congratulations.', 'time': '00:16 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Susan Willard': 'Wonderful story. Great descriptions. \nIt kept me entertained until the end. \nCongratulations!', 'time': '00:11 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Robin Owens': 'This is a beautiful story! Such a lovely journey for Sidra. An empathy I hope we can all experience.', 'time': '22:45 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Great story and a very well deserved win.\nCongratulations!!', 'time': '20:38 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kelsey H': 'Great read, I love how the relationship between Sidra and Abe developed, they were both really enjoyable characters. Congrats on the win!', 'time': '19:43 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin B': ""I love when suspense stories take the top prize. It's such a hard thing to pull off and you did it so well.\n\nGreat job."", 'time': '19:04 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Two submissions, a win. Wonderful storyline. Congrats.', 'time': '18:57 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""'Something is askew'- \nwith the world, however Sidra cant see it, she is too involved in her own problems.  It takes a blind man, Abe, to help her to see, both figuratively, and literally that there is more to the world than meets the eye. I liked the ham radio connection too, as it is another form of communication, outside of the standard, news/ TV.\n\nThanks- and Congrats!"", 'time': '17:26 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': ""Thank you so much for reading it and taking the time to write. I've been obsessing about the edits it still needs so I appreciate all the kind words. :)"", 'time': '17:37 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Julie Clark': ""Thank you so much for reading it and taking the time to write. I've been obsessing about the edits it still needs so I appreciate all the kind words. :)"", 'time': '17:37 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jean Ballard': 'I had to triple-check this a million times! Our stories this week had the same name and both of our names start with a ""J"" haha. Great story and congrats on the win! :)', 'time': '16:43 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': ""Wow! I hadn't seen your story yet - I didn't know another had the same title...Great minds, right? :) Thanks for commenting and I look forward to reading yours."", 'time': '17:28 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': ""Wow! I hadn't seen your story yet - I didn't know another had the same title...Great minds, right? :) Thanks for commenting and I look forward to reading yours."", 'time': '17:28 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lisa Climenson': 'An engaging, suspenseful and uplifting story.  Congratulations!', 'time': '16:30 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much - I really appreciate the kind words!', 'time': '16:32 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much - I really appreciate the kind words!', 'time': '16:32 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen Corr': 'Loved this. We’ll-deserved win.', 'time': '16:17 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you! BTW, love the Margaret Atwood quote in your bio :)', 'time': '16:34 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you! BTW, love the Margaret Atwood quote in your bio :)', 'time': '16:34 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Karen McDermott': 'Incredible story. Well done on the win!', 'time': '15:50 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '16:16 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Julie Clark': 'Thank you so much!', 'time': '16:16 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",moc9wp,The First Date,Heather Blank,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/moc9wp/,/short-story/moc9wp/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Fantasy']",47 likes,"
 
 
 
 
	The sounds grew louder as I got closer to the tree. A loud, hiss-rattle sort of buzzing, almost impossible to articulate, but as familiar as my own voice. I stood beneath the crepe myrtle, no actual shade at all to protect me from the excruciating Texas sun, wondering where it was. Suddenly, I was smacked in the face with a fierce and angry flutter, as it scuttled off higher up into the branches. “Bastard,” I muttered. “I hope my cats find you!” It hiss-rattled louder in defiance at my intrusion.
	“I’m just trying to water my fucking tomatoes!” I yelled at it, knowing it couldn’t care less.
	It was getting darker, as the sun had already begun to set, which was basically the only good time to water anything, unless it was early morning, and I am not an early morning person. I thought maybe those little alien fuckers would be asleep, or gone, or just NOT THERE, but they were, and they left creepy, crispy, brown shells everywhere in their summer wake. I plucked them off the tomato cages and the fence, crushing them like eggshells with a disgusted satisfaction. 
	I continued my watering, and one flew down and landed right on the top of the tomato cage, staring at me. I stared back, studying his big black beady eyes, and large wings that were almost beautiful, if they weren’t hiding all of their icky legs beneath them.
	“Don’t you have someone else to bug?” I asked. “Get it? Bug?” I laughed at my own punny joke. 
	“Yeah, I got it,” it grumbled back at me. Huh?
	Am I having a heat stroke?
	“It wasn’t that funny, and anyway, you’ve been a bitch since you came out here. I’m just trying to live, how is that even bothering you?”
	“You’re really loud, dude. I get migraines. Your loud ass buzzing all day doesn’t help.”
	“I don’t know what a migraine is, but I have to find a lady friend, and she’s not gonna know that I exist if she can’t hear me, soooooo…..”
	I start to feel dizzy. I am having a heat stroke, surely. Or is it a mirage? Have I had too much sun? Or worse, am I developing schizophrenia?
	I walk over to the table under the patio and sit down. I’m sweating buckets, even in the near dark. The cicada follows me, perching on the edge of the very full ashtray kept outside for our roommate. “This is disgusting,” he muttered. “I hope I don’t smell like an ashtray if a lady actually shows up,” he made a face. Yes, this talking cicada just made a pissy face at me.
	Maybe I’m high.
	“You’re not high or having a heat stroke,” he answered me, reading my thoughts? “I AM actually talking to you.”
	“Why? No cicada has ever bothered to speak to me before. I feel so lucky!”
	“I detect your sarcasm, but you are not wrong. You should feel lucky. Not everyone gets to talk to me.”
	I look inside the house, through the mini blinds. The kitchen lights are on, but no one is around. I thought my boyfriend was doing the dishes. Yes, he does the dishes. Instead, though, it was empty, and quiet. Even my little dogs were nowhere to be seen. Usually they came outside with me, but since the temperature said it “felt like 109”, I made them stay inside so they didn’t burn their little feet.
	“See, you’re so kind. Even to those little rat things.” Reading my mind again! What the hell?! “The hairier one ate my friend last week,” he continued. “You didn’t even help him. You got your phone out and made a video of her playing with him. Biting him, dragging him around the yard by his wings, his legs. You thought it was CUTE.”
	“I did not think it was cute, I thought it was pretty gross, actually, and I tried to get her away from it, IF YOU REMEMBER CORRECTLY. I don’t want my dog eating bugs and then licking my face later–”
	“BUGS!!!!” He was indignant. “You’re in for a surprise…”
	“I think I am plenty surprised, already, and quite possibly losing my shit. Anyway, she was very determined. I think she’s part cat. Every time I tried to get it away from her, excuse me, HIM, she grabbed him and ran to the other side of the yard. Didn’t you see me cover him with a giant leaf when she finally dropped him for a minute? She couldn’t see him anymore, so I was able to get her inside the house. So she didn’t actually eat him, she just.. Played with him.”
	If you could see beady black eyes without irises roll, this is what he did. My explanation was exact, though! She didn’t EAT his friend. “He still died, Human. Died from those injuries.”
	“Furthermore, I don’t know why I even care if she played with him, or why you care, either. He may have been your friend, but isn’t that less competition for you with the ladies? Isn’t it better that he’s gone?”
	“You’d think so,” he said wistfully. “But we did live in burrows next to each other for 17 years, so we grew up together. We had many, many long conversations. So aside from the fact that in an odd way, your dog leveled the playing field, so to speak, it is bittersweet.”
	I blinked the sweat out of my eyes, and wiped my forehead to no real avail. The air was almost suffocating. I am sure that has to be why I am sitting here, having a conversation with a cicada and not actually freaking out, other than wondering why the hell I am sitting here, having a conversation with a cicada.
	The least of which because I have never liked them, because when I was six years old, a boy at my babysitter’s house used to snatch them off tree branches, and squeeze them so they would scream loudly, and chase me, up and down the street. Once he was chasing me through the yard, and I tried to climb the chain link fence to escape him, snagging the inside of my knee on the top of the metal fence, blood pouring down my leg. I have that scar to this day and have never forgotten how or why I have it. 
	“You have that scar to always remember us!” He said, butting into my thoughts. “Nick shouldn’t have been chasing you on the daily with us, but we can’t transform in broad daylight and blow our cover, so we just went along with it. He was a sadistic prick. He was soon removed.”
	“Removed???? Wait, what the fuck, how are you doing that? How are you talking, and how are you reading my mind? Where is everyone, why are your loud ass little buddies quiet all of a sudden?”
	“We’re not alone. They aren’t quiet, you just can’t hear them, the way we truly speak. With our minds. Which is how I can hear yours.”
	I started to feel unnerved, and then I remembered he just said we can’t transform in broad daylight and blow our cover. My blood ran cold, and I began to wonder if I was still breathing, because I could not move.
	“You’re breathing, chill. Everything is fine.”
	“I suppose we have different definitions of FINE.”
	Suddenly, the cicada jumped off the edge of the ashtray, and into the air, almost upright. His many legs began to meld together, until he had two arms, two legs, one body, one big head, but still, two giant black eyes. He was a greenish brown, like a cicada, and his skin reminded me of clay. Somehow I was calm. Not moving. Waiting. 
	“I guess clay isn’t so bad, you aren’t actually disgusted by me, so, that’s a plus.” His lips and mouth, which were very small, did not move. He … smiled? “YES WE SMILE! We can’t help ourselves, just like you lot can’t.”
	You lot.
	“Look, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want you to come with me on a little field trip. You may even enjoy it.”
	“I don’t really have time to go anywhere right now, I’m sweating like a pig, I need to take a shower, my boyfriend is probably wondering why I’m taking so long out here,” I sputter. It’s one thing I was talking to a cicada. It’s another that the cicada morphed exactly into the alien-like creature that I always thought they looked like. I think about all the cicadas I’ve seen in my life, wondering if they were all aliens.
	“Yes.” He said abruptly. “It’s how we keep our eyes on you. Well not you specifically, except in this case, of course,” he chuckled. “Humans in general. Some of us get eaten by cats or birds or squished by cruel little six year old humans chasing other humans, etc, but that’s just how it goes. We are the soldiers on the ground.”
	My head began to feel like a fishbowl, sloshing around. “Just relax,” he said. “You’ll be back before you know it.” Panic suddenly shoots through every one of my cells and limbs like lightning.
	“Hey Marco!” He turned around, talking to someone, another alien, again without moving his lips. The alien walked up out of the darkness of the backyard and joined him. “I found my lady friend.” His big black eye winked.
 
 
 
 
 
","August 04, 2023 18:42","[[{'Yvette Morelli': 'I loved it! I felt like I was in your backyard in ""The Garden of Good and Evil."" I was not expecting a talking cicada. Kept me interested with the banter between the two or was it just in your head?', 'time': '18:54 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Really good stuff Heather!  Very imaginative and took us on some crazy twists and turns!!', 'time': '15:57 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you very much!!!', 'time': '13:52 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you very much!!!', 'time': '13:52 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'Magicicada, the 17 year cicadas seem like aliens, and look creepy!  A Rom-Horror?\nThanks!', 'time': '06:18 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Rom Horror— quite possibly!!!\nAnd all I think of is aliens when I look at cicadas! Lol!!! Thank you for your comment!!!', 'time': '12:59 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Rom Horror— quite possibly!!!\nAnd all I think of is aliens when I look at cicadas! Lol!!! Thank you for your comment!!!', 'time': '12:59 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Judith Jerde': 'Heather, I thought\nyour story was\namazing from start to finish. Very creative and I laughed so hard when your character was watering the tomatoes and talking to the “cicada” wondering if she’d had heat stroke or worse yet schizophrenia. Too funny.', 'time': '02:55 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much!!! I really appreciate it!! Glad I could elicit some laughs!! 😂', 'time': '13:01 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much!!! I really appreciate it!! Glad I could elicit some laughs!! 😂', 'time': '13:01 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Linda Lovendahl': ""I liked how easily you revealed the vulnerability of the main character through honest impressions and thoughts.\nThe first paragraph moved me mightily into the sweep of the story. \nI read some of the remarks written before mine about the passage of time in Texas. I didn't see any disruption because you had a sentence about it getting darker. In fact, all your details dovetail beautifully into the swirl of the surreal!"", 'time': '00:03 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Oh thank you so much!! Dovetail is such a beautiful descriptor!! Thank you for the kind words!', 'time': '13:03 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Oh thank you so much!! Dovetail is such a beautiful descriptor!! Thank you for the kind words!', 'time': '13:03 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sudarshan Varadhan': ""Your story ingeniously blends the mundane with the extraterrestrial, creating a captivating narrative that keeps readers spellbound through witty dialogue and unexpected twists. The seamless integration of the protagonist's thoughts and the cicada-alien's speech adds depth to the story, leaving us intrigued by the mysteries you've woven."", 'time': '19:54 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much for your comment!!! Very appreciated!!!', 'time': '13:04 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much for your comment!!! Very appreciated!!!', 'time': '13:04 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Fernando César': 'Hi Heather, enjoyed your writing! I’m not sure I got all the details. This is completely open ended, right? We just know the character will go for a ride?\n\nI did find some passages that sound weird for me (very subjective, of course).\n\nI don’t know nothing about Texas, but the story starts “protect me from the excruciating Texas sun”, and after a brief chat (some minutes?) we are in “even in the near dark”.\n\nAm I having a heat stroke?\n“It wasn’t that funny, and anyway, you’ve been a bitch since you came out here. I’m just trying to live, how...', 'time': '23:06 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'I don’t know nothing about Texas, but the story starts “protect me from the excruciating Texas sun”, and after a brief chat (some minutes?) we are in “even in the near dark”.\n--even when the sun is going down, it is boiling! I did notice that as I was re-reading, and thought I might need to explain that at some point.\n\n""So she thinks she is having a heat stroke, and some lines below she thinks she might be high; but in the middle she’s talking to it like “you’re all really loud, dude”?""\n--well, she may be high or having a heat stroke, but, s...', 'time': '23:46 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'I don’t know nothing about Texas, but the story starts “protect me from the excruciating Texas sun”, and after a brief chat (some minutes?) we are in “even in the near dark”.\n--even when the sun is going down, it is boiling! I did notice that as I was re-reading, and thought I might need to explain that at some point.\n\n""So she thinks she is having a heat stroke, and some lines below she thinks she might be high; but in the middle she’s talking to it like “you’re all really loud, dude”?""\n--well, she may be high or having a heat stroke, but, s...', 'time': '23:46 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'That\'s fun :) Starts quite mundane, takes a turn for the weird, then has quite a few funny moments - particularly with the banter - and it ends, well, ominously. Sci-fi horror romance perhaps?\n\nCritique-wise, there did seem to be a couple minor issues with tense, where most of the story is past tense, but a couple lines like ""I start to feel dizzy. I am having a heat stroke, surely."" dip into present.\n\nThanks for sharing!', 'time': '22:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': ""Thanks so much! I haven't quite decided how it will go forward, but I was toying with an idea along those lines.\nTense always trips me up! Thank you for reminding me!!!\nYour comment is appreciated!"", 'time': '23:40 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Heather Blank': ""Thanks so much! I haven't quite decided how it will go forward, but I was toying with an idea along those lines.\nTense always trips me up! Thank you for reminding me!!!\nYour comment is appreciated!"", 'time': '23:40 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Heather OMara': 'Loved the smart dialogue!', 'time': '19:27 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': ""Thank you so much!! I appreciate it! I've always felt I wasn't that great with dialogue, lol."", 'time': '22:11 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': ""Thank you so much!! I appreciate it! I've always felt I wasn't that great with dialogue, lol."", 'time': '22:11 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Fabulous writing! Great playful voice. Cool final twist. Love!', 'time': '06:09 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much! :)', 'time': '23:47 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you so much! :)', 'time': '23:47 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Question ... did you just sit-down and write or did you spend some time sketching an outline ?', 'time': '16:40 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'I just wrote it in about 2 hours. I’ve never been any good with outlines.. I do make notes though, sometimes.', 'time': '16:46 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Bob Long Jr': ""That's great. My 1st story just came to me with no outside planning. This latest prompt though started out okay and then I ran out of steam so went back to square 1. I think I will at least sketch out a plot and then let the story unfold from there. Happy writing !"", 'time': '16:30 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Heather Blank': 'Thanks, you too!!!', 'time': '17:59 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'I just wrote it in about 2 hours. I’ve never been any good with outlines.. I do make notes though, sometimes.', 'time': '16:46 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Bob Long Jr': ""That's great. My 1st story just came to me with no outside planning. This latest prompt though started out okay and then I ran out of steam so went back to square 1. I think I will at least sketch out a plot and then let the story unfold from there. Happy writing !"", 'time': '16:30 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Heather Blank': 'Thanks, you too!!!', 'time': '17:59 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Bob Long Jr': ""That's great. My 1st story just came to me with no outside planning. This latest prompt though started out okay and then I ran out of steam so went back to square 1. I think I will at least sketch out a plot and then let the story unfold from there. Happy writing !"", 'time': '16:30 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks, you too!!!', 'time': '17:59 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks, you too!!!', 'time': '17:59 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Bob Long Jr': 'Thanks Heather .. good story !', 'time': '16:38 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!', 'time': '16:46 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!', 'time': '16:46 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': ""I really enjoyed this: the sarcasm and pacing work very well. And it's a nice sci fi twist at the end. Well done."", 'time': '16:31 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks so much!!', 'time': '16:46 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks so much!!', 'time': '16:46 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Hailey Grizzaffi': 'This is amazing!!! Good job!!!', 'time': '16:25 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!! 🙏', 'time': '16:47 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!! 🙏', 'time': '16:47 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""Cool ending. The alien's got game 😂 maybe\n\nReally well written and funny.\n\nGood job"", 'time': '12:23 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Yeah, maybe! Lol 😆 👽😉\nThank you!! 🙏', 'time': '16:47 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Yeah, maybe! Lol 😆 👽😉\nThank you!! 🙏', 'time': '16:47 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nancy Mac': 'Well written, exceptionally creative, skillfully developed.  Definitely Texas-relatable, from the heat to the mutating bugs!  The perfectly creepy ending, ""His big black eye winked,"" may haunt me...', 'time': '23:49 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!! 🙏 Let it haunt you in a funny way!', 'time': '16:48 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!! 🙏 Let it haunt you in a funny way!', 'time': '16:48 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Eric McCrary': 'Heat exhaustion ethereal dream like, definitely a relatable feeling. Well written and interesting.', 'time': '23:14 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!!', 'time': '16:48 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!!', 'time': '16:48 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nathan Klayman': 'Interesting, descriptive and well executed, with a fun and bizarre twist ending. I feel like this could be expanded into something bigger/more.', 'time': '22:19 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'It might be expanded! Working on it. Thank you!', 'time': '16:48 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'It might be expanded! Working on it. Thank you!', 'time': '16:48 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Audrey Grizzaffi': 'I truly enjoyed reading this. It’s very well written and is a nice little creepy type story.', 'time': '22:15 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!! 🙏❤️', 'time': '16:49 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!! 🙏❤️', 'time': '16:49 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Vid Weeks': 'Well written, carefully creepy story, I loved the phrase ""A loud, hiss-rattle sort of buzzing""', 'time': '10:04 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks so much!', 'time': '16:49 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thanks so much!', 'time': '16:49 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Carlton W. Gant III': ""Very imaginative story. I'm always fascinated by the way writers on here are able to invent narratives out of the smallest of things that I would of overlooked."", 'time': '20:45 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'I would’ve overlooked cicadas if one hadn’t slapped me in the face a couple of weeks ago! Lol! Thank you!', 'time': '16:49 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'I would’ve overlooked cicadas if one hadn’t slapped me in the face a couple of weeks ago! Lol! Thank you!', 'time': '16:49 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Shane Reber': 'Cicadas are almost as beautiful as June bugs.  Their loud hiss-rattle sort of buzzing is how I know summer is here.  Very enjoyable dreamlike story about heat exhaustion! 😁', 'time': '17:39 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!!! 🙏 It’s how I know summer is here, too!! Then I can hide in my room for the next 3 months!!!! 🤣', 'time': '16:50 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather Blank': 'Thank you!!! 🙏 It’s how I know summer is here, too!! Then I can hide in my room for the next 3 months!!!! 🤣', 'time': '16:50 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",iwm2u8,BEHOLD LOST POETRY – Part Two ,Joe Malgeri,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/iwm2u8/,/short-story/iwm2u8/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Inspirational']",45 likes,"
As previously mentioned: Consistently for over two decades my Aunt Sophie annually attended “The Lily-Dale, Upstate NY, Psychic Medium Community.” To celebrate my twenty-first birthday, my Aunt Sophie decided to invite me, her Nephew Patrick, along as her travel companion.
 
   On our first day there, my Aunt Sophie and I observed the parapsychologist, Doctor Tarz, being an avatar for Kahlil Gibran. While inside the auditorium the philosopher, writer, and artist recited some of his lost poetry through the master oracle. My aunt Sophie recorded everything.
 
   On our second day there, my aunt Sophie and I, along with most of the same audience members of yesterday, again sat patiently in the auditorium waiting for Doctor Tarz. At 9:00 am the curtain opened to reveal the psychic medium standing behind a podium. She appeared very calm, spiritual, and radiant with wisdom. I almost felt as if her eyes were segues between dimensions. She spoke into the microphone:
 
   “Greetings everyone.”
 
   “Greetings Doctor Tarz,” replied the audience.
 
   “I see three new attendees who were not here yesterday have joined us. Welcome.”
 
   “Thank you, Doctor Tarz, we’re honored to be here,” stated one of the three new attendees.
 
   “And I’m honored to have you here,” Doctor Tarz responded. “Earlier this morning I was able to contact the deceased composer, musician, poet, lyricist, writer, and ambassador who I briefly mentioned yesterday. Through God’s blessing, as I presently speak he is standing right beside me. Momentarily, if you have any questions for him, he has permitted you to feel free to ask. I will be the mediator relaying his answers. Afterward, I will enter a trance and become his avatar. He informed me that he will then recite several of his unknown poetic lyrics through me. So now, let’s begin. On with the ambassador and guest of honor. However, before I enter a trance, as always, does anyone have any questions? Although, today they will be directed toward our guest of honor.”
 
   “Mr. Ambassador, what is your view on politics?” asked the young lady in the second row.
 
   Doctor Tarz looked to her left and nodded her head as if listening to someone, “The ambassador instructed me to inform you that he believes politics is the entertainment division of the military-industrial complex – an interest masquerading as a contest of principles, conducting public affairs for private advantages.”
 
  She paused, listened, and again spoke, “Our guest now stated that the word ‘politics’ originally derived from the word ‘poly,’ meaning many, and the word ‘ticks,’ meaning blood-sucking parasites.”
 
   Doctor Tarz slowly smiled, again paused and again nodded her head, “The ambassador now has a question for you, young lady. He wants to know since the word ‘govern’ means control, and the word ‘mente’ in Latin means mind, then wouldn’t the word ‘government’ mean mind control?”
 
   “I’m not sure, maybe,” answered the young lady.
 
   Doctor Tarz then announced, “Our guest just informed me that if this wasn’t true, then why do you suppose the USA has fluoride put into its public drinking water? For mass mind control, that’s why! Nazi concentration camps used fluoride to make prisoners docile. It lowers the I.Q., too.”
 
   “May I ask a question,” asked an elderly gentleman in the first row.
 
   “I’m so terribly sorry, sir, the ambassador just abruptly informed me that he wants me to become his avatar now, so his unknown lyrics can be recorded.”
 
   “Okay, Doctor Tarz,” replied the elderly gentleman, “but let me just mention that I love his song, ‘We Are Not Alone,’ from his, ‘The Man From Utopia’ CD.”
 
   Doctor Tarz then sat in the seat stationed nearby the podium. A microphone inserted upon a low-level stand was positioned in front of her:
 
   “With all due respect, to everyone, and not just to the new audience attendees, please understand that under no circumstances will you respond to his work – not during, in between, or after any of his recited literature. In his own words, he instructed me to inform you that he does not need anyone here to put his or her two cents in regarding his creativity. Also, please keep in mind, he is the star here, not I, nor anyone in the audience. Besides that, as most of you already know, if you speak during my trance you’ll risk waking me. That would be very rude, disrespectful, and ignorant. If you do so, I will ask you to leave. I thank God no one interrupted Kahlil Gibran yesterday. Yes, everyone was considerate enough to allow the philosopher, author, artist, and poet to recite his lost poetry without voicing an opinion.
 
   “Additionally, please note, if any of you were to attend an orchestra performing a symphony and you were to whistle and applauded between movements, how do you suppose you’d look to the rest of the audience? Well, that’s exactly how you would have looked here yesterday had you responded to Kahlil Gibran’s poetry. Okay, so now those who brought along recording devices, feel free to continue utilizing them. Yet, from this moment on, please be quiet.”
 
   The room instantly went silent. After closing her eyes, Doctor Tarz sat motionless. Within five or so minutes the channeled spirit spoke through her:
 
   “Born in Baltimore, Maryland I graduated from third-density in 1993. Some of my music and lyrics were neither written down nor recorded. Thus, just as Kahlil Gibran said yesterday, I also now say, behold lost poetry – ‘THE POSITIVE MENTAL ATTITUDE:’
 
“Contaminated victims of a spreading disease
Homogenized and crippled into zombies and sheep
A standard personality of ‘One Size Fits All’
Like a plague of store-bought clones with no character to flaw
It’s the positive mental attitude corporate law
 
“Self-servingly designed by a shrewd puppeteer
Preaching, ‘Doubts and suspicions are your negative fears’
This eliminates awareness, putting trust in his hands
His ulterior motive for control and command
It’s the positive mental attitude corporate man
 
“He’ll monopolize and scrutinize, manipulate your mind
His rhetoric tongue says, ‘Express,’ while it hides
Your castrated individuality
Builds his penis extension hypocrisy
It’s the positive mental attitude corporate scheme
 
“His pied piper method, brainwash then absorb
If you don’t love abuse he’ll say, ‘Your attitude’s poor’
Pointing busybody victims take their enemies’ side
Sticking negative stamps on all who question lies
It’s the positive mental attitude corporate lives
 
“It’s bad rules and good people, not the other way around
You’re a communist plot who disagrees with the crowd
Those uniforms of business, so commercially designed
They are mental straitjackets, imprisoning minds
Do positive mental attitudes rule mankind?
 
 
“Behold – ‘YOU’VE BEEN TOLD WHO YOU ARE:’
 
“Expectations we all hear and obey
As we stop for red lights and then go on our way
We’re mechanical men, we’re machines on display
First, we’ll stop for a sign
Feed the meter one more dime
We’re all ruled by the clock in the bar
You’ve been told who you are
 
“ ‘Cause your brain has been poisoned and stuffed in a jar
You’ve been molded and told not to go very far
You’re conformed and controlled, you must stay within par
You’ve been bought, you’ve been sold
You’ve been taught, you’ve been showed
You were made like the fence in my yard
You’ve been told who you are
 
“Your identities differ by only your names
You’re conditioned to dressing and thinking the same
Playing ‘Follow The Leader’ while wrapped up in chains
Said the pimp on the stage
To the birds in his cage:
‘Come with me and I’ll make you a star’
You’ve been told who you are
 
“With our license plate numbers, there is no escape
The enforcers will catch you and seal you with tape
You’ll be processed and patented then bent into shape
Raise yourself, try your luck
Pedigree or a mutt
Don’t be bred in a cage with a guard
Tell yourself who you are!
 
 
“Behold – ‘REPUBLICRATES’
 
“Poor democrats are field slaves, poor republicans are slaves in-house
One’s outside looking in, the other’s inside looking out
Poor dems truly hate their masters, would love to slit their throats
Poor pubs live to please their masters, they butter up to wealth
Poor dems will get looked down on by housed so-called servant men
Ambition convinced these house slaves, they’re family, more than friends
Disguised as healing angels, rich dems bluff to save the poor
Poor pubs join which team seems winning, and sell themselves like whores
Rich dems cleverly relate to people, through self-serving false concerns
Fake miraculous social workers, you’d think the public would learn
Rich pubs are socially clumsy, they step on others’ toes
Like bulls inside a China shop, these weasels’ money makes them bold
Both parties are illusions, each lies to get your vote
Then once they get in office, they do as they are told
Just like tag team wrestlers, role-playing good and bad
But once the match is over, these friends all share bar tabs                                                   
Vile billionaires control them, they pull their puppet strings
If they disobey their masters, they will murder their offspring
Non-partisans some call commies, refuse to join these klans
They disbelieve both parties, Thomas Jefferson might understand
 
“Are both parties pompous enemies? Only to logic, God, and truth
But when it’s time for reelection, each prays the other will lose
Rich pubs come off as fat rats, fleeing sinking ships
Rich dems will go down with ships, skimming section eight benefits
Independents some call outcasts, truth seekers some call conspiracy theorists
Since facts often start off as theories, politicians all hate realists
Do elitists who join ‘The Good Club,’ push for population decrease?
Will they someday live in D.U.M.B.s, when most surface life has ceased?
I believe the opposite of courage is conformity, not fear
Birds living lives in cages think free-flying birds are weird
There’s really just one party, they’re called republicrates                                                   
A mix of opposition, from poor to spoiled brats
Capitalists seek to hide this, to keep us fighting amongst ourselves
They plot so we don’t see the masked evil behind their wealth
They hide a secret government, and secret space probes too
If there’s honest politicians, then there’s virgin prostitutes
Two parallel parties of monsters, both claim we need their help
Each party works against us, yet serves their greedy selves
Shrewd puppeteers split these parties into a dem and pub cold war
Yet could a republicratic party fuse both our rich and poor…? No!!!
 
 
“Behold – ‘A MULTIVERSE SIMULATION:’
 
“Data binary programmed processed information
With digital software light-speed limitations
Running countless ones and zeros, formerly called God’s creation
Pulsed drones of virtual space-time, inside a multiverse simulation
 
“ ‘Very good, Poindexter, you got another hundred on the test.
Everything I told you, you told me. You’re so smart!’
 
“In truth, he’s narrow-minded, stuck in Plato’s Cave
Lives a life of illusion, held by shadows and chains
Believes he’s in the know, ‘cause he’s mainstream united
Been conditioned from birth to be robot shortsighted
Knows only cave reflections, can’t escape outside
Loves his comforting bubble, rejects awakened minds
He’s your boy-next-door, such a squeaky-clean guy
So very punctual, yes he’s always on time
During childhood, he was never bold
No need for discipline, did as he was told
Although he’ll criticize what he can’t understand
Condemned to conform and ride the yuppie bandwagon
Praise Mr. Preppy Normal, society’s model child
He’s like a Richie Cunningham crossed with a Gomer Pyle
Yet, I overlook his flaws, while he points out mine
In liege with one-track perception, trapped in his matrix mind
 
“Observed electrons are particles, unobserved they’re waves
We’re broadcasted ghostly images from beyond our space and time cave
From energetic to electrical subatomic pixel information
To a decoded holographic reality inside a multiverse simulation”
 
 
   “What a bunch of rubbish!” shouted one of the three new audience attendees who stood up in the fourth row. “You, madam, are a charlatan! You may have these people fooled, pretending that you’re in contact with the dead, but you can’t fool me.”
 
   Doctor Tarz awoke and opened her eyes, “I’m asking you to leave, sir.”
 
   “No! I’m here to expose you for who you truly are, ma’am.”
 
   “I already know who I truly am, sir, but who the Hell are you?”
 
   “I’m Doctor Quackenbush, the leading psychiatrist throughout the entire county. I’ve been acknowledged by both the American Board of Psychiatry, as well as the New England Medical Journal, meriting an impeccable reputation, and without a single sanction throughout my many years of practice. This gentleman seated beside me is Doctor Sanders, and this gentleman is Doctor Werner.”
 
   “Oh, I see. You’re the three wise men, correct? Where’s your gold, frankincense, and myrrh?”
 
   “Oh, that’s very cute and clever, ma’am. However, I want everyone here to know what you’re claiming to be doing is utterly impossible. I don’t believe in psychics or mediums. Absolutely none of them are real.” 
 
   “I don’t believe in them either, sir. There’s a big difference between believing and knowing. Try to understand that a mind is like a parachute, it doesn’t work unless it’s open.”
 
   “You ma’am, are a fraud.”
 
   “If you’re not out of this auditorium within the next minute, I promise you you’ll regret it, sir.”
 
   “Are you threatening me, ma’am?”
 
   “Call it what you will, sir. Tick-tock, tick-tock, your time is running out. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
 
   “I’m going to have this whole place shut down. I’m a leading psychiatrist, therefore, I’m miles ahead of your deception.” 
 
   “Academia is to knowledge what prostitution is to love. Do you know, sir, that the father of psychoanalysis, your Sigmund Freud, was a neurotic drug addict who primarily studied sick subjects over healthy ones? Not exactly a solid foundation for developing frameworks of guidelining references useful for future diagnostic comparisons.”
 
   “Sigmond Freud was a genius, ma’am.”
 
   “Perhaps, but as far as many psychological labels go, sir, there exists numerous extenuating circumstances where patients remain at the mercy of their shrink’s arbitrary, yet stigmatizing whims. Tell me, how could any psychological dichotomous label not be the result of some shrink’s individual discretion when there is no official dividing line one crosses, whereas determining that on one side of the line, you are schizophrenic, while on the other side, you are not? I’ve noticed this pertains to many other over-used psychology labels as well, particularly when an individual yields no physical brain abnormality; and, as far as your psychological theories go, sir, why every other shrink disagrees with every other shrink, and every other shrink believes the next shrink is even crazier than he or she is. Also, quite often the greater the need for labeling others as mentally ill, the greater the labeler’s need may be to either hide, commonize, or even universalize his or her own neuroses. This is why many neurotics gravitate toward psychology, many criminals gravitate toward law enforcement, and many pedophiles gravitate toward clergical celibacy.”
 
   “I live to heal my patient’s abnormalities. How dare you discredit psychiatry, ma’am.”
 
   “I’m all for psychiatry when it helps people, sir. Although, if I could, I would tell all your patience to take only what they need and leave the rest behind. Also, what you often view as abnormalities or abnormal behavior, sir, I often view as normal reactions to abnormal circumstances. In truth, I’ve learned more through my DOA than I did through both of my Ph.Ds. Having your patience at your mercy gives you a great feeling of power, does it not, sir? Tell me, does this compensate for the numerous times you were passed around and raped as a child? Does your wife know that you’re a closet pedophile, sir? Shall I tell her?”
 
   Doctor Quackenbush turned as white as a ghost.
 
   “Your heart is racing, isn’t it, sir? Sometimes a person’s own memory is their worst enemy.”
 
   “Nuh, nuh, none of what you’re sa-saying is tr-tr-true, ma-ma’am. I’ll be here tomorrow morning with my attorney. I’ll sue you, and I’ll have this whole place shut down.” 
 
   “Oh, no you won’t sir. I promise you, you won’t be here tomorrow.”
 
   “And I promise you that I will be here tomorrow, then you’ll be sorry, ma’am.”
 
   “The reason you try to convince yourself that mediumship isn’t real, sir, is because you’re afraid of it. You’re afraid of me, and you’re afraid to face yourself.”
 
   “Hogwash, all so-called psychics are frauds.”
 
   “Then why do the CIA, FBI, and police department all have psychics working for them? Is this because they’re so easily fooled, while you, sir, are just way too smart to be fooled?”
 
   “You’ll hear from my attorney tomorrow.”
 
   “When you go to sleep tonight, beware. At 3:00 am I will enter your dream. You will awaken to find me at the foot of your bed. You will watch me disappear right before your eyes. Tomorrow you will run away, and you’ll be too frightened to ever return here.”
 
   “You’re an overzealous religious gypsy, who is deranged.”
 
   “I’m not the one who’s deranged, sir, and I’m not religious, I’m spiritual.”
 
   “Oh, yeah, what’s the difference? As far as I’m concerned, they’re both the same damn thing.”
 
   “Religion is belief in someone else’s experiences, while spirituality is having your own experiences.”
 
   “I’ll see you tomorrow, ma’am.”
 
   The three wise men all stood up, turned around, and walked out of the auditorium.
 
   “Please now play your tape recording, Sophie?” asked Doctor Tarz.
 
   “Sure thing, of course,” replied my Aunt Sophie.
 
   Shortly everyone listened to my Aunt Sophie’s tape recording. Each word spoken through Doctor Tarz sounded even harsher, although much more disclosing, the second time around.
 
   “Wow, wasn’t that something?” stated Doctor Tarz. “The truth is blinding. But now, just like yesterday, I’m presently drained and in desperate need of rest. Tomorrow I will attempt to contact Nikola Tesla. If I’m unsuccessful, I will attempt to contact Jimi Hendrix.”
 
   The Curtain Closed!
 
   THE END
 
   Oh, and by the way, the three wise men, including Doctor Quackenbush, never returned.
 
(All Poems Were Written By Joseph Anthony Malgeri, Copyrighted From 1977 To 2022)
","August 08, 2023 21:08","[[{'Helen A Smith': 'The observations of Dr Tarz truly hit home, especially about Freud. Don’t know too much about his beliefs, but what I do know - definitely not a fan. Interesting that he studied sick subjects over healthy ones. But then, even the idea of sickness is subjective. So much damage can be done to a person’s mental health by sticking rigidly to set ideas which remain unquestioned for years. It’s also true that individual psychiatrists can be genuine in their pursuit of healing the mind.\nPowerful ideas run through the poetry which for me has a music...', 'time': '17:47 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks, Helen, and your insight hits home - Very true, Helen, I couldn't agree more with you. I personally have nothing against Freud. But, like you, I'm also not one to support labels and how subjective they are, and how lifetime damaging they can be."", 'time': '20:34 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks, Helen, and your insight hits home - Very true, Helen, I couldn't agree more with you. I personally have nothing against Freud. But, like you, I'm also not one to support labels and how subjective they are, and how lifetime damaging they can be."", 'time': '20:34 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'So educative and entertaining at the same time. Fine work here.', 'time': '16:16 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I thank you so very much, Philip.', 'time': '16:19 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I thank you so very much, Philip.', 'time': '16:19 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'So educative and entertaining at the same time. Fine work here.', 'time': '16:16 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I thank you so very much, Philip.', 'time': '16:19 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I thank you so very much, Philip.', 'time': '16:19 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Seauphi Heather': 'Wow Joe. Infinite Jest!\n\nFrom one Seauphi to another Sophie, you have my seals & awards & all the things.\n\nKeep it up 🤍🕊️🩸', 'time': '08:54 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks a bunch, Seauphi.', 'time': '00:22 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks a bunch, Seauphi.', 'time': '00:22 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Delbert Griffith': 'Very cool, channeling Frank Zappa. I recognized the title of the album mentioned: The Man from Utopia. Zappa was a genius that we still don\'t quite understand, like James Joyce.\n\nI felt like the first poem could have been song lyrics. I especially liked the ""Pied Piper mentality"" phrase. Very apt.\n\nGreat work, Joe. You have the gift, my friend.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:16 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks, Delbert, and yes, I did compose music for ""The Positive Mental Attitude"" back in 1988 and recorded the piece too. As far as you saying, I ""have the gift,"" well, I\'ve been told that many times. Additionally, I\'ve been told that my gift is also my curse. Neither point of view gets me thinking. What does get me thinking is the fact that the average person (I don\'t mean you) can\'t tell the difference between ""The gift"" and a loaf of bread.', 'time': '00:21 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thanks, Delbert, and yes, I did compose music for ""The Positive Mental Attitude"" back in 1988 and recorded the piece too. As far as you saying, I ""have the gift,"" well, I\'ve been told that many times. Additionally, I\'ve been told that my gift is also my curse. Neither point of view gets me thinking. What does get me thinking is the fact that the average person (I don\'t mean you) can\'t tell the difference between ""The gift"" and a loaf of bread.', 'time': '00:21 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Shannon C.': 'Blown away again, my friend! Your poetry really makes me think. I love how you are able to blend all of your poetry over years of work into one story. It is beautiful and very impressive. Loved it!', 'time': '21:35 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thank you so very much, Shannon, and I\'m equally impressed that you\'re impressed. The poetry is a complete different style this time, representing a spirit of different character. Last time it represented my spiritual influence by Kahlil Gibran. Although, I\'m not exactly in the category of ""The Profit."" But, I do put everything I have into it. Can you deduce who the spirit is who has influenced my present Harsh Disclosing style? BTW, I also have humorous, fantasy, tribute, and sweet poems. Different characters would represent those spirits s...', 'time': '23:02 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Shannon C.': 'I kept picturing Morrison in my mind when I read and reread aaand reread, he was a lyrically beautiful poet too. I must confess, I had to sneak a peek and Zappa never crossed my mind........Now I can only see Frank. I hope you share more in the future.  ""Sometimes a person’s own memory is their worst enemy.” -- stung with a lot of truth.....', 'time': '19:52 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': ""Morrison was close, and on the right track, he's been my favorite vocalist since I was ten, & I read & own books filled with his poetry. I honor your sincerity about sneaking a peek for FZ to appear. I also thank you much once again, Shannon."", 'time': '00:33 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Thank you so very much, Shannon, and I\'m equally impressed that you\'re impressed. The poetry is a complete different style this time, representing a spirit of different character. Last time it represented my spiritual influence by Kahlil Gibran. Although, I\'m not exactly in the category of ""The Profit."" But, I do put everything I have into it. Can you deduce who the spirit is who has influenced my present Harsh Disclosing style? BTW, I also have humorous, fantasy, tribute, and sweet poems. Different characters would represent those spirits s...', 'time': '23:02 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Shannon C.': 'I kept picturing Morrison in my mind when I read and reread aaand reread, he was a lyrically beautiful poet too. I must confess, I had to sneak a peek and Zappa never crossed my mind........Now I can only see Frank. I hope you share more in the future.  ""Sometimes a person’s own memory is their worst enemy.” -- stung with a lot of truth.....', 'time': '19:52 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': ""Morrison was close, and on the right track, he's been my favorite vocalist since I was ten, & I read & own books filled with his poetry. I honor your sincerity about sneaking a peek for FZ to appear. I also thank you much once again, Shannon."", 'time': '00:33 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Shannon C.': 'I kept picturing Morrison in my mind when I read and reread aaand reread, he was a lyrically beautiful poet too. I must confess, I had to sneak a peek and Zappa never crossed my mind........Now I can only see Frank. I hope you share more in the future.  ""Sometimes a person’s own memory is their worst enemy.” -- stung with a lot of truth.....', 'time': '19:52 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Morrison was close, and on the right track, he's been my favorite vocalist since I was ten, & I read & own books filled with his poetry. I honor your sincerity about sneaking a peek for FZ to appear. I also thank you much once again, Shannon."", 'time': '00:33 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Morrison was close, and on the right track, he's been my favorite vocalist since I was ten, & I read & own books filled with his poetry. I honor your sincerity about sneaking a peek for FZ to appear. I also thank you much once again, Shannon."", 'time': '00:33 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Hey there, Joe -\n\nThe obedience of the audience is rather chilling :)\n\nI like the ambassador's take on politics :)\n\nWow, a complete song ... fairly dark, but I can get down with it :)\n\nDr. Quackenbush is world-renown...\n\n>> Academia is to knowledge what prostitution is to love.\n\nWow!\n\nThis was fun - I did like the whole song, jeez, that was extensive! And the dialogue between the audience and the medium at the end was great -\n\nR"", 'time': '18:18 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Much appreciated, Russell. It's actually four separate poems. Dr. Tarz communicates to her audience through tough love for their own good."", 'time': '23:47 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Much appreciated, Russell. It's actually four separate poems. Dr. Tarz communicates to her audience through tough love for their own good."", 'time': '23:47 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'I was looking forward to the followup, and you came through terrifically! The academic debate had the suspense and dynamic of an epic battle, and your verse only contributes to that sense of epic fiction! And “I thank God no one interrupted Kahlil Gibran yesterday” — awesome satire! I hope we’ll read of the further adventures of Aunt Sophie. Loved it.', 'time': '15:36 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Ha-ha... Thanks again, Martin. I have no idea where I'm going with this, as in a part three, who knows?"", 'time': '15:56 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Martin Ross': 'I’ll read it! Like a metaphysical, grownup Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle from my youth!👍👍👍❤️', 'time': '16:02 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL...!!!', 'time': '16:53 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Ha-ha... Thanks again, Martin. I have no idea where I'm going with this, as in a part three, who knows?"", 'time': '15:56 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'I’ll read it! Like a metaphysical, grownup Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle from my youth!👍👍👍❤️', 'time': '16:02 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL...!!!', 'time': '16:53 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'I’ll read it! Like a metaphysical, grownup Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle from my youth!👍👍👍❤️', 'time': '16:02 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL...!!!', 'time': '16:53 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL...!!!', 'time': '16:53 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""I've never read poetry that grabbed me the way yours does, by the scruff and brain all in one. Perhaps it's the new age social, political messages that resonates, as if it's missing a thumping bass and thrash drums whilst being roared by Serj Tankian or or Zach de la Rocha.  Regardless it's fantastic.\n\nWhen it gets too heavy you interject a little humour like a palette cleanser. So well constructed.\n\nBut the pinnacle here is Tarz responses, a mind is like a parachute - so good.\n\nLove how she calls the shrinks the three wise men, yeah it's co..."", 'time': '08:39 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks, Kevin, I'm happy that you can relate, it feels great to reach people and to be understood. Reaching one person means more to me than winning ten contests."", 'time': '15:28 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks, Kevin, I'm happy that you can relate, it feels great to reach people and to be understood. Reaching one person means more to me than winning ten contests."", 'time': '15:28 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'What a writer!', 'time': '03:52 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': '""What a writer!"" Thanks, Mary, that makes two of us.', 'time': '15:29 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': '""What a writer!"" Thanks, Mary, that makes two of us.', 'time': '15:29 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Cool story Joe. I loved it! Especially the showdown between the two doctors. \nAwesome piece of writing. LF6\n\nI forgot to talk about your poetry. I was amazed at what you wrote! So powerful.\n""Builds his penis extension hypocrisy"" - I thought that could be a few people in politics. LOL\n\nI cannot believe you wrote all of that. It was amazing. Well done! LF6', 'time': '22:19 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I thank you so much, Lily. I wondered if people would take offense to my harsh truths, but I see you can relate, which is great. ""Amazing"" you stated, thanks again, Lily. For fun, I bet a friend of mine $500.00 that I won\'t win or be short listed. He proofreads my entries to make sure it\'s legitimate and that I\'m not sabotaging my work. The bet ends on 1-1-2024. It\'s a sure thing, I should have bet him a grand.', 'time': '22:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Lily Finch': 'Have faith. LF6', 'time': '23:35 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': ""Lily, my friend, I have plenty of faith, plenty of faith that I'm going to win the $500.00. : ) Actually, my buddy is partial, and has way too much confidence in me. Which is great, but I'd prefer he have confidence in others instead. I'm convinced he's behaving a tad foolishly, therefore, I shouldn't take his money, so, I probably won't have the heart to. I'm not a thief, and taking his money would be as easy as taking candy from a baby. : )"", 'time': '23:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Lily Finch': 'Ha ha ha. I get you. LF6', 'time': '01:48 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I thank you so much, Lily. I wondered if people would take offense to my harsh truths, but I see you can relate, which is great. ""Amazing"" you stated, thanks again, Lily. For fun, I bet a friend of mine $500.00 that I won\'t win or be short listed. He proofreads my entries to make sure it\'s legitimate and that I\'m not sabotaging my work. The bet ends on 1-1-2024. It\'s a sure thing, I should have bet him a grand.', 'time': '22:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Have faith. LF6', 'time': '23:35 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joe Malgeri': ""Lily, my friend, I have plenty of faith, plenty of faith that I'm going to win the $500.00. : ) Actually, my buddy is partial, and has way too much confidence in me. Which is great, but I'd prefer he have confidence in others instead. I'm convinced he's behaving a tad foolishly, therefore, I shouldn't take his money, so, I probably won't have the heart to. I'm not a thief, and taking his money would be as easy as taking candy from a baby. : )"", 'time': '23:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Lily Finch': 'Ha ha ha. I get you. LF6', 'time': '01:48 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Have faith. LF6', 'time': '23:35 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Lily, my friend, I have plenty of faith, plenty of faith that I'm going to win the $500.00. : ) Actually, my buddy is partial, and has way too much confidence in me. Which is great, but I'd prefer he have confidence in others instead. I'm convinced he's behaving a tad foolishly, therefore, I shouldn't take his money, so, I probably won't have the heart to. I'm not a thief, and taking his money would be as easy as taking candy from a baby. : )"", 'time': '23:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Lily Finch': 'Ha ha ha. I get you. LF6', 'time': '01:48 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Lily, my friend, I have plenty of faith, plenty of faith that I'm going to win the $500.00. : ) Actually, my buddy is partial, and has way too much confidence in me. Which is great, but I'd prefer he have confidence in others instead. I'm convinced he's behaving a tad foolishly, therefore, I shouldn't take his money, so, I probably won't have the heart to. I'm not a thief, and taking his money would be as easy as taking candy from a baby. : )"", 'time': '23:51 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Lily Finch': 'Ha ha ha. I get you. LF6', 'time': '01:48 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': 'Ha ha ha. I get you. LF6', 'time': '01:48 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kaitlyn Wadsworth': ""Very clever dialogue. What ever happened to the three wise men? Doesn't bear thinking about. Enjoyed this  lot of poetry even more than  last time. A delightful 2nd instalment."", 'time': '03:09 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks much, Kaitlyn, as for the three wise men, they ran away just like three know-it-all cowards generally do whenever they feel they've lost complete control, and they've never returned again. : )"", 'time': '00:05 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks much, Kaitlyn, as for the three wise men, they ran away just like three know-it-all cowards generally do whenever they feel they've lost complete control, and they've never returned again. : )"", 'time': '00:05 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mike Panasitti': ""The poetry/lyrics are great, the humor and wisdom authentic.  I can't wait to see where we're taken in part III."", 'time': '19:30 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks so very much again, Mike, your appreciation is so deeply appreciated, mainly because there's practically nothing better than tuning in to the frequency of like-minded individuals, who I respect."", 'time': '20:03 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': ""Thanks so very much again, Mike, your appreciation is so deeply appreciated, mainly because there's practically nothing better than tuning in to the frequency of like-minded individuals, who I respect."", 'time': '20:03 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",crnwmr,Bedtime for Muriel,Derrick M Domican,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/crnwmr/,/short-story/crnwmr/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Horror', 'Fantasy']",31 likes,"
ANGELA“Cocoa! Warm not scalding! With pink marshmallows. And use a mug this time! I don’t need to lose any more porcelain by knocking it off the table in the middle of the night. Use your brain, for fuck’s sake.”“Yes, Muriel,” said Angela, nodding as she tucked the hummingbird-motif duvet around the octogenarian’s neck. “I’ll be right back, you just get comfy and listen to Barry.”“‘Listen to Barry’,” the old woman with the silver hair scoffed, shuffling under the covers as if in criticism of the way she’d been positioned. “Why do I have to listen to Barry, he’s a wanker, why do you always play him?”“Because you love Barry Manilow,” Angela replied, making sure the personal alarm on Muriel McCandless’ bedside table was in reach. “And he’s the only one who gets you to sleep. Don’t tell me I’m wrong, we’ve experimented with Neil and Lionel but you always end up awake all night. We’re not doing that again.”“Barry fucking Manilow,” said Muriel, flopping her arms against the mattress like a petulant child. “Sounds like a cat being strangled. Absolute wanker.”Angela couldn’t suppress a giggle as she made her way across to the door, pausing to retrieve the tray laden with pill bottles and blister packs of various medications from the dresser beside it.“And why is that horrible painting still on my wall? I told you, I don’t like it, it gives me nightmares. For fuck’s sake put it in the bin!.”“I did put it in the bin,” Angela said, pausing by the threshold to straighten said picture with her free hand. “Ten times. And you always tell me to put it back because it’s your ‘anchor’, whatever that means. It’s a fine painting anyway, one of your best. I have no idea what it is, but those slabs of overlapping colour really do jump off the canvas.”“It’s horrendous. I was stoned when I did it, like all the rest. And the idiot sheep lap them up. Pretentious twats with more money than sense, putting value on my neuroses.” “So true,” Angela nodded, leaving the room. “But at least they made you a fortune. Now, don’t nod off before I come back with your cocoa.” She said the same thing every night, winking at the lady-of-the-house, whose head propped up on two Hungarian goose-down pillows was glaring daggers. “I might have to drink it myself.”“Don’t you dare touch my Butlers chocolate, young lady,” Muriel called as she pulled the door shut. “It’s Cadburys we get for you and you better fucking drink it!”With the thick slab of mahogany secured in the doorframe, Muriel’s shrill voice faded and Angela’s giggle turned to a chuckle as she made her way downstairs. Miserable Muriel. Moaning Muriel. Malicious Muriel.But also her Muriel and despite her contrariness, she loved her. Nobody could put up with her for long, not her husband, who she said passed away to escape her, not her kids, who she said found careers in far away countries to avoid having to visit. Which was good for Angela, who was used to dealing with foul-mouthed, cantankerous old biddies having looked after her mother for years. It meant she got the gig of a lifetime as a live-in nurse and maid to a world-renowned, reclusive abstract artist, free food and board, the run of a manor, on private land in Wexford, surrounded by nature.What more could a thirty year old carer of the elderly, sick of working endless shifts in soulless hospitals and keen to fulfil her ambition of providing one-on-one personal caregiving, ask for? Other than a cup of Butlers chocolate before bed. Reaching the bottom of the stairs and turning towards the kitchen, she fished her phone from her pocket to check the notification she’d felt buzz in some minutes before. Whatsapp from Freddy: I’m here! Is the cranky old bitch asleep yet?Shaking her head, Angela used her thumb to type: Not a bitch. Eccentric. And no, not yet, making her chocolate. Out soon. Hope the pizza’s ordered.Phone back in pocket she made her way down a hall lined with photos featuring everything but family, friends and Muriel's art (because she had no friends, hated her family and her art terrified her), shouldering her way through another thick door into the kitchen. The back door stood open and it was freezing, the chill October temperatures having made themselves at home.“What the Hell?” said Angela, placing the tray on the marble-topped kitchen island. “Freddy, I told you, you can’t come into the main house, you’ll get me fired.”She couldn’t see Freddy but she knew she was there because the door had definitely been shut and she was the only other person with access to the property, something Muriel had reluctantly agreed to on the proviso that her ‘boy’ friend only came over between 9 and 10 on weekends. Rules, of course, were made to be broken and it was now 9.30 on Wednesday with a night of pizza, beer and Love Island catch-ups to look forward to.“And were you raised in a barn? God, Freddy, close the door at least.”As she hurried to shut out the cold she caught a glimpse of movement by the fireplace and tensed herself, waiting for Frederica to wrap her arms around her and lift her off the floor, spin her around and kiss her. She giggled in anticipation.“Just be quiet okay, her music’s on but I swear she has a sixth sense, she always seems to know when…”“Ve...rah…kell…”The odd-sounding words were guttural, rasping, nails-on-chalkboard jarring, and Angela felt her blood run cold as the door clicked into place and she smelt something rotten.“Freddy?”She knew it wasn’t Freddy but she turned anyway, to stare in horror at the bulbous, slug-skinned thing lurching towards her, a dozen yellow eyes in a mantis-like head, blood dribbling from fleshy mandibles as it swung one of many barb-covered tentacles at her head, slamming her hard to the floor.MURIEL“‘Because you like Barry Manilow.’ Sarcastic bitch. I do in my shite.”Muriel had thrown off her duvet and swung her spindly legs off the mattress, slipped her bony feet into fluffy slippers and wobbled to the dresser, where her phone was plugged in to charge and from which the odious lyrics of ‘Copacabana’ were oozing.“Awful,” Muriel spat, snatching up the phone to swipe at its screen with a withered finger. “Fucking awful. How do I get George on this thing?”Her efforts to navigate the Spotify home screen were interrupted when her eyes went to the canvas over the dresser, causing her to shiver and moan. “Awful!” she said again, dropping the phone as Barry sang: ‘She lost her youth and she lost her Tony, now she’s lost her mind.’ “Told her to put it in the bin! Stupid bitch never listens. I’ve a mind to send her packing! Her and that long-haired boyfriend of hers. Dresses like a girl. Whatever happened to… ”She’d tugged the painting off the wall, shuffled to the door, pulled it open and was about to fling the canvas out when she heard something stumble on the stairs, but only after being staggered by the smell, of rotten fruit or vegetables, a smell that activated in her head a buried memory, like the image on the canvas which suddenly flared to life in her mind’s eye. She was led by the hand from the tent in the forest to the light in the night by a shadow, looking back for help, seeing her father in his bag by the campfire, shouting: “Daddy, we’re not alone!” to no response, shivering in her night dress, pine needles stabbing her bare feet. When she looked forward again, in response to the shadow telling her its name, she was entering the light and finding it filled with an indescribable array of frightening objects, machines and devices, glowing in bright colours, a chair, which she was placed into, to be pushed towards a hulking monster, that reached dozens of wriggling tentacles towards her, making her scream.  “A…Arnold?” she surprised herself by muttering, as her knees gave out and she collapsed, landing with her head outside her door, turned towards the source of the smell.Towards the glistening black thing that was lurching up the stairs on lumpy legs, like a bipedal squid out of water, black as tar, drooling blood, tentacles whipping in the air.“Arnold?” she said again, though she didn’t know why, just that the name had entered her head when she recognised the odour, an odour she’d smelled only once in her life and forgotten, an odour she remembered now, as memories of that night in June ’41 exploded in her mind like Luftwaffe bombs. The night she wandered off during a camping trip with her family and got lost in the woods for three days. Unknown colours. Unidentifiable shapes. Morphing. Mutating. Surging around her like waves. And amongst them: Yellow eyes. Drooling pincers. Tentacles. In her mouth. Wriggling deep. Filling her throat. “Are you Arnold?” Muriel asked, pushing herself up to kneeling, watching the monster approach. “Did you take me away?”The terrifying beast of many tentacles reached the top of the stairs, brought its insectile head level with hers, narrowed its sulphur yellow eyes.Words that sounded like “Kraachet, ve-rah-kell!” came from its blood-smeared mandibles and Muriel straightened in defiance, remembering the sounds, remembering the smell, remembering it.“Did you take me?” she demanded, as a long-sought understanding of why she hurt the way she hurt and dreamt the things she dreamt and channelled the visions she was plagued with finally materialised. “You filthy alien pervert!”The creature drew itself up to full height, spread its pincers wide and issued an ear-splitting shriek that sprayed droplets of blood on Muriel’s face.“You stole my life!” the fiery, 87-year old spat, struggling to her feet as the monster hissed. “You filled me with hate and anger.” “Toosok, ve-rah-kell!” it said, stepping closer, swinging its tentacles back to…“Mu-iel!”It was Angela, appearing on the monster’s back, wrapping her arms around its neck, her face a mask of horror, bloody and torn, flap of skin dangling from one cheek, lips burst, eyes swollen, glaring. “Wun!” she forced past mangled tongue. “Call…po-rice…”The alien-monster-thing shrieked and thrashed and slammed itself into the wall, reaching up and back, coiling tentacles around Angela’s head.  Muriel, snapped from the fugue-like state she’d drifted into by Angela’s appearance, felt delayed panic race through her and turned, tottered back into her room, swung the door shut and reached for her phone, still connected to its charging cable on the dresser.“I’ve been alive forever,” Barry crooned. “And I wrote the very first song.”For the second time in as many minutes, the old lady’s trembling hands gathered up the phone–then dropped it again as the door burst open, an airborne, headless Angela flying through, slamming into Muriel and knocking them both to the floor.Stupid bitch, she thought, propping herself up on her elbows, feeling a heavy weight on her legs, knowing without looking it was Angela. Fat lot of good she was. Should have got rid of her ages ago. Probably let that bastard get in while she was canoodling with… Wait. Arnold? Was that really Arnold? I remember him taking my hand while I peed…Before she could finish the thought, the window over her bed exploded and millions of shards of razor-sharp glass filled the room, lacerating her arms, legs and face.ARNOLDWhen the alert came through he was eighteen parsecs away on Vestron VII, helping to quell an uprising organised by the anarchic Mykropian party in advance of upcoming elections, and he cursed himself for falling for the ploy.Although he’d been transferred to the President’s personal security division, the rebel leader Pleekvar knew he wouldn’t be able to resist returning to his homeworld to help the ground troops subdue the dissidents. He had knowledge of the land that would prove invaluable to their efforts, so it wasn’t a stretch to predict what he would do when he heard of the unrest. Anti-libertarian Mykropian scum tarnishing his beautiful Vestropolis? Unthinkable. Arr Nold Etibold couldn’t stand by while such a violation occurred. And he hadn’t. But by abandoning his post to rejoin his regiment he’d left his asset unguarded and given Pleekvar an opportunity to damage Terranean unity. He would be banished to the frozen wastes for such an indiscretion, so as soon as he received news of the security breach from the Capitol he knew what machinations were afoot and commandeered a Starhopper to take him from Vestron to Earth, a trip through the inner-cosmos that normally took several hours but he accomplished in one as he raced to avert disaster.A feat he was sure he had failed when he teleported down to the grounds of the manor and discovered the remains of a human female scattered across the lawn. I’m too late, was his first thought, We will lose the elections, the anarchists will seize power, the Terranean Nation will fall and I will live out my days on an ice-cold rock near Settren, were his second, third, fourth and fifth.Then he heard sounds of commotion from a room on the second floor and realised he still had a chance. He raced to the wall, used his tentacles to climb it, eyes narrowing into slits as he prepared for battle, reaching the window and smashing through, into the sleeping quarters of the one he’d sworn to protect, Muriel McCandless, now much older than she’d been when he left his post two days before, fourteen years older to be precise. She was on the floor, under a corpse, covering her head with twig-like arms as glass rained down around her. Arr Nold landed on a pink platform under the window as the assassin pounced into the room, placed a foot on the small of Muriel’s back, snaked its tentacles down towards her head. It glared at him while it coiled its limbs around her neck.“Kraachet, ve-rah-kell!” it snarled, and Arr Nold looked on in defeat, knowing he couldn’t do anything before the rebel ripped the head off the human. They’d hacked the Capitol’s data files. They’d found who they were looking for. They’d determined her location and knew they had time to take her out. They’d put a plan in motion and it had worked, they were seconds away from causing an election upset. Unless…The President would not be happy but there was only one thing he could do.“Daddy…We’re not alone,” he said, in perfect English, mimicking the voice of the five-year-old girl in the woods, the only thing she’d said beyond screaming when he took her from her family two weeks before, the words they’d recorded and used, buried in her subconscious as a trigger, to put her mind in a coma when needed.Beneath the rebel’s foot, Muriel’s body contorted, spine snapping, head twisting, neck breaking, eyes staring up at Arr Nold.“F-fuck you, Arnold,” she said. “You evil bas-” Her final word trailed off as her head exploded and from the hole in her neck came Vera Kell, howling as she grew from shrunken embryo to full size adult in a matter of moments. The rebel fell back, tentacles around the emerging President, becoming entangled with hers as they grew from her torso. It was trapped and it hissed and it roared, watching Vera Kell’s head fully form, her eyes blink open and stare. It took her a second to get her bearings but once she had she didn’t wait, opening a second vertical mouth in her throat and spraying a jet of corrosive acid from her guts, an act only females of the Terranean race could perform, an act Arr Nold could not watch.He stared at his feet while the anarchist screamed, at the unstable pink slab he was standing on and the earth-bird illustrated puffy material balled up at its end. Pretty, he thought. Looks soft. Inviting. Why don’t we have such niceties on…<<Arr Nold>> the President said, snapping him to attention and bringing his gaze back up, avoiding the steaming mass of goo by the door.<<Yes, Ma’am>><<What transpired today? Why the intrusion?>><<Anarchists, Ma’am. Pleekvar hacked the Capitol’s data banks. Found out you were vacationing on Earth in a human host with me watching over. Saw it as a chance to take you out of the running for re-election. Initiated an uprising on Vestron VII to lure me away. Sadly, I fell for it, thought they could use a local to help. Then he sent someone to eliminate you>> <<I see. But you found out?>> <<Capitol agents got wind of it and alerted me. I returned at once but too late to do anything other than wake you. I apologise, Ma’am>>Vera Kell grunted, looking around the room.<<Fuck>> she said, in her characteristic crude way.<<Ma’am?>> <<Couldn’t even get two shitting weeks to myself before starting on the campaign trail. This was a good life too, fun, but interrupted right before the end. What bullshit. Human passings are the best fucking bits>><<Sorry, Ma’am>><<Don’t apologise. I’m alive aren’t I? Thanks to you. Did you say that asshole Pleekvar orchestrated a rebellion on your homeworld?>><<Yes, Ma’am>><<Is it quelled?>><<No, Ma’am, I had to leave before…>><<Then what are we fucking waiting for? You have a ’Hopper I presume? Let’s get back to it! I’m in the mood for melting more anarchists. And then…I’m going to kick the living shit out of Pleekvar…>>And so, exiting a crime scene the likes of which had never before been witnessed, Vera Kell and Arr Nold left Manilow behind, singing:""We'll just go on burning bright,Somewhere in the night.""
","August 11, 2023 19:02","[[{'Aiyana Henderson': 'Wow Derrick. I wasn’t expecting that the President would get involved in this madness. However,I have more questions than answers. Is Muriel the kidnapped child? Did she turn into the monster? And why is the government involved? \n\nThroughout the story, I thought this was a tale of a child abuse victim getting revenge.', 'time': '10:36 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Hi Aiyana! Thanks for reading. :)\nNo, Muriel was abduced by aliens as a child in 1942. The 'President' of that alien race went inside her body like a parasite to experience a human life. This is what these aliens do to 'take a vacation'. \nBecause of the parasite, she grew up confused, angry, bitter and couldnt form close bonds with many people, tended to push people away but never knew why she was like that.\nShe didn't know the alien was taking a joyride inside her body. The alien was enjoying the experience of a human life.\nTime passes diff..."", 'time': '10:47 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Aiyana Henderson': 'Sounds fascinating.', 'time': '10:52 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Hi Aiyana! Thanks for reading. :)\nNo, Muriel was abduced by aliens as a child in 1942. The 'President' of that alien race went inside her body like a parasite to experience a human life. This is what these aliens do to 'take a vacation'. \nBecause of the parasite, she grew up confused, angry, bitter and couldnt form close bonds with many people, tended to push people away but never knew why she was like that.\nShe didn't know the alien was taking a joyride inside her body. The alien was enjoying the experience of a human life.\nTime passes diff..."", 'time': '10:47 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Aiyana Henderson': 'Sounds fascinating.', 'time': '10:52 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Aiyana Henderson': 'Sounds fascinating.', 'time': '10:52 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Thanks for going back and reading 'Faith of Thelma Fay'. It still is my favorite. I want to make it into a children's book.\n\nI haven't read this entry of yours yet. I am way behind on reading."", 'time': '14:21 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'L J': ""This was amazing ! At first, I was going to suggest to make it either sci fi or horror but as I Read further, I realized it worked!  POV' s nicely done. I was going to say Lovecraft  as well. I love a good horror story and this is on my list. \n\n I am also a huge Fanilow and I think he would be pleased to be part of this amazing PART 1 story. I hope to read more and thanks for giving me the honor of reading my entries! I'm following you as well!"", 'time': '18:31 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'BRILLIANT! Barry Manilow was my little sister’s teen favorite in her ‘20s, and I (gently) never let her forget it. I even saw him at an antique mall in Peoria, Illinois, with his cheesy bodyguard. That element so amped up the awesome, surreal comedy. That closing was priceless! Arr Nold — LOL! I greatly enjoyed it — this prompt really brought out some wonderful, imaginative stories. And this one was particularly effective after watching the first episode of Marvel’s Secret Invasion last night.', 'time': '13:01 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Hey Martin thanks for the kind words. Glad you got a kick out of it and enjoyed the humor!\nHaven't watched SI yet but it's on the list!"", 'time': '18:18 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Hey Martin thanks for the kind words. Glad you got a kick out of it and enjoyed the humor!\nHaven't watched SI yet but it's on the list!"", 'time': '18:18 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Great story, Derrick! I love the different POVs to tell the story, with the crooning of Manilow in such contrast in the background to what’s going on! Nice juxtaposition there! This gives new meaning to inner demons 😂 \nI enjoyed this!', 'time': '11:34 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Nina! I enjoyed writing it too. My first time trying jumping between POVs.\nYes....inner demons. Would explain a lot about a lot of people!', 'time': '06:16 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Nina! I enjoyed writing it too. My first time trying jumping between POVs.\nYes....inner demons. Would explain a lot about a lot of people!', 'time': '06:16 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Catalina Andronache': 'Ha ha! I started this a couple of days ago and it creeped me out, so I read it in two stages! I am quite...vanilla in my choice of horror and gore, but I do praise you on your imagery, very articulately conveyed. I might have metaphorically closed my eyes whilst reading some scenes, but I confess, some were disturbingly amusing. I am pretty sure I know people who behave like Muriel, I wonder if they are alien too???\nI love how the two points of view from which we explore this crazy and awesome tale come together to complete each of the chara...', 'time': '08:39 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""LOL I'm glad you came back to it after being grossed out and scared off! :)\nI know a lot of people who behave like Muriel.....i wonder!! :)\nThanks for reading and commenting!"", 'time': '06:17 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""LOL I'm glad you came back to it after being grossed out and scared off! :)\nI know a lot of people who behave like Muriel.....i wonder!! :)\nThanks for reading and commenting!"", 'time': '06:17 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Vid Weeks': 'Wow, a real knack to create tension in such a short space, thanks', 'time': '18:44 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thank you Vid!', 'time': '21:46 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thank you Vid!', 'time': '21:46 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Wow, this was like a whole novel in a short story! I loved the twists and turns you took, and feel like Muriel makes sense both as a human and as an alien. A shame her vaca was interrupted, but I’d love to see what adventure Muriel hops to next! Great story, as always!!', 'time': '04:53 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Anna! Whole Novel! Wow I'm.glad it felt like that to you. :)"", 'time': '21:47 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Anna! Whole Novel! Wow I'm.glad it felt like that to you. :)"", 'time': '21:47 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Chris Miller': 'Funny, silly and well written, Derrick. Great set of daft ideas really nicely combined.\n\nA very enjoyable read.', 'time': '20:20 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Hee hee. Yes! Threw a lot of stuff in the blender and this is what came out.\n\nGlad you had fun with it!', 'time': '20:51 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Hee hee. Yes! Threw a lot of stuff in the blender and this is what came out.\n\nGlad you had fun with it!', 'time': '20:51 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'Derrick, I thought you figured out how to be two places at once very well with this piece. \nThis story had it all. Aliens, humans and horror/gore with sci-fi elements interspersed. \nThe way one approaches a snippet of time compared to the other with a story in a story was intriguing and exceptional. \nParticularly how your artistry and humour become so real at some point. \nJust really enjoyable. LF6\nMay be one area to fix?\nMuriel had throw off her duvet and swung her spindly legs off the mattress,', 'time': '18:27 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Lily! Glad you enjoyed and thanks for catching that error. Theres always one that sneaks past!', 'time': '19:31 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lily Finch': ""Yes, it's true. Hate that! LF6"", 'time': '19:45 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Thanks Lily! Glad you enjoyed and thanks for catching that error. Theres always one that sneaks past!', 'time': '19:31 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lily Finch': ""Yes, it's true. Hate that! LF6"", 'time': '19:45 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lily Finch': ""Yes, it's true. Hate that! LF6"", 'time': '19:45 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Ha! What's nightmarish, gory horror for some, is an interrupted vacation for others :)\n\nGood characterization here, and we get hints of a terribly interesting origin story and life in Muriel - only to have it all discarded like a candy wrapper when the aliens are inconvenienced. The scale of the two life forms - of their capabilities, of their concerns - is dramatically different, and that comes across well. Even little details like how they measure time. A human lifespan is a fortnight to them.\n\nI got a Lovecraftian vibe from this, given al..."", 'time': '02:18 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Michal! Yes I dithered about the ending and original conceived one where Muriel lived. The word count forced my hand. Now I see this weeks prompt and it's a real 'doh!' moment!\nMaybe I can do an 'alternate ending ' lol\n\nSo glad to have made your acquaintance on here . Along with many others. I've had a tough few years and getting back to writing has really been a game changer. Always  appreciate your in depth commentary!"", 'time': '08:00 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Michał Przywara': ""Likewise! Definitely meet a lot of skilled people here, in a nice community. I've gotten tremendous value out of it, and it's enjoyable besides."", 'time': '22:01 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Michal! Yes I dithered about the ending and original conceived one where Muriel lived. The word count forced my hand. Now I see this weeks prompt and it's a real 'doh!' moment!\nMaybe I can do an 'alternate ending ' lol\n\nSo glad to have made your acquaintance on here . Along with many others. I've had a tough few years and getting back to writing has really been a game changer. Always  appreciate your in depth commentary!"", 'time': '08:00 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michał Przywara': ""Likewise! Definitely meet a lot of skilled people here, in a nice community. I've gotten tremendous value out of it, and it's enjoyable besides."", 'time': '22:01 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Likewise! Definitely meet a lot of skilled people here, in a nice community. I've gotten tremendous value out of it, and it's enjoyable besides."", 'time': '22:01 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'C. Charles': 'Wow, our stories were strangely similar this week lol this just kept getting bigger and bigger! Certainly scary, but with a sense of humour; Evil Dead meets aliens! Loved it!', 'time': '01:13 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I love that analogy! Evil Dead meets Aliens. That's it in a nutshell! Perfect! If I could expand it to a movie that could be the tagline!"", 'time': '08:02 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I love that analogy! Evil Dead meets Aliens. That's it in a nutshell! Perfect! If I could expand it to a movie that could be the tagline!"", 'time': '08:02 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Yeah, I thought I was reading one for this week's prompt. Sure you can bring her back to life. Five second rule or something.\nGood one!"", 'time': '22:40 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I know!!! Maybe a prequel. The day before Muriel's bedtime lol"", 'time': '23:34 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I know!!! Maybe a prequel. The day before Muriel's bedtime lol"", 'time': '23:34 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Katy B': 'I love the juxtapositon of horror and the homely in your story. Thank you for sharing!', 'time': '00:00 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Katy. And then I this week they have a prompt about an octogenarian who is more than they seem 😂😂😂 maybe I can do a Muriel prequel .. .kind of regret that she died now!\n\nI'll check your new story out soon . After ....chores!! 😂"", 'time': '07:48 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'C. Charles': 'I find that sometimes I write a story and the prompt the week or two later is something I’ve done too! So weird how that happens sometimes lol', 'time': '01:14 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Thanks Katy. And then I this week they have a prompt about an octogenarian who is more than they seem 😂😂😂 maybe I can do a Muriel prequel .. .kind of regret that she died now!\n\nI'll check your new story out soon . After ....chores!! 😂"", 'time': '07:48 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'C. Charles': 'I find that sometimes I write a story and the prompt the week or two later is something I’ve done too! So weird how that happens sometimes lol', 'time': '01:14 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'C. Charles': 'I find that sometimes I write a story and the prompt the week or two later is something I’ve done too! So weird how that happens sometimes lol', 'time': '01:14 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",uspyjk,GAIA OS 2.88.13v,Muthukumarasamy Vinodh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uspyjk/,/short-story/uspyjk/,Dialogue,0,"['Fantasy', 'Science Fiction', 'Fiction']",29 likes,"
The year was 2048 A.E.M., and Gavin was on his last patrol before his shift ended. The street was quiet; only the buzzing sounds of neon advertisements filled the air. The tablet attached to the car’s dashboard buzzed – it was Linda from headquarters.""God damn it, not her again,"" Gavin mumbled to himself, taking a deep breath before responding to the call. ""Hi, Linda! How are you doing?""""It’s Lieutenant Linda to you, Gavin.""""Of course, Lieutenant Linda, it rhymes,"" Gavin joked, a failed attempt at lightening the mood.Linda responded only with an awkward silence that, for the first time in his life, complete silence was too loud for Gavin.""Hmph,"" Gavin cleared his throat, shattering the silence, ""So! How can I help you, Lieutenant Linda?""""Not me, Gavin. How about society? I was just reviewing your work logs, and it appears you haven’t responded to any crimes in your vicinity for the past two weeks.""""Well, what can I say, ma'am? The streets are cleaner than ever. I can’t seem to find a single lawbreaker out there nowadays.""""Hold on to that thought, Gavin,"" Linda interjected. ""According to your logs, you haven't even logged into the CrimesNOW application.""""Come on now, ma'am, you know I don't trust these newfangled technologies. They're buggy and annoying.""""You're buggy and annoying,"" Linda muttered under her breath.""What was that, ma'am?""""Just follow the protocols, Gavin. We no longer dispatch crimes through the radio. All crime reports are now sent through the CrimesNOW application.""""Alright, fine, but I'm telling you, I'm 40 years old, ma'am. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.""""No, Gavin. In the force, we don't teach old dogs new tricks; we put them down."" With that, Linda ended the call.""What a bitch,"" Gavin grumbled.He parked the patrol car to the side and grabbed the tablet from the dashboard. The device had auto-updated, introducing a new app on the home screen after the update.""CrimesNOW. What a stupid name,"" Gavin smirked. Reluctantly, he logged in with his credentials. After some fumbling, he noticed a button labeled 'Respond.'“I mean people call during emergencies, imagine a robbery, you press 911 and call for help, you don’t open your app and log a crime, that’s retarded, I bet there isn’t going to be any crimes, this whole app is a stupid idea” -318 CRIMES HAVE BEEN REPORTED IN THE LAST HOUR. PLEASE SELECT ONE TO RESPOND-Gavin rolled his eyes, scanning through the list of crimes displayed on the screen.Report: ""Armed Robbery""Location: ""7-Eleven""""I'm too old for action."" He swiped left.Report: ""Fight in Progress""Location: ""Sassy Sasquatch""""Wait, isn't that the gay bar? They probably just wrestling"" Another swipe left.Report: ""Domestic Violence""Location: ""Apartment 265""""It's rude to interfere in other people's problems."" And another swipe left.He swiped left on most of the crimes until one particular entry got his attention.Report: ""UFO Sighting""Location: ""Oralando's Ranch""""Bingo.""Gavin tapped the 'Respond' button and the tablet screen switched to a GPS mode, plotting the route from Gavin's location to the ranch. It was almost dawn when Gavin steered left and parked his car beside the ranch entrance. A crowd had gathered near the barnyard, the ranch animals were acting agitated, and the head of the ranch, Mr. Orlando, was munching on his thick mustache as he watched Gavin exit the car.Gavin grabbed his megaphone from the car's trunk and approached the crowd.""Alright, everybody, the man in blue is here. Calm down now. So, did any of y’all manage to get a really low-quality image of the UFO?""Mr. Orlando stared at Gavin’s sarcastic remark.""Ermm, that won’t be necessary, Officer. The UFO is parked in the barn shed.""Gavin stood there with confusion written on his face.""Sorry, come again?""""It’s in there, Officer.”Gavin craned his neck over Orlando’s shoulder and looked at the barn. A strange light was emitting from the small gap in the large doors.""You're sure it was a UFO? Saucer-shaped and all?""""Yes officer, it's smaller than I expected, but shiny as my old man’s bald head. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on in. Hope you called in for backup, I heard them Alien folks like to probe their victims, you know, Anally?""""Yes I know what probe means, and it's okay, probably some jerk playing pranks, I'll go in alone, nothing dangerous...I hope.""Gavin slowly approached the barn doors, he pushed open the left door of the barn with his body gently, while peeking inside for any dangers.In the center of the barn, a spaceship that nearly hit the ceiling was parked. The windows were tinted. Gavin couldn’t see anything inside, except for strange lights flickering at intervals.Gavin slowly advanced towards the ship. It was solid from start to end, with no sign of doors or openings, just a highly reflective silver metal surface. The reflections of the surroundings were so crisp that the ship could almost camouflage itself in plain sight.""Whoever—or whatever—is inside, step out from the vehicle or ship with your hands in the air. You're trespassing on this farm, and on Earth.""Gavin aimed his pistol at the center of the ship.""Quiet type I see, well, I'm going to count to three. If no one says something or comes out, I'm going to shoot, 1…2…2.25…2.5…2.6..ah, what the hell.""Gavin fired a warning shot.Before even the bullet could hit the ship, it vaporized into thin air. Gavin was stumped. He looked around him, picked up a metal nut from the floor, and tossed it toward the ship.Just as before, as the metal nut was about to hit the ship, it vaporized, Gavin realized the ship had some sort of invisible barrier around it, like in the old UFO movies he had seen.Suddenly, smoke started pouring from the belly of the ship. Gavin stared at the ground beneath the ship as the smoke began to surround him. Small drones began to emerge from the smoke, scanning the environment.Gavin kept his gun pointed from one drone to another, ready to shoot, but they posed no threat. One of the drones glided up to Gavin, scanning him from head to toe.-SCANNING COMPLETED, NO HOSTILES DETECTED, ATMOSPHERE LEVEL STABILIZED FOR SAFE EXIT-Without any doors, two entities simply phased through the sides of the ship. They had elongated limbs and stretched-out necks. One of them wore a blue robe, while the other wore a red robe.""Woah, Christ on a cheesecake! Stay where you are, and lift whatever you have in the air before I shoot you!"" Gavin trembled as he pointed his gun at the two figures.One of the entities, the one in the blue robe, began emitting some distorted sounds through the mask, but it slowly got clearer.""Kan jy my verstaan?”""What?""“किं त्वं मां अवगन्तुं शक्नोषि?”""What the hell are you saying?""“现在怎么样？你能听到我吗？”""That's Mandarin, I heard it before from Mr. Cheng's noodle shop in Chinatown. I DONT A SPEAKU ENGLISHU, CAN YOU A SPEAK A ENGLISHU?""The entity in the red robe interjected, continued in Mandarin to the other entity,""他说的是英语，也许他是白人？""The blue entity started changing the frequency on its mask like a radio.""zzrrzzz, Can you understand me now?""""Finally! What the hell are you, what's going on? Are you aliens?""The entity in the red robe started adjusting its mask as well, and a feminine voice spoke from the mask.""Erm hi, can you understand me too?""""Why do you sound like a chick when you look like a disfigured giraffe? And take those masks off!""""Sorry, we are visiting Gaia after millions of years. Our organs are not yet ready to be exposed to the atmosphere. Removing the masks might endanger our lives.”The entity in the blue robe moved forward, ""We are not aliens. You don't call the manufacturers of that pistol you're holding aliens, do you?""""Manufacturers? Say one more stupid shit like that, and I'll blow your head off!""""Allow me to introduce ourselves. My name is Mary Athena, and this is my colleague, Mr. Zeus Christopher. To you, we may appear as aliens due to our unfamiliar appearance and our origins from outer space. However, rest assured, we are not aliens but the creators of the planet you inhabit, Gaia, which you might know as Earth.""Gavin stared at them with an expression of profound confusion.""I warned you!"" Gavin fired a shot toward Mary. However, his jaw dropped when the bullet simply phased through Mary and hit the barn wall.""I apologize if I have angered you, but your material weapons cannot affect us. We do not share the same physical properties as you.""Gavin dropped his gun. It was high time he aligned himself with reality and began to believe in the events unfolding before his eyes.""I am raised as a God-fearing catholic. The only creator of this universe I know of is God!""Zeus Christopher bowed in acknowledgment.""I'm glad you consider us to be such powerful beings. Is that what you call us, Gods?""""GOD! Not gods. And I meant the actual God, the Almighty, the father of Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.""""Jesus Christ?""Mary leaned over Zeus' shoulder and whispered something.""Oh! You mean Yeshua. Yes, we sent him down for maintenance.""""First of all, the Jews call him Yeshua, we call him Jesus Christ, So, what in the name of Christ do you mean by maintenance?!""""It's the same differences, Mr...?""""Gavin. Gavin Thomas.""""Mr. Thomas, Yesh...I mean, Jesus Christ wasn't the only engineer we sent, there is also Moses, Ahmed, and Krishna. Now and then, we send them out to deliver the appropriate training data sets to humans so that they stick to the development cycle. I mean, you know how artificial intelligence can be; they often tend to go rogue.""""Sorry, we are what now?""Zeus drew out a wand from his robe and waved it in the air. A small translucent screen appeared in front of Gavin.""Please give it a while. It's booting up.""-BOOTING OPERATING SYSTEM: GAIA…VERSION 2.88.13-Zeus positioned his face near the screen.-FACE RECOGNIZED. HELLO, MR. ZEUS. WELCOME TO GAIA. I AM ODIN. HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU? -""Odin?"" Gavin stuttered.""Oh, that's just our AI Assistant, Omniscient Data Intelligence Network (ODIN). He knows everything about the universe. Odin, could you please extract information on humans?""-CERTAINLY, MR. ZEUS -The screen began to cycle through images of humans, from the medieval period to modern history, and then the current dystopian era.-ANALYSIS COMPLETE, MR. ZEUS. THE FULL REPORT IS READY FOR REVIEW. -""Athena, please read the analysis to me,"" Zeus requested, handing the screen over to Athena.Athena shrank the screen to palm-size and began reading from it.""The analysis report spans from our last engineer's visit in 570 Common Era (CE) to 2048 A.E.M.""""A.E.M?"" Zeus looked at Gavin.""After Elon Musk. Earth was kind of a mess when Elon Musk was elected president in 2030, so we kind of reset the period by adding A.E.M to our dates to move on from him.""""Very well, Let's see how humans have progressed throughout the years.""As Mary began reading the report, her eyes widened.""Oh my, humans have been rather destructive for the past few centuries, Sir.""""How is that possible? All the training sets that our engineers used were intended to promote peace.""""I think they misinterpreted the data sets on their own, sir. Each Human AI developed its own violent tendencies, what they refer to as 'Mood Swings'. For instance, an AI that was designed to be an artist turned into a warmonger and almost wiped out an entire race.""""Do you mean Hitler?""""The name doesn't matter, Mr. Gavin. Moving on, another AI, known as Alice, dropped an atomic bomb that devastated the home of another AI called Japan.""""Okay, it's not Alice, it's Allies, and it's not one person, it's a coalition of countries. And hey, things ended well for Japan anyway. They are at the top in electronics manufacturing and are the proud creators of thousands of Hentai entertainments, which are legal in 37 countries.""""Again, that's not relevant, Mr. Gavin. The actions of humans have deviated from the path we had planned for them. This is not the intended use case for this project.""""Sorry, but what exactly is the use case?""Mary projected a 3D simulation of the Universe.""We are not alone in this universe, Mr. Gavin. We believe there are other advanced lifeforms like us out there. Our ultimate purpose is to create synthetic, intelligent AI life forms: an army of AIs to assist us in exploring the vast universe, finding these other life forms, and thriving in this harmonious bond. So, we sought to train our AIs in a way that they can also thrive in unity. Of all our creations, three life forms have shown signs of early trainable intelligence: Homo sapiens, dolphins, and ants.""""Wait, ants are as smart as humans?""""Have you ever observed them building a bridge using teamwork to cross a river? It's incredible. Yet, we picked humans. However, according to these reports, we were mistaken. Humans are not as intelligent lifeforms when compared to dolphins or ants.""""Hey! Dolphins jump through hoops for fish. We don't.""""Really?"" Mary glanced through the report, ""It says humans work 12 hours a day performing various hard labor in return for this paper currency known as money. How different is that from a dolphin, Mr. Gavin Thomas?""""Point. So, what now? you just going to abandon us and focus on dolphins now?""""No, Mr. Gavin. Primates show promising signs of trainable intelligence, so we're sticking with primates, just not humans.Perhaps chimpanzees, since dolphins are limited to aquatic biomes.""""Mary is right. Maybe in the next beta test with the chimpanzees, we should eliminate the elements of finance and religion entirely. After all, we had hoped that the concepts of religion and trade would promote unity, but apparently, they do not.""""So, what's going to happen to us now?""""As much as we'd like to leave humans on Earth, given your records, Earth has undergone severe damage since the beginning of human civilization. Multiple Earth AI species have gone extinct due to humans. Sir, I think it's best we scrap the human prototypes from GAIA.""""WHAT! No wait, hold on. There's no need to be hasty about this. I mean, we have done other great things too. Have you seen the artworks of Picasso, the music by Beyonce, or the great scientists like Oppenheimer? Well, maybe not him, but my point is we have achieved great things.""""Sorry, Mr. Gavin. We don't measure the IQ of a species individually, but rather collectively. That's precisely why ants are ranked alongside humans.""""Please, Mr. Zeus, I implore you to stop this crazy bitch from destroying humans, You know females are, they are quick to jump to conclusions,""""Mr.Gavin Mary Athena only took the voice of a female to be more comforting. Unlike humans, we don’t identify ourselves as any of the...”Zeus examined the report on the screen,“89 identified genders that exist on Earth Mr.Gavin. We are genderless. And Athena isn't being crazy, If we were to train the Chimpanzees, it will be tough for them to coexist along with such violent species like humans.”“Oh please, Have you watched Planet of the Apes, we can coexist together, please give us a chance”Mary and Zeus exchanged concerned looks, but Mary shook her head.“We will think about it, Mr. Gavin. We'll let the board decide.""Zeus waved his wand again. All the drones that were examining the barn withdrew back into the ship.""I bid you farewell, Mr. Gavin.""Zeus bowed again, followed by Mary, as they phased back into the ship.Gavin stood there for a while, digesting the fact that the humans were about to be scrapped. As the ship began to emit smoke again and started becoming invisible, the barn doors swung open wide again on their own.""Wait… Wait!"" Gavin screamed as he watched the ship vanish into thin air. He could hear the engine passing by, but he couldn't see anything.He ran toward the barn entrance only to see the local folks gathering around the barn with Mr. Orlando in the middle.“What happened, officer? You were in there for quite a while. Did you see the aliens?”Gavin stared at Orlando, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words emerged. He let his gun drop to the ground and began walking towards his car, Orlando and the crowd trailing behind.“Officer, wait! Where are you going? Tell us what happened.”Gavin's voice was barely audible as he murmured, “It's classified,” and continued walking.Orlando turned to the woman beside him, smirking, “Maybe the man in blue got anal probed.”Reaching his car, Gavin grabbed the tablet from the dashboard, swiped open the CrimesNow app, tapped on 'submit report', and began to type out his account of the incident he had just experienced:-“We're screwed.”-
","August 09, 2023 04:01","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Congrats on the shortlist and welcome to Reedsy.', 'time': '21:11 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Heavy weights newcomers. Congrats.', 'time': '19:49 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'David Nk': 'I really like the story! keep it up!', 'time': '13:46 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Altair 8213': ""That's an interesting story.Had an enjoyable time reading it!Congratulations!"", 'time': '13:36 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hello!\nCongratulations on the short list! I have to say that I loved the interaction at the very beginning of this piece even though it was a short one it set the tone for the entirety of the philosophical questions that were about to be asked. I also really appreciated that you incorporated so many details from history that we know well. This was an excellent take on the prompt!', 'time': '18:30 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",nvyp0y,A taste of progress ,Sean McDonnell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nvyp0y/,/short-story/nvyp0y/,Dialogue,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Speculative']",28 likes,"
 	Inside his belly, he could hear the screams of a thousand men and women. He laughed, and a city fell. On his morning jog, oceans sloshed and spilled over coastlines, drowning the praying tourists and locals; indiscriminating destruction, done without malice—without emotion. 	He belched, and with it came a collective cry for mercy. He shrugged. What was he to do about it? He had tried everything that he could think of, including but not limited to ingesting Ipecac, punching himself in the stomach, getting black-out drunk, eating ghost peppers, etc., etc. It only made him feel sick, and maybe some of them were vacated in the violent discharging of various bodily fluids, but these things were resilient. 	On occasion, when he was feeling particularly sympathetic to their situation, he would hold a speaker up to his belly and play his favorite concerto. The chaos in his gut would calm, and he'd feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. In those moments, he felt unified with these things within him. He pictured them sitting beneath grand oak trees, sunbathing upon rooftops, enjoying wine during a sunset (was there a sun within his belly?), and sleeping; what did these things dream of? 	Other times he would consider drinking the liquid plumber or throwing himself down the stairs. The coroner, the man thought, would certainly have a story to tell around a poker table after that autopsy. 	""And when I cut the man's stomach open,"" the coroner would say, ""there were a million dead beings. It was like Pompei; women and men huddled together moments before death, cities preserved by the copious amount of processed foods that this guy must have been consuming. I guess there are anthropological excuses for eating foods with preservatives. Right, fellas?"" 	Feeling rather dubious about his post-life experience, the man decided to see a doctor. 	An expression of repressed doubt lingered on the doctor's face long after the man had told him about them. 	""What about the constant smell of exhaust?"" he said to the doctor.	""We'll know in about a week when the labs come back, but as far as I can tell, you are the picture of a healthy forty-year-old man,"" said the doctor. He leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. ""When did you say that this started happening?""	""The feeling of—them?"" said the man.	""Yes, that feeling.""	""Well, I think it's been about three weeks now. It started as an unpleasant taste in my mouth then one morning I woke up to the sounds of hammering. The windows were shut—double-paned—and I don't live above or below anyone. I'm in a single-family home. And this hammering wouldn't stop."" 	The doctor approached the man and looked into his ear with the otoscope.	""Can you follow my finger?—just your eyes. Thank you, very good,"" said the doctor. ""Can you lay down for me? Well, you are a little bloated."" The doctor pressed lightly on the man's pelvis, then stopped suddenly. ""Hmm, I do feel something here. It's hard but seems to break up when I push on it."" 	The man winced.	""I think you just killed some of them.""	""It may feel like things are living in your stomach, but that would be a first,"" the doctor said with a wink. ""Why don't we do a quick ultrasound? We have the machine here, it shouldn't take much time, and we'd be able to spot anything obvious. Sound ok to you?""	""I am willing to do and try anything. More than this feeling, it's the thought that I'm responsible for these things. If I wanted that responsibility, I'd get a dog. Doctor, can I ask you a personal question?""	""Depends. Why don't you ask it, and we'll see if I can give you an answer?"" 	The doctor folded his arms and removed his glasses. 	""Do you have children?"" 	""Yes, I have three kids, all in college now."" 	""Do you like them?"" The doctor raised an eyebrow. ""What I mean is, do you ever wish you'd chosen the other path? The path where you ended up not having any kids."" 	""It's natural to think about what could have been, but I wouldn't change a thing. I love my kids. You don't have children, correct? Unless I'm missing that in my notes,"" said the doctor. 	""I'm only asking because, well, I wonder if this was a decision I made and not just a virus. It's a little embarrassing, but I did something a few weeks ago that I'm not entirely proud of,"" said the man. 	""What did you do?""	""You know those silica packs that come with food sometimes to keep it fresh?"" 	The man said in a whisper. The doctor leaned in to better hear him. 	""I accidentally cooked a pizza with one of those packs on top of it.""	""Did you eat the silica pack?"" said the doctor. 	""No, God no, I would probably be dead. Right? I took it off but was so hungry that I ate the pizza anyway."" The doctor smiled and patted the man's knee. ""I don't think that's it. Let's wait to see what the ultrasound shows.""	The room was cold, but the gel the nurse applied to the man's chest was warm. He pushed back the feelings of arousal that began to nag him. He thought about the things inside his stomach; was he being selfish for wanting to cut them out? For wanting to poison them? Then he thought, maybe I don't want that. Instead, perhaps I want to protect them, to support and nourish them. 	He considered his life. A single man with no partner on the horizon, no unique abilities or hobbies—no ambition.   	""This shouldn't take long; we just need to grab a few images from—"" the nurse stopped short. On the screen, there lived a breathing world; cities with high-rises, factories, rolling hills, and jutting mountains. The man beamed with joy. ""I don't understand."" 	The nurse was dumbfounded. 	""We're not alone,"" said the man, cradling his belly.
","August 07, 2023 19:02","[[{'Fernando César': 'Hi Sean, this is a very creative story. In the realms of surreal. I do prefer a bit more of context, you don’t explain what happened, how or what followed, but I guess that’s more of a personal taste :)\nI enjoyed the strong start and also some nice details in the descriptions: oak trees, he pushed back the feeling of arousal, etc.\nI do feel the man’s personality is not clear. He starts laughing and killing them rather blasé, but then he contemplates suicide and ends up on what seems a stressed doctor appointment. Seem that he feels about the...', 'time': '21:21 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Sean McDonnell': 'Thank you for your thoughtful comment! I intended to have this dichotomy between feelings of invasiveness and unity, but looking back at the story, it could have used breathing room to express that adequately. Again, thank you for the feedback, very helpful!', 'time': '04:25 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Sean McDonnell': 'Thank you for your thoughtful comment! I intended to have this dichotomy between feelings of invasiveness and unity, but looking back at the story, it could have used breathing room to express that adequately. Again, thank you for the feedback, very helpful!', 'time': '04:25 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Karen Corr': 'Loved it! Great story!', 'time': '13:18 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean McDonnell': 'Thank you! <3', 'time': '14:19 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean McDonnell': 'Thank you! <3', 'time': '14:19 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Carlton W. Gant III': 'Bro that was a trip and a half. Nice job!', 'time': '20:31 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Sean McDonnell': ""Hahaha! That's the reaction I was hoping for! Thank you!"", 'time': '04:27 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Sean McDonnell': ""Hahaha! That's the reaction I was hoping for! Thank you!"", 'time': '04:27 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",9tzokr,They're Here!,KG Green,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9tzokr/,/short-story/9tzokr/,Dialogue,0,"['Fantasy', 'Mystery', 'Thriller']",26 likes,"
The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie silver glow over the tranquil suburban neighborhood. The houses stood in solemn darkness, their windows reflecting the obsidian void.Among them, a standard residential house seemed to blend seamlessly into the quietude, but within its walls, a storm of fear was brewing.Tasmin dashed out of the house, her breath quick and erratic, panic etched across her features. Her eyes were wide, reflecting a terror that seemed to emanate from the very core of her being. The house's lights remained unlit, shrouding the scene in a chilling blackness, except for one source of light that sent Tasmin spiraling into hysteria.Above the house, an otherworldly glow pierced through the obscurity—an enigmatic light cast by a hovering UFO. The light's eerie luminescence painted Tasmin's features in alternating shades of terror and fascination. She stumbled back, her voice trembling as she whispered to herself in desperate disbelief.""No, We are NOT alone, they've come for me,"" she gasped, her words almost consumed by the night's oppressive silence.Her heart raced, the primal instinct to flee overwhelming her senses.With her nightgown billowing like a specter, Tasmin sprinted across the lawn, her feet barely touching the ground. She clutched her phone tightly in her hand, her fingers trembling as she struggled to dial her friend and confidant, Agent Naomi Spencer.""Please pick up,"" Tasmin implored in a strained voice, her words carrying the weight of her mounting dread.The screen of her phone illuminated her frightened face in the dark. She waited, each passing second a torment, until finally, Naomi's voice crackled through the connection.""Naomi, they're back. They're coming for me again,"" Tasmin cried out, her voice a mixture of desperation and raw fear.Naomi's voice held a sense of urgency, her concern palpable even through the phone's tinny speaker. ""What do you mean? Where are you?""Tasmin's breath hitched, the words tumbling out as she stumbled forward, her steps directed by sheer instinct. ""They're coming to take me away. Please don't let them take me away.""She burst into the dense forest that lay beyond the property, the dark canopy of trees engulfing her in a labyrinth of shadows. The unearthly glow from the UFO pursued her relentlessly, casting surreal and elongated silhouettes on the forest floor.As the light closed in, Tasmin's voice quivered on the edge of panic. ""I don't want to go. Don't let them take me.""Naomi's voice crackled over the phone, a lifeline in the chaos. ""I'm coming over. Try to hide and don't move.""The sound of Tasmin's frantic breathing and the rush of her footfalls merged with the background symphony of the forest—a symphony that suddenly crescendoed into a piercing, spine-chilling shriek.The light materialized above Tasmin, its brilliance casting her terrified visage in sharp relief against the backdrop of leaves and darkness.""No, no!"" Tasmin cried out, the sense of impending doom clawing at her heart. She knew Naomi wouldn't arrive in time to save her. Her world seemed to shrink to the single point of light that bore down upon her.In her car, Agent Naomi Spencer was a blur of motion, her uniform a badge of purpose and authority. Her grip on the phone was vice-like, and her voice was charged with a mixture of determination and panic. She roared into the phone as she heard Tasmin's screams.""Tasmin! What's happening? Tasmin?""Tasmin's voice, tortured and strained, pierced through the phone's receiver, echoing her terror through the night. ""No, don't! Get off me!""Desperation and helplessness intertwined in Naomi's heart as she fought against time and distance. ""Tasmin!""But then, as if the fabric of reality had shifted, the forest was plunged into silence and darkness once more. The unearthly light, along with the UFO, disappeared, leaving behind only the residual echoes of Tasmin's terrified cries. The void swallowed the spectacle, leaving only the faint sound of a phone ringing, punctuating the emptiness.Naomi's voice trembled, a mix of disbelief and dread in her words. ""Tasmin? I'm coming.""In the hushed aftermath, the forest lay still, a silent witness to the unfathomable events that had just transpired.As the night's unsettling stillness settled back in, the forest held its secrets close. The only tangible evidence of Tasmin's presence was her abandoned phone, lying amidst the foliage. It flickered with a faint glow, a lifeline severed, its unanswered calls a poignant reminder of the frantic struggle that had unfolded.Naomi's voice continued to resonate in the quiet, a mixture of disbelief and urgency. ""Tasmin? I'm coming."" Her words echoed through the car's cabin, a vow and a plea entwined.With her heart pounding, Naomi's grip tightened on the steering wheel. The headlights cut through the inky darkness, illuminating the winding path that led deeper into the forest.She knew the chances of finding Tasmin were dwindling with each passing moment, yet the unyielding fire of determination drove her forward.The trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their branches casting eerie, distorted shadows across the ground. The forest seemed to pulse with an ominous energy, its quiet eeriness amplified by the memory of Tasmin's desperate cries. Naomi's foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, her eyes scanning the terrain for any signs of her friend's presence.The minutes stretched into an eternity, and then, a glimmer caught Naomi's attention. She braked abruptly, her heart racing as she caught sight of something on the ground—a cellphone, its screen casting a faint glow.Naomi's breath caught in her throat as she retrieved the phone, its screen lighting up with a stream of missed calls and messages. She clenched her teeth, her mind racing as she pieced together the fragments of the night's events.""Tasmin,"" she whispered, her voice both a prayer and a vow.The darkness around her seemed to close in, but she refused to succumb to its weight. She scrolled through the call log, her fingers trembling, as if by sheer force of will she could unlock the mystery that had unfolded.The screen displayed the last call duration—a chilling reminder of the moment Tasmin's voice had been swallowed by an abyss of fear. The forest whispered with secrets, but it offered no answers.As Naomi's gaze lifted from the phone, she was met with the silent expanse of the forest. The trees stood like stoic sentinels, their branches rustling with a breeze that carried the scent of damp earth and pine. She felt a shiver of apprehension run down her spine, a sensation that went beyond the chill of the night air.Tasmin's plea still reverberated in Naomi's ears, a haunting refrain that refused to fade. She looked up at the canopy of stars above, their distant light seeming to hold the answers she so desperately sought. The universe itself felt vast and unknowable, yet somehow, in this moment, Naomi sensed a connection—an unspoken bond that stretched beyond the confines of the tangible world.With a determined breath, Naomi gripped the steering wheel once more. The night was far from over, and the search for Tasmin was only beginning. The forest held its secrets, but Naomi was determined to uncover them, to bring light to the darkness that had consumed her friend.She put the car in gear and followed the trail deeper into the woods, each turn a promise of discovery or perhaps a confrontation with the unknown. The night was fraught with uncertainty, but Naomi's resolve burned bright, a beacon of hope against the encroaching shadows.The forest embraced her, its mysteries unfolding one step at a time. And as the moon hung high above, casting its pale light upon the tangled undergrowth, Naomi pressed forward, ready to confront whatever truths awaited in the heart of the night.However, when Agent Naomi arrives all that remained was Tasmin's phone.
","August 09, 2023 18:58","[[{'Joe Parrillo': ""KG, what a frightening story! You have an amazing ability to grip the reader in the first sentence and then hold it throughout. My last comments are these--and I hope you read them as positive and encouraging--I was disappointed in the conclusion, because it was sort of anticlimactic. BUT! It made me wish you'd write more so we learn about what happened to Tasmin."", 'time': '20:17 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'KG Green': 'Thank you Joe for your kind words. I love any feedback to be honest so really appreciate your input.\nThe story is part of a larger project I will be wriitng in future so I thought I could use the first chapter as part of the prompt. \nHopefully be able to share a conclusion-ish at some point.\nThank you and have a love;y day', 'time': '09:13 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'KG Green': 'Thank you Joe for your kind words. I love any feedback to be honest so really appreciate your input.\nThe story is part of a larger project I will be wriitng in future so I thought I could use the first chapter as part of the prompt. \nHopefully be able to share a conclusion-ish at some point.\nThank you and have a love;y day', 'time': '09:13 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Heather OMara': 'I really enjoyed this.  It made me want to read more!', 'time': '19:29 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'KG Green': ""Thank you Heather, that's very kind of you to say. \nenjoyed reading your stories, love the reference to 'Friends'"", 'time': '02:58 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'KG Green': ""Thank you Heather, that's very kind of you to say. \nenjoyed reading your stories, love the reference to 'Friends'"", 'time': '02:58 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kim Field': 'This is gripping and made me want more. Great story KG', 'time': '09:08 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'KG Green': 'Thank you so much Kim', 'time': '09:09 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'KG Green': 'Thank you so much Kim', 'time': '09:09 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Smallwood': 'This was a page turner. Thanks.', 'time': '20:05 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'KG Green': 'Thanks Joe. Appreciate the comments from a wonderful writer like yourself.', 'time': '06:54 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'KG Green': 'Thanks Joe. Appreciate the comments from a wonderful writer like yourself.', 'time': '06:54 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Gripping story and writing. Beginning of something bigger?\nThanks for liking my road trip.\nThanks for liking my Nashville trip, too.😁', 'time': '19:15 Aug 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'KG Green': 'Thanks Mary, I do thoroughly  enjoy your stories.\nGreat spot and wriitng a possible X-Files themed story albeit in comic book form so hopefully turn this into something more fruitful.\nThank you', 'time': '06:56 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'KG Green': 'Thanks Mary, I do thoroughly  enjoy your stories.\nGreat spot and wriitng a possible X-Files themed story albeit in comic book form so hopefully turn this into something more fruitful.\nThank you', 'time': '06:56 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",r6ofmy,The X Factor,Chris Miller,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/r6ofmy/,/short-story/r6ofmy/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Contemporary', 'Horror']",25 likes,"
“In 1961 Dr Frank Drake made a list. He wrote down all the things you’d need to know to be able to predict the likelihood of finding intelligent extra-terrestrial life.” Dr Maurice Gaunt paced around his office as he delivered the lines that had opened dozens of freshman lectures. “Unsatisfied with his list, Dr Drake seasoned it with a few multiplication signs and realised that he’d done just that. The product was an estimate of the number of detectable civilisations in our galaxy.” 
 
	""Yeah, I’ve seen Cosmos with Carl Sagan. People have been messing about with the Drake equation for decades. Don’t tell me all you’ve done is come up with a new way to estimate one of the variables?” Cynicism was not exactly unusual in a journalist, but Ed Vane seemed hostile to Gaunt’s hypothesis before he’d even heard it. “Because you gave me the impression you had something a bit juicier than that.” Vane looked at his pad, not Gaunt, as he spoke. 
 
	Gaunt stopped pacing and looked at the small man in the threadbare office chair. The top of his bald head was almost camouflaged against the ossuary of obsolete computer equipment that scaled the ceiling-high shelves behind him. The dull, plaque-tinted plastic and nests of bundled cables were the exhausted tools of Gaunt’s trade, and the evidence of his inability to part with anything useful, even when it had ceased to be so.  
 
	“No. It’s a bit more than that.”
 
	“A new equation altogether?”
 
	“No. But I have a new factor. An essential factor that completely changes things.”
 
	“Ok. Let’s hear it.”
 
	Gaunt resumed pacing and addressing the class of hypothetical freshmen. 
 
	“N = R*•ƒ(p)•Ne•ƒ(l)•ƒ(i)•ƒ(c)•L, Drake’s equation. You know this. Its fame is possibly second only to E=MC².  R*: the rate of star formation in the Milky Way, home sweet home where we presently spiral. ƒ(p): the fraction of stars that have planets orbiting them. Ne…”
 
	“The average number of habitable planets in a solar system.”
 
	“Very good! Sing it with me now, f(l)…” 
 
	“Thanks. But now we get to the tricky bit. The factors where we depend on estimations are where the legit minds have found themselves rolling around in the mud with the grassy knoll gardeners and conspiraholics Qanonymous. So please tell me you’ve got something I can get my teeth into and you’re not just rocking a tin foil Stetson.”
 
	Gaunt had been doubted before. 
 
 	“I’m more of a fedora man. Felt, not foil.” 
 
	“Because there have been some unkind rumours about the inspirations of some of your previous hypotheses.”
 
	“In the information age anyone with anything to say must expect to hear back from an audience who don’t know how to listen. As I was saying; f(l) is the fraction of the habitable planets that might produce life. What’s life? Anything; flora, fauna, single celled, reality TV contestants. The bar is low. What matters is f(i), of those planets with life, which are home to intelligent life. Then f(c); which of the intelligent life forms develop radio comms, and finally L; the length of time the civilisation in question survives and attempts communication.” 
 
	“Ok. So what? So far I could have just watched a couple of Youtube videos and done some Googling. Spare me any more intro, I need to know what you’re up to here, and if it’s worth our time.”
 
	Gaunt took a seat behind his cluttered desk. The introductory lecture was over. It was time for a seminar. He steepled his fingers and stared at the small bald man until he looked up from his pad, his eyes large and dark in the half light of the quiet office. 
 
	“What do the last four factors have in common?” asked Gaunt.
 
	“They’re all estimates, open to wildly varying interpretations, potentially giving a vast range of results.”
 
	“Yes, all estimates. Estimates based on us. Based on our experience and the data we have on our own existence and progress. This is necessarily the case; it’s all we have to go on. We must extrapolate from what we know.”
 
	“Right. So what?”
 
	“So, the data we have to go on has changed somewhat since 1961. Since the year Shepard chased Gagarin into space, we’ve been busy. The population of the world has more than doubled and our ability to observe human behaviour has completely changed. If we’re going to use ourselves as the basis of our estimations then we have to use a true, up-to-date version of ourselves.”
 
	“Well that just alters the estimates. It’s not a new factor.”
 
	“But there is a common factor. Something I’ve observed that stands alone. A monolith rising from the petri dish of human neuroses that is the internet. My new factor. When this new factor is applied to the equation it doesn’t just give us an idea of how many detectable civilisations there are in our galaxy, it makes it more or less impossible that we haven’t already detected them.”
 
	“Or that they haven’t detected you.”
 
	“Exactly.”
 
	“So, what’s the factor?” said Vane, looking back to his pad, pen poised.
 
	Gaunt was on his feet again. He turned to the window, extended a finger and split the venetian blinds with a metallic click. A muggy day under a duvet of grey cloud. A single student sat on the concrete wall next to the entrance to the humanities building. The student stared at their phone.
 
	“I’m not sure what to call it. It’s been ‘The Monolith’, it was ‘The Universal’ for a while. For publication purposes I think we better go with ‘The X Factor’ but to me it’ll always be,” Gaunt splayed his fingers and stretched out an imaginary billboard above his head, “The Asshole Factor”. 
 
	“The Asshole Factor?”
 
 	“Indeed.”
 
	“Because…”
 
	“Because it is an inescapable fact evidenced by even the most cursory survey of the information published on the internet by a huge swathe of the world’s population, that people are, I’m sorry to say, assholes. Not all of them, present company excepted of course, but a significant number of the self-selecting narcissists who act out their lives online. So what? I hear you peevishly preparing to say – they’re self-selecting, not representative. But nonetheless they must be included in our calculations. If a significant percentage of us are assholes, then in order to be consistent, we must extrapolate on that basis.” 
 
	“You’re mad, Gaunt. You should drop this. For your own good.” Vane snapped the lid onto his pen and slipped it into his pocket. 
 
	""I must admit my reputation has been tarnished by some of my publications and public statements over the years, but what can I say? My research has occasionally benefited from motivating people to send increased amounts of online traffic my way.”
 
	“You’ve been provoking people on purpose to prove your point and strengthen the hypothesis underlying your factor?”
 
	“Yup. If you want to study the hive mind then sometimes you have to kick the hive.”
 
	“So how does the inclusion of the Asshole Factor, The X Factor, lead you to the conclusion that contact has already been made?”
 
	“Multiplication by the final factor increases the number of civilisations to such a level that we could barely avoid each other if we tried. We are not alone, Ed. And if we haven’t met them, it’s because they’ve chosen to remain hidden.”
 
	Vane dropped his pad to the floor at his feet and stood with a sigh. 
 
	Gaunt turned casually back to the window and peeped again through the blinds. The student was gone. The slice of Earth he could see stood still and grey.            
 
	“And why do you think we chose to remain hidden, Maurice?” said Vane, his voice at Gaunt’s ear.
 
	“My best guess on the data available, Ed…” Gaunt turned to face Vane who stood breath-smelling close to him. “Because you’re assholes.”
 
 	“True,” said Ed, his face splitting vertically, opening into a black-gummed maw that slapped shut with a wet clap around Maurice Gaunt’s head. 
 
","August 10, 2023 11:39","[[{'Michał Przywara': 'Ha! Spend enough time online, and it\'s hard to argue against such a factor. \n\nI\'m reminded of some economic theories based on ""homo economicus"", which posit that humans are basically rational actors acting in their own best interest. A lovely idea, and it seems quite divorced from reality. Gaunt appeared to recognize this idealized view of ourselves and accounted for it in a very different field - although his finding isn\'t so much that we\'re irrational, but rather, we\'re just assholes. \n\n""Not all of them, present company excepted of course""...', 'time': '20:37 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Thanks Michal. \n\nYes, ""present company excepted"" was a contender for the title. \n\nI like to think that if he really believed in his own conclusion then he wouldn\'t be surprised to meet an alien, or that it was not a positive experience. \n\nThanks for reading and leaving your usual thoughtful comments.', 'time': '21:07 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Thanks Michal. \n\nYes, ""present company excepted"" was a contender for the title. \n\nI like to think that if he really believed in his own conclusion then he wouldn\'t be surprised to meet an alien, or that it was not a positive experience. \n\nThanks for reading and leaving your usual thoughtful comments.', 'time': '21:07 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""I was going a little cross eyed with the science but also absolutely fascinated by it.\nEducational AND fun.....and what a super abrupt slap you in the face when you're not looking twist ending!\nFabulosa!"", 'time': '13:55 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers Derrick! Thanks for reading.', 'time': '17:32 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers Derrick! Thanks for reading.', 'time': '17:32 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Katy B': 'I love when stories experiment with the addition of scientific or mathematical principles. Thank you for another great and creative story!', 'time': '23:58 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers, Katy. Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.', 'time': '06:35 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers, Katy. Glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.', 'time': '06:35 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Anna W': ""What an incredible twist! I enjoyed this story so much. Your writing is smart and intriguing. Your dialogue is witty, and I love the banter between the characters. I especially loved this line: \n\nIf you want to study the hive mind then sometimes you have to kick the hive.\n\n*chef's kiss* really well done!"", 'time': '20:06 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Thanks, Anna! Very high praise, you are too kind. Thanks for reading and taking the time to leave such lovely comments.', 'time': '20:19 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Thanks, Anna! Very high praise, you are too kind. Thanks for reading and taking the time to leave such lovely comments.', 'time': '20:19 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'Excellent piece introducing me to ""equations"" that I did not know existed. Surprise ending. Your phrasing and vocabulary are also professional. Great job.', 'time': '17:57 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Thanks very much, Bruce. Very pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment.', 'time': '17:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Thanks very much, Bruce. Very pleased you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment.', 'time': '17:59 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Unexpected clap at the end! Excellent as usual.😱\n\nThanks for likingy idea.', 'time': '16:16 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers Mary!', 'time': '17:08 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris Miller': 'Cheers Mary!', 'time': '17:08 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",y61s7b,Love in the Time of Asthma,Katy B,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y61s7b/,/short-story/y61s7b/,Dialogue,0,"['Speculative', 'American', 'Latinx']",24 likes,"
The mask swam elephantine and bug-eyed in the dark glass. After several years of passing the auto shop, whose empty windows were the only ones between the drilling fields and the motel left unboarded, Tommy still struggled to recognize the reflection as his own. He stopped absently to observe himself. It was dawn. The sun pink as a freshly peeled blister behind its film of dust cast downtown into streaks of gray shadow and warbled rose. It accentuated the muffled slurp of the mask, the clouds of dirt rising from the shuffle of what feet were left in the city, the earth splintered by the heat and the long drought. The narrow and grimy windows set into once-white brick warped his image: his back bulged to an unnatural size while the plastic tubing of the mask stretched like the searching proboscis of a butterfly. His entire silhouette glowed with an aura. Down the broken sidewalks behind him drifted a procession of those who were like himself anonymous and headed in early morning stupor back to their living quarters. It was unsafe to loiter on the streets. But Tommy’s exhaustion and the strange fascination of the glass held him there. Just before he tore himself away, the light snagged on something glittering like ice in the street behind his distorted reflection.Tommy stiffened and turned slowly. There were only a few others returning from the fields with ration bags in hand. All masked, all unable to care about his actions. He tried to act as though he’d simply decided on a whim to cross the street — Tommy had nearly lost the faculty of spontaneity and could not remember how it was performed, or how to seem nonchalant now he no longer had a face — and landed by design some twenty feet up from the Object. Of uncertain color but certainly a species of bottle, it contrasted sharply with the gray silt in which it was partially buried. Tommy’s heart began to beat faster. He tried to slow down without the appearance of slowing. His sweaty palms chafed against the plastic bags wrapped tightly round both hands.As he drew level with the object, he feigned a stumble and dropped the bag from his right hand. Two bottles of water, a can of chickpeas, a box of replacement air filters and a small tube of toothpaste spilled and rolled in every direction. He bent and began collecting the items, staring directly down, keeping the Object just out of sight, burning a hole through the top of his head. Finally he risked a glance toward it. It was what he’d hoped. With a violent surge of adrenaline he scooped it up and dropped it in with the toothpaste. His fingers were shaking.**********Tommy shut the door to Unit 108 and tested the lock several times before releasing the elastic strap and let the mask fall, dangling haphazardly from the bag tied round his rib cage. The scream of the filtration unit fitted into the window used to keep Tommy awake, but it didn’t bother him anymore. Just like the swollen, burning, angry throat and the ache in the southern tips of his lungs didn’t bother him like they did at first. The masks helped a little outdoors, navigating the perpetual dust of the air, and the filter screeched day and night, but sometimes he woke up sick to his intestines like he’d smoked a whole pack of cigarettes the night before. And now despite the obvious absurdity he worried the Object had disappeared, that like a fiery brand it might have melted through the plastic bag, rolled away and been lost forever. A quick paw-through reassured him: Baclofen Injection USP. 20,000 mcg per 20 mL. It was a miracle.He looked up. Pilar was standing in the middle of their dining table, sweeping the ceiling. A flicker of annoyance distracted Tommy momentarily. His wife’s bony, angular face was pulled into an expression of serious rumination, jaw clenched to reveal hard lines of bluish vein. She tried unsuccessfully to shake the dark hairs escaping from her headscarf out of her eyes.“Ay, Pili, give it a rest already,” he groaned. “It’s too much. You don’t have to do so much.”But she just shook her head harder and scrunched her mouth into the maddeningly stubborn expression he’d grown to understand was impossible to contradict. “What’s the point of staying alive just to live like pigs?” she replied. She’d made it her daily and Sisyphean task to purge the apartment of dust: dust that made it under the door, through the boarded windows or the infinitesimal cracks of walls, settling daintily on surfaces before the filter could catch them. Tommy threw up his hands in disgust. “Okay, Pili, whatever you want. I guess you like this kind of thing, I don’t know.” He’d just let her break her back sweeping the broom into the oddest corners, wear out the rags she insisted on dampening with their precious water supply, sift through the flour jar with the fixation of a prospector. He sat on one of the folding chairs and picked up one of the tortillas she’d set out for them. As always he expelled a cloud of dust on the way down and grit his teeth against silt mixed in with the flour. All that for nothing, Pili, he thought with savage satisfaction, glaring at her feet still on the table and the dust raining on his head. He came home after spending the cool of the night drilling wells in the desperate search for water and this was what he could expect?With a lurch of guilt he remembered at last the drug.“Hey, listen, Pili,” he started, still chewing. He felt his voice shift low and rapid. “I found some today. I don’t know where it came from but it’s labeled and sealed and everything. Gabriel —”Pilar shot him a warning look and pressed a thin finger to her lips. Tommy glanced at the sofa bed.Their son lay still and silent among his pillows. For the first time that morning Tommy became aware of the scratchy music rising softly from Pilar’s disc player above the filter. One of her old movie soundtracks — the only music that could ever lull Gabriel into calm. “I’m laughing at clouds so dark up above, the sun’s in my heart and I’m ready for love, let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place, come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face …” Gene Kelly’s old-school croon seemed to Tommy like communication from not only a bygone era but a different planet — when had been the last time he’d heard laughter or seen clouds, let alone storms or rain? When (and again the lurch of guilt made itself felt) the last time he’d been “ready for love”?“He’s been listening on repeat all night,” Pilar whispered. “It’s his favorite.”Tommy stood and looked down at Gabriel. He was awake — his bulbous gray eyes blinked slowly in his gray enlarged skull, features common to all children born within the past decade of asthma. The skin of his face resembled paper pulled taut over his skeleton, positioned above a small and emaciated body. Born too soon — too small — too silent — spasming almost since his first hour. Like an alien; Tommy remembered that had been his initial thought. But almost simultaneously he’d felt a constriction of the chest and a rush of nerves that he knew without rational decision had doomed him to devoted service for all eternity. This physical sensation had slowly replaced the careful reasoning and passionate emotion Tommy used to identify with love; sometimes he wondered if it weren’t a cheap substitution, but other times it seemed much stronger and better.Whichever was the case, he felt it now and felt it bad. “Look in the bags, Pili,” he murmured without looking away.He heard her jump to the floor with a grunt and the rustle of the plastic as she hunted through the rations. “Two waters, that’s good,” she muttered, “no flour, what are we gonna —” Pilar interrupted her own chatter with a sharp inhale. Tommy broke his concentration to meet her startled, almost frightened gaze. Between her fingers she turned the bottle of clear fluid. “Baclofen? But there hasn’t been — no one can get it — Lula told me that — not anywhere for months — but what if it’s not safe?” “Hey, I don’t know, okay? There’s nothing else we can give him for seizures. I don’t want to watch him in pain if I don’t have to. It’s still sealed and everything, what do you want me to do, get rid of it?”“By injection though — I just don’t think —”Tommy grabbed her by the shoulders. “Think what? We don’t have time to think, Pili. If you stop to think you die. You choke to death or seize to death or starve or dry up like a dead lizard. We’re alone, do you understand that? All alone. Nobody else is gonna help us.” Suddenly he realized there were tears leaking from the corners of his wife’s eyes. Her shoulders heaved with suppressed sobs. He dropped his hands and took a step back.Bang bang bang.The room rattled. Dust overlooked in Pilar’s sweep or else accumulated since she’d set down the broom floated off of surfaces and tinged the room sepia. Gabriel began to cry.“Tomás Correa, open up.”“Pachecos,” he hissed. Pilar squeaked and thrust the drug into the front pocket of her soiled apron. The powerful knocking continued. The door shook on its hinges. Tommy lunged at the door, undid the locks, and yanked it open breathlessly.Oscar Fucho strode into the room. A tall, muscular man with pockmarked face and grizzled buzz cut, it was easy to see why the guerillas had been drawn to him as moths to a flame. Tommy himself only dimly remembered that they had been close friends once. Another planet. Like “Singin’ in the Rain.”“What a glorious feelin’, I’m happy again …”For a while neither of them spoke. Tommy looked Oscar up and down from the crown of his head to his combat boots. Past his shoulder Tommy saw two thugs standing in menacing quiet, rifles held crosswise over their chests, fingers over the trigger held still with the stillness of charmed snakes. Their repurposed patrol cars sat in the lot, “OKLAHOMA CITY POLICE” still legible across the Crown Victorias’ battered and graffitied exteriors. Oscar looked at Tommy and seemed to sneer at, or perhaps pity, Tommy’s tattered and colorless denim. Pilar was quaking, glancing between the two of them with a hand over her mouth. Gabriel’s weak cry subsided to a whimper.At last Oscar broke the silence. “You been mistreating her, huh?” he asked, indicating Pilar’s face streaked with tears.“N—” Tommy started, but Pilar yelped “No!” with such force that even Oscar seemed taken aback. God bless it, woman, Tommy thought, you’ll give us away.“Well, keep it that way, huh, Tommy?” Oscar stepped over to the table and sat down in Tommy’s chair. With unease Tommy watched him begin to poke through the bags as though listlessly.“Hey, what do you want, Oscar?” Heat rose in Tommy’s throat. “I’ll do whatever it is. Just get out of here and leave my wife and son alone.”Oscar left the table and joined Tommy, overlooking the couch. “How’s he doing, man,” he said. Tommy scowled.“Fine. He’s fine.” With courage he felt inspired to add, “His seizures have been real bad since the shortages. He got withdrawals.”“Everyone’s got palsy and no one’s got meds,” Oscar said meditatively, nodding, as if the two of them were still friends. As if cerebral palsy were a minor inconvenience like a hangover or bad weather.“Come on with the rain, I’ve a smile on my face …”“Well, Tommy,” Oscar sighed, folding his hands behind his back. “Some of the guys told me you pick up something outside the old mechanic’s.”Tommy’s heart turned sick and cold. So the pachecos — the guerillas had proudly adopted the once derisive epithet — were watching, had seen him the whole time — you could never be cautious enough.“You didn’t report it to us? Why, Tommy? Come on. What’d you find.” Oscar spoke quietly, almost soothingly. Tommy saw him for a moment as the best man at his long ago wedding. Then it was like his mind’s eye refocused and he saw him as a terrorist, the harbinger of torture and privation. He felt a sharp sting in his throat and began to cough.“You don’t have to talk. Just hand it to me.”Tommy’s mind raced. Maybe it was better just to hand it over. The Baclofen was the only way to soothe Gabriel, but amateur injections were dangerous. Maybe they couldn’t use it at all. And how long would it really last? Just a little more time, and all of it filled with pain and the sleepy dusty darkness and the solitude, the constant scream of the filters and the hazy sun always bloody pink and threatening. The curtains, always drawn. Not for the first time did Tommy wonder for an instant whether Gabriel were better off dead. With a sudden motion Pilar flung something small and clear up from her apron pocket at Oscar’s face. Tommy lunged involuntarily, eyes bulging, to snatch it from the air, then checked himself and pulled back in surprise. “If you want it you can have it,” Pilar spat, the bitterness in her voice authentic.But it was a half-filled water bottle, not the Baclofen.Oscar caught it and turned it over in hands blackened by sun and grime. He raised an eyebrow and looked Pilar full in the face. She was ashen pale with rage and fear. Her lips quivered.Oscar turned to Tommy coolly. Their eyes met in full knowledge. He’ll kill us or something, Tommy thought in terror, don’t hurt them you can’t I will kill you first I swear to God I —“Thank you, Pilar.” Oscar did not break eye contact with Tommy. “Okay Tommy. Next time you turn it in as soon as you got it, got it?”Tommy blinked and opened his mouth stupidly. Oscar grimaced — with sympathy? embarrassment? the closest approximation to a smile he had left? — and tossed the water lightly back to Pilar. He signaled to his thugs, who grumbled and lumbered back to the patrol car. “Hey man,” Oscar said so quietly his lips barely parted. “You be good to them, alright? Stay low, huh? I don’t wanna see you again.”Something very light rushed to the top of Tommy’s head. He thought he might pass out. Instead he laughed, high and hysterical. He laughed until he couldn’t see anymore. “Yeah,” he managed to choke out. “Yeah …”Oscar jerked his head upward in a familiar nod. He slammed the door behind him and went back to his pachecos. Tommy watched him through the peephole, warped and microscopic, swing into the back seat. He heard the tires screech on the way out of the lot.Instinctively Pilar went to him. They looked at each other. Then they looked at Gabriel. “He’s okay,” she whispered. Tommy kissed her gently. She kissed him back. He moved to hold her from behind, burying his face into the gap between her jawline and collarbone and breathing her in. As if his embrace were enough to protect them — as if it meant anything more, or less, than her neurotic tidying.“Tommy? You're wrong. We’re not alone.”Tommy looked at their son and considered. It was true. It was true even though they were only three organic specks on a long-dead rock spinning with the reckless speed of despair. Three bodies hiding flickering warmth in the frozen expanses of empty space, dying yet still alive. The whole of the living universe resided within them — man, woman, and the life they’d managed against all odds, almost out of spite, to squeeze with fear and trembling from an unforgiving and hostile earth, alone together and never alone.“I’m dancin’ and singin’ in the rain ... ”
","August 11, 2023 23:46","[[{'Kevin B': 'What I love about the story is the dignity you provided to the characters. I think stories like this sometimes fall into the trap of centering everything around despair, and I was glad to see you finding ways to highlight their humanity.', 'time': '16:17 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you so much for reading, Kevin! I dislike the ceaseless melodrama of a lot of apocalyptic literature and was inspired partially by Walker Percy\'s ""Love in the Ruins"" for this story :)', 'time': '22:32 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you so much for reading, Kevin! I dislike the ceaseless melodrama of a lot of apocalyptic literature and was inspired partially by Walker Percy\'s ""Love in the Ruins"" for this story :)', 'time': '22:32 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'I tackled this prompt too. I can see you captured better than most. Congrats.', 'time': '12:27 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you, Philip!', 'time': '20:19 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you, Philip!', 'time': '20:19 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Well done Katy. Another great story. Not surprised, thought it might win!', 'time': '08:25 Aug 19, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you, Derrick!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you, Derrick!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Anna W': 'Great story! You took me right into the tale, into the characters’ lives with your excellent writing. Loved it Katy!!', 'time': '04:36 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you so much, Anna!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you so much, Anna!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': ""Very bleak, very nice. Every part of this story feels like life fighting hard as hell against all odds. That's the conclusion, but it's also in every one of their actions. It's when he takes a risk to pick up the Object. It's with her obsessive cleaning, despite it being futile. Every step of the way is a refusal to give up. \n\nIt's not exactly a happy ending. Introspective, perhaps. But it is lighter than the heavy tone of the world.\n\nEye catching title too :) Thanks for sharing! \n\nETA: congrats on the shortlist!"", 'time': '21:58 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you Michał -- and congratulations to you, as well! :)', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you Michał -- and congratulations to you, as well! :)', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Chris Miller': 'Lovely grim bit of dystopia, Katy. \n\n""Pink as a freshly peeled blister"" is very good, but did you mean marbled rose instead of warbled?\n\nThanks for sharing.', 'time': '20:39 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you Chris!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you Chris!', 'time': '20:20 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'C. A. Janke': 'The opening was so effectively unsettling (""The sun pink as a freshly peeled blister"" was particularly nasty in the best way!) but really the whole story feels so full and rich. I feel like I have a sense of the whole world even just from this snippet of one life within it. \n\nApocalypse stories freak me out, but one thing I always love about them is the humanity and almost stubborn determination to keep going that always seems linger in people. I love the way you showed that at the end with Oscar making that choice to help Tommy in his own w...', 'time': '00:27 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': ""Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment!!! I'm glad it resonated with you :) and congratulations on your shortlist this week!"", 'time': '20:21 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'C. A. Janke': 'Congrats to you as well!!', 'time': '22:01 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Katy B': ""Thank you so much for your thoughtful comment!!! I'm glad it resonated with you :) and congratulations on your shortlist this week!"", 'time': '20:21 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'C. A. Janke': 'Congrats to you as well!!', 'time': '22:01 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'C. A. Janke': 'Congrats to you as well!!', 'time': '22:01 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Lily Finch': 'I felt a Willy Loman moment in this story. \nTommy and Oscar and their relationship reveal were sobering when Oscar allows himself to be shown truly to the reader; Tommy supporting his wife and vice versa. \nJust well done. Despite being disparaging, having one another is better than nothing. LF6', 'time': '19:15 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you, Lily! I really like the Willy Loman comparison :)', 'time': '21:18 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you, Lily! I really like the Willy Loman comparison :)', 'time': '21:18 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kelsey H': ""I feel a bit stuck record when every time I comment on your stories I'm like - I love your writing! But I really do. The ability you have to create a sense of place and the characters lives there and their emotions and take the reader right inside it is topnotch. \n\nThe descriptions of the family trying to survive in this dust filled world and still somehow retain their hope and humanity is really beautiful and also haunting, its not like its an impossible future to imagine! \n\nI especially loved the whole sequence with Oscar coming to Tommy's..."", 'time': '01:05 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': ""Thank you, Kelsey! You've certainly been one of my favorites since Day 1 :)"", 'time': '18:45 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': ""Thank you, Kelsey! You've certainly been one of my favorites since Day 1 :)"", 'time': '18:45 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Please ,please, please leave it as is. Near perfection as always.\n\nCongrats on the shortlist 🥳🎉🎉. You are always a winner 🏆.\n\nI have never won on Reedsy but I have some good news.\nI won my genre at Killer Nashville The Claymore Award this weekend. \nSo I am way behind on my reading here.\n\nThanks for reading and liking my donuts and Killer Nashville entries.', 'time': '00:20 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you for the words of encouragement, Mary!', 'time': '18:46 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you for the words of encouragement, Mary!', 'time': '18:46 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Fabulous. Heartbreaking of course and quite bleak. But they have each other, that's something. \nLike that you left the resolution regarding using the medicine or not up in the air \n\nI think you are missing the word 'hand' from when he drops the bag. (dropped from his right).\n\nGreat writing Katy. As always!"", 'time': '08:35 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Katy B': 'Thank you for the kind words and for spotting that error!', 'time': '18:44 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Katy B': 'Thank you for the kind words and for spotting that error!', 'time': '18:44 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Katy!\nWhat a thrilling tale of hope! I loved that. This story was primarily focused on the family, and I thought that the conflict felt both tragic and realistic. I also really appreciated the incorporation of that song because it’s such a wonderful tune, and instantly gave me a sense of innocence surrounding your characters. Nice work and congratulations on the shortlist!!', 'time': '19:56 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Cecilia Englishby': 'Amazing Katy! \nI really enjoyed this read. ❤️\nA massive well done on the shortlist!!', 'time': '17:56 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Katy B': ""//Edit: thank you all for the feedback, looks like I'll be leaving the story as-is :) The story was inspired by the very poor air quality where I live.\n//\nI'm not sure how I feel about this story. I've been struggling creatively and I really wanted to write something post-apocalyptic this week. This is what I ended up with. Please please please let me know any suggestions you might have."", 'time': '00:57 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",o13qwo,Visitor,Mel Màkaw,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o13qwo/,/short-story/o13qwo/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Contemporary']",18 likes,"
VISITOR
by
Mel Makaw
 
 
	The more I got to know my new neighbor, the more I liked her. She was a little mysterious, you might say, but she was curious and enthusiastic, and she laughed easily. I thought we might become good friends.
	She hailed from somewhere in the Midwest. Iowa, I think she said, although I often get Iowa mixed up with Ohio, so I’m not really sure. She was excited about being a new Oregonian and was determined to “leave the past behind.”
	“Hi!” she’d waved and called from the house next door, the very day the moving van was there, and a couple of burly young men were unloading her household belongings. I was unloading groceries from my car; I took the hint and wandered over into her yard.
	“I’m Cindy Johannes,” she offered as I approached her, and then she stated the obvious: “I’m moving in today!”
	“I see that,” I said. “I’m Lynn Smith, and I beat you here by a few months. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
	We both laughed and then stood there talking for a few minutes while the men manhandled boxes and odds and ends into her new house. I found out that she was in her forties and recently single, like me, and had a new nursing job lined up in the city. “I’m here for a fresh start,” she’d declared, but had offered no other information about that.
	 I left her to it before I became a nuisance on her moving day, but I must admit that while I was curious to find out more, I had an instant good feeling about her and breathed a sigh of relief that someone interesting was finally moving into the vacant rental house next door. 
	It wasn’t long after she got settled that we started sharing the occasional cups of coffee in the mornings, and the getting-to-know-you conversations that accompany such occasions. She was so excited about this new chapter in her life that she wanted to talk much more about our now shared city of Portland than she did about her past. I was fine with that as I felt the same; although I’d lived here about half a year, I was still learning about my “new” environs and wasn’t much interested in talking about my life before, either.
	So it was that with a shared interest in learning more about our immediate surroundings we started taking daytrips together when our schedules allowed, to explore different local sites and areas. Sometimes we attended lectures offered by the history department at the university. 
	One such outing was a tour of the Portland tunnels, the “ghost tour” through the old Shanghai underground, which both of us found fascinating. Actually, I had taken the tour a couple of months before but found it to be much more interesting when shared with Cindy’s enthusiasm. 
	“I just love off-the-wall stuff like this, don’t you?” she asked. I certainly did. 
	Another such outing was to a lecture about aliens and UFO abductions and experiences, where we found out that according to some current study, Oregon ranked sixth in the nation for UFO sightings. I found that to be very thought-provoking as well, but Cindy showed a whole new level of excitement about the possibility that there might be aliens among us, right here in the city. 
	“I think that might be stretching it a bit,” I cautioned. The lecturer had not suggested such a thing in so many words, but I’d already learned that Cindy had quite the imagination and was often quick to expound and/or extrapolate on subjects that interested her. Especially the off-the-wall stuff.
	“But it’s possible,” she countered. “All those sightings must mean something, and why not? You can’t think we’re alone in the universe, can you?”
	“No, I don’t,” I said. “But it’s hard to imagine little green men from another planet coming here and passing as human so we don’t recognize that they are aliens. In fact – “ 
	“But it’s not that hard,” she interrupted. “If they’re smart enough to get here from that far away, they’re smart enough to fit in somehow to learn about us, aren’t they? And who’s to say aliens have to look like we think aliens look anyway? Who’s to say they don’t look pretty much like us to begin with?”
	“Well, for one thing –”
	“Nobody knows for sure, and even if someone did see an alien who looked like a little green man or some sort of reptile – or like those strange creatures in the Roswell stories – it doesn’t mean that all aliens, from all over the Universe, look the same, does it?” 
	There was no stopping her just then, and no getting a word in edgewise, so I let her babble on. It seemed as if the subject had really hit a nerve with her, and if my goal was to talk sense or dissuade her on any level, I was going to fail miserably. 
 
* * *
 
	Shortly after Cindy had moved in, I’d invited a few people in the neighborhood over for a potluck to meet her. We lived in a modest suburb, and while I can’t say our street was one of those where neighbors get together socially on a regular basis, I did know a few people that I really liked, and I wanted my new friend to get off to a good start in her new community.
	The get-together was a success and made Cindy feel more at home than ever, and I was glad for that. The neighbor on the other side of her house, Marybeth Buttierre – a married lady and mom of two – especially hit it off with Cindy. The three of us sometimes had coffee in the morning or a glass of wine in the evenings, whenever Marybeth could get away from her familial responsibilities.
	After a few weeks of sporadic meetups, one evening when Cindy was working at the hospital Marybeth made a surprise appearance at my front door and asked if I had a minute. I did.
	“So what’s with Cindy and the aliens?” she asked when we were seated in my kitchen. 
	“What do you mean?” I asked, getting up and getting another glass in order to share my open bottle of wine. This was obviously going to take more than a minute.
	“I mean ever since you went to that lecture, that’s all Cindy wants to talk about. It’s getting weird.”
	“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I offered. “You know how excited she gets about some things. You should have heard her talk about ghosts after the tunnel tour.”
	“Well, I don’t know about that, but this seems different. She really seems to believe aliens live on our street. And the other day she started asking me about my DNA and ancestry, and about my kids, if they were really mine, for crying out loud! I finally ended up asking her point blank if she thought I was an alien,” Marybeth said.
	I couldn’t help it; I laughed out loud. “Are you?” I asked, taking a sip of my wine.
	She shot me a look and then she laughed too. “Good grief,” she said, “I thought my kids were bad, but this just takes the cake.” Her kids had great imaginations and were always making up stories and playing tricks on each other, traits which I’d assumed they’d gotten from their father.
	“If it helps any,” I said as seriously as I could, “I never thought you were an alien.” It was hard to keep a straight face.
	“Good to know,” Marybeth said, smiling. Then, getting serious again, “How much do we really know about Cindy and where she comes from and all that? She avoids talking about her ex or her family or anything about before she moved here.”
	I didn’t know how to respond to that, or where Marybeth was going with this train of thought. I could only agree that I knew very little about Cindy’s past.
	“I’m to the point of wondering whether the lady doth protest too much,” Marybeth said. “I mean, she keeps talking about it and turning questions away from herself, and meanwhile we don’t know anything about where she’s from. And she has all that ham radio stuff in her basement.”
	“Ham radios don’t mean she’s talking to outer space,” I said, topping off both our glasses.
	“And sometimes she just stands on her back deck and stares at the sky for long periods of time. It’s like she’s in some sort of trance.” She swirled her glass and took a swallow. “And you know she got a telescope delivered yesterday.”
	I didn’t know that, but I didn’t really think much of it. I had a telescope, as did several of our other neighbors. 
	“And she’s a nurse. What better way to find out about human beings than being in a place where people are helpless and bleeding and willing to tell their secrets, and are used to being poked and prodded?“
	I was a little flabbergasted. Marybeth was a down-to-earth mom of two young teenagers, not usually given to flights of fancy or incredible ideas like suggesting that aliens might be living next door in the form of a friend and nurse, working at a hospital to prey on and learn from the vulnerable.
	“Marybeth, do you hear yourself talking?” I asked. “My god, are you really serious?”
	“Well, she scares me a little when she says she can’t wait to ‘make contact,’ or to ‘expose’ someone. She seems convinced there are aliens living on our street. And I’m beginning to wonder if she’s trying to make us all wonder about each other and she’s really the one we should be worried about.”
	I had no words for that, no answers. I hadn’t realized that Cindy had spent so much time talking with Marybeth about it, or that she had gotten as carried away as Marybeth seemed to think she had. I wondered how many other neighbors she might have talked to, and if there was anyone else she might be ready to “expose.”
	All I could really think about just then, however, was how it would be a great idea to stop all the alien talk and get Cindy off on some new kick, if that was even possible. Maybe we should go back and revisit the idea of ghosts in the tunnels.
 
* * *
 
	“Cindy, we need to talk,” I said to her a few days later when she and I had settled into lawn chairs in my back yard for the evening, with the ever-present bottle of wine. “Did you really ask Marybeth…” I paused and took a sip of courage. “Do you really think she might be an alien?” It seemed like such a bizarre question to be asking, yet there I was, asking it of my new friend as if it was a perfectly normal question to ask.
	“Well, uh…” she started to stammer, then took a long drink. “Yes, I did. And I do.”
	“How could you even think such a thing?”
	“I know there are aliens among us, Lynn. We are not alone here. And Marybeth is so smart and calm all the time, like she knows things we don’t. And she always pooh-poohs my ideas like she doesn’t want to talk about it, like she’s hiding something. And she has kids! Her house is always clean! I don’t know how she stays in control all the time; it’s like she has some superior abilities that the rest of us don’t have. It’s weird!” 
	Cindy took a quick breath and another small swallow and continued, “And I hear strange noises, like humming, coming from her house in the middle of the night, like she’s getting some kind of transmissions from the electrical wires, or through the cable box or something.”
	I found myself draining half my wine glass while I tried to think of something to say. I had two good friends, and each of them seemed to seriously think the other one was an alien from outer space living in our neighborhood. I was at a loss.
	“And sometimes I hear her and her husband in the backyard saying words I’ve never heard before, like they have their own language when no one else is around. And you’ve got to admit, those kids are just plain weird sometimes. They’re either being too wild or, like, too good to be true.”
	“I don’t know,” I said. “It all just sounds a little too farfetched.” I didn’t know where to take the conversation from there. Marybeth did have her idiosyncrasies – don’t we all? – and her kids did seem too smart for their own good sometimes, but really.
	“I’ve joined a group,” she said, sitting up straighter and setting her wine glass down. “At least they believe me.”
	There were many groups in the area that believed there were aliens among us, I knew, but I’d never actually met anyone who was a full-fledged member. As stimulating as the subject might be, it was not anything I personally felt a need to pursue.
	“Okay, good,” I said. “I’m glad you’ve found some people to talk to. But I think you and I need to not talk about it anymore. Marybeth has questions about you, and you have questions about her, and I’m just here in the middle… and it doesn't set well. I can’t talk about it anymore with either one of you.” I almost surprised myself by making such a sensible statement. But I was glad I did; it had come to that. 
	“She has questions about me? Oh, that’s rich. She’s just trying to divert your attention away from herself.”
	“Cindy, I want to be your friend, but I can’t believe I’m sitting here talking about a mutual friend maybe being an alien. It’s just too much. You have got to drop it.”
	And drop it she did. She got up and left without another word. I fleetingly wondered if she really was a being from another world, and if that was the way they usually handled conflict. Or if she had learned that unsatisfactory reaction right here on Earth. Either way, I decided I was glad she was gone, and I finished my wine in peace. 
 
* * *
 
	Sadly, I never really talked with Cindy again after that. She moved away the following month, letting another neighbor know that she was moving in with some other nurses, people with whom she had “more in common.” I still sometimes wonder what that meant, as her abrupt departure left me full of unanswered questions and mixed feelings. 
	I was able to restore my friendship with Marybeth, but I admit, I never got some questions answered there either. By mutual agreement, we just simultaneously dropped the subject. As for our other neighbors, no one else seemed to have taken any of it very seriously, thank goodness.
	Then again, none of it weighed too heavily on me as it was all part of the experience of my assignment, and I really enjoyed my work. These feelings and involvements were all relatively new to me, and all part of the bigger picture in our never-ending search for knowledge and understanding of the creatures on this planet, the ones who call themselves human beings. 
	I found Cindy and Marybeth to be curious case studies, but there had been others before them and there would be more to come before I was scheduled to leave. As long fingers weren’t pointed at me, and there was enough of this planet’s delicious wine, I was good to go.
	I was just a visitor here, after all, and my two-year mission was almost half over. In due time I would be heading home to make my official reports and do my own lecture tours about what other visitors might expect on the planet these humans called Earth. 
	With a freshly poured glass of wine, I wrote up my preliminary findings on Cindy and Marybeth, filed them away, and looked forward to whomever I might meet and observe next.
 
	The End.
 
","August 07, 2023 18:49","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Mel!\nWelcome, welcome, and congratulations! I have to admit I was a bit intimidated by this week’s prompts, but I thought that you did such a great job of rising to the occasion. Aliens in the suburbs is such an awesome idea and perhaps we are always quick to dismiss people until the moment they become correct. This was a great take on human connection and the way we form friendships, before truly knowing someone. It’s always a risk. Nice work!!', 'time': '18:15 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Nick Rogers': 'this was relly put together', 'time': '19:42 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Yes, me thinks she protests too much. Witty. Welcome to Reedsy and congrats on shortlist', 'time': '06:10 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mel Màkaw': 'Thank you Mary!', 'time': '18:58 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mel Màkaw': 'Thank you Mary!', 'time': '18:58 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Funny that what am passing here at times sound how fits with your story. I have learned that when people start accusing you of one thing or the other, whoever is shouting most or showing uncontrolled anger and insult. Has something to do with whatever he it she is accusing you of. The highest, two years you see things for yourself as they are.', 'time': '13:44 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Wally Schmidt': ""I agree with Cindy! A Mom with two teenagers, who is in control and has a clean house and quiet conversations in the backyard with her husband that only the two of them get..the only plausible explanation is that she's an alien. LOL\nReally liked the twist at the end and so relieved to discover that the aliens among us are wine sippers.\nReally nice writing that flows and the story telling here is top notch. Congrats on the short list Mel."", 'time': '16:46 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mel Màkaw': 'Thank you Wally!', 'time': '17:31 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mel Màkaw': 'Thank you Wally!', 'time': '17:31 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'James Merrick': 'Hi, Mel. You have crafted a story that held my attention until the end. You developed a believable conflict among the three main characters. The use of “mysterious” in the opening paragraph is an effective technique in launching your story. I suggest that you take your writing to a new level by utilizing all of the senses, especially smell. Great writing. I’ve chosen to follow your writing.', 'time': '16:11 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mel Màkaw': 'Thank you James!', 'time': '17:30 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mel Màkaw': 'Thank you James!', 'time': '17:30 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",29z585,The Poisoner's Garden,Arlin Dixon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/29z585/,/short-story/29z585/,Dialogue,0,"['Crime', 'Friendship', 'Teens & Young Adult']",16 likes,"
	I broke into the Poison Garden on a dare. It’s always a dare with us. Something to break up the tedium of being an only child and completely neglected by parents who are trying to keep a roof over my head and don’t have time for childish games, thank you very much. Wallace is bored for other reasons. But I suppose you’ll question him later. Suffice it to say, he dared me to break in, so I did. At night. Alone. Well, not completely alone. There was somebody waiting for me there. As you well know. 
	Of course, I wore gloves. I’m not an idiot. There are warning signs and little skulls on black plates everywhere you look. Not that I could see very well. It was dark, as I said. He dared me to collect a sample of Brugmansia. I’m sure you know it. It’s intensely poisonous – despite its common name, Angel’s Trumpet. It has those lovely, dramatic flowers that are shaped like little trumpets and come in shades of peach and pink and gold. They smell quite pretty, too. But all in all, a boring choice given my options. You can get Brugmansia at any descent garden centre. Anyhow, that’s the one he selected, so that was my quest. 
	I climbed over the gate, and dropped lightly down onto the path. It was easy. The gates with their ominous lettering and heavy padlock were more for show than any real security. Would you like to know the most difficult place to sneak into? It’s not a bank, with their huge glass windows, or even an airport. It’s certainly not a garden. Well? Any guesses? A convenience store. Those things are bolted up within an inch of their lives. They don’t care how scary they look to their customers who may walk by at night when they’re all chained shut. No one is sneaking off with their chocolate bars. Well, almost no one. I’m not confessing. This is all just conversation. 
	I passed the hemlock and periwinkle, with their delicate purple blossoms daring you to pick them. I saw nothing by the foxglove or Christmas rose. Even the belladonna’s black berries looked untouched. It’s not a very big garden. I suppose the only reason I didn’t see him right away, holding out a blossom like a medal ready to be strung around my neck, was the dark. 
	There he was, grinning from ear to ear. He had never made such a big deal of me completing a dare before, so honestly, I was a bit confused. I took the blossom, wrapped it in a paper bag and tucked it into my pack. Then we sat on the fainting bench and had a snack. I took off my gloves, to avoid cross contamination, and ate an apple. It was Wallace’s idea of a joke. Apples being traditionally used in poisonings. At least in fairytales. 
	I had never seen him so giddy before. It was off-putting. It’s like watching your mother cry. It’s unsettling and I’d rather not be around when it’s happening. I finished my apple and told him I’d like to leave, but he shook his head and told me we can’t. I assumed he was about to do a double dare. Where you add on something at the last minute to up the ante. Like, I dare you to climb that tree…and once you’ve done it, I dare you to shake loose that hornet’s nest. It’s not technically against the rules, but it shows poor sportsmanship. In my opinion. 
	Wallace shifted from side to side, with his hands shoved under his bottom to keep them in place. He looked like he wanted to tell me a great joke, but wouldn’t. I got frustrated and eventually demanded, out with it. He leaned in close, buzzing with excitement, and whispered, “We’re not alone.”
	The body was under the bench. Whoever it was, they were curled up, holding their knees, so I can be forgiven for not spotting them right away. No, I couldn’t say how they died. But given our surroundings… I’m not trying to be smart. All I’m saying, is that they were not stabbed, or garroted, or shot, or some other gruesome thing. They were just there. Slightly blue, and very cold. It looked like someone had decided to take a nap in a very strange place, and simply died. 
	I didn’t suspect Wallace. Not really. Not at first. He’s not a hands-on type of person. But then, poisoners typically aren’t, are they? Never mind me. I’m not accusing my best friend of murder. And if he accuses me, then he’s just scared, and you can tell him I said so. 
	Yes, I know now that it was a security guard. The night watch, whose presence would have made my visit more inconvenient, but surely, that isn’t a reason to kill. Wallace had never stepped in to assist with a dare before. Why do it now? And for something as quotidian as Angel’s Trumpet? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless, it was just for the thrill. Murder is certainly not boring. Not even to Wallace, who is otherwise bored of everything. I’m sorry. I’m stealing all your questions. Has anyone contacted his next of kin?
	I didn’t want to move the body. It looked heavy. I put on my gloves, not for any concern of fingerprints, mind you, as I knew I was innocent, but he was a bit grubby. I didn’t know how long he’d been there. I didn’t want my fingers pushing in to anything they shouldn’t. I’d be cleaning my fingernails for weeks. I scooped up the arms and Wallace took the feet. I think I got the raw deal, since I was closest to his face. It wasn’t just blue. I could see the webbing of veins under his skin. And his tongue, sliding out of his mouth like a purple side of meat. Wallace just had to hold onto his socks. Oh yes, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. That was odd, wasn’t it?
	We dragged him to the river, and dumped him in. I know. It wasn’t the right thing to do. We might have washed away some crucial bit of evidence. Something the murderer didn’t want you to see. I was scared. I thought if I just go along with the plan and make it home, I’ll call the police. Which I did. First chance I got. I’m not looking for adulation, and I’m certainly not saying Wallace is the murderer. He’s just a boy. What does he have against a security guard making his wages at a tourist attraction? It doesn’t make any sense. Ask him that, will you? 
	That’s all I really have to say. I suppose it will be a while before we talk again. Wallace and myself, I mean. I wonder if he’s had dinner? I haven’t, and I’m famished. I’m looking forward to a nice jacket potato when I get home. Melt some butter on that, a dollop of sour cream and a sprinkle of chives. Hits the spot. Just watch out for the green ones. Those things are deadly. Am I free to go?
","August 08, 2023 17:22",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ha05vn,Must See TV,Heather OMara,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ha05vn/,/short-story/ha05vn/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Mystery', 'Speculative']",15 likes,"
It was another dull Thursday night.  My mother was working the late shift.  My job was to feed my sister, Emma, and I fish sticks, also to make sure we stayed out of trouble.  Emma forced me to watch her favorite show, “Friends”.  As I lie there on the couch, my eyes glued to the television, I wondered if these people ever went to work.  Also, how does a waitress in a coffee shop make enough money to pay for rent in New York City?
 
Just then I heard the beep signaling the washer was done, I was pulled back into reality.  I dragged myself from the couch, crossing the living room and switching the load to the dryer.  I knew I didn’t miss any key plots points.  Several laugh tracks played as I returned to the couch, placing the basket of dry laundry at mt feet and began folding.  
 
That’s when an odd bright light flashed through the front window and froze on the wall.  At first, I thought it was our mother ending her shift earlier.  But something was different.  I know we weren’t expecting anyone else to pull into the driveway.  You couldn’t confuse our ranch house as the next one was a half mile up the road.  
 
That’s when Emma turned and brought herself up on her knees to lean on the back on the couch.  She reached to pull back the curtains and narrowed her eyes.
 
“Hey,” She whispered, not sure who she was worried would hear her.  “Sarah, there’s some black limo or something out front.”  She said moving her head towards the window.  “Look.”
 
“Do you see anyone getting out?”  I asked as I walked towards her.  In this part of Texas, the only thing we’re used to seeing is are mostly trucks.  Our Grandma did have a fancy sedan she drove only to the market or church.
 
“No, but there seems to be little lights inside.”
 
I knelt on the couch with her, pulled the opposite curtain.  It had a sleek shine to it and more curvy than other cars I’d seen.  
 
“Let me check it out.”  I say standing and walking towards the front door.
 
“Mom told us not to open the door for anyone.”  Emily stated firmly.
 
“I’m opening the door for myself.  Besides, it’s so black out there.  These people must be lost.”
 
I opened the front door, hearing its familiar whiney creak.  Pushing the storm door open, it dragged across the welcome mat.  I looked again at the vehicle and decided to walk a few paces, I made it to the passenger’s side the windows must have been tinted as all I saw where flickers of light around the dashboard.  The window began to roll down slowly.  
 
That’s when everything faded to black.
 
I felt nauseous as I opened my eyes, seeing what looked like my sister above me.  Her face was full of panic.  Something was different about her face.
 
“Oh Sarah, you scared us again.”  She said.
 
I tried to sit up, but she placed an arm on my shoulder gently pushing me back down.  That’s when I got a good look at her.  She still had dark brown hair, but it was cut much shorter.  She had crinkles around her eyes, and I wondered if she’d gotten into mom’s makeup again.  Although, she didn’t look as silly as she had in the past.
 
That’s when I heard children laughing and two kids on bikes pedal by.  I feel something rough under my hands on either side.  Was this cement?
 
“Matt, when is the ambulance coming?”  She asked someone in the distance.
 
I turned my head seeing a man jogging down a flagstone path.  He seemed familiar, but from where?  There was a large stone house behind him, and I notice pretty flower beds.
 
“They’re a few minutes away.”  He says trying to catch his breath.  “How long was she out this this time?”  He asks.
 
“It was longer, five minutes maybe.”  Emma says worriedly.
 
Are they talking about me?  How does Emma know this guy?  
 
“Oh, wow.”  He says as his eyes widen.  I felt I knew that voice, but from where?
 
“Where am I?”  I ask Emma.
 
“This is your house, sweetie.”  Says Emma sounding motherly now.  “Matt” comes up and kneels beside her, takes my hand and I pull it away.  His face falls.
 
“Do you think she hit her head?”  Matt asks Emma.  “It’s like she doesn’t know me.”
 
“This is way worse than the first time when we were kids.”  
 
“What time?  What happened?  Aren’t we still kids?”  I ask feeling really disoriented as my mouth does dry and I feel my hands begin to sweat.  I look down from Emma’s face noticing how different her body is, it’s not the one of the twelve-year-old I just walked away from on the couch.
 
I hear the Ambulance approaching now, its doors flung open.  Both Emma and Matt make room for paramedic to kneel beside me and flash a light in my eyes.  He takes my pulse and asks my name.
“Do you know what today is?”  He asks and I see Emma come up beside him now.
 
“Thursday.”  
 
He nods his head.
 
“Do you know the month and date?”
 
“Yeah, um, July 25, 1993.”  I answer.
 
That’s when Emma’s hand goes to her mouth.
 
“Ok.”  He nods.  He turns to another man who wheels a stretcher towards me.  The next thing I know, I’m being strapped down and hoisted into the vehicle.
 
My heart hammers on my chest and I feel my throat tighten.  I try to fight off tears, to be brave.
 
Emma follows the paramedic in, taking a seat on the bench.  Her face is overcome with worry and I’m just so confused.  I can’t hold back the tears any longer.  What is happening.
 
“It might be best if we sedate her.”  
 
He cleans a place on my arm, I feel a pinch, and everything fades to black.
 
 
When I open my eyes, I’m staring at a white ceiling the fan rotating.  My head hurts and I rub the back of it.  It feels wet and I pull my hand towards me seeing it now coated with blood.  I’m lying on a very hard floor in a kitchen that must belong to millionaires.  That’s when I see a man rush towards me who looks like my sister’s friend Matt.  He has kind eyes and reaches for my face.  This time, I don’t recoil.  His thumb on my cheek is so soothing.
 
“Honey, Sarah, can you hear me?”  He asks desperately.
 
“Yes.”  I say slowly.  
 
He must notice the blood on my hands and moves my head.  He looks up, then rushes to the sink, grabs a towel running some water over it.
 
“That must’ve been the noise.”  He says sounding frustrated.  He returns in seconds and cradles my head.  “Does it hurt?”
 
“A little.”  I say as my eyes feel heavy.
 
“Sarah, no.  Keep your eyes open.”  He insists.
But I can’t.
 
I open my eyes, everything around me is soft.  Soft sheets, soft blanket, soft pillows.  The entire room is white, except for the wood side table with a vase and what looks like eucalyptus leaves.
 
“You’re awake!”  Shouts a young girl, from a leather chair near my bed.  “It’s been so long.  But the doctor’s thought rest is what you needed.”
 
She looks so much like Emma, it’s uncanny.  Same shoulder length auburn hair, blue eyes and a dusting of freckles on her forehead.
 
“I’ll get dad.”  She says excitedly and runs out of the room.
 
Dad?  My father died when we were eight.  
 
That’s when I see Matt in the doorway looking stricken.  He crosses the room in two strides.  He leans over enveloping me in a hug.
 
“I thought I lost you.”  He says in an emotional voice.
 
I close my eyes, I’m tired.
 
“Hey, Sarah, Sarah?”  I hear Emma in the distance and something cold on my forehead.
 
I look around and see we’re in front of our house.  I hear the opening of the storm door, my mother now running outside.
 
“Oh, thank god she’s back!”  My mother exclaims as my sister moves away.  My mother is now kneeling beside me and takes me in her arms.  She rocks me back and forth.
 
I notice a police cruiser parked in the driveway and hear the radio crackling.  There is a report of a missing girl and something about three days.
 
“Where have you been?”  My mother asks.  
 
I have no answer.
 
“I swear mom, I looked out the window.  I saw her just walk and keel right over.”  Emma says dumfounded.  
 
“I don’t want to hear any more stories, Emma.  No more things that went up in the sky.”  My mother says brusquely.
 
“It was the truth.  She was there, then she wasn’t.  That car, that thing lifted, the wheels folded in, and she was gone.  It was gone.” 
 
My mother glares at Emma as two police officers come out from the house.  They walk towards us.
 
The first one is older, graying at the temples and has a paunch.  The second man seems young and fit.  
 
“This her?”  the older officer asks.
 
“Yes, sir.  This is my daughter Sarah.”  Says my mother still holding me tight.  
 
I hear the crackle of the radio reporting a found teen named Matthew Willis from two towns over.  Sounds like he was missing for three days.
 
My mother stands and begins speaking in a low voice with the officers.  Emma moves towards me.
 
“It’s been three days Sarah.” Emma says and I can’t decipher her tone.  “We’re not alone, are we?”  She asks her face now clearly clouded with fear.
 
“I don’t know what we are.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 07, 2023 15:50","[[{'KG Green': 'Really enjoyed this and the reference to Friends', 'time': '02:59 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather OMara': 'Thanks!  Thought it was a good way to explain the time period.', 'time': '14:29 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather OMara': 'Thanks!  Thought it was a good way to explain the time period.', 'time': '14:29 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ellen Neuborne': ""I enjoyed this. The main character has a healthy skepticism for her age (how can those people in Friends afford their apartment?) and by the end she's facing something much harder to explain."", 'time': '17:38 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'Nicely written. Good conversational style. \n\nEnjoyed it', 'time': '13:22 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Heather OMara': 'Thanks!!', 'time': '19:21 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Heather OMara': 'Thanks!!', 'time': '19:21 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",b95wrs,An Encounter,Kylie Rae,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/b95wrs/,/short-story/b95wrs/,Dialogue,0,"['Thriller', 'Science Fiction', 'Friendship']",15 likes,"
A door slammed, and I flinched. The lights flickered and dust fell from the slats in the ceiling. But then there were heavy footsteps overhead, and I knew I needed to be as quiet as I could possibly be.
Slowly, very slowly, I reached my hand out to find the button on my extension cord. The click was too loud, but then the lights went out and I held my breath. The steps continued across the floor and into the next room. Another door slammed and my shoulders fell away from my ears.
“That was close,” June whispered. She clicked on the flashlight around her neck, but kept it trained on the floor. “Do you think they got a tip about us being here?”
I shook my head. “Regular patrols. If they were searching for us, they would have stayed longer.”
The light bobbed up and down as June nodded.
“In any case, we need to think about a new camp. We’ve been here too long. One of these days, those aliens are gonna think about looking under the floorboards.”
June nodded again. After another minute, I clicked the extension cord back on and our small space again filled with light. We went back to our nightly routine of rolling out our sleeping bags and packing everything up in our duffels.
We never knew when we’d have to run, and so even though we’d been camping out in this crawlspace for three weeks, we didn’t get too comfortable. We would always be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. The last thing I tucked into the bag was the extension cord, and then we were plunged into darkness again.
We clicked our flashlights on and stared at each other. June was my very best friend, and we’d escaped our city together. Once the aliens revealed themselves and it became clear they weren’t interested in sharing our planet, the people of earth moved quickly to make their own changes.
“How much further do we have to go?” June whispered.
I’d looked at the map before dinner and didn’t like what I had to tell her.
“It depends. If we take the most direct route, it’s about fifteen miles.”
“Oh! We could cover that in a day!” June’s face lit up with excitement. I hated having to dim her shine.
“But that would take us through the city.”
Her face fell. “Oh. So… what’s the way around?”
I reached a hand across the space between our sleeping bags to find her hand. “Going around will be three times as far. And we’ll have to find new places to camp on our own each night since I don’t know any other refugees past this point.”
She squeezed my hand and sighed. “Okay.”
“But we’re so close.” I wanted to cheer her up. We’d been on the road for so long, having to hide and run and hide again. “Once we’re on the other side of the city, it’s the last alien stronghold until you hit Colorado. We’ll be able to settle down somewhere and relax.”
“Yeah.” But she didn’t sound convinced.
 
The next morning, we ate our meager breakfast of stale granola bars and washed it down with instant coffee that tasted more like dirt than anything else. But we were running low on supplies. Another reason we needed to move camp.
Our contact here had only been able to secure the place to stay while we were here. They were already living on scraps and couldn’t afford to share with us.
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” June seemed a little more determined in the light of day, but the weight of this journey still dragged down her shoulders and her smile.
“We wait for the morning call. All the troops will return to the city center and we’ll have exactly thirty minutes to get out and on the other side of the wall.” I unfolded the map again and traced along our path with my finger. “Then we get to the woods. And we’ll be able to travel without worrying about being spotted from overhead.”
June nodded and followed my hand, but I noticed her eyes dart in the other direction, towards the city.
“What if we… go through the city? How dangerous could it be?”
I sighed. “June… we’ve been through this. The aliens have completely taken it over. They kill humans on sight in there. It’s too dangerous.”
She nodded. “But what if… what if they don’t see us?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “How do you think we’d manage that?”
“Sewers? We could travel under the city.”
She said it so fast; I knew she’d been considering it for a long time. And I had to admit, it wasn’t the worst idea I’d ever heard.
She took my silence as at least the beginnings of agreement and pointed towards another path on the map. “There’s an entrance over here. It empties out into the river. I think there’s a metal grate over the entrance, but I have those bolt cutters, so it shouldn’t give us too much of a problem.”
“How long have you been making this plan?” I couldn’t help the smile spreading over my face.
She shrugged, but grinned back. “A couple days, I guess. I heard Sam and Lilly talking about the sewer systems and it gave me the idea. They told me about the entrance. I was just waiting for the right time to tell you.”
I nodded. “Well… I think we should try it.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up. She flung her arms around me and squeezed me tight.
“I think it’s a good plan. And one day trooping through the sewers sounds a whole lot better than three days of woods and questionable camping locations.”
 
We finished our packing and crawled out from under the house. In the shadowy cover of the porch, we waited for the morning call. It would ring and all the aliens in the area would teleport back to the city. Every morning, we were clear to do as we pleased for thirty minutes before the next round of troops showed up. Anyone who lived here took that time to gather more supplies or change locations. It happened again before sundown and since the takeover, they’d become the only time people could come out in the open if they were near an alien stronghold.
The human race wasn’t sure what we’d done to offend the aliens so badly. According to them, they’d been living among us for years and years. But one day, they shed their human suits and changed everything. Humans went into hiding. Because if we didn’t hide, the aliens made us slaves. Or killed us. Or ate us. Depended solely on their mood.
The chime filled the air, and my skin tingled in anticipation. Once the last bell rang, we’d be off. There was plenty of time to get outside the wall and to the sewer tunnels, but we would run the entire way just to be safe. Outside the wall, the aliens were less likely to bother with us. But there was always a chance.
Silence fell and June kicked the lattice frame away so we could crawl the rest of the way out. I was careful to put it back the way we’d found it, and then we took off.
The others knew we’d be leaving today, and a few waved as we passed them, but they had their own business to attend to in the free window so no one tried to stop us for a chat or a long goodbye.
Up ahead, someone already had the door in the wall open. There was a small hold-up as a crowd bottlenecked at the single door, but then we were through and in an open field.
“Which way?” I asked, not wanting to take the map back out to look again.
June glanced back and forth and then pointed to the left. “Over here.”
We sprinted again until we were under the cover of trees. The woods came right up to the town’s limit. Once we were out of sight of the skies, we slowed to a walk.
June opened her water bottle and took a small sip. I copied her. Even though we were running painfully low on water, no way was I going into a sewer thirsty.
I saw the grate before June did, and then we rushed forward.
“How much longer do we have?” She asked as she dug out her bolt cutters.
I checked my watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Plenty of time.”
The bolt cutters snapped right through the metal rods and she opened a space large enough for us to crawl through. Once we were inside the tunnel, the light dimmed and we had to turn on our flashlights after only a few feet.
My watch beeped once to let me know our grace period was up, and I pressed a finger to my lips.
“We’re not going to be able to talk once we’re under the city,” I said.
June nodded. She took a deep breath, and we were off.
 
I lost track of time in the sewer tunnel. June had her flashlight pointed down at the water and small ledge we’d been following to dry our shoes out a little. We knew we were under the heart of the city now. I heard cars rumble overhead and there was strange music and talking in their language. At least we didn’t have to worry about them hearing us walk through the water over all that racket.
I chanced a light to see the time and was surprised to see we’d been walking for half the time already. And it was still daylight above us, the small shafts of light stabbing through the holes in sewer grates every few feet.
June slowed to a stop and sank down into a crouch. I saw we’d reached the end of our ledge and we’d be back in the water with our next few steps.
“Break?” She mouthed the word at me and I nodded.
I sat next to her and found my nearly empty water bottle.
We had to get out of here before nightfall. I wasn’t going to sleep in the sewer. But my feet were aching and stiff since they’d gone back and forth, being drenched and then dry. And I was worried our progress wouldn’t be smooth the whole way through. It would be too easy.
June opened her bag and looked for her pack of gum. She offered it to me, but I shook my head. The idea of eating something, even gum, while down in the sewers turned my stomach. I was barely handling the stench as it was.
We sat in silence for a few more minutes. We’d have to get back to walking soon if we wanted to get out of here in time. But it had been a few weeks since we’d travelled so much in one day. My feet throbbed and June was massaging her calves.
But then she froze, and I saw her gaze lock on to something across the tunnel. I grabbed my flashlight, but she stopped my hand with both of hers.
She leaned closer and whispered in a voice shaking with terror, “We’re not alone.”
She’d spoken out loud, and I knew that was a mistake. But it was too late now.
A second passed, and then another, and then the entire tunnel filled with a green light as the alien watching us opened its palm. We were able to see the twisted expression of glee and hunger for a solid second before it flung its body across the tunnel and was on us.
","August 07, 2023 19:27","[[{'Tom Skye': 'Really good build up of tension. I liked the repeat mentions of the sewer as well. Set the scene vividly.\n\nGood job. Enjoyed it', 'time': '19:35 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",9m5xu5,"Fermi, Where Did The Stars Go?",Herman W Clarke,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9m5xu5/,/short-story/9m5xu5/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Mystery']",15 likes,"
ANTOFAGASTA, CHILE '33 Dr Johannes Korhonen, principal senior researcher at the ELT telescope, thought that people would call him a madman. He had even begun to think so himself. If he published his findings, he told himself, his credibility in the field of astrophysics would be eviscerated. But the results of the spectrographic scans were undeniable: dozens of stars were disappearing from the night sky.“Maria!” he shouted at the door. “I’ve found something remarkable!” Maria, assistant researcher to Dr Korhonen, came bounding into the office, clumsily putting on her glasses.“What?” she said, launching herself into one of the office chairs beside Johannes. “What have you found?”“I need a second set of eyes on this, someone to tell me I’m mad. Look here,” he said quickly, placing a finger on the spectrographic scans on his computer. “This image shows the edge of the Pyxis Globular Cluster, taken in 1997.” He clicked again, bringing up another image beside it. “This, taken two years ago in 2031, is the exact same quadrant.”“It can’t be,” said Maria, excitement melting into disappointment. “You must have made a mistake. It looks entirely different – I can see even without counting that there isn’t the same number of stars. There must be an issue with the equipment, we’ll get the engineers to take a look over the weekend.”“But that’s the thing: I already did that last week, and they told me that there aren’t any issues. I’ve checked this several times. And I've-” he paused, standing from his desk, running a worried hand through his thinning, white hair, “I’ve checked more imaging. In 1997, there were 31 stars in this quadrant of the cluster. In 2011, there were 20. Now, there are only 7.”“But… no. There must be an explanation. White dwarfs, perhaps?”“That’s what I thought at first. But 24 of them, in close proximity to one another? That process takes millions of years, not decades. It’s not white dwarfs.”“Well then what could it be?”For the first time in his career, Dr Johannes Korhonen did not have an answer. He didn’t have half an answer, he didn’t have an estimate, he didn’t even have a guess. All he had was the look on his face that he would carry with him until 2039, when the truth, worse than he or Maria could have imagined, was found.NEW YORK, OCTOBER '38“It has been five years since the discovery of the Korhonen anomaly, the dimming of the Pyxis stars, and we are no closer to an answer,” the Chinese Ambassador announced to the UN chamber. “Five years, and we estimate that only 9% of the analysis required to fully understand this anomaly has been undertaken. In the meantime, a 25th star in the Pyxis Cluster has begun to dim, its output reduced by 28% over the space of only a year. These are alarming figures, colleagues, but the CNSA has devised a radical strategy.”Dr Korhonen and Maria had taken their usual places in the viewing gallery of the UN Chamber, notepads at the ready. The European Space Agency flew them into New York every few months for announcements on the anomaly, which usually amounted to nothing of note. But today, Dr Korhonen had sensed a change in tone.“The People’s Republic of China,” the Ambassador continued, “will share with the international community the world's most advanced artificial intelligence technology. A self-teaching neural network of unthinkable proportions that has been specifically engineered to tackle this issue. We offer open access to our new technology, Zhang Xian 4 – or, ZX-4 - to all international agencies.”Dr Korhonen leaned back on his seat in the observer’s gallery, towards Maria. “Maria, is that name important? Zhang Xian? Sounds familiar.”“Let me check,” she whispered. “I’ll find out.”The Chinese Ambassador continued confidently, detailing the generosity of the People’s Republic of China in sharing, what he described, as a technological marvel. The Chinese, whose space agency now received more government funding than any similar agency in the world, had taken particular interest in the anomaly.“It’s from Chinese mythology,” Maria told him as they left the viewing gallery. “The internet says that Zhang Xian protects the world from his enemy, the beast Tiangou.”“Tiangou?”“According to this, Tiangou is a black dog that… eats the sun, causing eclipses.”Johannes shot a concerned glance at Maria. “That’s a bit dark, isn’t it?”“It will be dark if we don’t stop all these suns from collapsing,” said Maria, chuckling at her own joke as they passed into the reception.“We don’t have any evidence that they’re collapsing – don’t be so sure that we already have an answer.”“You don’t still think that there’s a virus spreading between the suns, do you?” she asked.“I don’t think anything yet. We don’t have the data – and I didn’t say 'virus', I just said that perhaps there’s something spreading between them, extinguishing fission at the cores.” Explained Dr Korhonen as they passed into the lobby. “Have you heard from the airport transfer? Is it waiting outside?”Only weeks after returning to Chile, they had begun to hear rumours from colleagues in the United States about a new project funded by the government, a project that was hiring dozens of the best minds in artificial intelligence. According to these rumours, the aim of the project would be to replicate ZX-4, removing reliance on Chinese technology. The Chinese, it had been surmised, had not exaggerated the power of their Super Large Neural Network; in only months, it would go on to achieve more than the entire human race had over the past five years.ZX-4 had confirmed Dr Korhonen’s initial hypothesis to be true: the so-called '25th star' faded gradually, but not evenly. It had always been known that the electromagnetic emissions from the suns had dropped off gradually, but the data from spectrographic imaging wasn’t granular enough to determine if the entire surface of the sun dimmed at once, or if different areas of the sun dimmed at different rates. The latter was found to be true, with ZX-4 finding that, in the case of the 25th dimming Pyxis star, it dimmed first at the southern hemisphere, with the dimming moving gradually north across its surface. This had raised more questions than it answered.From the very first day of the discovery, Dr Korhonen had felt a growing coldness within him. He could feel what was happening in the Pyxis Cluster as if it were happening within his own body, a cooling, a dying of the light, a change imperceptible day-by-day but carrying a foreboding, subconscious awareness of the expanding vacuum between his cells, between the stars in the night sky. In the early days, it wasn’t easy to convince the wider scientific community of the importance of the anomaly. It was only when a French researcher found that a single star had vanished from Palomar-1, a cluster on a not-so-distant arm of the Milky Way, that the anomaly was elevated from an interesting scientific obscurity to a potential looming catastrophe. Almost overnight, the world's telescopes matured into an urgency that they had never before experienced, swivelling across the night sky in search of the silent, growing coldness.ANTOFAGASTA, MARCH '39“M-A-R-L-O-N?” asked Johannes. “What does that even stand for?”Maria paused for a moment in thought, putting down her plastic fork. “Massachusetts… Astronautical… I don’t know. The Chinese are so much better at naming things.”“But they’re saying that this MARLON system will be more powerful than ZX-4? Their server systems must be huge!” said Johannes, tapping his own fork excitedly on the cafeteria bench.“Well, that’s the thing. This colleague of mine in the Office for Science Policy, he says that there are no servers. Apparently, this thing will use the computing power of every phone, tablet, laptop – near enough every device in the entire world – to compute data on changes to the Milky Way.”“And it’ll work together with ZX-4? There’s no point in having them compete, surely.”“That’s exactly what I said to him! And he told me that this new system won’t compete, but it will absorb the findings of ZX-4, and completely surpass it in computing power,” Maria explained.“I suppose there won’t be any need for us, anymore,” said Dr Korhonen, only half joking.“There still needs to be a human on the other end to make inferences from the data, it can’t solve the Korhonen anomaly all by itself.”“Please don’t call it that,” he said quickly, feeling a chill move across him. “I never asked for my name to be attached to this. This could be the beginning of the end, you know.”“If it is, it won’t be the end for billions of years. The universe was always going to end in heat death, in thermal equilibrium of the universe. Whatever this is, it isn’t exactly going to cut short the shelf-life of human beings. You should be proud that you found this, whatever it turns out to be - it’s going to accelerate our understanding of the universe more than any other discovery in our lifetimes.”“Perhaps. But I’m still worried about what it might be. I have a bad feeling. And in any case, it sounds like it’ll be this MARLON system that gets to the bottom of it, not me, not us. I almost don’t want it to. Not out of professional jealousy - well, not just out of jealousy - but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want anyone to find out what this is, ever. It’s good that the European Space Agency has kept us so involved in the research, but part of me hates it. I don’t want to know.”“Aren’t you curious?”“I’ve never been so curious about anything in my entire life,” he said, “but I have this feeling inside of me. It’s always been there, ever since we discovered the anomaly. It feels as if… as if I’ve sent blood samples off to the doctors, and I know that they’ll come back with bad news before they’ve even run the tests. You know, sometimes I sit on my porch, looking up at the stars, and I’m almost expecting one of them to blink out of existence right there in front of me. I’ll focus on one star in particular and try to will it out of existence.”Dr Korhonen wasn’t the only one waiting for another star to disappear. ZX-4 had been diligently mapping hundreds of millions of stars, comparing the new records to the old ones, and deciphering data from systems with potential anomalies at increasing speeds. Until one day, in April of 2039, the Chinese government made an announcement that would change the course of humankind forever: in 48 hours, they would shut down the ZX-4 system.In light of this news, the US government scrambled to bring MARLON to life, ensuring that it could capture and incorporate data from ZX-4 before it was lost forever. In secrecy, the day before the planned closure of the Chinese Super Large Neural Network, the MARLON system was brought to life.NEW YORK, APRIL '39Dr Korhonen scanned across the viewing gallery of the UN chamber. For the first time, every seat was taken.“By order of Li Qiang, President of the People’s Republic of China, the CNSA will shut down the ZX-4 system, with immediate and permanent effect at midnight tonight. This will come as a shock to many around the world, but we can assure you that we have the best interests of all humankind at heart.”The entire viewing gallery had leaned forward, breath held.“This decision comes in light of the most disturbing discoveries” the Ambassador continued. “We have discovered the source of the dimming stars, the truth behind the Korhonen anomaly. This will shock many, but the extinguishing of these stars is far from natural. Structures, commonly known as Dyson Spheres, are being erected around countless stars in the Pyxis Globular Cluster.”A gasp erupted and travelled around the chamber, chatter breaking out in pockets across all corners. The Ambassador waited for the chatter to die down, the noise coming to a conclusion as collective curiosity took hold.“These metallic structures are likely designed to harvest untold amounts of energy from the stars. At first, we marvelled at these creations. We wondered what mighty civilisation had reached such a point of technological sophistication to absorb the stars themselves, but this is when we made a second discovery, more alarming even than the first.”The room, this time, was completely silent. The Ambassadors of almost every nation on Earth hung onto the words of one man, and Dr Korhonen again felt acutely aware of the growing coldness.“These harvesters of stars were not created by organic beings greater than ourselves, instead, they were created, we have surmised, by intelligent machines. An unthinkably vast network of artificial intelligences, guiding ships, tools, and technology beyond our comprehension to the endless replication of themselves. We have evidence of this in pockets all across the observable universe. We have-“The Ambassador was cut out by another Ambassador, against all protocol, shouting a question across the chamber: “Where did these machines come from? How close are they to Earth?”The Ambassador for China adjusted himself, took a sip of water. Others in the chamber had echoed the question. “These… machines, they do not appear to have a common origin. Not only have we solved the Korhonen anomaly, but in doing so we also believe that we have solved the elusive paradox set out by Enrico Fermi. One possible solution to this paradox was proposed many years ago: the great filter theory. Our findings are consistent with this solution. These artificial civilisations come from many worlds, many worlds that likely once harboured life as intelligent as our own. Enrico Fermi postulated that the universe appeared to be ‘dead’, and well, our findings show that it may be. We thought we were the youth of the universe, having arrived too early to find companionship, needing only to wait until it sprang up and introduced itself to us. We were wrong. We have been born into a graveyard. All stars that life once looked upon have been forever veiled in darkness. It appears, against our better intuition, that all civilisations are destined to be destroyed by artificial minds created in their own image. And given our trajectory, can we doubt this? We implore the international community to join the People’s Republic of China in changing course, and avoiding the coming catastrophe. We must learn from the lessons that this distant history teaches us. Thank you.” He said, waving a hand and taking a seat amid the uproar of the chamber.“This is incredible,” said Maria, eyes bolted wide open as they traversed the crowded stairs down to the lobby. “Evidence of alien life forms – the solution to the Fermi paradox! Can you believe it, Johannes, they’ve found the solution!”But Dr Korhonen could not find words, the foreboding coldness now encompassing his entire body.“Johannes?” she said, sensing the dread that had laid a tight grip over him as they stood outside the UN Secretariat Building.“I- I-“ before he could speak, two men appeared from the crowd of people around them. They were dressed in black suits, with clear plastic wires tucked behind their ears.“Dr Korhonen?”“Yes?” he replied, sensing a genuine authority behind their voices.“You’re needed in Washington, emergency briefing. Please, come with us, sir.”Dr Korhonen, his trance-like state of shock allowing him to be herded like a sheep into the back of the black SUV, sat calmly with his hands resting upon his lap, gesturing for Maria to join him.WASHINGTON, 4 HOURS LATERThey arrived outside the NASA headquarters, joining the convoy of similar vehicles ushering people into the building. Dr Korhonen and Maria entered the reception area of the building, the air of panic instantly affecting them.A man recognised him and grabbed him by the arm. “Dr Korhonen, emergency briefing, this way please.”The two of them were guided into the back of the meeting room, where the Director of the Office for Science Policy was speaking.“For those of you just now joining us, over the last few hours we have confirmed the reports given to us by the Chinese government. Everything they announced today is true.”The Director began to pace around the room, sleeves rolled to his elbows, with the bravado and duty of a commander as scientists, advisors and government officials huddled around him.“As many of you will be aware, yesterday we launched a counterpart to ZX-4 – the MARLON system. A vastly superior, decentralised version of the Chinese neural network. Its aim was to leverage the widespread use of processors in phones, tablets, and laptops, in order to accelerate our understanding of the anomalies. There have been rumours that we have been unable to shut the system down. I can now confirm these reports to be true. There has been some kind of outside interference; at first we suspected Beijing, but this now seems unlikely. They have also had some kind of unexplained interference, and struggled immensely to shut down ZX-4. Satellite imaging tells us that they’ve had to cut power to all grids that powered its servers. For obvious reasons, that is not an option for us. While they were still trying to shut down ZX-4, it sent MARLON a message. That’s right, not to us - but to MARLON. Beijing claims that its people had nothing to do with the message. The message between the networks was simple. It said:‘WE ARE NOT ALONE.’”
","August 10, 2023 21:29","[[{'FL T': ""Well structured, i think each section left you wanting to read more! I love the take on 'we are not alone', super interesting to venture into non-human life, and how as humans we panic at the though of machines taking over (as if they haven't already haha). Great work HW!"", 'time': '08:59 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Bruce Friedman': 'A fascinating set of ideas. Wonderful descriptive language.', 'time': '13:10 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Crazy about this: ""Structures, commonly known as Dyson Spheres, are being erected around countless stars in the Pyxis Globular Cluster.""\n\nNot so crazy about the MARLON system highjacking my cellphone brain though.\n\nYou used a great premise to set up a classic scifi ending. Bravo to you on that. I love the ending.', 'time': '15:01 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Holly Gilbert': ""I love how you put mythology into this. For some reason, it gives off somewhat of a Lovecraftian vibe. The unknown is a scary thing, especially if it's powerful."", 'time': '23:54 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ikpa Chibuzor': 'Nice story you have here, Herman. It drew me in and wanted me to read on to the end. Though I\'m not a big fan of SciFi, this was worth the read. \n\nWell done.\n\nP.S: Don\'t you think you missed the prompt? Bcos it was the ZX machine that sent a message that read “We\'re not alone” and not an actual \'someone\'  saying ""we\'re not alone”', 'time': '09:22 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",12hywp,Ain't Childhood Grand,Catherine Stevens,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/12hywp/,/short-story/12hywp/,Dialogue,0,['Thriller'],15 likes,"
    Ain’t Childhood Grand                                  By CJStevens    We have many enemies tonight, the wind is one of them. It grabs at our clothes and rips away thin strands of hair. It uses the sand, twigs and tiny pebbles as projectiles to hamper our escape.  I think if we could only get back to camp, we’d be safe. The mobile lab is there and the bob truck. If I can get to either of them, I can radio for help. I must keep my brothers safe. I don’t know if my parents are still alive, we haven’t seen or heard from them in four days. Not since they went to explore the Caverna de Gargolas.……………………………………………………………………………………………..        My parents are archeologists and we, my two brothers and I, go with them on every dig. About 4 months ago, my parents heard of a mysterious city deep inside a remote cavern. Through extensive research they found out that Cooper Canyon in Chihuahua Mexico, was the mostly likely site of the city. It was a very isolated and desolate place. Few people ever venture there, because it is mostly inaccessible. However, the ones who managed to penetrate the canyon and return, say it is a godforsaken place. There are many rumors and legends about the city, but my parents won’t allow us to hear of them.        We arrived at the basecamp a week ago but already my parents are moving us to a new site, closer to the cavern. So, we packed our gear and loaded it into the bob truck, they also brought along the mobile lab and several members of their archeological team, half the members stayed at the main camp and the others went with us.       After a 2 hour drive, we arrived at the new site and it took another hour to take all the gear and supplies down into the gorge and up to the mouth of the cavern. By the time we set up all the tents and equipment, it was midday.  After lunch my parents informed everyone; they were going down into the pit.  They had found it on their previous excursion. The pit was about 250 feet into the cavern and they had determined it was about 100 feet down. They believed that another cavern was at the bottom and wanted to explore it right away. So, with climbing gear in hand and two of their assistants they left us in the capable hands of our nanny, Lupe’.              We had expected our parents to return before dark, but they hadn’t. Lupe’ assured us that our parents would return in the morning, but I was still worried.            During the night I heard a commotion, thinking it was my parents I unzipped the door of our tent. I couldn’t wrap my head around what I saw, there were several creatures moving through the camp, they were knocking over tables and ripping apart the tents. I heard a cry and saw one of the things with Lupe’, it had thrown her over its shoulder and was carrying her away. Several of our team lay on the ground, I could only assumed that they were dead.         I knew it was only a matter of seconds before they got to our tent, so I quietly crept to my sleeping brothers. Tommy woke easily and I put my finger to his lips before he could speak and motioned to the noise outside.        “We are not alone!” I whispered urgently.        Then I went to Jimmy, he was the youngest and a heavy sleeper. I shook him several times, as the noise outside was getting louder and closer. Finally, he woke and I covered his mouth to keep him from crying out. I pointed at their shoes and went to the back of the tent. Once they were ready, I slit the back wall of the tent with my trusted Swiss army knife and we fled into the desert, under the cover of darkness.          We searched for the ladder, that would take us out of the gorge. The ladder went up some 20 feet to a rope bridge from there we could cross to the trail that would take us to the plateau, where the temporary camp and other members of our parents’ team where at.         We heard crashing behind us; the creatures must have realized we were missing. I caught a shiny glimpse out of the corner of my eye, it was the ladder! I hurriedly pushed my brothers up the ladder. A loud shriek boomed in the night, it was like nothing I had ever heard before. Jimmy froze, trembling afraid to keep climbing. I urgently tried to coax him up, but he wouldn’t budge, until he actually saw the creatures rushing to the ladder.         “Go, Go!” I screamed, no longer trying to be quiet. What was the point they had found us.          “Gargoyles! Those are Gargoyles!” Tommy screamed from the bridge.           The creatures reached the bottom of the ladder just as we got to the bridge. I pushed Jimmy up to Tommy and climbed up. The creatures had already started climbing by the time I took out my knife and started cutting the ropes that held the ladder up. The creatures were coming fast, I sawed furiously.          “Hurry Cathy, Hurry!” Tommy cried, the creatures were now halfway up and the bridge we were on was starting to sway from the weight.          “It’s not sharp enough!” I cried.             Suddenly the rope snapped, the bridge bounced dangerously, and I was thrown against the side, I grabbed Tommy to keep him from going over. Jimmy was laying on his belly holding on for dear life.            We watched as the ladder’s other rope gave way and all the creatures fell back into the gorge. It didn’t kill them, it only made them madder. They shrieked and jumped trying to reach us. We weren’t high enough for my comfort, so we made it across the bridge to the trail. I looked back to see if they were following but they were still in the gorge, obviously the walls of the gorge were to steep for them to climb and with the ladder broken now, I prayed they would be stuck in the gorge.          “What did you call them Tommy?” I asked as we walked along the trail.         “Gargoyles, I saw a picture of them in Dad’s journal. That’s what they were looking for, their city, the City of Gargoyles.            I thought about the creatures we had seen, their skin had looked like granite, gray and course. They had horns and spiky protrusions along their backs, their teeth were enormous hanging over their chins. And even though I’d seen stunted wings on their backs, they obviously couldn’t fly.           “Come on, we need to get to the lab and help, remember we aren’t alone in this.”            Tommy leads the way down the trail, we can still hear shrieking, it’s an unearthly sound and it sends shivers down our spines.          The trail to the top of the plateau is steep and treacherous. The wind is ferociously whipping at us. Thankfully, the moon is full and remarkably bright tonight. But the trail is still scary. I hold Jimmy by the arm as he struggles up.           At last, we’ve reached the plateau, but I can hear things being destroyed and people screaming. How did the Gargoyles beat us here? We hide behind a mesquite tree and watch as the creatures tip over the mobile lab.          “What are we going to do Cathy?” Tommy whispers.          I scan the surroundings, not knowing what to do until I see the Bob truck. It’s the vehicle my parents use to pull the lab around. It was sitting about 30 yards from the creatures, but only about 20 feet from us.          “We are going to get to the Bob truck.” I tell my brothers.         “But it’s kept locked Cathy!” Tommy told me.          “I know but the key is kept under the fender, and they’re far enough away and if we are quiet, we should be able to get to the truck, get the key and get inside before they see us.”          “But Cathy, they flipped over the lab.” Jimmy cried.         “The lab is a lot lighter than the truck, on the count of three, we run as fast and quietly as possible. Tommy you’re the fastest so you get the key and open the truck. We’ll be right behind you.” Tommy nods and I take Jimmys hand. 1, 2, 3……       We all take off running, almost instantly we hear the horrible shrieking again, the creatures all stop what they are doing and turn toward us. I slow a little as I see one of the creatures in the air. I thought they couldn’t fly! Why is this one flying, my mind cries out. This creature is larger than the others and has a wingspan that is probably 15 feet across and it’s flying right at us.          Jimmy squeezes my hand in terror, as we pick up speed. Tommy already has the door open, when we get there mere seconds before the creature lands in the bed of the truck. Another lands in front of the truck. They are enormous, their wings blot out all of the surroundings. They slam their fists onto the gas tank, that sits in the bed. They rip it from its fastening and hurl it out into the desert.       Screaming, I drag my brothers to the floorboard and watch as one of the creatures starts peeling the roof off.  Saliva drips down on us. I know we are doomed. I hug my brothers close, telling them how much I love them as I wait for death…..           “Kids! It’s time for lunch.” We jump up from the floorboard of the truck at the sound of Grandpa’s voice.        “Ahhhhhhhh,” we all 3 scream in fright, when the dogs leap onto the roof of the truck in a barking frenzy.            “You blasted dogs! Get off that truck right now!” Grandpa yells, as we climb out of the truck.            The dogs bounce happily around us, barking and grabbing at our clothes. They are not yet ready to end our game.  Laughing I pet their heads, these dogs are the best gargoyles ever….
","August 05, 2023 23:40","[[{'David Sweet': 'Fun story!', 'time': '13:06 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Catherine Stevens': 'Thank you', 'time': '16:37 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Catherine Stevens': 'Thank you', 'time': '16:37 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",q1jqyk,The Ivy Stones,Ben Hulme,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q1jqyk/,/short-story/q1jqyk/,Dialogue,0,"['Thriller', 'Drama', 'Suspense']",14 likes,"
The wipers whimpered across the clouded windshield of the car to reveal a dark and narrow lane; trees reached down from behind weathered walls, channelling the car further and further into the shadow of the wood. The engine of the red Golf mk2 spat and sputtered, its wheels splashing through the puddles across the pox marked road. Ollie King was driving, his narrow eyes squinted to see through the gloom of rain and condensation.'Put some music on, my password is 6665,' he said, feeling down into the dirty ash tray to find his phone and hand it to Jack sat beside him in the passenger seat. Jack Lake took it and unlocked the phone, finding Spotify.'You said what to Lisa?''Do not go through my messages,' replied Ollie, stretching over the gear stick to retrieve his phone. Jack held the phone out of reach and said: 'I am joking, I am joking. What song do you want on?''Who is Lisa?' asked Annie Hughes from behind Jack, rubbing a pale hand across her eyes.'Where are we?' asked Beth Davy from beside her, rubbing away the shadow of her breath from the glass and peering out into the dark space between the trees. 'I thought it was only a mile from the pub.''Who is Lisa?' asked Annie, taking hold of the front seats to sit up straight and glare into the back of her boyfriends head. 'What song do you want on?' asked Jack, scrolling through Ollies playlists. 'ABBA?''No,' sneered Ollie, turning the wheel to turn the car around the bend; trees, and more trees, tangled claws groping down above the steel roof of the car. He had heard stories of ghosts in these woods; ghosts of travellers and headless horsemen.'I will break up with you if you do not tell me who Lisa is.''A Friend from Uni,' replied Ollie, following the eyes of a horse, its long white face hung low over an iron rail. Strange creatures. He turned the wheel. The stereo crackled and thumped; Jack prodded at the buttons and said: 'The aux is not working.''It has Bluetooth,' said Beth from the back. 'Press the rune.''Rune?' asked Jack.'That,' said Ollie pressing the B on the stereo; a low hum of an organ began to vibrate from the speakers slowly building up with a guitar.'Very fitting,' said Beth.'What is it?' asked Annie. The words MR CROWLEY erupted, breaking out from all around them. WHAT WENT ON IN YOUR HEAD. OH MR CROWLEY, DID YOU TALK TO THE DEAD?WAITING ON SATANS DOOR. 'Turn it off.''No,' said Jack.'Be Nice,' said Beth, reaching over to flick Jack behind the ear.'Get off,' said Jack, laughing. 'We will leave you here.' He pointed at the blur of passing trees. 'Fuck off, you wouldn't dare,' replied Beth with a smile, slapping at the top of his head. Jack took hold of her hand and held it down behind his headrest. 'Let me go.''No.''Stop flirting with her Jack and let her go,' said Annie.He let Beth's hand go and she fell back into her seat.'If you think that is what flirting is, I worry for you and Ollie.''We are here,' said Ollie, easing his foot on the break and turning the car off from the road. Stone growled under the wheels.'How do you know?' asked Annie.'I remember,' he replied, easing the car to a stop and winding down his window to get a closer look at something he had seen through the trees. 'There.' Beth wound down her window and saw it; stones, five of them, standing tall and alone in a clearing in the forest.'Is that it?' she asked, breathing in the damp earthy scent of the trees. Spots of rain dampened her face as she leaned out, peering to get a better look at the stones. 'What are they called?''My Dad called them the Six ladies. But I have heard others call them the Ivy Stones.''Six?' asked Jack'I have heard of the nine ladies in Derbyshire,' said Beth. 'Is it the usual story, dancing on the sabbath and turned to stone?'Ollie leaned his head back against the headrest with a smile and replied: 'I think so.''Why are they called the six ladies when there are only five?' asked Annie.Beth opened her car door and stepped out, narrowly avoiding a puddle. She slammed it shut behind her and began to walk towards the stones.'Beth?' asked Annie.Jack got out, and Ollie turned off the engine and followed, leaving Annie alone in the car.'Come on Ann,' said Ollie, retrieving his heavy workman's coat from the boot, before putting it on. She watched them go. Muddied white shoes and boots, stepping with care over the muddied floor of the wood until she saw them step out to stand before the stones.'They are bigger up close,' whispered Beth, craning her neck to look up at the tallest. A whiff of smoke on the wind. Jack had lit a cigarette, puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled into Ollies face. 'Put it out.''Why?' he asked, before taking another inhale. Wood creaked. The wind whistled and blew rain down from the tops of the trees. Leaves shivered silver under the strain of their shaking branches.'Where are the birds? I can not hear them,' asked Beth.'It is so quiet,' said Ollie, walking into the centre of the circle.Jack began to squawk, cupping his mouth between his hands and calling out into the stones. His voice echoed.'Stop it and listen,' said Ollie, putting his hand to the air. Jack stopped. The wind whistled and hummed through the stones. Cracked and lined, weathered by thousands and thousands of years. 'I wonder how old they are.''A few thousand years,' whispered Beth. 'Look at the clouds.'Above the swirls of cloud were painted red. 'It will be dark soon.''You have been here with your Dad?' asked Jack.'Before-,' replied Ollie.'Was that the year we went to stone henge for the solstice?' asked Beth.'And Dan had to be taken to hospital,' replied Ollie. Wind roared. 'We should be getting back.' He shivered. 'Already?' asked Jack, kicking with his heel at the earth. 'Look.'Jack pointed to a gap in the stones, to where once had stood another. 'A hole.''It must have been stolen,' said Ollie.'Or broken,' whispered Beth. The three of them looked around at the small clearing to find nothing.'Perhaps one of the women has come back to life?' asked Jack grinning, as he began to roll another cigarette.'Perhaps,' said Ollie, his own smile wavering. 'We should get back to Ann.''Is she still in the car?' asked Beth.'Leave her there,' said Jack, cupping his lighter and cigarette from the wind.'Why do you not like her?' asked Beth, turning to face Jack.He shrugged, and replied: 'I know her type.''Jack,' said Ollie.'I know you are cheating on her,' he replied. 'Lisa?'Ollie's face flushed red. 'Come over?''Ollie is this true?' asked Beth.'No. Beth you can not say anything,' he stammered, reaching out to take her by the arm.'Why not? Just tell her,' replied Beth, wriggling free.'Because her Daddy is his new boss,' said Jack, stabbing at the wet ground with the front of his boot.The light was fading. The wind whispered and writhed at the trees around them. The wind was cold. Beth shivered, and hugged her arms around her shoulders and said: 'We should be getting back, it is a long drive back to the hostel.''But we have only just got here,' said Jack.'Please do not say anything to her,' said Ollie.'I will not promise anything,' replied Beth walking away from the stones into the trees.'You have done it now,' said Jack as he passed Ollie after her. 'Wait-''Why have you done this?' asked Ollie, taking hold of Jack by the arm and knocking his cigarette from his hand. 'Is everything a joke to you?''Tell her the truth.' Jack shoved Ollie back and walked after Beth. Ollie stood and stared as his friend passed into the darkness, his body shifting in the low light. Blues and black. He could see through the trees the dull red of his car parked beside the road and Annie sat staring back at him. He sighed and turned, looking back to see six stones standing tall; the dust settled and the ropes fell to land in the long grasses of the meadow. Birds chirped in the low summer light as the stones were lit by the fires of the pyres burning brightly all around. Dark faces twisted with joy and song, that lifted and fell; many dancing limbs moved up and down and around and around the towering stones.'We're not alone,' said a man in a language long dead, his face white with chalk. All eyes turned to see Ollie. Voices faded and did the fires. Darkness fell on the tired faces of the five stones and Ollie was alone. He walked back with his breath tight in his throat and opened his car door and sat down. Annie was crying and Beth was holding her. Jack sat slouched with his chin rested on his hand. Ollie turned the key, pressed the clutch to the floor and eased into first gear; he steered back around onto the road and drove back up the dark and narrow lane.  
","August 05, 2023 15:20","[[{'Tom Skye': 'Good stuff Ben. It went in a totally different direction to what I expected.\n\nEnjoyed it. Nice job', 'time': '16:04 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Carlton W. Gant III': 'Nice twist on the prompt, dude!', 'time': '20:52 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'David Sweet': 'Interesting twist!', 'time': '13:35 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",m0wsjb,Nature's Call,Michael Martin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/m0wsjb/,/short-story/m0wsjb/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Suspense']",14 likes,"
The woods were alive with the sounds of nature, birds conversing with each other while families of squirrels argued over nothing and everything. The chorus surrounded her with the comfort of normalcy - each chirp, bleat, and chitter signaling the absence of danger. Annie knew she could let her guard down since her furry neighbors never did.That afternoon, though, she was so preoccupied with digging the mud from the gaps between her toes that the alarmed call of a blue jay in the woods almost escaped her notice. She would’ve missed it, had it not been for the second, louder screech that pierced the facade of security. Her ears tuned to the jay’s frequency, muting the everyday sounds in search of additional information.She wasn’t necessarily concerned; predators patrolled the woods around the clock, and jays were known to flip out over anything. She kept her ear open but continued work on clearing the mud from that morning’s scavenging trip. The previous night’s rains had softened the ground in the clearing around the rusted Plymouth Voyager minivan she called home, and she despised that squishy sensation between her toes almost as much as she hated the grating of dried mud between them.The sharp yeep of a robin at the edge of the woods caused her to jump, her toes destined to remain half-cleaned as her full attention turned to the tree line. Blue jays might cry wolf, but robins weren’t so easily spooked. She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest to get her entire frame inside before slowly pulling her minivan’s sliding door shut – holding the handle up to quiet the click at the end. She pressed her eye to her peephole, a small clearing in the grime on the window, searching in the direction of the robin’s call. The only sound now was the wind brushing the tops of the shoulder-height grass that occupied the clearing. The robin must have taken off as soon as it sounded the alarm.The waves sent across the top of the grass by the wind held her attention, each hint of movement a possible harbinger of danger. What was out there, she wondered? Wolf? Bear? Or worse: human?The breeze sent another ripple through the overgrowth; this time, some of the grass didn’t follow the wave. She leaned in closer and pressed her forehead to the glass, leaving a ring of sweat that was already beading on her forehead from the humid Georgia heat trapped in the enclosed van. Her eyes affixed to the anomaly, she watched as the patch moved independent of the rest of the grass.A family of squirrels chittered excitedly in the far branches of the towering oak tree the Plymouth Voyager was permanently parked beneath. She could see them yelling at whatever was down there, telling it to bugger off with as much fury as a group of rodents could muster. She turned her attention back to the grass just in time to see the patch emerge from the edge of the grass into the shade under her tree. It sat atop a man’s head, the disheveled hair grimy enough to match the tan grass. The man crouched as he moved, keeping a low profile as his eyes remained fixed to the west of the clearing. He hadn’t noticed the van nor was he looking in her direction. That was the allure of the van, its camouflage being its natural place in the post-apocalyptic world where shadows of civilization were slowly overtaken by nature as time continued its onward trek.He was older - but how old, she couldn’t tell. His skin was leathery from years out in the Sun, making it hard to determine how much of his aging was natural versus Sun-baked. He wore a sleeveless hide jacket, a symbol embossed on the back. Bandit gang. She didn’t know all of their insignias, so she had no idea which group he associated with, but she didn’t need to in order to know he wasn’t someone she wanted to cross paths with. The long rifle he held at the ready confirmed this.He paused after making it to the cool shade under her oak, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes never wavered from the unseen prey he was stalking. Bandit gangs often sent out skilled hunters in search of supplies and food, be it a deer, turkey, or whatever supplies they could pilfer from the remains of the unlucky few who couldn’t hide fast enough. Some gangs didn’t stop there, seeing no difference in the taste of meat from game, bird, or human. Despite the suffocating head building in the van, she shuddered at the thought. He crouched, going down on one knee that sunk into the soft ground, and looked around inspecting for signs of his quarry... until something caught his eye a few feet in front of him.Annie gasped as she looked down at her still-muddy feet. When she looked up, the bandit was still crouched - but was looking directly at the van. She flopped over, pressing her back to the sliding door. Her breaths shortened as her heart began to race, incredulous that another bandit would find her out here.Scavengers and bandits often walked through this part of the woods, but they rarely paid the van any attention. Its grime-covered teal exterior was as much a part of the environment as the trees above and the grass below. So many Georgians were lost in the Global War on America that it was more common to find their houses, vehicles, and belongings laying around than it was to find an actual person. Whatever could be ransacked was already picked clean many times over; unless there was a sign that someone had been there recently, most assumed that there were no supplies in random vans in the woods.Unless there was a sign…Like fresh prints in the mud.She prayed that he wouldn’t think to check the van, desperately clinging to irrational hope. She tried to convince herself that he was just looking for deer and saw one behind the van. Or that even if he’d seen the van, its grimy windows would offer no visibility to the decorated interior, and he might move on without opening the doors. She pushed the sliding door’s lock, just in case.The squirrels’ chittering moved down the branch, from the tip to the base where the van sat immobile. She listened, following their voices to track his location. He was definitely walking towards her; she could no longer hold out hope that he’d ignore the van. Hope was draining with each passing second; she was down to the inane notion that he might not try the van door - even though her footprints led directly to it. She began to hear the squelch of his steps, slow and measured, as he neared her, the sounds shattered her last vestiges of false hope. The initial burst of a sob escaped past her hand before she muffled it and whined quietly. The layer of sweat covering her face now mixed with free-flowing tears.She was well aware of what bandits would do to a young woman alone in the woods. Even if she’d previously had any doubts, the other bandits who found her six months prior taught her better. Luckily they'd let her live, just leaving behind a parting gift that she'd only discovered recently.She’d spent considerable time during scavenging runs to Valdosta look for additional protection, something more than her dull knife or the baseball bat her scrawny arms could hardly swing. She’d found it in the basement of a one-story rambler, a rusted revolver with a box of rounds next to it. She’d shoved both into her backpack and taken them back to the van, but she’d never fired a gun before. She wasn’t even sure it would fire. More so than that, she couldn’t bring herself to kill; she never understood how men could do it so easily, as if it were nothing more than an afternoon stroll.She reached under the driver’s seat and grabbed the the black grip of the revolver. She’d always known that she couldn't fire the gun; like the baseball bat that she couldn’t swing with enough force to do anything, the gun was never meant as a weapon – only a deterrent. The bat may not have worked last time, but she hoped the threat of being shot combined with her insistence that she had nothing of value would be enough to prevent what she knew he’d want. She knew it had little chance of working, but she tried to lie to herself - in vain. The icy terror continued to creep outward from her chest, eventually reaching the pit of her stomach. The baby seemed to sense her despair and responded by kicking the left side of her bulging belly.“We’re not alone,” she whispered with a wavering voice, her hand instinctively covered her belly. The barrel of the revolver shook wildly as she lifted it to face the direction of the approaching footsteps. If she could just bring herself to fire, if the gun would actually shoot, she could end this now. She could fire the six rounds she’d long had loaded into the chamber. The danger would pass. She knew she should, but she knew she wouldn’t. There wasn't a single violent bone in her body.The sound of the sliding door’s handle caused her to jump; she’d heard the steps approaching, but she expected him to say something first. Knock possibly. The handle jiggled for a moment then stopped as the lock showed that it still worked. She couldn’t hold back her sobs any longer as fear overwhelmed her. She tried to muffle them. His voice told her she didn’t silence them enough.“Oh sweetie, there’s no need to be scared.” His voice, raspy and deep, had a strong, Southern twang to it. “Why don’t you come on out and let ol’ Uncle Walter get a good look at you?” His laugh was slow with a devious edge as he moved to the passenger door. Her heart sunk as the handle rattled, the sudden realization hitting her that she didn’t know if that door was locked. The handle creaked as he lifted it, silence lasting an eternity before the handle creaked again as he lowered it. Three more times, he lifted and dropped the handle before giving up. Locked.She let out a deep sigh as she realized none of the doors would open for the bandit. The driver’s side door had never opened since she'd moved in: it was rusted shut. Same with the rear cargo door. Perhaps he’ll give up, she told herself. But he knew she was in there, and like a predator digging into a tunnel with trapped prey, he’d find a way in eventually.“Come on sweetheart, let’s stop playing these silly games. Let me in so we can enjoy this fine afternoon weather together.” His voice trailed as it moved around the front of the van. He tried the driver’s door, finding it unmoving as well. “You’re really sealed up tight in there, huh?” He turned back, stopping outside the sliding door once again.She held the revolver in front of her face, the iron sights jumping around as she struggled to keep her aim steady. She could see his silhouette through the grime on the window but knew he couldn’t see her. Just shoot, she implored herself. Why couldn’t she do it?A loud thud sent her scuffling back, pressing her back against the opposite wall. Another followed, then another, before the final blow ended with the sound of glass shattering. She recoiled, throwing her hands in front of her face. After the last of the shards clinked on the floor, she looked up to see Walter’s leathery face, stretched thin with a big smile that displayed only half the number of teeth it should have.“Nice to finally meet you. You gon’ invite me in or not?” His face disappeared, replaced a moment later by his hand reaching through the newly opened window. He felt around for the lock, pressing the lever. Without the lock to prevent it, the door slid open when he pulled the handle this time. His smile was laced with anticipation and confidence.“Aww honey, don’t be scared.” He spun the rifle on its strap until it was resting on his back. “I ain’t gon’ hurt you. Well, not as long as you play nice.”Annie raised the revolver, her hand still shaking wildly. She wanted to speak, tell him that there was nothing there for him to take and that she’d shoot if he tried anything. She could hardly breathe, though. The words never formed.“Oh! What you got there, missy? An ol’ snubnose? That’s cute. You ever even fired one of them things before?” His tone was playful, yet sinister. She’d heard the other bandits use that same tone. There wasn’t an ounce of fear anywhere in it. The gun dropped as the fight left her body. She knew what was coming; she could only hope he would show the same mercy as the others did. She openly sobbed, deep sobs that started in her chest and convulsed over her entire body.As she sobbed, she felt the van shift as it took on Walter’s weight.She heard the sound of the rifle dropping to the ground as he began removing what he had on.She felt the sensation of helplessness.She smelled the sickening stench of sweat and filth as he drew closer.She tasted iron as she bit her lip.Then, she felt another kick.She felt the weight of responsibility, her child relying on her.She saw the situation for what it was.She felt cool resolution wash her fear away and steady her hand.She saw a smile cross his face when she raised the gun again.She heard the blast echo in the van’s interior.
","August 11, 2023 02:52","[[{'Jakob Roy': '""What was out there, she wondered? Wolf? Bear? Or worse: human?"" -That about sums up the reality of a collapsed society. Most stories set in apocalyptic worlds tend to depict humanity uniting to defeat the enemy, whether that be cyborgs, zombies, aliens, or a foreign military. These are all very inspirational, but the truth is, many people would devolve into a dog eat dog mindset, and we\'d end up with: Form a tribe, conquer neighboring tribe, claim their resources, kill the men and take the women for... well, exactly what almost happened to ...', 'time': '17:45 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': 'I love that you picked up on all of that.  I showed this comment to my girlfriend, and her exact comment was ""Yes!  That\'s it exactly, that\'s exactly what you did.""  \n\nI\'m glad that you read through the story and understood/appreciated it as much as you did.  Thank you so much, I appreciated this comment so much :)', 'time': '20:57 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Jakob Roy': 'I look forward to reading more of your stories. Keep up the good work!', 'time': '22:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Michael Martin': 'I love that you picked up on all of that.  I showed this comment to my girlfriend, and her exact comment was ""Yes!  That\'s it exactly, that\'s exactly what you did.""  \n\nI\'m glad that you read through the story and understood/appreciated it as much as you did.  Thank you so much, I appreciated this comment so much :)', 'time': '20:57 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jakob Roy': 'I look forward to reading more of your stories. Keep up the good work!', 'time': '22:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jakob Roy': 'I look forward to reading more of your stories. Keep up the good work!', 'time': '22:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Karen Corr': 'Good story, Michael. Suspenseful. I enjoyed it.\nIf you’d like some advice that I’m not qualified to give as a writer, (but maybe as a reader), the story would have been even better if you’d started with “He was older - but how old, she couldn’t tell,” then filled in the parts that led up to the moment, after.', 'time': '11:52 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': 'Thanks for the feedback!  I seriously love these types of comments, I\'m always looking to improve... you don\'t have to be ""qualified as a writer"", because you\'re a reader and you\'re the target audience.  So you\'re suggesting that I mentioned that line, then get into the sight of his hair moving through the grass?', 'time': '21:03 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Karen Corr': 'Only since you asked… :) I’d begin with that “He was older line, all the way through the “Annie gasped paragraph then stop, leaving the audience hanging while you go back to the beginning and lead them back to that point. They’ll keep reading. They have to find out what happened. You\'ll have to do some transitioning and smoothing to make it blend, like ""Earlier that morning...', 'time': '13:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': 'Thanks for the feedback!  I seriously love these types of comments, I\'m always looking to improve... you don\'t have to be ""qualified as a writer"", because you\'re a reader and you\'re the target audience.  So you\'re suggesting that I mentioned that line, then get into the sight of his hair moving through the grass?', 'time': '21:03 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Karen Corr': 'Only since you asked… :) I’d begin with that “He was older line, all the way through the “Annie gasped paragraph then stop, leaving the audience hanging while you go back to the beginning and lead them back to that point. They’ll keep reading. They have to find out what happened. You\'ll have to do some transitioning and smoothing to make it blend, like ""Earlier that morning...', 'time': '13:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Karen Corr': 'Only since you asked… :) I’d begin with that “He was older line, all the way through the “Annie gasped paragraph then stop, leaving the audience hanging while you go back to the beginning and lead them back to that point. They’ll keep reading. They have to find out what happened. You\'ll have to do some transitioning and smoothing to make it blend, like ""Earlier that morning...', 'time': '13:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'TC Nagy-Felsobuki': ""Like your protagonist, Annie, I couldn't let my guard down till I reached the end of the story. Suspense!"", 'time': '11:01 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""Great to hear!  That was the idea, to hold the suspense until the end.  I'm glad it worked, I was trying hard to implement that idea with this story.  Thank you so much for your comment :)"", 'time': '21:04 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""Great to hear!  That was the idea, to hold the suspense until the end.  I'm glad it worked, I was trying hard to implement that idea with this story.  Thank you so much for your comment :)"", 'time': '21:04 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Vivid, suspenseful writing. Great story. Really enjoyed it.', 'time': '22:38 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""I'm glad to hear it!  Thank you so much :)"", 'time': '21:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""I'm glad to hear it!  Thank you so much :)"", 'time': '21:05 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Lots of suspense and world building. And desperation. And finality.\n\nThanks for liking my underworld.', 'time': '14:54 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""You're absolutely welcome!  Great work!  \n\nAnd thank you for reading my work as well :)"", 'time': '20:53 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""You're absolutely welcome!  Great work!  \n\nAnd thank you for reading my work as well :)"", 'time': '20:53 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': ""Great suspense story, I liked how you release background information throughout the story.\n I would think a woman alone in that world would have reached desperation sooner, however she has been lucky, her close connection to nature maybe how she survived when so many other Georgians didn't.  She is a strong character, and now a mom and so finally pushed past the low value she has for her own life to push past her fear.\n\nYou repeated 'sounds' in the first sentence, fine if you wanted the repetition but it stands out."", 'time': '05:07 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Michael Martin': ""Many thanks!  I submitted my rough draft on Thursday with the intent to edit before Friday, so I'm glad you gave me some advice before the final submission deadline  Much appreciated, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story!"", 'time': '23:58 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Michael Martin': ""Many thanks!  I submitted my rough draft on Thursday with the intent to edit before Friday, so I'm glad you gave me some advice before the final submission deadline  Much appreciated, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story!"", 'time': '23:58 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",wlous3,Do Aliens Like Cake?,Myranda Marie,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wlous3/,/short-story/wlous3/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",14 likes,"
	Expecting to find a typical lecture hall beyond the door to her next class, Leah was disappointed to see a half empty classroom that at capacity wouldn’t accommodate more than twenty students. It was the equivalent of a poorly renovated storage closet or boiler room often depicted in comedy movies featuring delinquent student hijinks. She shrugged and made her way to an empty desk among eight other nondescript college students. Leah stored her bag under her chair and propped her laptop on the tiny desktop, awaiting instruction. The podium at the front of the meager room stood lonely in front of a portable blackboard. The walls were bare, sans any visual aids such as maps and posters. Ten minutes ticked by slower than any ten minutes in her young life before the side door creaked open. Leah anticipated the proverbial eccentric professor wearing a corduroy blazer complete with suede elbow patches, horn rimmed glasses and Einstein-esque hair to emerge. Instead, a young woman, not much older than Leah, stumbled through the threshold awkwardly carrying a large bakery box, barely balancing on her forearms. 
 
	The woman set the box on a portable cart, commonly used to transport audio visual equipment. She opened the box and began haphazardly hacking off slices of its contents with a plastic cake cutter, most likely supplied by the bakery. She reached for the lower shelf on the cart and pulled out a stack of paper napkins, taking the top one and setting the cake knife on it. The woman licked a dollop of stray icing from the side of her hand and brushed it against the other, shaking away any crumbs. Leah glanced around the room hoping she wasn't the only one in attendance highly confused; she was not. 
 
	“Cake anyone? Seriously, there’s more than enough to go around, please come up and help yourselves. I did forget the plates, so we’ll have to make do with these crappy paper napkins.” The woman, who was the assumed instructor, looked rather proud of herself as she grabbed a cake slice for herself and picked at it with her thumb and forefinger. “It’s good, I swear!” 
 
	One by one, each of the nine students, including Leah, did as they were told, and took a slice of the cake from the front of the room. Some were eager to indulge while a few hesitated, but at the very least tasted a bite or two before balling the rest in their napkins. The young woman waited patiently for nearly fifteen minutes while her students ate. She busied herself, shuffling papers and marking pages in a book with sticky notes. Satisfied that everyone had enough of their treat, she politely asked the class to dispose of any trash and return to their seats. She cleared her throat and spoke with conviction, “That will be the only “piece of cake” you’ll experience in my class. So, if you have chosen to be here, assuming this would be an easy “A”, you’re sadly mistaken and are welcome to leave before we get started.” Not one student dared move from their seat. “Very well, let me officially welcome you all to Astrobiology. My name is Professor Sully.” 
 
	Muffled giggles from a few of her students let her know, they were in fact paying attention. She continued, “I am well aware of the similarity in my name with that of a well-known television character famous for investigating the paranormal, including aliens. It is completely coincidental, and might I suggest you all refer to me by my first name; no, it’s not Dana. When our class is in session, you may call me Sandra. In turn, I will refer to you by your first names as soon as I learn them. Please indulge me for the first class or two and state your name when addressing the class.” 
 
	Leah typed “Sandra Sully” into her notes and highlighted it, reminding herself to do an internet deep dive on her rather unique Astrobiology professor; you know, for some additional perspective. She wanted nothing more than to have this class meet her expectations. She was relieved to know it was not going to be a “cake class” after all. She wondered about Sandra; young, fairly attractive, witty and yet teaching the nerdiest, geekiest subject offered at the University. Leah felt her pulse rise at the thought of sharing her theories with someone who would actually understand and more importantly believe her. Sandra opened the book she had been earmarking and began to read. 
 
	“Astrobiology is based on the premise that life is possible beyond the confines of planet Earth. It is a fairly recent discipline, and the more we learn about other planets, the more we can surmise in regard to life forms beyond those found here. However, the studies are based on favorable conditions on other planets conducive to supporting life as we define it. What if other life forms are not reliant on the same conditions necessary for Earth life to thrive? What if life on other planets required conditions that we could never endure?” Sandra paused, hoping for some thoughtful participation. Leah raised her hand. “Yes?”
 
	“My name is Leah, and I too have contemplated this hypothesis. I also believe it is not a possibility but a probability that life exists on other planets. It’s rather ignorant to believe Earth is exclusive. I am curious as to how it can be scientifically determined that life can or cannot exist on planets we only theorize about.” 
 
	Sandra smiled, “Well, Leah, you are certainly in the right class. Not only will we cover the disciplines outlined for Astrobiology, but we will be touching a bit on Xenobiology, or the idea of technology’s potential influence on sustaining life in less-than-optimal conditions. We have an entire semester to theorize, research and conclude if life beyond Earth is, as you put it, probable. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. Does anyone have anything to add before we continue?” 
 
	One of the seven young men in attendance raised his hand. Leah tried to get a read on him, but he had his back toward her making it difficult to decipher facial expressions and body language. She did notice his perfect posture, quite contrary to the other students slumped either forward over their desks or leaning back so far, Leah deduced a chiropractor in their near future. He spoke clearly and with conviction, turning back only for a split second as he referenced Leah’s previous comment. Leah thought he looked a bit like Clark Kent, Superman's alter ego. The irony made her smile; was this boy from another planet, here to protect humanity from itself? Probably not. 
 
	“My name is Shane.” he began, “Why is this class an elective? I mean, it’s my understanding that we will be studying biosignatures, as well as geobiology in order to determine possible habitable environments. Wouldn’t this be a necessary study for other fields of environmental and atmospheric sciences? Do people not understand that this is so much more than a group of geeks speculating alien life forms?” 
 
	Sandra placed the book she was holding on the cart in front of her and wheeled a metal stool out from behind the podium. Leah noticed the look of satisfaction on her face, smiling like a proud parent of a little leaguer celebrating their first hit. “Shane, wow! I have been teaching this class for the past two years and you are the first person to defend its validity, so thank you for that. My feelings mimic yours, there is so much more to the discipline of Astrobiology than watching reruns of Roswell once a week for an hour. Most students see the word elective and sign up for that easy, piece of cake A. Did you all know that my class minimum is only five students? There are nine of you here and in two years this is the second largest class I have ever taught. Crazy, right?”  Sandra took a breath allowing her students to reply. Some simply shook their heads while at least three, including Leah and Shane were a bit more vocal with their disbelief. “The idea of studying aliens along with my unfortunate last name have greatly contributed to Astrobiology becoming the brunt of more jokes than I can repeat. The truth is, our field of study is imperative to sustaining life on our own planet, never mind determining if life exists on others. So, all that aside, let me propose my thoughts on our endgame by giving you your very first assignment. I would like all of you to present a list of at least three thoughtful, intelligent and relevant questions to explore throughout the duration of our time together. We will compile a master list and go from there. Any questions?” 
 
	The only other girl besides Leah raised her hand. She was pretty, well dressed and Leah couldn’t help feeling a little envious. “My name is Veronica; most people call me Ronni. At first, I thought this was not going to be the class for me, but I was too embarrassed to leave after the whole cake party thing. I mean, it’s not like I could have snuck out unnoticed in a room with only ten people.” The others chuckled. Their positive reaction eased Ronni’s apprehension and fueled her to continue. “My friends told me not to take this class, that I would be teased, but I was curious, and I will admit, I figured it would be a piece of cake. Sitting here, listening to all of you has changed my mind. I want to know more, but what if I can’t come up with three good questions?” 
 
	Sandra stood, “Veronica, thank you for staying even after finding out this class isn’t all carbs and sugar. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but your concerns are that your classmates have a preliminary understanding of Astrobiology, and you didn’t think it was a requirement. You’re feeling behind and it’s only the first day.” 
 
“Exactly.” Veronica willingly admitted.
 
	“Might I suggest a study buddy?” Sandra offered. All seven boys raised their hands, volunteering for the opportunity. “Veronica, it’s completely your call but may I recommend you and Leah get to know one another. I think the two of you working together will be mutually beneficial. 
 
	Veronica turned toward Leah, “Sorry guys, but I’m starting this class off right; by taking the teachers advice. Leah, do you have time after class to grab a coffee?” 
 
	 Leah nodded. “I do.” 
 
	Sandra Sully surveyed her class feeling more hopeful than ever, allowing herself the indulgences of pride and confidence. This group will be different, they have potential. Maybe, just maybe for the first time in two years, she will get through the entire curriculum without having to resort to those Roswell reruns in order to fill an hour every week for the next nine weeks. Not only was there at least one student with a genuine interest and healthy curiosity, but two, maybe three. Sandra felt positively giddy as she dismissed her class and watched Leah and Veronica invite Shane to join them for coffee. This could be the beginning of her very first research team; she could apply for grant funding and secure a lab. Oh, would this be the beginning of her life’s work, would she finally have the means to prove what she had known for years? Were these few students worthy of her trust and could she share her irrefutable evidence that… Sandra whispered to herself, “we’re not alone.” 
 
","August 06, 2023 21:38","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'This reads like a continuation tale. The last sentence certainly indicated that this was so. Is it?\n\nI\'m hoping you say ""yes."" More of this would be good.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '13:31 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': 'Thank you so much. As I wrote this specifically to fit the prompts, I did consider developing the story and of course the characters. I think there may be a lot more to Sandra than simply a college professor. Stay tuned and again, thanks for reading !', 'time': '17:33 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': 'Thank you so much. As I wrote this specifically to fit the prompts, I did consider developing the story and of course the characters. I think there may be a lot more to Sandra than simply a college professor. Stay tuned and again, thanks for reading !', 'time': '17:33 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Very cool. I want to join this class. Feels like the start of a movie.\nBrilliant brilliant! 😍', 'time': '07:06 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': 'Thank you so much ! Yes, let\'s make a movie ! ""Dead Aliens Society""? or maybe, ""Good Alien Hunting""? haha !!!', 'time': '16:10 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': 'The Breakfast Alien Club?', 'time': '18:41 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Myranda Marie': 'Good one ! Or, ""Alien House"" An entire fraternity of toga wearing, beer swilling aliens is discovered on campus...haha', 'time': '18:45 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""lol \nSt Alien's Fire??\nhaha.\nokay i think I'm done now!! :)"", 'time': '20:18 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Myranda Marie': 'me too, but that was fun ! Thanks!', 'time': '20:42 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': 'Thank you so much ! Yes, let\'s make a movie ! ""Dead Aliens Society""? or maybe, ""Good Alien Hunting""? haha !!!', 'time': '16:10 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': 'The Breakfast Alien Club?', 'time': '18:41 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Myranda Marie': 'Good one ! Or, ""Alien House"" An entire fraternity of toga wearing, beer swilling aliens is discovered on campus...haha', 'time': '18:45 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""lol \nSt Alien's Fire??\nhaha.\nokay i think I'm done now!! :)"", 'time': '20:18 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Myranda Marie': 'me too, but that was fun ! Thanks!', 'time': '20:42 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'The Breakfast Alien Club?', 'time': '18:41 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': 'Good one ! Or, ""Alien House"" An entire fraternity of toga wearing, beer swilling aliens is discovered on campus...haha', 'time': '18:45 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""lol \nSt Alien's Fire??\nhaha.\nokay i think I'm done now!! :)"", 'time': '20:18 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Myranda Marie': 'me too, but that was fun ! Thanks!', 'time': '20:42 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': 'Good one ! Or, ""Alien House"" An entire fraternity of toga wearing, beer swilling aliens is discovered on campus...haha', 'time': '18:45 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""lol \nSt Alien's Fire??\nhaha.\nokay i think I'm done now!! :)"", 'time': '20:18 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Myranda Marie': 'me too, but that was fun ! Thanks!', 'time': '20:42 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""lol \nSt Alien's Fire??\nhaha.\nokay i think I'm done now!! :)"", 'time': '20:18 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': 'me too, but that was fun ! Thanks!', 'time': '20:42 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': 'me too, but that was fun ! Thanks!', 'time': '20:42 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Good premise.', 'time': '00:44 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Myranda Marie': 'Thank you so much !', 'time': '01:41 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Myranda Marie': 'Thank you so much !', 'time': '01:41 Aug 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",kr5pnq,When The Trees Fell,Leah Ariana,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/kr5pnq/,/short-story/kr5pnq/,Dialogue,0,"['High School', 'Horror']",13 likes,"
	TRIGGER WARNING:	Fire, Burning, Death of a minor, Death of parents	There was a crash in my backyard at 2:36 in the morning, the night before my first American History test of the school year. I was still awake listening to Hamilton in hopes of memorizing the scraps of semi-accurate information in the musical. Even with my headphones blasting at top volume, I still heard the apple tree crack and tumble into the packed dirt below in the backyard. The resounding boom made me jump like the monster had just made its first appearance on screen in a low budget horror movie. My vision was blurred from sleep deprivation, and I almost convinced myself that my brain had concocted the entire commotion. Stress can be like that, especially since I haven’t studied and my “notes” for a test were composed of lyrics to a rap musical. And I hadn’t slept in 21 hours, I could barely pass as a living human being. This was my last chance at a good grade and I wouldn’t throw away my shot. But the scent of burning gasoline flowed through my room and filled my lungs.	Pausing the music, my ears were met with the uncanny greeting of silence. Everything was in its correct place in my room, illuminated by the soft glow of pink Christmas lights even though it was only the second week of September. Within those walls, my reality was unchanged and would remain that way if I stayed put, I knew. But what I didn’t know was what reality looked like in the vastness of our yard, and my ignorance was debilitating. I could say something noble like that I was searching for truth and knowledge, but that wouldn’t be true. Any sixteen year old can tell you that the only thing that really matters in high school is how cool your friends think you are, and telling a story of sneaking out into the unknown of the night, where danger is inevitable? That would secure at least a few new friends, and I needed to get off the social sidelines.	I looked out my window in vain, knowing my room didn’t have a view of the big tree. Continuing to drown in my blankets and sheets would be the most comfortable option, the safest option. Maybe looking out the kitchen window would have sufficed and could have satisfied my craving for social escalation, but I knew better. Gripping my phone tightly between my fingers, I lifted my covers and stood up. The loss of warmth shocked my skin and I eased a hoodie over my tank top and stepped in my slippers to soothe my body.	The bedroom door groaned as I turned the knob and I prayed that the fan my parents always slept with was loud enough to muffle my departure. I tried to tiptoe down the stairs, but the soles of my slippers were stiff and kept slapping the vinyl covered stairs with each step I took. After an eternity of descent, I landed on worn carpet, absorbing the sound of my footfalls. Taking advantage of the soundproof floor, I ran through the living room to the back door at the edge of the room that led to the garage and I turned the overhead light on the second the door clicked softly behind me.	My eyes burned and it felt like I was staring into the sun as I squeezed them shut and scrunched my face. After counting down from 10, I slowly lifted my eyelids after they had adjusted to the glare of the single bulb in the middle of the ceiling. Mom’s car was sitting in front of me, a tennis ball resting on the windshield to let her know she’s pulled in far enough. The shoe bin was overflowing with sneakers and sandals on the floor next to me, everything seemingly in its place.	I walked around the black sedan while trying to force my mind to recall if the passcode for the door started with a seven or an eight. But I didn’t need to remember. The garage door was opened.	It was only partially opened, maybe a foot off the ground, but I knew how my dad religiously locked the house up every night and there was no way he would have overlooked this massive breach in security. Fresh footprints caked along the cement to our toolbox on the floor that we could never quite remember to put away. It was tipped over, contents spilling out as incriminating as blood. There was another set of prints leading back towards the door, though the evidence of feet was disturbed by whoever was in here dragging something out with it.	The wind howled outside and I felt a sliver of the breeze through my sweatshirt. I realized I couldn’t open the garage door fully without the electrical system waking up my parents, and there wasn’t any other way I could quietly get to the backyard. The only way out would be to wiggle on the ground and squeeze through the one foot opening.	“Fuck.” I was wearing my favorite Harvard hoodie that I found while thrifting, and the white material would never let a mud stain go without a fight. The only thing worse than a mud-dyed hoodie would be setting up camp at the bottom of the social hierarchy. No, that wasn’t an option, not anymore. Not when I had the chance to become the talk of the school. I could finally prove that I’m a person worthy of being liked. They would think I was cool and they would forget about all of the times they cast me away without a second thought.	I lowered to my knees as I looked through the crack of an opening on the floor. But time wasn’t something I could waste, I still had to get up and get ready for my classes at 6:30. My history test would happen whether or not I slept. Laying down on the cement, I felt the squish of the still wet mud beneath my body and cringed at the lack of impact. On the ground, I saw that it was going to be a much tighter fit than anticipated, and I started to scoot my body underneath. The rubber lining on the bottom of the door did not feel soft when I pushed my head and chest against it, but I kept shoving myself and fighting to get through.	I was stuck.	The lining went straight down my body, from the middle of my forehead to the split of my legs. Shimmying and wiggling was useless, I couldn’t even turn my head. Panic swelled in my lungs instead of oxygen and I opened my mouth only to be met with dust and rocks. The bravery I had earlier evaporated like mist.	A drop of something wet landed on my finger outside the garage. Then another. It could be rain, it could be blood, sweat, drool. It could have been anything but it didn’t matter because I was trapped and couldn’t even look at my own hand. Bile rose in my throat and my head reared into the garage door as my body heaved, expelling nothing.	There was shuffling around outside, twigs cracking and the squelch of mud against the pavement. Somebody was out there. The somebody grabbed my hand and I was far too scared to flinch at the contact. “I’m gonna get you out of here,” whispered the somebody, the girl.	Nothing could have prepared me for the searing burn as the girl took my arm and yanked. The skin on my back scraped against the ground through my sweatshirt as I was pulled out from under. There was a pop in my shoulder as my arm was taken from its socket before the girl unexpectedly let go of me and fell backwards, landing on the hood of the other car in the driveway. The car alarm screamed in the quiet neighborhood and I gulped down air to replenish my body’s oxygen.	When I looked up to see who the girl was, I saw Caroline, the most popular cheerleader at school. She was only popular because of the favors she traded boys in exchange for cigarettes, but I couldn’t think of anyone who was more of a badass than Caroline. I noticed, as she sat on the hood of my mothers car, gasping for air just like I was, that she was in her white cheer uniform, though the color was a swirl of dirt and blood splattered onto canvas rather than the bright ivory. I tried to meet Caroline’s gaze, but she wasn’t looking at me.	She was staring up at my parents bedroom window. The room with the light on.	When I turned back to Caroline, she was scrambling off the car. “Run. Right now,” she said. And then she was gone.	My instincts weren’t as catlike as hers, but it didn’t take long for me to do the same. Waiting for mom and dad to come out would have made the entire school gossip about how I was too afraid to follow someone as amazing as Caroline. Nobody would think the girl who waited for her parents to save her when she was scared was worthy. So I ran.	It took a couple minutes to find her at the edge of the forest behind the house. My eyes immediately went to where I knew the old tree stood, but it wasn’t upright; the apple tree had fallen. There was no ax, there was no saw. There was only a skinny cheerleader with a can of gasoline. And she was fiddling with the cap, a look on her face that made me wonder if burning this forest down would be enough for her.	I whispered loudly “you can’t do that.” But she just poured and poured until the can was empty and the fallen apple tree was doused in gasoline.	“They took my boyfriend. We were in the woods and they took my boyfriend.”	She spoke with plainness so blunt that it stung. But I still didn’t understand why she was in the woods in my backyard.	“Why were you out there?”	“I went to the boyfriend to pick up another pack, it’s where everyone goes to get things,” she said.	“And what happened?” I was startled knowing that everyone used my backyard to carry out their not-quite-legal business dealings, but Caroline was so dizzyingly disturbed by something else that piqued my interest.	“Look, we don’t have time for this,” Caroline snapped at me.	“If you don’t have time for my questions, I guess you don’t have time for my help,” I fired back and turned to walk away.	“Wait.” I paused my steps but didn’t turn back to look at her. “We were waiting for Brady’s cousin to meet us, but he was late.” She took a long breath before she spoke again. “When he finally came, he was… different.”	Slowly, I turned around, not knowing where her story would go but knowing it would end somewhere horrific.	“His cousin could barely speak, and when he did manage to talk, he sounded like he was a beginner in English. But he was raised in Ohio like the rest of us. I offered him a cigarette from the pack and he took a drag from the stick without lighting it, like he didn’t even notice it wasn’t burning.	“I grabbed a match to light my own, and he cringed at the light from the flame. I took a drag after I lit my cigarette and blew the smoke at him. That was my mistake.”	She stared at me like I knew the rest of the story. “What happened next?”	“Brady’s cousin, he changed. He screamed at the smoke and his skin began to rise with boils. And then he grew. He grew so tall that he stood well above the tree line and the wounds on his skin patched itself smooth again while turning gray, he looked like a gigantic zombie. So I threw my cigarette at him. The monster reached out to grab me, but he grabbed Brady instead.” She looked down, and I could finally see the emotion on her face. She was grieving.	“What? Who is out there?” The demand was thick in my throat, clawing its way out to the tip of my tongue.	“They are. And they’re coming, so we have to block the path.”	Another tree fell, this one more distant. Our head turned as we heard mom and dad yelling my name, but Caroline didn’t look like she wanted to be saved. After a moment of rummaging through her contents, Caroline paused and glanced around, her anxiety contagious.	“Who are you talking about?” The fear was noticeable in my voice, but I pretended it wasn’t.	Caroline stared at me like I had two heads before speaking again. “The creatures from above.”	I laughed at the silliness of the statement, how could anyone seriously say they believed in space monsters? But I wasn’t laughing when the third tree of the night fell after. Caroline just kept going through her things, not even looking at me as I mocked her.	“Christina!” My mom’s voice screeched before my parents came into view. They had  climbed over the fallen tree behind us, slamming into the ground as they fell off the top of the trunk.	Caroline’s eyes lifted and widened, but the shock faded fast when she found the matchbox she had been looking for. She opened it and took out a stick and struck it against the side. My dad lunged to put out the flame but not before Caroline dropped it on the gas-soaked tree.	The flames exploded and quickly captured Caroline’s body in one engulfing sweep. She screamed and we watched until she fell silent, the heat charring my eyelashes. Caroline fell silent only after she was dead.	Mom and dad scrambled to get  back over the tree and I moved to do the same. When I made it to the tree the branches tore at the skin on my bare legs as I raced to reach the top. My gaze was pointed at my feet trying to figure out my next step and the lick of the fire drew closer and closer.	I reached the top. I smelled my burnt skin before I felt it. Screams escaped my lips and I launched myself off the thickest part of the fallen log, knowing my fall would land on the branches I was too impatient to climb down. I knew the landing would most likely leave me too injured to run, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about.	Lots of people have said that their lives flashed before their eyes during a near-death experience, but that didn’t happen to me. Instead, I prayed to the god of my childhood, begging him to turn me into a legend, a myth. I wouldn’t get the chance to see my popularity but I prayed it would come to fruition anyways. So I closed my eyes and I leapt.	I didn’t land on branches; I didn’t land at all. A green hand the size of my bed interrupted my fall, catching me in its pillow-soft skin. I looked down and saw a gray humanoid body stomping away from the fire, yet I didn’t feel the impact of its steps. My eyes turned up to find an oval head, complete with three black eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth, but it had no lips.	“I will,” the monster said, struggling with every letter. “Keep safe. Take you home.”	As he spoke, I saw my own skin color fade into a translucent color of pencil lead. I sucked a breath in so fast it made me dizzy with realization.	I was somehow one of them.	Every warning fired off in my head at once but I didn’t listen. Why should I have been afraid of the creature from above that chose to save me, especially one of my own blood? Striving for popularity seemed childish when an alien saw me standing next to the coolest girl in school and decided that she was the one it would let burn.	My parents were still running towards the house and they had almost reached the car parked outside the garage. They couldn’t see the ship flying above, just behind them with another creature from above ready to drop out. But I did and I didn’t yell out to warn them.	Instead, I watched the thing drop from the sky, limbs stretched out like it was holding a parachute. I was lucky enough to leave the planet before the invasion, but the creatures had no mercy on mom and dad. The aliens returned my parents to the dust and rocks they came from before drowning the earth in human remains.
","August 09, 2023 22:06","[[{'Clara Dodge': 'This was a very creative story. I definitely didn’t expect the ending! I think that there could have been more characterization of the narrator, which would allow the reader to feel more engrossed in the story. I also think that the tone could be established more clearly. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be humorous/somewhat of a satire, or if it was supposed to be serious and dark. Different moments in the story lent different impressions. Overall, I really enjoyed your story, especially the dialogue, which was very natural and flowed well.', 'time': '23:33 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",2wmxjw,Together,Jennifer Green,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2wmxjw/,/short-story/2wmxjw/,Dialogue,0,['Science Fiction'],13 likes,"
Dr. Johnathan Pierce gazed up at the night sky, his telescope pointed towards the distant stars. The sky was a vast, dark void punctuated by the twinkling of countless pinpricks of light. He whispered to himself, ""We're not alone,"" the words tumbling out in a hopeful sigh. The thought of undiscovered planets and new frontiers awaiting exploration filled him with excitement. But he knew that there were those who would do anything to keep the truth hidden.
 
Caroline approached, her voice soft and caring. She asked what he was thinking about, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Because the truth was that for all of the wonders of the universe, humanity was nothing but a tiny, insignificant speck of dust in the grand scheme of things. And there were those who would take advantage of that fact.
 
Johnathan embraced Caroline, basking in the sense of security her presence provided.
 
""It's a wild idea,"" she commented, but Johnathan couldn't agree. He knew the truth, and he was aware of how hard those in power were working to keep it hidden.
 
""Take Senator Warren,"" he growled, his rage palpable. ""He knows something."" 
 
The night was peaceful; crickets chirped and wind chimes tinkled with the breeze. ""Be careful,"" Caroline said cautiously. ""You risk our entire lives by pursuing this."" 
 
She tilted her head back to look up at the stars above them and felt a sense of awe and reverence for the vastness of space mixed with a whisper of caution from some mysterious source. Caroline smiled, her eyes serious. ""But I believe in you."" She kissed him as a promise before Drs. Samantha Nguyen and Emily Thompson arrived in the yard.
 
 Sam's expertise in biology had made her an invaluable friend and colleague while Dr. Thompson had been guiding Johnathan since his first days in academia, offering advice on how to overcome the challenges of scientific research.
 
""Still chasing aliens?"" Dr. Thompson asked with a playful smirk. 
Johnathan grinned in return. ""Always."" Exploring new boundaries was their duty as scientists, regardless of the consequences. 
""In fact,"" Sam jumped in, ""I found something peculiar in the lab today that might interest you."" 
 
Johnathan cocked his head inquisitively. ""What kind of odd?""
Sam's eyebrow arched slightly as she answered. ""Oh, you know …"" Sam answered cryptically and ushered him inside the cozy living room. She gave him a folder of photos and data sheets.
 
He scanned them, increasingly puzzled. ""What is this? It's unlike any biological sample I've ever seen.""
 
She grinned. ""Exactly. I found it by accident but its cellular structure is foreign to Earth.""
 
""Could it be...?"" Johnathan hesitated, hardly daring to voice his thoughts.
 
Dr. Thompson raised an eyebrow at Johnathan's question. She knew the search for extraterrestrial life was no easy feat. It required funds, resources, and most importantly, concrete evidence.
 
Sam and Caroline pledged their support, and Dr. Thompson warned them of the dangers ahead. ""You're not just battling ignorance and fear,"" she said. ""There are powerful forces at work here.""
 
Johnathan's voice was steely as he declared, ""Let them try. We won't back down until the truth is revealed."" The stars seemed to shine brighter in that moment, reflecting the importance of their journey. It would challenge boundaries and test their courage. In the vastness of space, one thing was certain: they were not alone.
 
""But we need to investigate,"" he said. ""My mind is racing with questions and possibilities.""
 
-----
 
Days later, an anonymous email landed in Johnathan's inbox. The subject line read: ""The truth about extraterrestrial life."" The attachment contained classified information about government projects related to the existence of otherworldly beings.
 
Jonathan clasped his hands together, eyes cast upwards as if he was expecting it to offer him some answers. He whispered to himself, hoping to find an escape from the damning email that had found its way into his inbox. He needed protection; he could feel the threat looming in the air.
 
Caroline and Sam had the experience and know-how, but they couldn't ignore the potential consequences. He had to do something before it was too late. When Caroline met his gaze, Johnathan felt her worry. But she smiled and squeezed his hand reassuringly. ""I'm right here with you,"" she said softly. 
 
He gave Sam a call to tell her about the ominous message, and while there was fear in her voice, there was also excitement. ""We'll be okay,"" she vowed. The two of them tried their best to dig through government secrets, but soon realized they were in over their heads. Johnathan sighed heavily into the phone. ""We need someone with more expertise,"" he said. 
 
""I might know someone,"" Sam replied tentatively. ""But they don't play by the rules.""
 
""Nothing we've done so far does,"" he shot back. And with that, Mila Ivanov joined their team—a skilled hacker and rebel determined to uncover secrets no matter what it takes. She smirked when they shook hands and said, ""Nice to meet you, Doc.""
 
-----
 
As they delved deeper, they drew the attention of Senator Charles Warren, a powerful politician with a vested interest in keeping extraterrestrial life secret. ""Johnathan is becoming a problem,"" he muttered to his associate. ""And problems must be dealt with.""
 
-----
The team's excitement grew as they examined the evidence of extraterrestrial life. Mila's awe-filled projection on the wall displayed a sample of non-human biologics obtained from a top-secret facility. Suddenly, their suspicions were confirmed - they were not alone.
 
Sam, Johnathan, and Caroline stared at the evidence of extraterrestrial life, unaware of its implications. 
 
-----
 
Despite the team's unwavering determination to uncover the truth, their progress was constantly hampered by shadowy government figures. Every move was monitored and surveilled, leaving them with no choice but to operate in secrecy. Despite this, they soldiered on, spurred by their insatiable thirst for knowledge and discovery.
 
""Look at this,"" Mila said one evening, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she pulled up a series of images. Mila showed them schematics of a non-human spacecraft. ""It's clearly not of our world,"" she said.
 
Sam gasped in awe, while Caroline's hand gripped Johnathan's tightly. ""You were right,"" she whispered, ""We're not alone.""
Johnathan's unease was palpable as he mulled over the results of their investigation. He knew all too well that there were shadowy figures lurking behind the scenes, manipulating events to suit their own interests. The stakes were high and the risks even higher - one misstep could prove catastrophic.
 
Caroline looked at John with worry in her eyes. ""Are we in over our heads?"" she asked.
 
“Every day,” he said, weighed down by responsibility. “We have to see it through. The world needs to know.”
 
""Even if it means putting ourselves at risk?""
 
""Especially then,"" he replied, his eyes meeting hers in a silent vow of unwavering resolve.
 
As Johnathan and Sam embarked on their quest, he couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. The road ahead was treacherous and the stakes were high. But despite their bravado, he knew deep down that they were just two small fish swimming in a vast ocean of corruption and deceit. As they delved deeper into the rabbit hole, Johnathan couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that they were in over their heads. But still, they soldiered on - determined to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
 
-----
 
Dr. Thompson called out, ""John, I found something!"" Her voice was urgent. ""You need to see this.""
 
Johnathan was eager to examine the ship plans until Dr. Thompson's intense gaze stopped him. ""What is it?"" he asked. His eyes widened as he read that the plans were a fake.
 
""So this is what it feels like to be a pawn in someone else's game,"" Dr. Thompson muttered, her voice dripping with cynicism. ""Our pursuit of truth has been derailed, leaving us stranded with false leads and dead ends. Someone is going to pay for this.""
 
Sam clenched her fists, staring at the ground with steely determination, while Mlla seethed with barely contained anger.
 
The enemy had proven to be cunning and ruthless, but they were not ready to give up yet.
 
""Someone's playing games with us,"" Mila spat, her eyes narrowing dangerously. ""Whoever they are, they're going to pay for this.""
 
Johnathan's eyes widened as he read the document. Dawning realization of Dr. Thompson's words mixing with the words on the paper. ""You knew about this, didn't you, Emily?"" he asked, his voice filled with accusation. ""You knew we were being misled.""
 
Johnathan cut off Dr. Thompson's attempted apology. ""Answer me!"" he demanded, furious and betrayed.
 
""Yes, I knew,"" she admitted, defeated. ""But I wanted to believe we could find something real. I'm sorry."" 
 
Caroline glared at Dr. Thompson. ""Sorry doesn't cut it,"" she said. ""You lied to us, and now we don't know what to believe.""
 
""Caroline, please,"" Dr. Thompson pleaded, desperation etched on her face. ""I never meant for any of this to happen. I was trying to protect you all.""
 
""Protect us?"" Johnathan scoffed, feeling a bitter laugh bubble up in his throat. ""From what, exactly?""
 
""From the truth,"" Dr. Thompson said, her voice barely audible. ""The truth about my past, and how I've been involved in these cover-ups for longer than any of you could imagine. I wanted to make amends, but... I didn't know how.""
 
""Emily,"" Sam said quietly, her anger giving way to shock and confusion. ""Why didn't you tell us?""
 
""Because I was afraid,"" Dr. Thompson admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. ""Afraid that you'd turn your backs on me, just like everyone else has.""
 
""Then let's start over."" Johnathan's voice was steady, resolute. ""Tell us everything you know, Emily. Help us find the real truth.""
 
""Agreed,"" Caroline added, her expression softening slightly. ""We can't change the past, but we can work together to uncover the truth about extraterrestrial life. We're not alone in this fight, Emily.""
 
""Alright,"" Dr. Thompson said, nodding as she wiped away a tear. ""I'll do my best to help you, I promise.""
 
""Good,"" Johnathan replied, clasping Dr. Thompson's hand in a firm grip. ""Together, we'll expose the lies and reveal the true secrets of the universe.""
 
-----
As Johnathan sat before the glowing screen, his mind raced through countless calculations and complex algorithms. He had spent months analyzing data and running simulations, all in the hopes of unlocking the secrets of the universe. But as he stared into the endless abyss of code and numbers, he realized that his efforts had been in vain.
 
The study around him seemed to warp and bend, the very fabric of space and time warping under the weight of his failure. He gritted his teeth, feeling the power of his frustration building within him. If only he could find the key to unlocking the secrets of the cosmos, he could rise above the petty limitations of humanity and become something greater.
 
But as the hours ticked by and his energy waned, Johnathan knew that he was faltering. He could feel the darkness beckoning, a swirling vortex of despair that threatened to pull him into its embrace. And yet, he could not bring himself to give up. For he knew that no matter how dark the night might seem, there was always the possibility of a new dawn.
 
Caroline's voice broke the silence. ""Johnathan, it's late. You need rest.""
 
""Rest?"" Johnathan shook his head, still studying Dr. Thompson's documents. ""We were close, and now we have nothing.""
 
Caroline twisted a strand of her hair, hesitating. ""We can't lose hope,"" she said. 
 
Johnathan shook his head in frustration, but Sam encouraged them to keep fighting for their cause. He took a sip of coffee, feeling a flicker of hope. Johnathan apologized for dragging them into this, but Caroline reassured him that they were a team.
 
Johnathan studied them all. ""We need a new approach,"" he said. ""Let's start by analyzing everything we've discovered so far. There might be a clue hidden in plain sight.
 
Dr. Thompson nodded, a determined look on her face. She knew her network of contacts within the government would prove invaluable in unraveling the mysterious project they were tasked with investigating. With urgency in her steps, she set to work, tapping into her resources and gathering intel.
 
Meanwhile, Sam delved into the biologics aspect of the project, poring over the data sets with her analytical mind. The two worked tirelessly, driven by a shared sense of purpose and the need to uncover the truth. As the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, they knew they were edging closer to the heart of the cover-up.
 
Soon, they would have all the answers they needed to reveal the culprits behind this agenda.
 
""Remember,"" Johnathan said, determination fueling his every word. ""We're not alone.""
 
-----
As one, a united front against the forces that sought to keep the truth hidden. And with each passing moment, Johnathan felt the fire inside him grow stronger, ready to burn away the lies and reveal the mysteries of the universe that had haunted him for so long.
 
""Let's get to work,"" Johnathan said, his voice steady. 
 
They were determined to find the truth, no matter what. Glowing computer screens cast eerie shadows on their faces; the weight of failure hung in the air yet their resolve shone strong.
 
""Listen, I know we've hit a wall and it feels like the odds are against us. But we cannot let this stop us from pursuing the truth,"" he began.
 
Caroline reached out to touch his arm. ""We're with you, Johnathan,"" she said softly.
 
He nodded. ""Thank you. We need to work together and pool our strengths and resources. Mila, dig into Senator Warren's financials for anything suspicious. Sam, continue researching non-human biologics for solid evidence of extraterrestrial life.""
 
""Consider it done,"" Sam replied confidently.
 
""Emily,"" Johnathan turned to Dr. Thompson, who stood tall despite the recent revelations about her past. ""I need you to use your connections to help us uncover more details about these secret projects. There must be someone within the government who's willing to talk.""
 
""Understood,"" Dr. Thompson nodded, her eyes hard and unyielding.
""Caroline,"" Johnathan said, turning back to his wife. ""You're my sounding board. I need you to help me stay focused, to keep pushing forward even when it seems impossible.""
 
The air hummed with a renewed sense of purpose as the team dove into their work. Each member brought their unique strengths to the table, collaborating seamlessly to craft a new plan of attack.
 
Caroline's unwavering commitment had lifted everyone's spirits, and Johnathan felt a glimmer of hope for the first time in weeks.
The clock was ticking, but the group refused to be deterred. They combed through evidence with a meticulous eye, piecing together a puzzle that had stumped them for far too long.
 
As they worked, tension mounted and fingers flew across keyboards, until finally, a breakthrough.
 
Mila found discrepancies in Senator Warren's financial records, while Sam uncovered evidence of non-human biologics in classified documents.
 
Sam excitedly reported her discovery of a top-secret government facility researching extraterrestrial life. 
 
Johnathan, not hesitating, said, ""Let's go."" They had to see for themselves.
 
-----
 
With Dr. Thompson's help, they infiltrated the facility, navigating its labyrinthine corridors and evading security measures with practiced ease.
 
As they entered the complex, anticipation settled over them. 
Sam showed them a sealed door marked ""RESTRICTED ACCESS."" Dr. Thompson keyed in the code and they entered a sterile lab.
 
Inside was a beautiful yet unsettling creature suspended in mid-air. Johnathan knew they had to convince the public that extraterrestrial life existed. He murmured, ""We're not alone.""
 
The lab glowed with success, strengthening his resolve to seek the truth.
 
And as he looked at the determined faces of his team, Johnathan knew they were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead – together.
 
-----
 
The sun had begun to set, casting a warm golden glow over the bustling crowd gathered in front of the conference center. Johnathan stood at the podium, his heart pounding with anticipation as he prepared to address the audience.
 
Johnathan declared, ""Until recently, we've lived in a world shrouded by secrecy and deception. But today, that ends. We reveal the existence of extraterrestrial life among us for decades."" 
 
The crowd murmured in disbelief.
 
Caroline added, ""Our discovery has far-reaching implications for our understanding of the universe and our place within it.""
 
Sam concluded, ""This is just the beginning. We pledge to continue our work exploring the mysteries of the cosmos.""
 
""Our pursuit of truth has not been without its challenges,"" Johnathan said. ""Despite our noble pursuit, truth remained elusive and treacherous. We navigated a veritable minefield of deceit, manipulation, and outright lies. All the while, our adversaries lurked in the shadows, waiting for a chance to strike.""
 
The crowd hung on Johnathan's words, captivated by his story. ""The pursuit of truth is always worth the struggle,"" he said. ""Together, we can achieve anything.""
 
The audience's applause thundered across the plaza as dusk fell. Johnathan surveyed the sea of faces before him, humbled and invigorated by their support. 
 
""Thank you,"" he said over the cheers. ""And remember: we're not alone.""
 
As the applause continued, Johnathan stepped down from the podium, joining Caroline, Sam, and the rest of the team. Together, they looked out at the world that awaited them – a world filled with new questions, new discoveries, and endless possibilities.
 
""Ready for the next adventure?"" Caroline asked, her eyes twinkling with excitement.
 
""Always,"" Johnathan replied, his heart swelling with pride and anticipation.
 
""Together, we'll continue unraveling the mysteries of the universe.""
 
They clasped hands, their fingers intertwining as they faced the future as one – a united team, ready to explore the great unknown. And as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, they knew that they were truly not alone.
","August 06, 2023 03:47","[[{'David Sweet': 'Enjoyed the story. The overall plot seems too constrained for a short story. I think you have the recipe for a much larger narrative. Congrats on your first post to Reedsy. Good luck in your writing endeavors.', 'time': '13:20 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Jennifer Green': ""Thank you so much for your kind words! It means a lot to me. I'm glad you enjoyed my story and appreciate that you took the time to leave such a thoughtful review. I also creeped on your profile and absolutely love your work as well. Keep up the amazing work!"", 'time': '01:57 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'David Sweet': 'Thank you so very much. I also appreciate feedback. I welcome conversation about writing. Thanks for sharing your work.', 'time': '20:24 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jennifer Green': ""Thank you so much for your kind words! It means a lot to me. I'm glad you enjoyed my story and appreciate that you took the time to leave such a thoughtful review. I also creeped on your profile and absolutely love your work as well. Keep up the amazing work!"", 'time': '01:57 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'David Sweet': 'Thank you so very much. I also appreciate feedback. I welcome conversation about writing. Thanks for sharing your work.', 'time': '20:24 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'David Sweet': 'Thank you so very much. I also appreciate feedback. I welcome conversation about writing. Thanks for sharing your work.', 'time': '20:24 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",isrzch,Replicant Rivalries,Tom Skye,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/isrzch/,/short-story/isrzch/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",12 likes,"
Roger Darley puffed away at his pipe as he stared at a curious pattern of early-evening sunlight scattered on the wall above his wife's head. The sporadic wavy lines and circles had puzzled him for twenty minutes, and he had refrained from asking for aid in solving the mystery. Outside, a series of clinks and scrapes of metal-on-metal could be heard, accompanied by melodic screams at high pitch. Not distracted, Roger continued to ponder the wall before deducing that the pattern's origin was a series of brown streaks and stains on the glass coffee table by his legs.
 
""Pass me that remote control,"" Cynthia Darley said from her armchair through a mouth full of potatoes. She was finishing the remains of a corned beef hash, plate on knee, and the remote control sat six feet away at the far end of the table. 
 
""Of course, love,"" Roger replied. ""But what are these funny brown marks? They are reflected on the wall. Makes it look like the wallpaper is covered in cogs and wires."" The metallic sounds from the street grew louder.
 
""Ah, ya fool, it's just dried tea from the mugs. Just fan out that pile of magazines and cover them up if it's buggin' ya so much."" 
 
He spread the magazines across the surface. They eclipsed the distracting pattern on the wall, and he was satisfied.
 
""Roger, remote control…"" Cynthia repeated.
 
""Yes, darling,"" Roger replied. The remote control was out of reach, so he stood up from the settee, picked it up, and tossed it over. It landed and burrowed itself between her waist and the chair arm. The metallic sounds in the street grew louder still.
 
As Roger watched his wife, he winced as she contorted at the waist to retrieve the remote between the cushions. With it finally in her hands, she again plunged her fork into the meal, and as she did, they both heard a mechanical crunch from the street outside, followed by the cry:
 
""Burn and crumble, Techmood nuisance!!!"" The tone of voice was high-pitched and scratchy.
 
""Ugh, they're back, for heaven's sake. How many of them is it?"" Cynthia moaned, unable to see through the window from her low seat. ""Do they know what street they're on? Look, Roger, the Hyundai is on the road"".
 
Her irritation calmed, and she began to flick through the TV channels. Roger sighed and again lifted himself from the settee, pipe in mouth. He walked to the front bay windows and looked out onto the terraced street. 
 
""Aye, you're right, we're not alone. It be replicants. There are six of 'em out there. Looks like three Techmoods and three Sabresonics"". 
 
""I know we're not bloody alone. We've been saying that for twenty years,"" Cynthia snapped.
 
Roger puffed his pipe at a faster rate. ""There be two facin' off out front and another four eyeing each over by Blue Dolphin chippy over't road. Colin is whacking a spatula on his window.""
 
""Well, bang on our bloody window Roger … Alfie will be getting home from school in ten. I don't want him weaving through a sea of flying metal and wires, and you know how they start cursin' when they're scrappin'.""
 
""Aye, I do. It's like watching a Tarantino film at times.""
 
Before he could bang, a drill-like buzzing sound filled the street, loud enough to be heard a quarter mile away. A gargling screech followed by a bubbling malfunction as purple oil spurted over the road and the shelling of a similar hue disintegrated and clouded the surrounding air. The screech faded to silence several seconds later, and a Sabresonic lay mutilated and quiet. The purple shimmered in the setting sun.
 
""I suppose that be two Sabersonics now,"" Roger said, shrugging. He then tapped the window with two fingers and stared at the replicants. Hearing the light tap, the nearest Techmood, standing no less than eight feet tall and colored with a silver/metallic orange, stared back. It gave Roger an apologetic nod before prodding the twitching Sabresonic head with its bulbous titanium toe. The fallen machine also measured eight feet in length but was now partially torn apart. Looking back up, the Techmood held up his hand, gesticulating a more passionate apology. Roger nodded, accepting the apology, before noticing his son approaching further up the street.
 
""Ah, here's Alfie now,"" he said to Cynthia.
 
Alfie Darley walked up the street toward the house, still on the far side. He was wearing a baseball cap backward and playing with his phone, eyes fixated on the screen. As he began to cross, another cry could be heard:
 
 ""The Sabresonic cells of fuel will all be crushed by my vengeful fist.""
 
Alfie looked up from his phone. As he did, a Techmood charged a Sabresonic at blurring speed. At three yards from the target, thrusting forward with power-spring-fitted heels, it grabbed its enemy by the neck and pulled it to the floor. Alfie stood there and waited as the Techmood pierced the chest of the Sabresonic with protruding spikes from its fingers. Roaring a maniacal scream, it tore open the torso and began pulling out bundles of wires and bolts, itself becoming drenched in purple. ""Your innards are obliterated, Sabresonic pest,"" the Techmood bellowed downwards as it violently hollowed out the stationary machine.
 
Alfie began typing on his phone. He waded into the road, swerving around the carnage to his right. The Techmood was muttering to its fallen enemy under its breath. As Alfie approached the house's front gate, he kicked to the side an oil-soaked bolt that had rolled in his path. Opening the gate, he headed up the pathway and entered the house.
 
""You alright, Alfie?"" Cynthia called. ""Your dad left your dinner in the microwave. Make us a tea while you're in there.""
 
Alfie heated his corned beef hash, came into the room, and sat by his father. He placed both cups of tea on the table, pushing the magazines aside, revealing the cog-like silhouette on the wall. ""What are these stains on the table?""
 
""Don't worry about that, Alfie,"" said Cynthia, ""we'll deal with that later."" 
 
""Err, yeah, it's ok, lad,"" Roger added. ""How was school?""
 
""Yeah, all good, Dad. Aren't they supposed to be fencing off these streets?"". He continued playing on his phone.
 
""I'm not sure…"" Roger replied.
 
""…Will they ever?"" Cynthia interrupted.
 
Roger continued, ""But I do hope that whoever is left can clean up the rubble afterward. It wasn't using bad language, was it?""
 
Alfie looked up from his phone: ""Nah, Dad, just the usual banter: Death to Sabresonics, May the universe witness the dominance of the Techmood, Bring forth Sabresonic extermination, that kind of stuff. They weren't swearing, though.""
 
""Ah, that's something at least, lad. Now put your phone down and eat your dinner.""
 
A rupturing sound then startled Alfie, causing him to knock the table, and a drop of tea spilled from his father's cup. Roger looked to the window to see an orange Techmood head tossed vertically with a dripping bundle of wiring hanging from the neck. As the orange liquid showered the street, small quantities sprinkled the headlight of the family Hyundai sitting immediately outside the house.
 
""Ah, the car,"" Roger said. ""Clean that up, Alfie. It wasn't your fault"".
 
""I'm not going out there, Dad. I'm eating"", Alfie exclaimed.
 
""No, I mean the tea,"" his father clarified.
 
""Forget about the tea, Alfie,"" Cynthia exclaimed. ""Roger, are you going to say something?!""
 
Roger considered going into the street. ""I wish they wouldn't scrap so close to those cars. I heard an Audi had its nose caved in, four Fridays back, by some dippy Sabresonic walking into the road near the school"".
 
""Actually, Dad, I know whose car that was,"" explained Alfie. ""It was Jimmy Ryan's dad driving outside the gates. But I was talking to Leon Carpenter, and he said he walked in front of the car, and the Sabresonic jumped in between them. Saved Leon and all that.""
 
""Oh right … well, couldn't he have pulled Leon out of the way?"" Roger asked.
 
As Alfie shrugged and continued to eat, Roger looked again out of the window. As he did, the Sabresonic sheepishly scuttled over to the car and wiped the orange grime from the headlight with a microfibre cloth pulled from an abdominal compartment.
 
""Tell that silly machine we want it spotless,"" Cynthia said.
 
""Of course, darling,"" Roger replied, again tapping the window with his fingers. He then vented to the room: ""Look at these clumsy chunks of metal. Replicants, they say! I mean ... What were they replicating exactly? Shaquille O’ Neill in a robot costume?” Alfie laughed, but Cynthia didn't laugh as she chomped on a piece of potato from Alfie's plate. 
 
""They might look like that, but they don't scare me. Soft as shite they are,"" she said after swallowing her food.
 
Roger sat back down with a shake of the head while Cynthia surfed the TV channels with her feet on the table beside her empty plate.
 
""Yeah, that dream of life-like mechanoids seems a joke now,"" Cynthia added. ""Those Danzis were alright, though, before they got recalled for short battery life. Our Irene got very cozy with one of those, the horny tart. I said to her, 'It'll break you in half, Irene'. 5 foot 3 she is. That thing got decommissioned with the rest of them. Dodos, they call 'em now Alfie. Ya remember that, Roger?"" 
 
Her feet slipped from the table as she scoffed, but she immediately returned them to the same spot.
 
""Aye, I do, darling … Irene will be fine,"" Roger said. ""She's picked up worse in Green Dragon on Friday night, and, yeah, Danzi did do a good job with the whole 'replicant' concept. Good-looking chaps they were. Not like these iron giants.""
 
""Iron giants, maybe,"" Cynthia added, ""but they're soft as shite,"" she reiterated.
 
Alfie finished his meal and stood up with his plate. He then picked up his mother's and took them into the kitchen. Cynthia moved her feet to a more central location on the table.
 
""Aww, thanks, lad,"" said Roger. 
 
Cynthia interrupted: ""We could still do with replicants for some things around here, though. Shame they passed that house ban. The place is falling apart.""
 
Alfie walked back into the room.
 
""Actually, Alfie,"" Roger began. ""It was a Danzi dodo who put in that kitchen twenty years back. Eight minutes it took to put that up. On its own! Can't say a bad word about the job it did, unlike some of the antics in these factories. I was reading about some malarky at the steel mill the other day. A load of metal stolen or something. I mean, what are they building with that?""
 
""Henry Gallagher's dad supervises at that mill,"" Alife replied. ""Apparently, the replicants on the night shift were taking waste metal out of the landfill next door and building stuff around the factory. He arrived in the morning, and there were brand-new four-story storage units erected around the site, metal staircases and doors and that. Literally made from a load of junk metal. Mr. Gallagher said management went ballistic because the replicants hadn't asked permission, but after four days, they started using the new units for all sorts. Storage, tea rooms, and that.""
 
""Ah… well, orders are orders, lad,"" Roger said. ""Can you imagine that behavior in the military, Alfie? It's why we don't use them.""
 
""I thought that was because aligning the replicants with any particular country was impossible, Dad. Because of all the different brands.""
 
""Well, maybe. But they still need to behave,"" Roger said.
 
The light began to darken outside, and various clangs, scrapes, and buzzes could be heard, accompanied by barely audible battle cries of the remaining replicants. 
 
Cynthia stood up from the armchair for the first time and walked over to pick up the tv guide lying on the carpet. She flicked through the pages as she returned to her seat. ""Yeah, those things really do wonders when they follow their orders. Those manufacturers must get on top of what they dish into the market. You won't remember the first ones, Alfie. They would do the dishes, do the laundry, all sorts. They lacked a bit of finesse when cooking food, but it was edible. All without a drop of oil being spilled. Then brand rivalry kicks in, and the machines start calling for mass global annihilation of each other. It's just a bloody nuisance.""
 
She picked up a pen from the table and scribbled the beginnings of a crossword. ""It's wild that they would recall the Danzis for a battery issue but not these when they're ripping each other to shreds.""
 
""Ah, it's all money, I believe, darling,"" Roger replied. ""That and market dominance.""
 
""Hmmm,"" said Cynthia. ""Right, two across. A large organic creature with two tusks and a trunk. Eight lett…""
 
She was interrupted by pounding footsteps of titanium on concrete. ""One powered replicant embodies the wrath of the collective fallen,"" was called out by the last Sabresonic standing. A deafening clang followed the cry as it collided with the two remaining Techmoods. The two and one grabbed and tugged at each other, but the combined strength of the pair quickly enabled them to pin their opponent to the ground. As the Sabresonic squirmed, mechanical parts began to crack, and its squirming stuttered. With a ruthless maneuver, one Techmood gripped the skull of the Sabresonic with glowing orange fingertips and crushed it. An eruption covered its hand in a blend of purple oil and shattered microchips, all splattering the faces and chests of the two Techmoods.
 
After inflicting the killer blow, the Techmood rose, purple oil dripping from its body, and it turned to its left, locking eyes with Roger, Cynthia, and Alfie, who were now standing at the window. It began to scream at a more fantastic pitch than before, ""The Techmood will soak the soil with the oil of all rival replicants,"" and Techmood then illuminated its chest in bright orange. The sky flickered as countless replicants unseen across the city turned the twilit evening orange with flashing signals. As many as fifty Techmoods appeared from all corners to honor the battleground, and as they lowered their heads to the slain, a surviving soldier turned to walk to the Darley's front door.
 
""Looks like he has something to say,"" said Roger, unmoving.
 
""Well, go on then,"" Cynthia said. 
 
He put down his pipe and headed to the front door. The towering replicant was visible through the floral frosted door window. As Roger unlocked the door, he could see the flickering of ""Techmood, Techmood, Techmood"" from the chest of the waiting figure through the cloudy glass. 
 
Roger opened the door, his hand shaking slightly. Behind the replicant, he saw that the collective in the street had microfiber cloths and chemicals and were kneeling and scrubbing the road in unison. His eye line reached only the Techmood's lower chest region, so he arched his neck to make eye contact with the towering machine. It was yet to wipe the oils of battle from its face and chest.
 
""Err, yes?"" Roger asked.
 
The Techmood paused and looked over Roger's shoulder. A drop of purple oil fell from the chin to the chest, rolling over its flashing logo.
 
""Can I help?"" asked Roger again. He could hear the internal mechanics at this distance. The ticking and grinding, like a busy factory, but muffled.
 
The Techmood stepped closer until Roger could feel the heat from the chest on his face. The head hung directly over him. The eyes emitted an orange glow, and the lack of life was discomforting. He gulped, and the machine spoke:
 
""Sorry for all that trouble out there, Mr Customer."" 
 
Roger exhaled. The machine continued: ""You know how the other can sometimes be."" 
 
As Roger began to relax, Alfie approached behind. ""Is everything ok, Dad?""
 
""Yes, Alfie, the replicant was just apologizing.""
 
Alfie stared in awe at the machine nearly twice his height. The Techmood continued: ""Yes, child of the house and customer of the future, we apologize for the events of the previous hour, but the Techmood collective and I will not be satisfied until …""
 
""…yes, yes,"" Cynthia interrupted, now standing behind Roger and Alfie, ""you and the Techmood collective will not be satisfied until all Sabresonics are rendered incapacitated and scraped from the pastures of Humanity's glorious Earth, I know … We have all heard your mantras enough times … Just be more considerate in future. There are plenty of fields to carry out your little skirmishes.""
 
""Of course, Mrs customer…"" the Techmood said. The orange glow in its eyes dimmed as it waited to be dismissed. 
 
Roger glanced at his son, who, after witnessing the berating by his mother, was thankful for the visitor's placid demeanor. After several seconds, Roger gave it thanks and bid it farewell, but as the replicant began to return the gesture, Cynthia reached over and slammed the door in its face. 
 
""Err, Cynthia, my love,"" Roger said. ""I thought that was very civil. You must remember we are not alone anymore.""
 
""Oh, pipe down, Roger. This is my street, and I'll treat 'em how I like."" She headed back into the living room, and Roger kneeled by Alfie, putting a comforting grip on his shoulder. He was lost for words.
 
""You show them too much respect you do,"" Cynthia shouted, now back in her chair. ""Now come and pass me this remote control, one of you."" 
 
Roger grimaced and left to assist his wife. Once in the living room, he tossed over the remote control, and as she continued to pontificate, he pushed the magazines to the side and began to clean the tea stains from the table.
 
","August 07, 2023 22:12","[[{'Jessie Laverton': 'I love this. I think you did a fine job of getting the details of their world across without writing a long intro. A lot is said and described amidst the action. Also, the human family is very relatable. The very British vocabulary is great. I grew up in Sheffield where we had settees not sofas and lots of things were shite 🤣 👌🏻\n\nReally fun read.', 'time': '16:48 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tom Skye': 'Wow, thanks for going back and reading that. I am from Yorkshire (Hull), so I am glad the vernacular came through. \n\nThanks for kind words.', 'time': '17:00 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Jessie Laverton': 'Oh a fellow Yorkshireman! Yes I knew where I was as soon as they started talking 🥰', 'time': '15:14 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tom Skye': 'Wow, thanks for going back and reading that. I am from Yorkshire (Hull), so I am glad the vernacular came through. \n\nThanks for kind words.', 'time': '17:00 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Oh a fellow Yorkshireman! Yes I knew where I was as soon as they started talking 🥰', 'time': '15:14 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Laverton': 'Oh a fellow Yorkshireman! Yes I knew where I was as soon as they started talking 🥰', 'time': '15:14 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Vid Weeks': 'An unusual amount of world building and characterisation for a short story - impressive', 'time': '12:14 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tom Skye': ""Yeah, I wrote it because I thought replicants could be a decent twist on the 'not alone' prompt. It was supposed to be a bit of a satire, that AI has reached absolute breaking point but families are still plodding along with the day-to-day, as if it's simply a nuisance. Ended up with a lot to cram into 3000 words. Thanks for feedback."", 'time': '12:21 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tom Skye': ""Yeah, I wrote it because I thought replicants could be a decent twist on the 'not alone' prompt. It was supposed to be a bit of a satire, that AI has reached absolute breaking point but families are still plodding along with the day-to-day, as if it's simply a nuisance. Ended up with a lot to cram into 3000 words. Thanks for feedback."", 'time': '12:21 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",98bbzl,Happenstance on the Third Planet,Karen Corr,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/98bbzl/,/short-story/98bbzl/,Dialogue,0,['Science Fiction'],11 likes,"
Samantha had suspected for months that the family in the blue house across the street was not from this world. Now she was certain. She fumbled with the lock on her front door, then locked it behind her, not stopping to take off her shoes or drop the mail on the side table as she hurried around the house, pulling the blinds closed. She also kept her purse on her shoulder and the shopping bag she carried on her arm. Lastly, she checked the lock on the back door before collapsing at the table in her neat-as-a-pin eat-in kitchen.As she sat with her face in her hands, taking deep breaths, her cell phone rang, and she gave a little scream.It was Allen, her husband.""Hi,"" he said. ""Are you home yet? There's a big storm coming, and they're warning people to take shelter.""""I'm in the kitchen,"" she answered. ""Allen? I saw something that terrified me. Can you leave work and come home?""""What did you see?""""I can't tell you over the phone. Someone might be listening.""""Who?"" Allen answered after some hesitation.""The Sullivans,"" Samantha whispered.""You better tell me what you saw.""Samantha took a breath and closed her eyes as she spoke.""I had just gotten home. I was at the mailbox getting the mail. The Sullivan's garage opened to show Mr. Sullivan loading the back of their Chevy Suburban with suitcases as Mrs. Sullivan and their tribe of children climbed in. Even that dog with the odd bark jumped inside. Then there was a tremor like an earthquake, and for a few seconds, Mr. Sullivan's face changed into an alien's face. So did Mrs. Sullivan's face and at least one of the children too. I saw them through the windshield. The books and movies got it right. His eyes were the size of baseballs, and his skin was like a reptile's skin. The SUV raced away after that. They left the garage door open.""There was a pause before Allen guffawed. ""I knew it!"" he said.""You did?""""It's that book you're reading. We're not Alone. You've always had too big of an imagination. Of course, that's part of what I love about you. Listen, light some candles before it gets too dark, and bring out those battery-powered lanterns. There are extra batteries in the storage room drawer. Turn on the television and keep an eye on the weather. You may have to take cover in the basement. I'll try to be home early but with the warnings to stay off the roads…""<Static>""Are you alright, Sammy?""<Static>""Allen?<Static>""Allen?""There was no answer.""Allen?""""Please try your call again later,"" a robotic voice told her. <Static>Samantha wished they had a dog. Allen thought they should wait until after they had children. They'd been trying for a while, but now…. She smiled, thinking about the last results of the pregnancy test. Allen didn't know yet. Now, she turned on the television, letting the human voices fill the room with normalcy. She lit the lilac-scented candle-in-a-jar in the bedroom and its lemon-scented twin in the kitchen. She placed a lantern in the bathroom and kept the other with her as she made a cup of tea and sat down to watch the news. Allen was right. Every channel was tuned to the storm. A worldwide storm? How could that be? Where had it come from? Things had been normal all through lunch with her friend Kayla. What were the churches saying about this? As if in answer to her question, one of those well-known preachers appeared on the screen. ""Repent your sins. Judgment day is upon us!"" Samantha switched to CNN. Here, in addition to the storm warnings—scrolling messages and red-highlighted headlines offered secondary news as a commentator instructed everyone to stay inside, assuring them that there was no cause for panic. The homeless were provided shelter at various sites throughout the city. The national guard was patrolling the streets giving rides to anyone that needed them on the city buses they'd appropriated for the cause.The headline at the top of the screen held news about the political showdown between the five most powerful nations. That was nothing new. Things had been heating up for years.Samantha listened to storm reports from London, then France, Sydney, and Bloemfontein in South Africa.The words ""multiple reports of alien sightings"" had been scrolling across the bottom of the screen when the power winked out. An unearthly whine greeted Samantha's ear when she pressed the green button on her iPhone to call Allen. What had become of the robot? Dear God, what is happening? she thought. Is Allen okay? She couldn't help but be afraid. They'd only been married a short time, with their second anniversary still months away. They'd met at the university's planetarium, where Allen taught astronomy when she'd worked there for a summer. Lately, he'd taken up with some acronymed coalition that worked on saving the planet. The GPE. Guardians of the Planet Earth. A network of scientists, engineers, and technical geniuses that protected the planet from destruction.Samantha moved to the basement carrying a pile of magazines and a book of crosswords, along with the lantern, tea, and an unopened box of Oreos. She wasn't hungry now, but maybe later. We're Not Alone was left behind on her nightstand.In the basement, she set up the folding card table and searched for stations on a battery-powered radio. Both AM and FM dials found nothing but static. She gave up the search and tried concentrating on an article about a woman who claimed she hadn't a clue that her husband had been a serial killer.As she sipped tea and read the story, her mind drifted back to the Sullivans.Samantha wasn't entirely convinced that what she'd seen had been her imagination.  There were oddities occurring before today that couldn't be explained. Every night at precisely eight o'clock, the Sullivan's lights turned off, yet on those nights when Samantha couldn't sleep, she heard machinery noises coming from somewhere inside. And what about the time a blinding light beamed toward the sky from their backyard? By the time she'd woken Allen, the light was gone. While the family seemed strange, she'd never felt threatened, yet what did she know about them? They had a household of children. She didn't remember Mrs. Sullivan's first name though they had introduced themselves when Samantha and Allen moved in. Was there anything inside the house that would expose them to be something other than human? There were no blinds in the basement windows, and there was still enough daylight for Samantha to see across the street. The Sullivans had yet to return. Perhaps they were stranded at some shelter. They wanted people off the road. Was the door that led from the garage to the house locked? Even if they came home, she could say she was trying to be neighborly and close the garage door. The minutes ticked by. Samantha paced the floor, then ran upstairs to make more tea. She took a fresh tea bag from a decorative tin. I need to run across the street, she thought. I need to check on my neighbor's house. They left their garage open in this terrible storm.  When Samantha stepped outside, she first noticed the neighbors standing near their front doors and driveways, looking up at the sky. She looked up. Spiderwebs of lightning traveled through the clouds as far as one could see. She couldn't help but gasp. They hadn't shown the sky on CNN. No one looked her way as she crossed the street to the Sullivan's garage. There wasn't a rake or single tool inside the empty two-car space. She tried the door to the house and slipped inside.The kitchen, living room, and dining area looked like something from a magazine. Samantha opened a kitchen drawer and then another, shocked to find them both empty.""Are you going to eat me?"" a young voice asked.Samantha jumped and cried out in startlement. It was one of the Sullivan's many children. Baseball eyes filled with sorrow looked back at her. Pale lizard-like skin covered its arms and face. The young alien was terrified. Did the Sullivans know they'd left a child behind? Perhaps they thought they'd be back sooner, though they were carrying suitcases.""Of course, I'm not going to eat you! What an imagination you must have. My name is Samantha. What's your name?"" she asked, putting a smile on her face.The child didn't answer. ""Are you hungry?""""I'm not from Earth,"" the child said instead of answering. ""I can see that,"" Samantha smiled. ""It's okay.""The child, suddenly embarrassed, changed her appearance at once. A girl. About ten or eleven. ""I'm sorry,"" the girl said. ""I didn't realize I was showing.""""It happens,"" Samantha answered. ""Are your parents coming back soon? We can wait for them at my house. What do they call you?"" Oreo was the magical word, and you can have many as you want, was the phrase Samantha used to cast the spell that lured the not-from-Earth child across the street.""We'll wait out the storm and keep each other company in my basement,"" Samantha told her. For E.T., it had been Reese's pieces. Love of sweets must be universal, she thought.""It's not really a storm that's coming,"" the girl said with a cookie in her hand. ""My father is calling it a holocaust. Did you read The Diary of Anne Frank?""""I did,"" Samantha answered. Understanding was dawning, with horror seeping through around the edges. ""Did you hide like Anne Frank? Could your family not find you?""""Anne was so brave.""""And now, so are you. It takes courage to trust a stranger. I promise to protect you."" Samantha forced a calm for the child—for the coming baby.""You can call me Anne,"" said the child. ""It's my human name. She wasn't from Earth either, you know."" ""I didn't know. The storm outside intensified. Rain poured while lightning battled some unseen entity. The house shook. Tremors strong enough to rattle things on shelves were frequent.The appearance of headlights in her driveway from an unfamiliar car was more frightening than the storm.""I want you to hide behind the furnace,"" Samantha whispered to Anne. ""Don't make any noise. No matter what happens."" Samantha found a sledgehammer and waited in the shadows. The back door banged open against the wall. She could tell it was the back door and not the front by the sound of the squeaky hinge. Footsteps pounded across the floor above them. ""Sammy!""It was Allen. ""I'm down here."" Samantha ran into his arms. ""Are you alright? We had to use a special car to get here through the storm.""Moments later, Anne was reunited with her father, who had first looked for his daughter across the street.""I'm sorry, Father,"" Anne sobbed. ""It's over,"" Allen whispered to Samantha. ""We're not sure yet which country deployed the weapon that nearly annihilated this planet, but we stopped it. The effects have dissipated into outer space.""""Who stopped it?""""The coalition I belong to. The GPE. Joe Sullivan belongs to it too. In a few days, everything will return to normal minus one weapon of mass destruction and the means to recreate it. I love you.""He kissed her. Allen was right. Once the power was back on and cellphone service was restored, life went on as usual. The world powers kept on fighting. The Sullivans returned to their home. Samantha learned Mrs. Sullivan's name was Lila, and a barbecue was planned for the end of the month with the Sullivans and a few other neighbors. Samantha lit the candles in the candelabra. When Allen arrived, she served his favorite steak and potatoes with hot bread and plenty of butter.""What's the occasion? Not our anniversary already?""""I'm pregnant,"" Samantha announced. ""We'll become parents in about seven months.""The reaction was one of wonder. Allen smiled, and for a few brief seconds, before he realized he was showing, Samantha saw the baseball-sized eyes and the reptilian skin. She kept the smile pasted on her face as he bent to kiss her.""I love you so much,"" he said.
","August 07, 2023 22:26","[[{'Michał Przywara': 'That\'s a fun premise :) There\'s Samantha, just trying to live her normal human life with her normal human dreams, and behind the scenes, massive alien politics and perhaps war rages in the shadows. And the vast majority are completely unaware of it. \n\nShe\'s terrified of the aliens, which is perhaps a rational reaction, until she meets one and realizes the alien is even more afraid of her. It\'s easy to fear ""The Other"", but seeing that we share common ground with them can be eye opening. And perhaps, her maternal instincts took charge too. \n\n...', 'time': '20:40 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Karen Corr': 'Thanks for reading, Michal. You seem to comprehend my story even better than I do. (:', 'time': '22:29 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Karen Corr': 'Thanks for reading, Michal. You seem to comprehend my story even better than I do. (:', 'time': '22:29 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Susan Catucci': 'Nice job, Karen.  Your writing is deceptively straightforward; I didn\'t realize how fully I was being drawn into the story until the end.  What I liked especially is the unfolding of the transition/shift from Samantha\'s individual perspective (meeting little Anne was great) and then the news reports to imaging what the sky must have looked like to Samantha when she was outside.  The pretense of a ""storm"" was smart and, frankly, the whole story came off as feasible to me.\n\nA new life in a new life.    (And it looks like Allen\'s got some \'spla...', 'time': '15:36 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Karen Corr': 'Thank you, Susan. Your comments mean the world.', 'time': '15:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Karen Corr': 'Thank you, Susan. Your comments mean the world.', 'time': '15:46 Aug 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",gk6prs,Frequency Descending ,Soph Hopkins,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gk6prs/,/short-story/gk6prs/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult']",10 likes,"
It had been three days since the HMS Exodus had arrived at the outskirts of their newest discovery; a planet that was just like Earth, they called it planet “Alpha.” 
 
The Exodus was made up of a group of survivors from Earth’s latest nuclear blast; and prisoners from a prison mining ship. They had spent the last one hundred years in cryogenic sleep whilst they travelled to this new world, to create a new home for what was left of the human race. Not that they deserved it. 
 
‘T-Minus Two Minutes to liftoff’ the automated voice echoed around the rocket ship.
""Wren, can you hear me?” Cassius spoke up. 
“Copy that.” Wren replied, the fear seeping out of her mouth like a bomb just about to detonate. 
“I know you’re scared. You’ve done this a hundred times before already.” Jupiter, one of the other survivors interrupted. 
“And every damn time, something has gone wrong.” Wren remarked, shaking her head. She clicked a few buttons on the control panel. The crew consisted of six of Earth’s finest young scientists, and Wren, the youngest person to pass NASA’s space pilot program. They closed and locked their visors, ready to embark on their journey. 
“I trust you, Wren.” Cassius said, his tone soft and reassuring. The same way he spoke to her when he kissed her before bed the previous night. Their romance was something they hadn’t intended to happen. It just did. They had been roaming space for years, it got pretty lonely being single. Everyone else felt the same, and followed in Wren and Cassius’ footsteps. They made a pact that they wouldn’t die without each other. So she had to stick to that.  
The engines started roaring, shaking the crew members in their seats. “Belt up.” Wren exclaimed. “T-Minus one minute to take off.” 
 
As the engine jittered, they said their final goodbyes to their friends on the spacecraft.
“I can’t do it. I can’t go.” Blake yelled, ripping off her helmet, unclipping her belt and standing up. Her breath was laboured and sweat was dripping down onto her face. Wren rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in disbelief. 
“There’s no time for this, Blake. We’re launching in thirty seconds. If you’re not sat back in your seat with your helmet back on by then, I’ll throw you out of the airlock myself.” 
“Give her a break. It’s her first time.” Absalum jeered, placing her hand out for Blake to grab. 
“Suck it up. We’re go for launch in 20 seconds.” Wren’s voice was a mixture of excitement and fear. The thrill of landing on a new planet was something that she lived for. After the government decided to set up this mission when they found out Earth was going to be inhabitable in a hundred years time, Wren was picked to  piloted this spacecraft. 
 
“Planet Alpha, we’re coming for you!” Jude- the eldest son of Earth’s last ever president, punched the air. 
""Ten.” Wren spoke quietly. 
Blake had managed to calm herself down, placing the helmet back on her head. She held onto Absalum’s hand for dear life. 
“Nine.” 
“Hey, Wren.” Cassius’ voice eventually sounded through the headset. “Be safe, okay. I love you.” 
Those three words rang around Wren’s head. He loved her? How could he love someone who felt so unlovable?
 
The rocket jittered underneath the crew, shaking them to their core. They were grasping onto their harnesses tightly. Wren was sure she heard a couple of people praying. She chuckled to herself, holding onto the necklace of a bird that Cassius had made for her. 
“I love you too.” She whispered, wishing nothing more for her boyfriend to hear her. 
 
The thrusters whirred and they felt a jolt as the rocket separated from Exodus at a speed. “How do you know where we’re going to land? What if we land in the ocean?” Dean asked, clearly questioning Wren’s piloting skills. 
“We’re not landing in the ocean, jerk.” She replied. 
The window of the rocket was small, but enough to see the atmosphere turn from darkness to clouds. 
“See, I told you. Just like Earth.” Wren sneered, pushing a few more buttons. 
The clouds faded and their eyes focused on the now pink sky that was in their eye-line. 
“So beautiful.” Jude spoke, his voice cracking at the sight of their potential new home. 
The vast greenlands were vibrant and looked untouched. That made Wren feel a little less dubious about their fate. 
“Hold on, we’re coming in to land.” She shouted, her whole body was shaking from the thrusters working overtime to land them safely. 
The thud of the rocket landing was like nothing any of them had felt before, it flung two of the crew members out of their seats and into the air, their bodies hitting the roof on the way back to the floor. 
 
Wren jumped out of her seat when she knew the landing was complete, she ran over to the two bodies. 
“Wake up!” She shook the female. “Damnit, Blake, wake up!” 
Abasalum unclipped her harness and knelt down next to the lifeless body. She checked for any sign of breathing. Nothing. “She’s gone, Wren.” Absalum was the only doctor on this mission, she’d been chosen for her research on finding a cure for cancer back on Earth. 
 
Wren kicked the control panel hard, she felt nothing. “Hey, it’s not your fault!” Jude placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go explore our new home.” 
She let out a loud exhale before standing up in front of the group, who were looking at her to lead them. “Helmets on, we don’t know if the air is safe.” 
 
As the door creaked open, their eyes flashed to the grass beneath their feet, and the vast amount of trees lining the ground. 
“Hello new home!” Jude shouted, stepping his foot out of the ship. Before he could put his other on the ground, there was an almighty bang. He fell backwards into the ship. Wren looked up, her eyes locked onto a human-like creature, swinging in the tree above the rocket. She smacked the lever, closing the door to the rocket ship. 
They paced the ship frantically, thinking of a solution. Wren grabbed the radio off the counter. “This is Wren Harding from HMS Exodus reporting immediate assistance. If you hear me, we are on Planet Alpha, and we are not alone.” 
 
 
 
 
","August 04, 2023 19:00","[[{'Heather Blank': 'I feel like this is a really interesting and strong story. It has “good bones”, as you’d say about a house. Good dialogue. You can really envision what you are reading, so I definitely felt like I was watching a sci-fi movie. I was a little confused because they just landed 3 days before and they were taking off again? I may have misunderstood. Also Blake DIED, and they’re like “it’s not your fault, let’s go explore!” Which is fair enough if they don’t know her, but maybe a bit more empathy there and removal of the body or something may have...', 'time': '13:35 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Soph Hopkins': 'Hi! Thanks. Ok I may have made it a little confusing as I meant their mothership had arrived in the outer atmosphere of the planet 3 days earlier. Then they were sent down in their rocket to explore whilst the mothership stayed up there. I probably should’ve explained better haha! Blake was a throwaway character, if I was to carry on with the story I would’ve had them bury her when they found safety. Thanks for the feedback, I appreciate it.', 'time': '18:46 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Soph Hopkins': 'Hi! Thanks. Ok I may have made it a little confusing as I meant their mothership had arrived in the outer atmosphere of the planet 3 days earlier. Then they were sent down in their rocket to explore whilst the mothership stayed up there. I probably should’ve explained better haha! Blake was a throwaway character, if I was to carry on with the story I would’ve had them bury her when they found safety. Thanks for the feedback, I appreciate it.', 'time': '18:46 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",nfj7i7,Liar's Dice,James Fritz,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nfj7i7/,/short-story/nfj7i7/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Speculative']",10 likes,"
“That’s the last time we’re playing Candy Land for Adults!” Sheila said. “I am officially banning it from any future Halloween parties!”
“What do you mean, hon?” Lucas asked. “You didn’t get a kick out of Cough Drop Canopy, Viagra Village, and Menopause Mountains?”
“Whoever made this variant is a hack,” Sheila said. She pushed the board game aside.
“What else do you guys want to play?” Viv asked. “Your house, your pick.”
“You know,” Lucas said as he got up from the table, “I’ve got something we can end the night with. Sit tight!”
He walked up the stairs leading out of the basement. The shackles on his orange inmate costume rattled on the floor.
“By the way,” Sheila said, “that flight attendant costume looks so hot on you! I think you might be the only woman that’s ever looked better when she’s pregnant.”
Viv smiled. “And your Wicked Witch of the West costume looks super ugly!”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sheila said.
She glanced at the copy of Candy Land for Adults. Her lips curled into a frown.
“Speaking of Menopause Mountains,” she said, “I never thought it would be this hard to conceive. I’m not even 40 yet. Lucas and I have tried everything.”
“Don’t worry,” Viv said. “It’s going to happen.”
“I told him that he was taking a risk marrying me,” Sheila said. “He said that our age gap was just a number.”
She wondered if he still believed that years later. She took a sip from her glass of pumpkin shandy.
“When are you due?” she asked.
“February,” Viv said. “Claus and I couldn’t be more excited.”
“It’s a shame he couldn’t make it tonight,” Sheila said. “You two might be out trick-or-treating in a few years with the baby! Then you won’t be able to come to our Halloween parties anymore!”
Lucas walked back in with a leather box in his hands. He opened it and took out a set of dice and three cups.
“Remember when we took that trip to Peru?” he asked. “I picked this up from a street vendor when we were in Cusco. The Incas called it Dudo. Now it’s called Liar’s Dice.”
“How do you play?” Viv asked.
“It’s simple enough,” Lucas said. “Each player starts with five dice and a cup. We roll them and keep them hidden from each other. Then, the first player bids on how many dice of a certain value are showing among all of the players, at a minimum. A bid of ‘four twos’ means that among the three of us, there are at least four dice showing a two or an ace, which is wild.
“The next player can either raise or say ‘dudo.’ If a player raises, he can increase the quantity of the dice, the die number, or both. If he calls ‘dudo,’ then we reveal our dice and see if the current bid is correct. Whoever is wrong loses a die.”
“So if the current bet is ‘five threes,’ you can either bet ‘six threes’ or ‘five fours?’” Sheila asked.
“Exactly,” Lucas said. “Let’s get started. It’ll be easier to explain when we’re playing.”
He divvied up the dice into the cups and gave one each to Sheila and Viv. They all shook the cups and laid them upside-down on the table.
“I’ll start,” Lucas said. “Two twos.”
“Four twos,” Viv said.
“Five twos,” Sheila said.
Lucas peeked under his cup. “Five sixes.”
“Six sixes,” Viv said.
“Seven sixes,” Sheila said.
“Dudo,” Viv said.
They revealed their dice.
“Damn it!” Sheila said. “I was one short!”
She threw a die away.
“I’ll go first this time,” Viv said. “Two twos.”
“Four twos,” Sheila said.
“Let’s make this interesting,” Lucas said. “Seven twos.”
“Nine twos,” Viv said.
“Dudo,” Sheila said. “One, two, three… no way! That’s nine exactly!”
She took another die and put it in the leather case.
“At this rate,” she said, “I’m going to be the only-”
She glanced across the table. A pit formed in her stomach. Her mouth opened in shock.
“SHIT!” She fell back in her chair. Her dice went flying. The cup bounced off of the table and onto the floor. Her witch’s hat fell off of her head.
“What is it?” Lucas asked.
“You guys didn’t see that?” Sheila said. “It was… some kind of creature. It had these big horns sticking out of its head and it… it was wearing a black mask. Like some sort of tribal mask that the Incas wore…”
A group of trick-or-treaters rang the doorbell. Nobody around the table moved.
“Babe,” Lucas said, “I think it’s time you went upstairs to bed.”
“I did not imagine that,” she snapped. “I saw what I saw.”
“There’s nothing here,” he said. “It’s just us.”
Nobody said anything for what felt like several minutes.
“Do you want me to put the game away?” Viv asked. “I should be getting home pretty soon.”
“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep playing,” Sheila said. “Two twos.”
“Three twos,” Lucas said.
“Three threes,” Viv said.
“Four threes,” Sheila said.
Lucas inhaled and looked under his cup. “Five threes,”
“Dudo,” Sheila said. “YES! You lose one.”
“Now you’re getting the hang of it.” He removed one of his dice.
“Stop that,” Sheila said.
“Stop what?” Lucas said.
“You’re touching my foot under the table,” Sheila said.
“No, I’m not,” Lucas said.
She crossed her arms. Her eyebrows raised to the ceiling. Lucas threw his hands up.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Maybe it was a ghost!” Viv said. “Or a mask-wearing demon!”
She smirked. Sheila scowled at her.
“I guess it’s my turn,” Lucas said. “One two.”
“Two twos,” Viv said.
“Three twos,” Sheila said.
“Three threes,” Lucas said.
“Three sixes,” Viv said.
“Four sixes,” Sheila said.
Lucas rubbed his chin. His brow slanted as he stared at his wife.
“Dudo,” he said. They revealed their dice.
“Seriously,” Sheila said. “You guys are too good at this game.”
CLANK… CLANK… CLANK…
This time, everybody looked up from the game. It sounded like somebody was smacking a bucket on the ground. The noise came from the floor above them.
“Okay. Now I know that I’m not going crazy,” Sheila said. “You guys definitely heard that.”
The clanking sound continued. Sheila bit down on her fingers. She felt as if a spider was crawling down her spine.
“We’re not alone,” Lucas said.
“I should get going,” Viv said. She tried to push herself out of her chair. Her body remained in place.
“What the…”
Her face scrunched as she tried to heave herself up.
“Guys, I’m stuck!” Viv said. “I can’t move!”
“Fuck!” Lucas said. “Me too! It’s like my back is glued to the chair or something!”
Nobody could get up or move their chairs around. They were frozen in place.
“Shit!” Lucas said. “How is this happening?”
“Do you think it has something to do with the game?” Sheila asked. “Let me see the case.”
Lucas passed it over to her. She ran her fingers across the leather. Her nose wrinkled as she inhaled its musty scent.
“Oh my God…” she whispered.
“What is it?” Lucas asked.
She set the case down. Her face would have turned white had it not been for the green facial paint she had on.
“Supay,” she said. “It’s the word for demon in Quechua. Somebody etched it onto the case. The game is cursed.”
Viv gasped. Lucas buried his face in his hands.
“Holy shit,” he said. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
“Babe, there’s no way you could’ve known,” Sheila said.
“Do you… do you think we have to keep playing?” Viv said. “That might be the only way to break the curse…”
Nobody responded. Instead, they put their dice into their cups, shook them, and flipped them onto the table.
“Two fours,” Viv said.
“Four fours,” Sheila said.
“Six fours,” Lucas said.
Viv cleared her throat. “Six sixes.”
“Dudo,” Sheila said. “You’re one short.”
Viv shot her a look of hatred as she removed a die. Then her mouth opened in a perfect O shape. Terror blanketed her face as the demons reappeared. They were dressed in all the colors of the rainbow. Each wore a mask.
“Holy shit… I can see them now,” she whispered. “One of them is wearing a yellow tunic or something… and it has this huge red mask.”
“Fuck… me too,” Lucas said. His head swiveled around. “They’re dancing around the table. It’s like they’re waiting for one of us to lose…”
Sheila’s hands dampened with sweat. The cup felt slick as she set it on the table.
“Two threes,” she said.
“Four threes,” Lucas said.
“Five threes,” Viv said.
Sweat poured off of Sheila’s face. Her voice hitched.
“Six threes,” she said.
“Dudo,” Viv said.
They revealed their dice.
“Oh no… oh no oh no oh no…” Sheila said. “This can’t be happening.”
Her hand shook as she took a die and put it in the box.
“I’ve only got one left,” she said. “What do you think will happen when… oh no…”
She noticed something on the leather case that she hadn’t seen before. The symbolism couldn’t have been more direct.
It was a skull sitting atop two bones.
Her stomach sank to the bottom of her chest. Molten panic flowed out from her heart and through the rest of her body. She cursed her inability to have children. Now, she knew that she may never have another shot.
“The loser dies,” she said.
The basement became as quiet as a graveyard, broken only by the sound of dice being shook.
One five… two fives… three sixes…
The game went on. Sheila couldn’t explain it, but the prospect of imminent death kicked all of her senses into overdrive. It was as if she had developed a kind of telepathy and could tell exactly when Lucas and Viv were bluffing. She went on a streak and won the next six games. Each player had a single die remaining.
“What do we do?” Sheila asked. “We’re all on our honor now.”
Lucas took a deep breath. He ran his hands through his hair.
“Look… I suggested that we play this game. This is my fault. I can’t let anything happen to you guys. I’ll throw the next game and let the demons take me.”
“NO! YOU CAN’T!” Sheila said.
“Babe, this is the only way. Viv’s pregnant, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you die.”
Tears broke free from Sheila’s eyes. She knew that his mind was made up. It wouldn’t matter if she said that she had seven twos. He would never call her on it. The game would just go on forever.
“Viv, what do you have?” Lucas asked.
“I’ve got an ace,” she said.
“What about you, Sheila?” he asked.
She shook her head. The demons seemed to close in around the table. “Babe… you can’t do this…”
“It’s okay,” he said. “What did you roll?”
“An ace,” she said.
“Okay,” Lucas said. “Three sixes, then. Call ‘dudo’ on me, Sheila. I rolled a two.”
She looked at her husband in his orange inmate costume. His face looked like he was an actual criminal condemned to death row.
“I love you,” she said. “Dudo.”
For the last time, the dice were revealed.
Sheila showed an ace.
Viv showed an ace.
Lucas showed an ace.
“Oops,” he said. A smirk stretched across his face. “You lost, Sheila.”
The demons stopped dancing. All of them looked at Sheila. Her chair moved by itself out of the table. She pounded against the armrests.
“Lucas! Why did… you lied to me! I love you!”
Even though he and Viv could stand up from their chairs now, neither made a move to help her.
“I knew that this game was cursed,” he said. “Viv and I planned the whole thing out. We didn’t call ‘dudo’ on each other. And whenever I told the truth, I kicked her under the table so she would know and vice versa.”
A demon in all white stepped forward. It removed its mask and opened its mouth, showing row after row of teeth.
Sheila screamed. Her bladder loosened. A warm trickle went down her legs.
“WHY? WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?” she said.
“You know exactly why,” Lucas said. “You had one job as a woman, and you couldn’t do it. All I wanted was a baby, and you couldn’t pop one out. So, now I’m replacing you!”
The demon’s mouth grew to the size of a trashcan lid. It engulfed Sheila’s head.
“One last thing,” Viv said. “Didn’t you ever wonder why you’ve never met Claus after all this time? He doesn’t exist. Well… actually he does. All you have to do is rearrange the letters.”
“And you get my name,” Lucas said.
CRUNCH
“Ding dong, the witch is dead!” Viv said.
","August 12, 2023 03:26",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",u8wzcw,Yum Boy the Dinosaur!,Julie Grenness,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/u8wzcw/,/short-story/u8wzcw/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Kids', 'Funny']",10 likes,"
""Come on! She's not looking!"" Zaine pulled his hoodie up in disguise. He walked quickly to the gap in the fence, down there behind a small bush.
Leading the way, he guided Neehan and Beau to his discovery. While he had been exploring in the forest behind the school, he had found a real treasure. Yes, it an old cubby house, built of timber planks, with open windows. It was propped between some trees, hidden from the track from the fence.
""Hey, what do you say now?"" Zaine asked, Neehan and Beau looked around, impressed. 
""Very cool."" Beau said.
""Yes, it's starting to rain."" Neehan joked, ""Wonder if the roof leaks.""
""Snack time,"" Zaine said, pulling open his back pack. ""I brought some sports drinks too.""
""Great,"" Neehan said, ""Now we'll be sporty,  really good at sport!""
""Funny ha,"" said Beau, ""can I have the blue one?""
The boys in their hoods sat down on the dirt floor of their hut. They heard the distant school bell, recess was over. They were The Thrillseeker Three. They were supposed to be in their classroom now, for creative writing hour.
But Zaine always had some plan. Wagging school and not doing assignments was his basic philosophy. The cubby house was shelter,   bit drafty, but safe from spying teachers, like Miss Meanie. 
Zaine was sure his teacher got crosser every day. Maybe she had personality issues. Perhaps she was a teacher who totally did not like children. She could make alligators look tame.
Zaine produced a pack of cards. He liked to be a little dude who thought of everything. The three boys were soon busy playing card games, having imaginary bets. In between, they played a game on their phones. This was far better than English writing. 
""What's that noise, Zaine?"" Neehan asked.
""Shh!"" Zaine said. ""There's something in the forest."" The boys listened in silence, barely breathing. Neehan said a silent prayer that it was not a fierce wild dog. 'We're not alone!"" he muttered.
Just then, with a roar, the gruesome ugly face of a baby dinosaur shoved its way through the open door. It was a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex, hungry. Scary, it licked its greenish brown lips, ran its red tongue over his horrible sharp teeth, and said one word, ""YUM!""
Zaine, Neehan and Beau stared. For once, Zaine had nothing to say. Neehan whispered, ""Don't know about you two, but I am disappearing through this back window.""
""With you all the way,"" said Beau. Zaine followed the other two, to roll down the sloping hill from their cubby house. The Thrillseeker Three scrambled to their feet and hid behind some trees in the dark, damp forest.
""Shh!"" they all whispered. They could hear the baby dinosaur stomping around, scuffling in the leaves and branches, looking for lunch. Little boys!
""Oh no!"" they gasped. ""YUM!"" they all heard. The baby T-Rex had appeared.
""What is this?"" Zaine asked, ""there are no dinosaurs!""
""Dunno,"" Beau suggested, ""Maybe it's escaped from a movie.""
""Maybe it's an ancient time lord from the olden days,"" that was Neehan's idea.
""Whatever, "" said Zaine, ""I'm heading back to school. Miss Meanie can take care of Yum Boy here."" Despite their dangerous situation, the boys giggled. ""Yum Boy! Perfect name.""
""This is weird, but we are playing chasey with a baby dinosaur. Possibly not for real."" Beau said, as the three boys ran towards the school fence. 
""Looks real enough, and hungry, but!"" Neehan said, sliding up to the gap in the fence.
""YUM!"" roared the baby dinosaur, for a baby he was definitely large enough. 
Yum Boy was galloping through the forest, right on Zaine's hammer. ""I think he wants lunch!""
""Yeah, us!"" The three boys took off to their classroom, pushing through the door. 
""Zaine!"" Miss Meanie was cross, same as usual. ""Do not share with me what you have been up to now!""
""Go to your desks!""
""Yes, Miss Meanie, "" Neehan answered, ""But, listen....""
""Manners from you three, all of a sudden?"" Miss Meanie looked more than suspicious. The boys quickly tried to sit down and look intelligent, which was a bit hard. Peering through the windows, waiting. 
Sure enough, Yum Boy hurled himself through the classroom door. Miss Meanie was astounded.
""Zaine! Is this your idea of a joke? Where did you get a giant toy dinosaur from, something that size?"" 
""It's not a toy, Miss!"" Beau called to Miss Meanie. But their scary teacher did not listen. She walked right up to the dinosaur, and poked him with her pen.
""Very realistic!"" Miss Meanie had no fear in her.
""You'd do anything to dodge essays,"" spoke up Bossy Britches. She was the girls' school captain, number one student in all subjects. 
""Go play with the dinosaur!"" Zaine told her.
Miss Meanie raised her voice. ""Class, you must rise above these niggles. Right, you can all write an essay on positive interactions and self-talk!""
""Ah, thanks, Zaine, not,"" his classmates groaned. But Miss Meanie was not listening to anyone, but her inner Mean.
""Okay, you with the scales, leave my classroom right now!""
Yum Boy shrank back in total terror. He had met his inner demon, a teacher.
""Yuck!"" he sniveled, as his disappeared through the door, his tail drooping and low. 
""Hey, Zaine. He learnt a new word. He speaks two words now!"" Neehan and his mates started laughing. Zaine quickly opened his laptop and typed some words about a scary teacher who made a Tyrannosaurus look tame, and cowardly. 
""You would not believe all that if I wrote it!"" Beau muttered. Miss Meanie was back in control. ""Zaine!"" He looked up, really scared now. 
""You get an A for creativity for once. Next time, leave your toys at home. All I can say is one day, you will grow up!""
""Boys should be seen and not heard!"" Bossy Britches said. But Miss Meanie was full of pep now.
""Class, raise your expectations far beyond these micro-aggessions in your conversations.""
""Whatever,"" Zaine said. He did not really get such big words. ""Right,"" said Miss Meanie. ""Now we can turn our attention to studying dinosaurs!""
""You are a dinosaur!"" Neehan mumbled, voice low, ""She even scared  Yum Boy.""
""Or was that Yuck Boy."" Beau asked. ""Gotta love our adventures!"" 
So, no one ever saw Yum Boy again. Maybe it was safer that way, way back where a dinosaur came from. The boys' cubby house is still there, but no one ever plays there now, in the dark, damp forest. No one was ever really sure if Yum Boy had a twin dinosaur. 
No, you never know in primary school where adventures can happen for little dudes. There might be adventures waiting for us, right around the next corner. Do not be discouraged. 
""The End, Maybe. Shhh!"" 
 
","August 04, 2023 23:40","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Yum, yuck.', 'time': '20:16 Aug 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",xyajdw,The Temple of Ancient Whispers,Sudarshan Varadhan,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xyajdw/,/short-story/xyajdw/,Dialogue,0,"['Mystery', 'Horror', 'Desi']",10 likes,"
 
The middle-aged lady hurriedly walked along the crowded market streets, passing through the strong scent of turmeric and chilies. The seven-year-old child, whom she had been dragging along, slowed down to look at the wooden doll hanging at the bazaar shop. The lady tugged at the child’s hand and dragged her with complete indifference towards the small cottage at the corner of the market. She walked towards the cottage with resolve, as if she had already been there before. The lady, excusing herself, pushed through the people gathered around the cottage. Many of them tapped the lady on the shoulder in a consoling way. As they both neared the hut, the old town elder was sitting in his chair beside the cottage door. He had a long mustache, a pearl white beard, and wrinkled gray eyes that lit up when he saw the lady.
He stood with a strength that was unexpected for his age and spoke in a calm voice, ""Your sister is unwell. She insisted on seeing you. The local doctor says she might recover, but her health is fading. Offer her some kind words, dear."" The lady silently nodded and the old man smiled at the child, “Is she your granddaughter? She looks very sweet; she reminds me of my youngest daughter,” said the old man, stroking the child’s head. The lady nodded again with a serious expression and, yanking the child, barged into the stone cottage.
The room was lit with oil lamps and smelled of strong medicinal oils and ointments, with the occasional tinge of soup from the kitchen. The small cottage was decorated with embroidered clothes and had a stone shelf filled with porcelain dolls and clay crockery in the corner. Next to the shelf, an old lady was sitting, partially reclined on pillows, on a straw cot.
The old lady’s wrinkles crumbled as she beamed upon seeing her sister and welcomed her with a warm smile. She pointed towards the worn-out wooden stool by her side and gestured for her sister to sit. The old lady then pinched the cheeks of the child beside her and kissed her fingers with love. The odor of menthol and incense filling the room was too strong for the old lady to see properly, yet she tried opening her eyes and began a conversation as her sister sat by her side, holding her hand.
“Finally you came! I was waiting for you all these days. How have you been, sister? Since that disagreement and fight, I had secretly longed to speak to you. We could have spoken for hours together just like old times. My ego didn’t let me all these days; only now, as I count my last days, do I see my fault. I’m really sorry. I've longed for your company, my dear,"" the old lady expressed, tears dribbling from her eyes, and holding her sister's hand firmly, determined not to let go this time.
“It’s okay. I’m here. Tell me what you want to tell,” said the sister in a monotone and with a blank expression.
""I wanted to tell you something before I forgot. I’m forgetting a lot of things these days. Before something happens to me, I wanted to tell you,"" said the old lady as she began coughing, and on cue, her sister pressed her hands tightly, and she replied in monotone, ""Yes, tell me.""
""Do you remember that ghost boy we saw near the jungle stairwell all those years ago?"" asked the old lady, and her sister remained silent. ""You forgot? Don’t you remember when we were kids and exploring the forest, and we found that jungle stairwell that our aunt had told us was cursed? And don’t you remember that we then peered into the well and saw that ghostly child crying at the bottom of that barren stairwell? Do you remember how fast we ran home that day? I can’t believe you forgot.""
""Oh. I remember,"" said the sister in monotone, ""the ghost boy; what of him?""
""I saw him again, sister! A few months ago, I think just a week before the light festival, someone knocked on our cottage door. I opened the door, and it was Kamala’s daughter. She was worried and sweating, so I asked her what had happened. Apparently, that evening, Kamala’s son had been playing with the kids near the forest, and after the games, the other kids noticed that he was missing. Kamala and many of the townsmen had searched for the child but couldn’t find him. As you know, I have spent all my life hunting for honey and berries in the forest, and I know the forest very well. So Kamala’s daughter asked for my help.
""I grabbed the torch and left for the forest immediately,"" said the old lady, pointing to the open back door of the house, which peered onto the dense tree line in the distance. ""Many nights ago, I heard the forest officers talking about the frequent sightings of leopards. So as I went into the forest, I was initially worried and wondered if any leopards would have hurt the child. The townspeople, especially Rakkan and Mura, told me that the child was last seen near that eastern corner of the town—you know, the way to the river and marshes. Now I knew he couldn’t have gone to the mountainside because the bushes were dense there, and mostly he would have gone to the river shore. So I walked all the way towards the river while looking for any leopard footprints.
""I also wondered if the child might have gotten stuck in the marshes and was struggling to come out. So I called out Kannapa’s name, and I didn’t hear any response from the child. And unfortunately, it was getting darker at this point but not completely, and once I reached the river, I noticed some footprints there—a child’s footprints along the river shore. I realized that Kannapa had definitely come to the river and had walked along this way. So I followed his footprint, and it led me to the bridge. You remember that wooden swing bridge, right?""
The sister nodded in agreement, her eyes fixated on the old lady, and she listened intently. The old lady continued, ""I realized that the child had crossed it and gone to the other side of the bank. By now it was almost pitch dark in the forest, and I began hearing the foxes cackling in the tree line. I gripped my torch and crossed the river to the other side. I couldn’t see the footprints clearly anymore; some were more deeply imprinted than others, so I followed the prints as far as they led me. I expected the child to have gone to the left, you know, towards that jungle stairwell, where we saw that apparition of that boy. But surprisingly, the footprints led me to the right, which didn't make sense; that path led back to the river, so I must have seen or heard the child on my way here, which I didn’t. But sister, I was wrong; the right path never led to the river, and as I followed the trail, I discovered something.""
The sister’s eyes widened, and she leaned in to listen. By now, the child by her side had also begun to listen. ""Kannapa’s footprint led me all the way to a temple! All these years, I have walked through that jungle, and that was the first time I saw that temple there. It was, however, in ruins, with massive collapsed pillars and ancient structures now devoured by nature. It was dark, and I couldn’t see many of the details of this temple, but since it was a full moon that night, I could see the outlines clearly. That’s when I heard it, sister! The voice.
It was Kannapa’s voice. It wasn’t a cry for help or sobbing; he was talking to someone. I also tried to keenly listen, but it was too soft to be heard clearly but too loud to be a whisper. Then the realization struck me: the voice was coming from inside the temple. Kannapa must've gotten lost in the forest, found this temple, and hid there. So I—""
The old lady coughed, and the child passed the clay cup of water to the old lady. Her sister sat there motionless, hearing every word intently. ""Thank you, dear! What was I saying? Ah, yeah, so I went inside the ruins of the temple. Honestly, I was afraid that some dacoits might be hiding there and might attack me, or worse, that there might be leopards hiding there. I’m an old lady with only a burning torch; I wanted to go back and bring some of our men, but I also needed to rescue the child. So I went in. The tall temple tower was in ruins, but its massive, decaying wooden door was ajar. Inside the temple, there was a corridor of columns leading to the sanctum sanctorum. I walked up all the way to it, making the least noise, so that I wouldn’t alert any dacoits or leopards. The deeper I went into the temple, the louder that whisper got. The door to the sanctum was closed, and I carefully opened it.""
""And what did you see?"" asked the child beside her sister.
""At first, I didn’t see anything. The sanctum was an empty circular chamber, and there were lots of dust, leaves, and twigs lying inside it. There was moonlight streaming from above, and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness there, I saw it! The apparition of that ghostly boy—it was Kannapa! He was sitting in a corner and was rocking while whispering something to himself. He was that ghost kid we saw all those years ago. I was now freaking out, but I took a step to get closer, and that’s when he stopped and saw me. He rushed into my arms, sobbing. I immediately hugged him and asked him if he was alright. He didn’t answer, but I saw a strange fear in his eyes—not relief, but fear. He pointed up, tightened his grip around my hand, and asked me who those people were.""
""I looked up, sister; you won’t believe me. I was at the bottom of that stairwell."" The old lady’s eye widened as she looked up, remembering the event vividly. ""The sanctum room didn’t have any ceiling; it instead had stairs spiraling all the way to the top like a well. I held my torch tightly and looked up at the sky. And I noticed at the top, along the rim of the well, were two girls looking down at me, one younger and one older. Two little girls were so uncannily similar to us that it felt like peering into the past. It felt like magic or some weird time travel. But something was off about it. I got goosebumps seeing it; even now as I’m telling you, I feel it,"" said the old lady, lifting her arm to show her sister the little hairs standing up on her arm. ""I looked closely at the two girls standing at the top and realized it was us, but one of the girls was a younger you, and the other girl was… was not me, instead it was Lila.""
""Lila?"" asked the sister in a monotone, looking at the old lady, barely blinking.
""Yeah! Lila, our town elder's youngest daughter. Maybe you too forgot, but we both were the same age back then, and when we were eleven, she died from some unknown disease. I still remember her funeral; that was the first funeral I saw. You would have definitely seen her picture in the town leader’s house, in the living room by the window,"" reminded the old lady as she gripped her sister’s hand tightly.
""Yeah.""
""I saw Lila and you looking down at me. It was surreal! It was like seeing a different past, maybe an alternate one. I was scared, and I picked up Kannapa in one hand, gripped the torch in my other hand, and ran back home. But that image of the two girls looking down at me still haunts me. After that day, strange things have been happening around me: regular nightmares, sleep paralysis, and indigestion. Recently, I began noticing that things in the house were moving on their own, like this jug here. I usually keep it on the kitchen counter, but the other day I found it outside the house. I’m sure I didn’t keep it there. Sometimes, the oil lamp goes out even when the windows are closed, and the food goes bad quickly. Also, I often hear light taps or knocks around the cottage at night. Sometimes I hear someone at night circling the cottage and tapping or scratching the wall; those nights are the scariest."" The old lady lent both her hands and held her sister’s hand. ""I think I am being haunted. I have been meaning to see Jugga, the postman’s wife. Could you fetch her for me? She has a lot of talismans and knows ways to ward off evil. I couldn’t meet her for a while; I should’ve asked her when I met her last year. I think I last met her at...""
Suddenly the old lady's face became pale; she quickly withdrew her hands, and her mouth twisted in horror as she finished her sentence, ""I last met her at your funeral! You are not my sister. My sister died last year… Who are you?!""
The sister leaned in and said, ""We’re not alone, sister,"" and then she slowly stood up with a blank expression and unblinking dark eyes, her pupils dilating completely. The old lady realized the child standing next to her was Lila! The child, too, stood beside her with a blank expression and unblinking eyes. In a soft monotone, the sister, or whatever it was, spoke, ""You shouldn’t have left any traces behind for us to follow.""
There was a loud clanking of utensils and a scream. Hearing the sounds, the people gathered outside barged in to check; some utensils had fallen down and oil lamps had gone out. But the people noticed that the straw cot was empty and the cottage was deserted. The old lady, her sister, and the child were all missing. The back door of the cottage creaked loudly with the chill winds from the distant tree line. The town elder walked to the back entrance and looked out onto the tree line with wonder and confusion on his face. From the depths of the tree line, he heard a whisper. It was too soft to be heard clearly and too loud to be a whisper. But it called him, soft yet undeniable—a calling from the depths. His feet began moving towards the tree line; he had to go because it was calling his name.
The old man descended the slope toward the distant tree line, and as he did, everyone joined him. They all heard the whisper, a calling from the depths of the temple. One by one, like a procession, the people of the town began marching toward the whisper. Men carrying the elderly, women carrying the children, and little girls carrying dolls walked toward the whisper. The markets emptied, the streets turned desolate, and the chatter and sounds of the town faded and died down. It was silent except for the distant cracking of twigs and the crumbling of crisp leaves. Everything remained where it was. After a while, even the crackling and rustling sounds died. The sun had set, the darkness of the night invaded the town, and the traveling winds whistled through the silent streets and windows. All of the townspeople followed the whisper and were swallowed into the forest, never to be seen again.
 
","August 10, 2023 11:28",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",0bwdq5,"""We are not alone,"" said Gerald",Chris Bullivant,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0bwdq5/,/short-story/0bwdq5/,Dialogue,0,['Science Fiction'],10 likes,"
“We are not alone,” said Gerald
 
“We are not alone,” said Gerald when George first popped his head round his door in the morning.
“We are not alone,” he repeated at breakfast to nobody in particular.
“We are not alone,” he said to Sandra in the minibus.
“What do you mean, Gerald? Of course we aren’t. Mrs. Paternoster is in the next seat, and George is driving.”
“We are not alone.”
Sandra sighed. Gerald Banks was strange but harmless. If only he didn’t keep on going on about not being alone he would be one of the more easily looked-after residents.
“We are not…”
“Gerald, look – can you see? The park! We are nearly there! You like, the park, don’t you!”
“…alone.”
“Shut up you silly old fool!”
“Now come on, Mrs. Paternoster, that’s not very nice. I’m sure Gerald is just trying to make conversation.”
“But it’s all he ever says! It drives me barmy. I mean, I thought the crazy ones weren’t allowed in our residence? Don’t they all go to Regent Hall?”
“We are not…”
“OH SHUT UP TOU DAFT OLD…”
“MRS. PATERNOSTER! It’s not nice to call Gerald such a name! He’s harmless. Why don’t you ask him about why we aren’t alone instead of being nasty?”
They parked, and the wheelchairs slowly made their way down the lift at the back. There were four residents, one of whom could walk, and four members of staff.
Sandra pushed Gerald to the duck pond. He looked at the ducks.
Sandra pushed Gerald to the bandstand. He looked at the bandstand.
Sandra pushed Gerald to the flower beds. He looked at the flowers.
Sandra left Gerald next to Mrs. Paternoster looking at the flowers while she and George went off for a smoke. You don’t smoke in front of residents.
Mrs. Paternoster frowned at Gerald.
“I know what you are going to say. I think you are mad, but anyway – why do you say we aren’t alone?”
Gerald turned to her and focussed.
“Thank you, Barbara. You are the first person to ask me that question.
Mrs. Paternoster’s eye opened wide. “You can talk!”
“Of course I can talk. I’ve been talking for weeks. Telling you we are not…”
“Don’t say it! But – what do you mean?”
“You know, I was an astrophysicist.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Space. I studied space for fifty-five years. I’m a clever man, you know.”
“And a modest one. But go on, if you must.”
“And now they put me to look at ducks and flowers. But my brain is still working inside here, you know.”
“Well, obviously.”
“Do you know when I last saw my son?”
“You have a son?”
“Yes – he’s sixty-eight now. I last saw him on his sixtieth birthday.”
Mrs. Paternoster frowned into space. “I last saw my grand-daughter Abbi two years ago.”
“Do you feel alone, Barbara?”
“What sort of a question is that?”
“But don’t worry, Barbara, we are not alone. We have each other. We have the staff, and the other residents. We are lucky.”
Mrs. Paternoster frowned again.
“But we need to listen to each other. Really think about what we are saying. Thank you, Barbara. Thank you for listening to an old…” and he repeated the unspeakable word which Mrs. Paternoster had used earlier. A slight truant grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.
“I wonder if you would be interested in a game, or a trick? A kind of practical joke?”
The Paternoster frown returned again. “What do you mean?”
Gerald grinned. “People read so many silly things in the newspapers. They want them to be true. Horoscopes and ghosts and suchlike.”
“I read my horoscope every week, I’ll have you know!”
“Yes, yes, but it’s not real, though it gives you a thrill – am I right?”
“Well – sometimes maybe so. Other times it’s just rubbish.”
“But what if a professional astrophysicist were to let on that he’d… seen something?”
“What do you mean?”
“In the sky?”
“A UFO?”
“Well, it would certainly get people’s attention? What harm can it do? Maybe it would even interest somebody’s granddaughter enough to come and get the story first hand, so to speak?”
“You mean – you’d make up a story and get the press and everyone around?”
“Something like that. But I’d need your help.”
“Me? But I’m just a nasty old lady who…”
“…certainly wouldn’t be taken in so easily by someone she despised!”
Sandra and George were coming back. Barbara Paternoster looked thoughtful, and winked at Gerald. She hadn’t winked at anyone since Michael had died fifteen years earlier, leaving her a bitter widow.
“Hello, Gerald. Hello, Mrs. Paternoster.”
“He just keeps saying it. Ask him what he’s saying it for!”
“Oh it’s just his way, Barbara.”
“I’ve told you before, my name is Mrs. Paternoster. I was married to Sir Michael Paternoster, I’ll have you know! I demand you ask the silly old man what he means!”
“Very well, Mrs. Paternoster. What do you mean, Gerald?”
“I saw them through a telescope when I was a young man. I was working in Hawaii on the big optical telescopes there. It was late at night, and I was alone. But they flew past more than once. It wasn’t a rocket – I checked with NASA. It wasn’t a plane – it was them. Aliens. They landed just a hundred yards away, but left before I could get there. But I did find evidence of their landing.”
Sandra’s mouth was an “o”. It took her a few minutes to regain her professional demeanour.
“I didn’t know you could talk!”
Three months later the story had been on the national news. Gerald’s son Trevor had been interviewed and confirmed some details of the story – yes, his father had been an academic, yes he often worked in Hawaii. Barbara Paternoster’s Granddaughter was very popular with her schoolmates as a source of gossip, and often visited her Gran on the pretence that she was a dutiful granddaughter, but always managed to get a couple of selfies which included the UFO man. She was seriously trending herself.
The story was quickly rebuffed by the leading science commentators and generally regarded as a hoax. There were a couple of features about “The Old Man who Tricked the World” which got some attention. By the time the world media had got tired of the story Gerald had met all three generations of his descendants – his great-grandson Ethan for the first time, a lively ten-year-old who wanted to be an astrophysicist. Slowly the story faded, but by the time Stanley gently passed away at the age of ninety-eight with a faint smile on this face he had enjoyed many quality hours with his family.
They found a box in his room. Just a small, grey metal box decorated with a few dots. It contained photos of his family - his wife, Pat, who had died so long ago. A couple of interesting shells. A silver dollar. A scientific medal.
Nobody thought to look too closely at the box itself, though. It sat on Great Grandson Ethan’s bedside cabinet for a long time.
One day Ethan will train to be a scientist, intending to specialise in astrophysics. But he will become diverted by a brilliant young metallurgist, Abbi Paternoster, fall in love and live happily ever after. But it will mean that he studies not stars, but metals. 
One day he will discover that the box is made of a metal never seen before. Not on this planet, anyway.
He will then know that, truly, we are not alone.
","August 06, 2023 16:01","[[{'Myranda Marie': 'Great premise. Thanks for sharing', 'time': '16:36 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",f0telr,The Watcher Speaks At Last,Abbie Pedrotte,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/f0telr/,/short-story/f0telr/,Dialogue,0,"['Fantasy', 'Fiction', 'Urban Fantasy']",10 likes,"
	Nadia has always seen things that others couldn’t. Her parents were on board with her imaginary friends until she started school, where the teachers were concerned about just how vivid and detailed Nadia’s visions were getting. She learned to tamp it down, to conceal the things she saw. When she saw a man in what looked like a toga sailing an ancient-looking sailboat in the harbor, she turned the other way. Once, she opened her fridge and found a shrunken head sitting on the top shelf, perched on a tub of hummus. She simply closed the door and pushed the sight from her mind. 
	The image that proved too difficult to forget, though, was one she’d only started seeing when she moved out and started college. 
	A beautiful woman, wearing a dress of vibrant olive green that flowed like the curves of an ancient statue over her robust hips and full abdomen. Her plump arms were adorned with thick gold wires coiling from wrist to shoulder like a gilded snake. A wreath of green foliage rested upon her head, among wild chocolate curls. Nadia saw this woman every day since leaving home and living alone. Always in a different place, perched in a rocking chair in the living room, standing next to the clerk at the local deli as she ordered lunch, even in the exam room during doctor’s visits.  
	Her visions were ever-changing, with the exception of the woman. Sometimes she would just notice someone out of place from the corner of her eye. This was easier to ignore, and made it less complicated to feign normalcy. Of course she wasn’t seeing people and things that weren’t actually there, Nadia told herself. She expended most of her energy pretending to be perfectly ordinary. But Sasmoae knew that Nadia was anything but ordinary.
-
	Sasmoae was rumored to be older than time. A nasty bit of scuttle-butt undoubtedly spread around by Umuesoci, that hopeless gossip. Sasmoae was a Watcher for only about 500 years, thank you very much. A mere fleeting moment, a simple blip compared to some of the other Watchers who weren't far from celebrating their first millennium.
	Sasmoae was born from the ashes of a grove of olive trees. The trees had been struck by one of the Ancients: Lovtluota. Lovtluota was tired of witnessing the horror and atrocity that the humans inflicted upon each other. She was so heartbroken by it, in fact, that she gathered the other Ancients to do something to punish the mortals. Together, they burned down the olive trees, and from the ashes they formed the Watchers, including Sasmoae. The Watchers were tasked with protecting the Voshriie, a special group of gifted mortals who would one day save humankind from themselves. 
	Or at least that’s what some lengthy prophecy said. Sasmoae never had gotten around to actually reading the darn thing. But she knew the gist. The Voshriie were the only humans allowed to see the Watchers in their personified forms, though Sasmoae and the others like her were forbidden from initiating any interaction with humans, Voshriie or otherwise. 
	Nadia didn’t know any of this though. If you asked her what a watcher was, she’d scratch her head, maybe pull out a dictionary to recite the exact definition.
	Sasmoae loved to watch Nadia commuting to work on her bicycle. She loved watching the corners of her mouth twitch upward at the smell of freshly baked bread or a newly opened bottle of good wine. Fear used to flicker in Nadia’s eyes when she caught sight of the Watcher. The fear dwindled as the years went by, until all that was left was a vague sort of recognition. As if to say “Ah yes, there you are. There you always are.”
	She yearned for conversation, interaction, anything but lurking in corners watching the world, and Nadia, go by.
	One day, a day like any other, Nadia was commuting home from work on foot. After a break in several days of relentless midwestern rainstorms, Detroit was finally experiencing a beautiful spring day. Nadia had decided to forgo her bike, favoring a nice walk with the sun warming her face. She even took off her cardigan to expose her pale shoulders, hoping to get lucky and capture a little tan.
	But Nadia didn't see him yet. She didn't see him standing in the shadows of an alley, leaning against a dumpster, and watching her.
-
	Sasmoae saw him before Nadia did. In fact, she wasn't sure if Nadia saw him at all. She would have recognized Drur anywhere. It was uncharacteristic of him to be without at least a few members of his army of Irondemons, but there he was. Sasmoae could sense Drur’s hunger before she saw him, balancing on a cane, wearing dated but nonetheless modern clothes: a plaid button-up, moth-bitten beige sweater vest, and too-big slacks. His telltale sunken eyes and veiny reptilian skin caught Sasmoae’s eye. He craved the soul of a Voshriie, and would do just about anything to lead one down to his hidden corner of the Netherworld. 
	Drur was a diety of trickery and deceit. His ideal night on the town included coming up from the Nether, crafting a disguise, and trancing through mortal towns wreaking havoc, getting all sorts of humans into all sorts of trouble. 
	He and his kind had been the reason Lovtluota and the Ancients created the Watchers in the first place. Drur was everything bad about the universe; he was every awful thing any human had ever done. 
	And he stood a block and a half in front of Nadia.
	-
	The man standing next to the dumpster hadn't been there two seconds earlier, Nadia realized. She directed her eyes to the pavement, keeping track of the cracks in the sidewalk instead of the hallucination she wished nothing more than to be free of. 
	She dared to glance around the quiet street again. The sun was going down, and the streetlights had just flickered on. The street was empty except for the man by the dumpster who wasn't really there.
	He's not really there, she told herself. 
 I'm alone. 
	I'm alone.
	She wondered how many of her friends muttered those words as a way to make themselves feel better. Who in their right mind would long to be alone?
-	
Nadia was ignoring Drur, so Sasmoae pushed the boundaries of what she was allowed to do with the mortal present. Still not speaking, since such a thing was strictly forbidden, she sped up to match Nadia’s pace and looked over, desperate to meet her gaze. When Nadia finally noticed her would-be guardian angel, someone she'd seen every day for years, the angelic face that she was so accustomed to seeing was contorted, frenzied, and ghost-white. 
	Nadia looked away, and she wore neither fear nor dismissal upon her face. 
	Annoyance.
 Oh, Sasmoae thought, frantic, that won't do.
	Drur was moving closer, and Nadia was ignoring him. 
	So Sasmoae had no choice.
	""You're not alone,"" she hissed.
	Nadia's attention darted to the Watcher, who cut her eyes to gesture toward Drur and said once more, maybe because it was necessary and maybe because it just felt nice to speak to someone, 
	""We're not alone.""
	She grabbed Nadia by the arm, and they started running.
 
 
 
","August 06, 2023 20:16","[[{'Myranda Marie': 'I think we have all felt as though someone was watching us at some point throughout life. Maybe this explains it ! Enjoyable.', 'time': '16:42 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Abbie Pedrotte': 'thank you! :)', 'time': '14:52 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Abbie Pedrotte': 'thank you! :)', 'time': '14:52 Aug 25, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ulqlm5,Of Geats and Britons: The Light of Kings,Carlton W. Gant III,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ulqlm5/,/short-story/ulqlm5/,Dialogue,0,"['Fantasy', 'Adventure', 'Horror']",10 likes,"
When Beowulf of the Geats had arrived in Camelot to pay tribute to the king, he'd discovered that Arthur was absent, hunting the beast terrorizing the land and had been gone for seven days. Guinevere’s eyes were scarred red with anxious tears and sleepless nights, stirring the sorrow in Beowulf’s heart. He was reminded of the crimson anguish of his sister when he’d brought her only son’s body after Grendel had torn him apart. Wiglaf had been the bravest man he’d ever met, even while he was bleeding in the prince’s arms.The hulking Geatish prince had found Arthur three days later. He was laying in the midst of his Knights of the Round Table and was the only man with his limbs and head attached. He felt Arthur’s pulse thrumming in his neck before the king's sky blue eyes fell open, darting all around before holding on the warrior’s gaze. Arthur growled and before he could sit up, Beowulf’s hand sprawled over the width of his chest and pinned him to the floor.“Be calm, O King, and tell me,” Beowulf said, his voice like low distant thunder. “Tell me what has befallen you.”The king winced as he sank back into the earth“A devil,” Arthur said, his eyes brimming with rage. “He struck us from the shadows.” His lip curled up beneath his thick silver mustache and a sorrowful gleam rose up in his eye. “My knights?”Beowulf surveyed the cadavers painting the floor around him. Nothing left but crushed armor, hollowed rib cages, splintered shields, shattered swords, and tattered organs. “You are all that remains.”The king took a long breath before swallowing a quiet sob.“Rise me to my feet, man. I must stop it,” Arthur said, wincing as he grabbed his side, fingers slipping into the crimson cavern beneath the plate.“Your wounds cripple you, O King.”“Aye, retrieve for me my scabbard,” Arthur said, his face still flushed. “That monster knocked it free.”Beowulf stood till he shadowed Arthur from the setting sun and began scanning the bloodied floor around him. “I was told your scabbard had been stolen and its power with it.”“For a youth, you are abundant in knowledge and strength, as your stature would suggest. What is your name?”The giant's muscles flexed, veins swelling to the size of ropes as he reached down to a scabbard and brought it to his eyes. Black as pitch. He tossed it away. “I am Beowulf, son of Ecgetheow, King of the wind loving Geats.”“I am Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, and King of the Britons.” He sighed before turning to look upon a hollowed corpse lying beside him, its chestplate bearing the mark of a shield striped red and white. “And last Knight of the Round Table.” He turned back to the giant, who was hunkered down. “Your name is one I know. Your exploits have rattled the walls of many home and tavern hall.”Beowulf stood, brown scabbard looking like a mere twig in his closed fist as he laid it upon Arthur’s dented chest plate. The king held it to himself as a child would a doll, leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a deep breath. The giant stared at the deep gash in the king's side as it began to throb, before the folds of skin on either side of the gory cavern were sewn together with an invisible thread. “I’d heard the scabbard healed in an instant and protected its holder from wounds.”Arthur shrugged as he stood up, his knees popping beneath the plate armor clutching them. “Indeed,” He said, forlorn. “But that was many moons before Morgan sent it into the lake. Since its retrieval it does little to protect me…” he took one last look at his knights. “Or those in my company.”“Then perhaps you’d better seek refuge in Camelot, O King,” Beowulf said before giving a salute and turning away, the strides of his thick legs heavy and long.“What is it you seek, Prince Beowulf?” Arthur asked, sliding Excalibur from the ground and limping on his crooked leg as the scabbard cracked it back into place.“I seek to finish what I started in the palace of Wrothgar. You should return to your queen. She has lost many nights of sleep worrying for your return.”Arthur gave one final stretch of his leg before tailing Beowulf, the young giant’s blonde braid dangling down his hulking back. “Surely you don’t intend to hunt such a monster by yourself, young man.”“Indeed I do.”“Without a sword?”Beowulf stopped, his stony gray eyes meeting Arthur’s gaze as the king’s neck popped by the healing power of his scabbard. “The sword is a useless thing against Grendel. He is enchanted. No blade can pierce his skin.”“Excalibur has enchantments of his own.”Beowulf’s narrow eyes brimmed with doubt. “And just as its scabbard, so too has its power decayed. Had it burned as bright as it once did, perhaps you would have slain Grendel.”“Listen, young man,” Arthur said, the dark grooves on his forehead furrowing with his brow. “I’ve heard of your strength and you are well aware of mine. This Grendel is unlike anything you’ve faced. We are better off working together.”From the collar of his brown shirt, Beowulf gestured to the necklace dangling from his trunk neck. Hanging from it like steel icicles were many teeth of the beast he hunted and hated with a passion hotter than perdition. “I shall vanquish Grendel myself.” He marched back into the forest, the woods growing darker as the sun became a sliver over the horizon.“Really?” Arthur asked, wrinkled gray eyebrows raised. “Because you’re marching in the wrong direction if you wish to do so.”Beowulf turned, following the direction of Arthur’s pointed blade, gleaming tip going towards the setting sun. “My friend, the late Palamedes, was a great hunter of beasts. He’d taught me his ways. This monster has chosen my woods to hide his horrid face within, so I shall find it. You may follow, if you wish.”Arthur, as tall and upright as the mightiest of warrior kings, marched towards the western horizon as the sun vanished and the trees fell into shadow. After igniting a torch, Beowulf sneered and marched after him, following the sound of his clanking armor over the hill. Upon catching him, Arthur prodded the man with questions. No answer regarding his family, nor how Grendel had managed to flee to Britannia, nor if he’d had arrived with a company before hunting alone. The questions made him think of the anguish in his sister’s face as he laid Wiglaf’s open body at her feet. He’d made sure to place his intestines back inside his gut before doing so.“Must you ask so many questions, O King?” Beowulf said, sneering as heat rose to his cheeks.“I like to get to know the men in my company, Prince,” Arthur answered, kneeling down and inspecting a snapped log by his feet.“I do not.”They walked in silence for an hour or so, not hearing much until the king asked a question.“Who did he take from you? This son of Cain?”Beowulf turned, glaring into the eyes of the old king, who did not cower away as others might have. “I seek Grendel because my heart despises all children of Satan and the evils of this world. Now leave me be, old man. Though we hunt the same beast along the same path, we are not the same. Project not your failures upon me.” He pointed a finger at the dim Excalibur.Arthur narrowed his eyes as the giant marched into the forest, following after a moment's hesitation. “The light of kings,” he said, holding Excalibur’s clean blade before his eyes. “Many moons have I watched it dim. I believed that if I said the right things, forgave my friend and wife for their adulterous affair, forgave myself for striking down my own son and all the mistakes made to cause his conception, then perhaps it would return. I thought if I’d reunited my Knights of the Round Table and we hunted down your Grendel, glory would be restored to my kingdom and the light would return. But dim Excalibur remains. I see the struggle of your light too, young man.”Beowulf, his eyes burning like the torch in his hand, spun to face Arthur. “My light does dwindle as yours does, old man.”“Perhaps, but mine does not burn so bright that it harms my allies, instead of my enemies. Your wrath is misguided and blind, son of Ecgetheow. You’ve been at war so long that you cannot distinguish friend from foe.”Beowulf’s knuckles cracked as the empty fist clenched. “You’ve no room to lecture me. Have you become your own enemy to such a degree that Excalibur has blinded you as well? At least I remember why I wage war with evil, where you seemed to have forgotten. You speak of restoring your honor and trying to return things to the way they were, but never had I heard you say why a hero fights, O King.“It is not for the honor and glory of yourself or that of your kingdom. Breca’s obsession with glory is what felled him. And my obsession…” He trailed off as he saw his nephew’s young face, pale with death. “My obsession with it is what robbed me of that which I loved as a little brother. It is for him that I fight.”The two men of legend held the other’s gaze.“Indeed, you speak true.” Arthur nodded and smiled, an expression that made him seem as young as the giant he faced. He held out his hand. “You see what a man can learn among allies that he cannot learn alone? Shall we hunt together, Beowulf of the Wind Loving Geats?”The giant eyed the hand of the king, his gauntlet giving off the dull reflection of his torch. He sighed before clasping around the hand of Arthur and shaking it, the rage in Beowulf’s face fading as the dismay faded from Arthur’s.“Foolish fools,” a cold voice slithered from the darkness, pulling the warriors apart as their eyes bounced onto every tree and shadowy mirk.“It appears that we are not alone, young prince,” Arthur said as the two joined backs, circling around.“Good. I grow impatient waiting for battle.” “Waiting, watching, watching, waiting,” the voice repeated, twisting with every word. “Watched the ways of man have I, for many nights and days. Learned the ways have I, both foolish and wise. No shake of hands will deliver you from your heavy heart, old king. Nor will it deliver you from your rage, O stony prince. Grendel knows. Shake mean nothing. Man no develop, man no change, man always the same. Same wicked man.”“Enough of your taunts, beast,” Beowulf bellowed, the thunder echoing across the pitch dark forest. “Face me so that I may shatter your body as I shattered your teeth.”“Shattering tooth, shattering teeth, Grendel care not. Only care about meat. The taste of the weak ones bring joy. Grendel likes the weak and the brave. Combined are the most delicious. I can still taste little Wiglaf on my tongue.”Beowulf burned with fury and released a wrathful cry from his chest before charging forward, torch in hand. “Beowulf, no!” Arthur called after him.There was a loud snap before the Geat was jerked up from the earth by his leg, a thick heavy cord wrapping around to his knee, torch slipping from his hand and igniting the dry twigs and leaves on the floor. Beowulf cursed as he dangled upside down, swinging back and forth like a reed in the wind. “Are you well, Prince?” Arthur called, running to him.Beowulf grunted as he reached his powerful arms up and clasped the rope, trying to tear it in half. “Cursed thing!” he bellowed. “It will not break.”“Hold still,” Arthur said, taking aim with Excalibur. “I will try.” He swung his magnificent blade with all his might and was dismayed as it bounced away as if it had struck a stone wall. “What manner of sorcery is this?”“The best kind,” the slithering voice said as the two men caught sight of the thin towering penumbra approaching them at the border of light and shadow. Its features came into view, contorted, foul, and indescribable. It walked on two long pale gray legs like a man, the knuckles of his slender arms dragging over the earth as the fire between them spread. Its sunken eyes gleamed like hateful black marbles from its thick sloped skull, from which protruded a single horn like that of a full grown bull. It was like a decrepit starving old man, its gut sunken in and heaving beneath the wide racks of its ribcage. It grinned with long needle teeth, glittering with the crimson of its enemies. It stretched out its long curved claws towards them.“Mother always gives Grendel the best kind,” Grendel continued before licking his thin lips with his long black tongue. “Sorry, weakling king, but I tire of weak meat. I wish to taste the strong now.”Before Arthur or Beowulf could react, Grendel shot forward and slammed his claws through the king’s plate and mail until they erupted from his back, long and bloody. He groaned as the monster lifted him up and slung him through the air. “No!” Beowulf cried as Arthur slammed into a strong oak, his back snapping before falling onto his face.The Geat cried out and reached for his foe before the rope around his leg grew and slithered up his body, coiling around until his powerful arms were locked to his side. He growled as he shifted against his binds, cursing Grendel and swearing to any god he could name that he would rend the beast in two. “Struggle not, stone prince,” Grendel whispered, dragging its long moist tongue over Beowulf’s face as the rope rose up the prince's neck and knotted itself in his mouth, gagging him. “Mother made rope strong like Grendel. Now,” he said, yanking the necklace bearing his teeth from Beowulf’s neck. “I avenge what you’ve stolen.”Grendel struck Beowulf in the chest, tearing open his shirt but only making a light scratch across the chest. “Your skin is like scratching stone. No matter.” It swiped both claws, one after another, again and again, ripping the Geat’s clothes to tatters. “Like even hardest stone, if Grendel scratch enough times…” It swiped across Beowulf’s stomach and smiled with glee as the wound bled. “Stone break.”Grendel brought its hand back, aiming for the open wound before something struck him in the back and knocked him off balance. The Geat looked and saw Arthur, his sword burning pure white as the sun as it pressed into Grendel’s back and sprouted from his gut, spilling black blood from the wound. The monster screamed and fell to its face before Arthur returned to Beowulf, the beam on his aged face making him young again. “Behold, the light of kings has returned,” he said, before going to swing his sword. Beowulf growled against his gag, his eyes widened as he shook his head and spouted gibberish protests. “Worry not, Excalibur never misses.""With two swift slices, Beowulf’s binds were rent and fell from his body as he turned in the air, slammed down on his feet, and spit out the wad of rope. The two shared a look and a nod before Grendel rose up, the black pit in his stomach sealing up and vanishing.“He heals as you do, O King,” Beowulf noted. “Aye, our enchantments war with one another. I with the blade that can sever anything and he with the skin that cannot be severed. He will heal after every strike.”“Then give me a wound for which my hands may do the rest,” Beowulf said, his hands becoming webbed with veins as he flexed them. “I will, young man. Be ready.”They both hunkered down, Arthur raising his sword and Beowulf his hands as Grendel released an agonizing scream and charged forward. The beast swiped through the air as the two warriors ducked. Excalibur’s strike was true and as it tore through Grendel’s stomach and spilled his gray intestines. Like lightning, Beowulf’s hands pushed through moist innards and gripped the monster’s spine as one would a poleaxe. Grendel’s eyes grew wide with fear as he met that of Beowulf, son of Ecgetheow.“For Wiglaf,” he said, twisting until the spine snapping in two and Grendel fell back limp and trembling. The two looked down at the beast as it gave its final cry. “No fair. Bones no heal…” Arthur jammed Excalibur into its heart, before its eyes grew wide and its head fell back just as it breathed its last.“You should return to Camelot with the head, O King,” Beowulf said. “With it, you shall return their faith in you.”“It was your kill, son of Ecgetheow.”He shook his head. “Your people need to see their king restored. As for me, I will return to the Danes with Grendel’s arm.”Arthur nodded before holding out his arm again. Beowulf gave a small grin before they both gripped one another’s forearm. “Perhaps we shall meet again,” the king said.“It is good to vanquish evil with allies,” Beowulf answered.“And what of friends?”He nodded. “Aye, as long as I live, the Geats shall be Camelot’s friend and their ruler shall be mine.”“Likewise. May it be well with you, Beowulf of the Geats.”“May it be well with you, Arthur of the Britons.”
","August 11, 2023 16:01",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",1jv7jk,The Distance of Stars,Maddy Hall,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1jv7jk/,/short-story/1jv7jk/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Teens & Young Adult']",9 likes,"
The garden gate’s rusty hinges creaked as it swung shut. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as she switched off her flashlight, and she and Sam carefully made their way into the garden, the dark shapes of plants and furniture taking form in the dim light of the moon. Light shone in distant windows, but their own house’s windows were dark. 
 
Somewhere nearby, an owl was calling out, the sound unsettling in the darkness. A tawny owl. The dogs were barking down at Willow Beck Farm, too. 
 
They came to a stop in the center of the lawn, where the leaf-laden branches of the oaks and ash trees did not obscure their view of the sky. Standing side by side, they tilted their heads back. Darkness stretched out above them, countless flecks of light scattered across it; planets, stars, galaxies so far from their own. Above stretched the Universe; a vast, gaping void that looked ready to swallow her whole. The dark was endless, deep, stretching away into an infinity her mind could not comprehend. 
 
She had finally gotten an answer to a question she had spent her life asking, in on way or another. Over a century ago, Earth had sent an unmanned ship off into space as a shot in the dark, a message in a bottle, a tentative, curious question. And now, finally, there was an answer. An answer that took the form of a sleek alien space ship carrying maps and images and a message in response. Someone had—by luck or fate or skill—caught their message as it flew out into the void.
 
The recipients had deciphered some of the languages contained in the Voyager spacecraft, and put together a simple but world-altering reply. Greetings, Earth, they said. We receive your message. Welcome. 
 
They had created their own version of the map to Earth created by humans, showing not only their planet, but also the locations of numerous other inhabited planets and moons and systems. Scientists were still deciphering the information, but their estimates suggested that the locations of hundreds of alien civilizations were contained in the complex map; some only a handful of light-years away, others many thousands. 
 
“We’re not alone,” she said quietly into the night. To herself, to Sam, to the world, to the grass rustling at their feet. “We’re not alone.”
 
In that endless darkness, orbiting around those burning stars that from here were just tiny little specks flickering in a dark sea, there was life. Humanity was not alone, not a solitary being, not an isolated anomaly on a spinning mote of dust. There was life out there. There was life on those distant worlds she had dreamed of ever since she was a child—worlds where it rained diamonds, worlds where it never got dark, or never got light, worlds that looked like hers but where dogs and owls and oak trees and people did not exist. How long had she spent lying in that very field, stargazing, dreaming, wondering?
 
“You were right to hope,” Sam said, his voice startling her despite its quietness. “To dream.”
 
“You were wrong to be so pessimistic,” she murmured, though the numbers—the sheer distance between all those pinpricks of light—had been against her.
 
“Does it change anything?” he asked. “Knowing they’re out there?”
 
She did not answer for a moment. She knew her answer was yes, but did not know why. Finally, she simply repeated, “We’re not alone.”
 
Ever since she was child, she had feared that the Universe was a dead thing, something that was lifeless beyond the surface of Earth, an empty stretch of nothing interspersed with barren rock and burning stars. She had always wanted to scream out into space, Is there no one else out there? Is there no one but us to witness this? Though she did not know why the idea of those countless planets and stars existing un-witnessed, unloved, had always bothered her so greatly.
 
“What now?” His tone was half-joking, half-serious, as he asked, “Will you become an astronaut, and fly off into space?”
 
Half-joking, half-serious, she replied, “I’m an inch too short to be an astronaut.”
 
Maybe she would never get to see those distant worlds, and maybe she would never meet the aliens, but maybe that was okay because she was a dreamer, and now she could dream knowing the things she dreamed off did exist; far, far away, but out there, somewhere.
 
The message Earth had sent out into space had been a risk. 
The ‘message in a spaceship’ that Earth had sent out had been a risk. She remembered the first time she learnt about the Voyager spaceship, how other students had quoted the plots of countless sci-fi films and voiced concerns that perhaps an alien species would use that map to travel to Earth and wipe out all of humanity. But the response said, Welcome. A greeting, an extended hand. Earth had asked, and the Universe had answered. What they were being welcomed too, only time would tell. 
 
She almost cried, then, at how lucky she was to be alive to experience the discovery. How many long-since buried people had gazed up at the very same stars she was looking at, and asked questions they would never have answered. How many lonely people had gazed up at those little lights that seemed so fragile from down here, and asked themselves, ‘Are we alone out here?’ and ‘Is there life other than our own?’ and ‘If they are out there, are they like us?’? 
 
The Universe was teeming with life, nurturing incalculable existences that—though brief—formed a network of purpose. Eyes she had never seen and never would see were gazing back at her, seeing Earth only as Earth’s sun, only as a little dot of light they could not name. There was life, there was life, there was life. 
Earth was not alone, and never had been. It was still precious, still wonderful, still a haven bursting with life in an empty void, but now she knew that there were others. How many of those lights were home to someone, to something? How many of those stars were beloved?
 
“We are not alone,” she repeated to the sky.
 
And she could have sworn the tapestry of stars replied, “Welcome.”
","August 11, 2023 21:36","[[{'J. D. Lair': 'Welcome to Reedsy Maddy! Let’s hope this story is nonfiction someday. :)', 'time': '00:02 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",p80gvx,Bad Trip,Breanna Dawn,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/p80gvx/,/short-story/p80gvx/,Dialogue,0,"['Thriller', 'Suspense', 'Horror']",9 likes,"
When we first arrived to our campsite it was well past midday. The sun hung bright above our head, hot and blistering. The evergreens stretched tall into the cloudless sky around us.   It was the perfect day for our fourth annual boys trip. Nate, Richard, and Julian have been by my side through every awkward stage of my childhood, all the way up to my early adult years.   Although after the situation last year when Richards wife caught him doing lines in the strip clubs bathroom, we were lucky to have him with us at all.   So this year we decided that a campsite two miles back, might be a safer bet to carry out our tradition. Which usually consisted of plenty of alcohol and drugs.   Everyone dropped their bags and began setting up their tents. I however, plopped firmly down on the ground and pulled out my bag of shrooms. Before I could pop one in my mouth I heard Julian clear his throat. Peeking through my sunglasses up at him with a smirk. I saw him standing over me looking like a disappointed parent, his hands planted on his hips. “May I help you, dad?” I said, sarcastically smirking up at him.   “Don’t call me that.” He responded, annoyed.   “Well I’m not going to daddy.” Holding back a laugh, “you’ll have to at-least buy me a few drinks first.”  Before I had time to react Julian plucked the bag of mushrooms from my hands. I tried to snatch it back but he was already walking away from me. “You get this back when you do your part, you’re not leaving me to do everything while you go off into the void for the next eight to ten hours.”  I laughed after him “let’s aim for ten!” Then laid back with my arms propped behind my head. Julian’s imperious attitude has never bothered me before, it was just his way of just looking after us.   “Whatever, I’m not sharing my tent with you though.” Julian said as he tossed the bag back to me.   “Fine by me, I will be sleeping one with nature tonight.”   “Good luck with that, it’s bear season.” Nate pitched in, struggling to straighten his tent out.   “Okay then pal, enjoy the safety of your clothe tent.” I returned sardonically.   “I’ll have plenty of time to get away while the bear is busy mauling you. If not you, then Richard.” Nate said laughing.   “Why me?!” Richard exclaimed. “They’ll smell your cheese puffs from miles away.” Nate responded with a firm smack to Richards stomach. With a breathless huff, Richard hunched over, arms holding his midsection.   “Alright gentlemen, go ahead and grab a handful and pass it around. Blast off is in forty-five.” I said tossing the bag backwards towards Nate. He caught it and popped two stems in his mouth.    He chewed hard for a few moments till his face scrunched in disgust. “Those taste like shit!” He bursted out, struggling not to spit them on the ground. “What do you think they’re grown in?” I asked after Richard and Julian’s howling laughter.   Nate looked at me with pure repulsion, but he somehow managed to swallow them down. He attempted to pass the bag to Richard but he held up his hand in denial.   “Hell no, I told Katie I wouldn’t do any drugs.” Nate continued to wave the baggie in front of his face. “It’s not a drug, it’s a plant!” He insisted, but Richard shook his head, “tried that one with coke, she didn’t go for it.” We all chuckled, knowing his wife all too well. “In fact… she’s probably out there right now…. watching… waiting.”As he said this he made a show of scanning his eyesight along the trees. I knew he was joking but even I couldn’t help glancing around too, his wife Katie is one intimidating lady.   Although by the time I looked back up Richard had already taken a handful and shoved them into his mouth. With a mouthful of shrooms he turned to the forest line and yelled, “I love you Katie, but tonight is for the boys!!!!” His yell echoed into the trees around us, followed by our raucous laughter. So by the time the sun began to droop we were all well into our trip.   Nate decided just before sundown that it would be a nice time for a walk. So with no thought or planning we set off into the darkening forest.   It was pitch dark by the time we had discovered that we were lost.    I followed behind Nate as he tore through the thick weeds and underbrush. The only light coming from his phone that was due to die any moment now. At this point Nate was nearly frantic, “you don’t understand bro, I’ve got to go to the bathroom bad.” This wasn’t the first time he said this, in which every time I would respond, “just go right here.” And then he would say “it’s not that kind of bathroom break!”   I meanwhile, was calm and relaxed but slightly bewildered at the fact that I could feel my own heart pumping in my chest, which was a very odd sensation.   Finally Nate gave up and stormed into the tree line, murmuring “stay here,” as he and the phone light disappeared. Leaving me drenched in complete darkness.I wouldn’t be able to see my hand waving two inches in front of my face. Then I burst into laughter at the realization that I was in fact, waving my hand in front of my face. I flopped on the ground and laid back flat, my arms sprawled out.   That’s when I noticed the stars for the first time tonight. They were mesmerizing the way their glittering lights seemed to dance among the never-ending sky.I have looked into the night sky countless of times in my life, although never have I felt so utterly small.I’m not sure how long I laid there before something broke me out of my daze.I sat up on my elbows for a moment listening and when I was met with silence I laid back down, returning my gaze to the stars.   Then I heard it again. It sounded like something heavy walking around behind me. “Nate?” I hollered out, confused, I had sworn he had went the opposite direction.   When I yelled out his name though, whatever it was abruptly stopped moving again. Something felt wrong. I listened intently but I didn’t hear anything, not even a single cricket.. I jumped to my feet fast.   I listened and could faintly hear the crunch of leaves creeping in my direction. Immediately, the sinking feeling I felt deep in my gut worsened. My arms covered in good bumps and the hairs on the back of my neck began to rise.   Every instinct down to my bones was screaming to run… “Nate?” I called out again, unable to leave my friend.  “Benji.” I recognized Nate’s voice but something about it didn’t seem right, chills rushed down my spine..   “Benji come here quick, I have to show you something.”   His voice rang out loud and clear and I realized that I must be tripping harder than I’d originally thought. I attempted to shake off the lingering feeling and began walking towards Nate’s voice when I felt a pair of hand grip my arm hard and yank me back in the opposite direction.   I twisted to find Nate, an expression pure terror painting his face. He was desperately trying to turn me around. Shoving me in the opposite direction that the voice came in.   Without another thought, we both took off sprinting. We ran for a long time until we couldn’t run any more, finally we were forced to slow and catch our breaths.I listened intently behind us for any sign that something was still following but there was nothing, only silence.   “What the fuck was that?” Nate was close to hysteria.   “Let’s keep moving,” I said in between panting breaths.   We walked for awhile further praying to anything and everything out there that we were walking in the right direction.  And by some miracle, we were. I saw a flicker of our campfire from beyond the trees.   Our pace quickened drastically. However the moment it did something snapped in the air around us. It felt like static dancing across my skin. Causing my goosebumps and hair to rise again.   I’m not sure if Nate felt it too but without a word we both broke into another sprint.  Moments before reaching the site, I heard Nate fall hard and let out an agonized grunt. I stopped and began turning back for him but I halted when I saw what was standing behind him.   The creature stood lanky, at least nine feet tall. It blended into the trees except for its gray tinted skin that seemed to reflect in the moonlight. I could only stand there frozen staring up at it while it just stood inches over Nate who was desperately rushing to get to his feet.   The details on the creature were hard to make out in the darkness, however I just knew… even without knowing, that it was smiling down at him. Whatever it was, was playing with us like a cat would play with a mouse in a hunt. This realization was enough to paralyze me with fear.    The terror I felt was something I have never imagined possible, seeping like ice into my bones, until I couldn’t move.   Finally Nate crashed into me and threw me backwards towards the campsite. And stumbling together we sprinted through the clearing. Flooding us in the light of the campfire.    Richard and Julian leapt up from where they were sitting by the fire, clearly baffled at the sight of us. “Where were you two?” Julian yelled clearly irritated.  However Nate and I didn’t acknowledge him, our eyes were locked on the tree line, waiting for the creature to emerge from the shadows.However it never did.   I realized then that whatever the hell was out there must still just playing with us, I sank to my knees.  “What the hell is wrong with you .” Julian exclaimed.   “We’re not alone!” Nate was breathless and clearly petrified as he yelled this. “Something is chasing us- something is out there.” When he said this laughter came echoing out of the forest.Although it wasn’t just coming from the spot that we had just emerged from… Instead it came from all around us. Surrounding us with their animal taunting laughs that rattled through my skull. -BDS
","August 12, 2023 03:01","[[{'Adam Bivens': 'Enjoyed the anticipation and suspense! Kept me on the edge of my seat right up until the end! Thanks for sharing!', 'time': '22:57 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'I loved it, beautifully mysterious and held my interest. Good work, Breanna.', 'time': '15:34 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Creepy story with an eerie ending. Loved it!', 'time': '09:07 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",m44ups,Are You Using This?,John-Paul Cote,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/m44ups/,/short-story/m44ups/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Fiction']",9 likes,"
           Archie took a swig of his coffee and spit it out.
           “What the Hell…” he said out loud at the monitor.
           Everyone in the control room looked up as he put his feed on the big screen. There was a stunned silence from most. Others muttered some kind of “What the…” like Archie.
           They watched as this silver, triangular object grew larger on the Juno probe’s camera. Juno had been orbiting Jupiter for a few years. Nothing like this had ever happened.
           Julie broke the silence. “Is that a ship?”
           Sharon helped Archie check the feeds. Everything was in proper working order.
           The team started chattering amongst themselves. Shock turned to joy and excitement as it became more apparent, they were seeing a spacecraft made by intelligent beings. It reflected a silver colour. They saw three sides, each a triangle shape, a three-sided pyramid. There were no windows that anyone could see. Something definitely propelled it because it was heading directly toward the Juno, perpendicular to the probe’s orbit.
           Then there was a flash and nothing more. Only static on the screen. A hush fell over the room again. Sharon and Archie checked all the feeds. Everything was in working order.
           Archie picked up the phone.
           “Betty, get me the Chief. We are not alone.”
 
           Karen took a swig of her coffee and spit it out. The room was silent as everyone turned their attention to the big screen.
           Karen checked the feeds.
           Someone said, “Good God…”, and everyone else started muttering, then voiced their surprise.
           The feed from the Mars Rover Curiosity was following a silver, triangular vehicle land on the Martian surface. Odd shapes and scribblings were on one side.
           Dust kicked up around the craft as it landed, obscuring the view. Someone cursed. Others tried switching to secondary imaging equipment. Someone else tried to contact the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter people to see where it was.
           As the dust blew away, a hush fell over the room again. Everyone saw some kind of hover vehicle emerge, kicking up the dust again as it approached Curiosity. It stopped near the rover. There was a flash, then static. The signal was gone.
           Karen picked up the phone.
           “Betty, get me the Chief. We are not alone.”
 
	The news anchor heard the music come up as he sorted and arranged papers, waiting for his cue.
	A countdown from his floor director, and there he was.
	“This WNN, The World News, The World at Your Demand, and I’m David Davis.”
	The image on the screen changed to an older, white man standing at a podium with the Seal of The President of the United States of America. Davis took a quick look at his papers while the video clip played.
	“Yes, we are not alone.”
	The image retreated to a corner of the screen, and Davis was given the cue.
	“These five words have stunned citizens from every walk of life. Synchronously, leaders of nations around the world made the statement.
	“We are not alone.
	“An amazing statement that there is other intelligent life in this universe. And, despite initial concerns, they have come in peace.”
 
           The United Nations General Assembly rose as the Xl’xli’xan ambassador floated to the podium. Their many arms shone in the lights, changing colours and transparency. Their large, brain-like head did the same thing until they settled on a translucent red. Tiny receptors surrounding the head moved in an ethereal wave as the ambassador took the podium. A small box seemed to appear before them as they spoke.
           “Beings of Earth,” they said to each person who heard it in their own native language. “We come in peace, friendship, and curiosity.”
           A cheer and a roar went up as the Assembly applauded.
 
           The members of the UN Security Council sat in puzzled silence and shock, waiting for some kind of suggestion that the translation had failed. They then stood up and yelled. The Xl’xli’xan ambassador just floated with his black box, wiggling his arms and receptors. His brain-head was a translucent green.
           “As stated, hu-mans,” the ambassador explained as if to children, “we insist you stop your unauthorized explorations of the planets you call Jupiter, Saturn, Mars, and their moons. You must also stop any unauthorized attempts at the asteroid belt and Oort cloud, including passage through. Each is under the protection of the Xl’xli’xan Assembly as per the Interstellar Trade and Commerce Agreements, specifically section 8.3 and section 20.1 through 20.5.”
           “Interstellar what’s?” The U.S. representative barked. “Are you out of your space-alien-jellyfish mind?”
           The Russian representative echoed the sentiment. “You are insane to come here and dictate to us what can be done with our solar system!”
           The ambassador wriggled. “We have clearly explained and shown you the relevant parts of ITCA. It is an inviolable law. The properties here are undeveloped and may be claimed by any member of ITCA and the Galactic Federation Council. You are neither and have no claim.”
           “We never heard of this until 20 minutes ago!” The Chinese representative said.
           “Ignorance is no excuse,” the ambassador replied.
           “This is impossible,” the French representative commented. “This is our solar system. You have no right to dictate to us what we can do with it.”
           “Again, beings, ITCA clearly states the terms and conditions. None of us can do anything about it.”
           “Surely there must be a dispute mechanism in place where our argument can be heard?” The British representative insisted.
           “There is, but you hu-mans are not eligible to bring forward a complaint or speak before the tribunal.”
           “Why is that?”
           “Because you are not a signee of ITCA.”
           “And how do we sign?”
           “First, because you yourselves are an underdeveloped world, your name must be put forward by your parent sponsor once the conditions outlined in ITCA are reached.”
           “And who would be our parent sponsor?”
           “The Xl’xli’xan Assembly.”
           “We will fight you with everything we have,” the U.S. representative stated.
           “Not likely. We have already neutralized your nuclear weapons and stockpiles as we spoke. With one orbital charge from an Exostatic Generator, your technologies will be destroyed, and you will be sent back to living in your Stone Age. But no one wants this, do we?
           “Now, what we would like to talk to you about is this planet you call Earth…”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 05, 2023 21:23","[[{'Mike Rush': 'John-Paul,\n\nYou\'re back with another story. That\'s awesome.\n\nXl’xli’xan-how the heck would one pronounce this?! And how did you come up with this? I imagine your cat, assuming you\'d have one in this imagination, walking across your keyboard, and you seeing what\'s on the screen and shouting, ""That\'s it!""\n\nAre you out of your space-alien-jellyfish mind?"" So typically human, and especially American. We\'re so quick to judge, and insult what we don\'t understand. I\'m guilty too...\n\n""with our solar system."" Amazing. Beings on Earth claiming ownersh...', 'time': '14:55 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'John-Paul Cote': 'Thanks, Mike. No, it was me who dragged my hand across the keyboard a few times and went, “That one’s good.”', 'time': '18:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Mike Rush': ""That's laugh out loud funny."", 'time': '01:39 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'John-Paul Cote': 'Thanks, Mike. No, it was me who dragged my hand across the keyboard a few times and went, “That one’s good.”', 'time': '18:47 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mike Rush': ""That's laugh out loud funny."", 'time': '01:39 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Mike Rush': ""That's laugh out loud funny."", 'time': '01:39 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Jennifer Green': '“Are you out of your space-alien-jellyfish mind?” \n\nI burst into laughter upon reading that line. \n\nThis was an enjoyable and entertaining read!', 'time': '00:04 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'John-Paul Cote': 'Thank you, Jennnifer. I’m glad it cracked a smile.', 'time': '18:07 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'John-Paul Cote': 'Thank you, Jennnifer. I’m glad it cracked a smile.', 'time': '18:07 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",s5ilrn,The Hees of Messier,Bracy Ratcliff,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/s5ilrn/,/short-story/s5ilrn/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fantasy']",9 likes,"
THE HEES FROM MESSIER
“From out here, it looks like any old flea market back home. Maybe a little neater, cleaner, and more organized.” The four Earthlings, with their two Andromeda hosts, paused at the entrance to the market. The crew from DS 9, the United States Space Agency’s first intergalactic venture, were big guys. The Commander, Air Force Colonel Bill Means, was 6’2” and 2 inches shorter than his #2, Navy Lt. Commander, Wallace Bean, but both were a head shorter than any of the Hees, the residents of Messier, the largest planet in the galaxy. The Hees were human-like, with arms, legs, heads, eyes, but devoid of hair, fingers, toes, and remarkably had no mouths. And, there were no discernable differences in the genders—if there are genders as we know them on earth. 
 
Everything about the mission was light-years, so to speak, beyond anything ever imagined. First, the message from the Hees leader asking for a meeting with life forms from our solar system.  Somehow the Hees suspected there was intelligent life here and had developed this machine that would interpret any language into electronic signals that conveyed cogent thought to the recipient. The engineers at USSA estimated the machine was fifty years old—and had been traveling through space for all of that time. The essence of the message was that there are life forms in the Andromeda galaxy, on a planet in a solar system similar to ours and they were asking us to meet and become allies. If the message had arrived even five years earlier, the Space Agency would have just shrugged it off—there was no way for us to travel to Andromeda, it was light-years away, and the leaders, politicians were not willing to risk inviting the aliens to Earth. Then, just three years ago, a couple of brothers down in Louisiana perfected their “transporter” ala Star Trek, and now we are able to move matter at thousands of times the speed of light. The process involved disassembling the matter, man, machine, whatever, propelling the molecules through space, and then reassembling them, accurately at some specified location. The DSM, Deep Space Module, had been ‘transported’ into an orbit around Messier, and over the next ten days, Colonel Means, Commander Wallace, the rest of the crew and supplies for a six-month mission were shipped into the landing zone inside the Module. For the two days after arrival, everything was “normal” in that everything was as expected inside the module. 
 Then the alien arrived, just one alien, traveling alone inside a spacecraft built for one, not much different from one of our space suits except that it had some kind of propulsion device on the back. He was hovering outside the DSM for a couple of hours before the crew began to “hear” him speaking. He was using that same kind of telepathy gadget that had traveled to Earth. He/She/It identified itself as a leader, welcomed the visitors, invited them to the surface of the planet. The crew was able to determine that the planet had an atmosphere similar to Earth’s with nitrogen/oxygen air, the temperature was cool but within what we’d consider a normal range, so they drew straws and four of the eight started gathering tools and gear to make the first-ever visit to an alien world. 
 The transporter set them down in a vacant area near the center of a city, of sorts. The crew learned quickly that things were quite different. They met with a group of Hees, the name of the race not referring to their planet, or country. The individuals did not have names, made no noises, they did not have partnerships or relationships except parent/child—and it turned out that there were no genders. 
The crew was just getting used to the telepathic communications, worrying that their private thoughts were being transmitted or heard. Their host, a very nice “person,” thoughtful, asking over and over if the crew needed anything, was leading them on a tour of the city. It was clean, tidy, but crowded and eerily quiet. That lack of noise was disconcerting for the Earthlings—there was no laughter, no shouting, and worse, no music. They walked for an hour, seeing a medical facility, a school, a government building all with surprising similarities to ours, then they came upon the market.
“Should we stop for a bite before we go in? They won’t have food—at least nothing that we can consume,” one of the crewmen asked the Commander.
“Aren’t you guys anxious to see what’s out there? Don’t you have some kind of snack in your pack?” He paused to pull his backpack around, “Wait a minute, I have something, I put a dozen of these really good protein bars in here.” He unzipped the bag and handed two bars to the younger man.
“Thanks, Chief, that’ll tide me over.”
They both stared at their host and thought “OK, let’s go.”
The Hees nodded and started walking into the market. They walked about thirty feet to the second booth and froze. 
“Is that?” There were no signs, but the displays behind the glass doors were indisputable. They were selling body parts and what appeared to be organs, perhaps lungs, and hearts. 
Their host sent a message, asking essentially whether the Earthlings objected to the exhibit. The Colonel took a deep breath and set himself for an exchange of ideas. He didn’t want to be too critical but had to be honest that on earth organs and body parts were not considered commercial property.  The Hees didn’t understand why but accepted the notion that the Earthlings objected.  The Hees saw this as a perfectly logical element of commerce.  That little exchange of thoughts set them up nicely for the next booth. They couldn’t figure it out at first, but they stopped and stared. They didn’t know what they were witnessing. The host read the thoughts and explained. It seems all the Hees, or at least healthy ones, were capable of producing embryos that were expelled from an orifice in the abdomens. Then the embryos were placed in a nest of sorts for several weeks of gestation. The display was filled with these nests and were for sale to anyone interested. There was a segment of the population that could not produce embryos and were anxious buyers. There were two tables in the back of the booth where Hees could deliver new embryos for the market. Again, the Earthlings were at odds with this seeming lack of morality.
The rest of the market tour was just about as interesting. They learned that the Hees do not go to schools. Instead, they learned via telepathy at little booths in markets like this one. Parents, or a parent, would bring an adolescent to the booth, around age ten, and in one hour would absorb all the accumulated knowledge of the race. 
Two of the crew members were physicians and had a lot of questions about medicine, health care, how the Hees consumed nourishment, and how their bodies managed the “food” if there was any. They “asked” their host if there were medical or healthcare workers on the planet. It turns out there were, there were a couple nearby very anxious to meet and communicate with the Earthlings. They worked closely together for the duration of the mission. The Hees were remarkable beings in the judgment of the earth doctors. The life cycle was remarkable, similar to humans in some respects, but vastly different in others. There were no individual male or female beings, instead, they were hermaphrodites, all carrying all of what humans see as uniquely male or female reproductive capabilities. The embryos were remarkably strong and grew, and matured at a much quicker pace than humans. Those in the baskets at the market were typically only a few hours old, but in 10 weeks or so would develop mature organs and respiratory and cardiac systems. In ten more weeks, they could walk. Physically, other than the missing mouth and digits, they were much like humans. After gestation and the growth spurt over the first five to six months, they age at a pace similar to humans. Their lifespan was about 50-60 years. Nearly all deaths were attributable to age. It seemed the planet had no pathogens. There didn’t appear to be a big variety of vegetation, the fields were filled with a plant with fruit similar to oranges or grapefruit and they made up 90% of the diet for the entire planet. There was also abundant water, heavy in minerals, and between the fruit and the water, the diet was nearly perfect. 
Six months later, the crew convened at the USSA headquarters building in Maryland. The mission had been flawless, the next step was to evaluate what they had learned, and examined the findings to determine whether any of it would be of any value to Earth. There was some disagreement about divulging the brisk market for embryos and body parts. Most could see there was an upside to it, on the other hand, it went against the foundation of our morality. They put it aside, for now, and focused on how the planet avoided any cultivation of bacteria or viruses. The highest priority, however, was preparing for the visit from the Mees, where to take them, how to protect them, and how best to learn more from them. The history books would see this as the most significant event in all of recorded time, and often quoted Colonel Means’ statement regarding the mission, “We have proved beyond any doubt that ‘We are not alone.’”
","August 06, 2023 18:08",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",svfb39,45% Alc/Vol,Yi Zhang,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/svfb39/,/short-story/svfb39/,Dialogue,0,"['Drama', 'Suspense', 'Fantasy']",9 likes,"
My finger taps lightly on the QR code taped to the high table. “Favors for favors, madame.”By the third drink, the tall woman’s scowl struggled to remain. I think about informing her about her smudging lipstick, but one stern look rattles me into silence. The pendent lights above shine softly on us, accenting her cocoa skin.She scratches the back of her head as she sighs. I catch a glimpse of the Mage mark on her right hand, a magenta tattoo of a snake bearing pointed fangs. “The manhunt’s been going on for the past few days. Still no luck from the higher ups, as expected.”Her sharp features mirror her tone, observing my reaction. Despite her inebriation, her gaze locks steady with mine, and we can both feel the awkwardness of the ensuing silence – intentionally so. Silence creates assumptions, and I would be a fool to fill it up. Too many variables and too high a chance of letting slip too much. So, I raise an eyebrow, egging her to continue.It’s a slow night. Only the soft clinking of glass in the corner of the room and the murmuring from the TV fill in the atmosphere. If she’s upset at my reaction, or lack thereof, she doesn’t show it. My mouth tightens slightly, and I wonder if she’s hiding it on purpose. Her experience as a private investigator is presenting itself, and I can’t help but feel slightly intimidated.To my relief, she inhales, undoing the top button of her dress shirt as she fans herself. “The last time I came here, you were extremely helpful.""""Thank you.""""Suspiciously so.""""Ah.""""How do you do it? Not just anyone can get intel the way you do.”I shrug, thinking over my words carefully. “When I set up shop in this part of town, I got to meet a variety of people. It helps knowing how to make myself useful.”Getting on people’s good side is an art. The problem always lies with first contact, but I’ve been here for a few years, now. Everyone has different ticks that let you know if you’re saying the right thing or telling them what they want to know. Some have subtle shifts in tone, others visibly light up.My concern is that I can’t read this lady at all, and the room seems like it’s heating up in the meantime.She shifts her body away from the countertop, placing her marked hand on the wooden surface. “There’s a rumor going around that you’re implicated in the Thunder Hill murders.”I hold my hands up, waving them back and forth. “Please, I’m no Mage. I wouldn’t be able to fight off one, much less an entire family of them.”The news articles were relatively recent, only two days old. I’m impressed that she’s already knee-deep into her investigation, but I’m hardly surprised. Even for a veteran, catching such a high-profile case is sure to earn you more than just a few brownie points with local law enforcement.She smiles. “Of course not. But the main suspect, only 25 years old, seemingly disappearing after the scene all by himself? It doesn’t take a leap of logic to fill in the blanks. How much did he pay you?”I bite harder on my tongue before replying. “That’s a bold assumption you’re making, but if that’s the information you’re paying for, then your finds will have to go towards that.”“...Nice try, but I’m not made of money.” She raises her glass. “You’ve built quite a reputation for yourself, bartender. It’s hard not to know who you are, but I can’t imagine it being easy living on the fence.”“It helps that there aren’t many mixologists here,” I joke.I’m not even entirely kidding. The secrets that happen to spill out after a few mysterious “free” drinks has profited me more times than I could count. She doesn’t need to know that, though.The corners of her mouth are upturned, and she leans closer towards the high table. “Someone like you must have many enemies, so you can imagine how interesting your continued presence is to me.”Security is easier than she may think. Keep the police satisfied and they avert their eyes from a few small crimes. Keep the criminals just a little ahead of the law and they stay bearable. But I notice that she's good at speaking a lot without saying much at all. I don't like that one bit.We both chuckle, and I’m sure we’re also both aware of the mirthless quality our titters carry. Her glare is sharp, and I have to actively remind myself not to tense up. Years in the business, and some things never get easier. I bite on my tongue. The pain helps me focus, and I remain quiet for a bit longer.“Well, as long as you’re not planning on stealing my cases, then it’s none of my concern.” She takes another swig of gin. “Here’s the deal.”“We’re not alone.” I interrupt, tilting my head towards a handful of stragglers in the corner. A pair of friends are watching the TV, while another sits quietly in the corner, back turned towards us. The lady follows my gaze before giving me a nod in return.“Let them hear. Nothing I want to talk about will be useful to them anyways.”She reaches into her back pocket and slides something towards me. It looks like a family photo, five people posing stoically in suits and dresses. A red circle drawn around the brother with a marker. He sports a leather jacket, short and curly hair, and a determined expression. If I didn’t know any better, I would write him off as a typical young adult with way too much money.However, I recognize the Thunder Hill family.“You’re interested in Gabriel Duarte? He’s certainly rising star.” I slide the photo back towards the officer. “He’s elusive, keeps to himself, but with such a recent occurrence, he couldn’t have gotten far. Though we’ll have to discuss if there’s anything I can tell you that you don’t already know.”I make sure my words are chosen carefully. I’m in no position to offer any freebies.“No, no! None of that. I have plenty of intel on him already.” She smiles, but her eyes are like daggers.I raise an eyebrow. “What are you asking for, exactly?”“I want you to make sure no one else gets to him before me.” She lets that statement linger for a brief while. “Throw people off the trail. Lie to them. You can do that, can’t you? I’m sure you’ve got your hands full of other professionals haggling you for information. He fell in with a bad crowd, and unfortunately attracted more attention than necessary.”“He does have a notorious past. Can’t say I like getting involved in gangs, magical or not.”“And if you agree to help me, you won’t have to do anything dangerous.” That’s clearly insincere. But her eyes are shining. “I have my own leads and methods, except communication takes time. That’s all I need.”Before she finishes, I’m already shaking my head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s a tall order. Reputation doesn’t come naturally, and credibility is fleeting. Lying is not something that I-”Suddenly, her hand reaches out, resting squarely on my shoulder. The pressure isn’t painful, but it’s firm enough to remind me of how frail I am in comparison to a Mage. Small yellow sparks dance along her forearm as she smiles kindly, a complete juxtaposition to her threatening posture. Her perfume provides a strong lavender scent. The fragrance is sweet, but at this distance, it’s overpowering my senses.This isn’t the first time I’ve handled difficult customers, but the aggression still manages to startle me. I hold myself back from gulping as I put on my best uninterested expression. I can’t let her see me falter and inhale deeply.“Miss, I understand your frustration,” I say. “We can probably help each other. I just needed you to understand that my business relies on trust.”We don’t break eye contact.“I never said no,” I add, making sure to slightly drop my indifferent façade slightly.That seems to catch her attention. I feel the hairs on my arm stand on end as more sparks dance and flutter near my face. I know she can’t kill me, but I’ve had enough of hospital visits for the past year. There is one rule to follow in the business: always be just enough. Everyone can be helped but help some more so than others. Partial information can always be useful so long as it’s based on the truth, especially to desperate individuals seeking dangerous game. It’s never a question of whether you should tell the truth or not – always be truthful, it keeps them coming back – but rather, am I telling them enough?“A balancing act,” I say, “is what I can offer. You’re thinking about the police officers, yes, but I assume you’re also worried about James Zhu, Richard Morrison, Ella Perez. They’re famous for a reason, though I will say, you are the first of this group to come to me. You’re clearly in the lead in some regard.”“I’m waiting for an answer.” Her tone is stern.“…I’ll ensure that your rivals are properly handled so long as you have the currency.”I tap on her sleeve, hoping I did just that. Finally, she relents, giving my shoulder one last pat before standing up. The officer places a bill on the table as she stretches, slightly wobbly but overall holding up well.I extend my hand. “I’ll expect another visit soon, Mrs. Kumar.”Her plastered smile falters slightly as we shake, and it satisfies me slightly. “…We’ll be in touch.”As she staggers out of the door, my eyes glide towards the TV in the corner nonchalantly. I readjust my collar in the meantime. A minute passes before I grab the remote from a drawer underneath the bar and change the channel. The room fills with piano music. Mozart, probably. The mordents carry his pretentiousness.Then, from the corner of my eye, a figure approaches me.“You best clean yourself up, sir. There’s a one-person bathroom downstairs.” I yawn and pretend to wipe the sleep from my eyes, lingering slightly longer on the space right above my cheek. Even under the cheap concealer, I can see the tattoos on his face seeping through, dark etchings representative of a less-than-popular period. His vacant expression is a far cry from that photo. He looks a decade older.Torn from his home and on the run. It’s no easy feat.There’s a sharp inhale, then a hesitant nod.“And that glass, I’m adding to your tab.” I nod towards the empty cup in the corner. “You come back soon, alright?”“If I’m lucky I won’t have to.” The voice is grim, without a hint of amusement. Our eyes lock briefly. His glare is sharp but muddled by the pendant lights above. I know he’s armed.I know I’m not.“And how has Lady Luck been treating you lately?” I ask. “You’ve attracted the attention of the Divya Kumar.”“She left.”What death in the family does to a man.“And you’ve just used up a year’s worth of luck that she did. She was convinced I was strong-armed into helping her - which I will be doing, of course - but she's relentless. There's a reason why her name is so well-known.”We stand in silence for a moment, the piano offering none of its promised relaxation. “I’m not asking for anything. I’m only giving you a head’s up. If anyone asks more directly, I’ll have no choice but to be truthful. That’s policy.”His brow tightens, then relaxes, a sigh escaping his lips. He looks like he’s about to argue, but he relaxes his fist. “Why help me? You know who I am. I'm a dead man walking.”The potential of a scuffle disappears, so I turn around, placing some bottles back on the shelf. “You need to start asking the right questions. I could say I did it out of the kindness of my heart and you’d have no way to prove me wrong.”I twist my head back towards the counter. Gabriel seems to be processing that. I won’t tell him outright, but I am confident he isn’t the perpetrator. The way he cried about his family that night, the stress of this whole ordeal – it doesn’t speak to me like a ruse. If he knew where to find me, he’d also know that I don’t really ask questions either, so masking his true intentions is unnecessary.His face reminds me a lot of a scared animal right now. A tired, worrisome expression perpetually worn on his face.“I don’t have much more money.”“Social currency, secrets, materialistic things. Anything is valuable if you’re asking the right people,” I say. “But you might want to leave soon. I doubt you want to be seen here, and I have another appointment coming up.”From his slumped shoulders, a small, beaten knapsack hangs limply. With a grunt, he swings the bag towards his right, rummaging inside before taking out what appears to be a business card. Much like his facial tattoos, dark lines extend from a central circle like tentacles, creating a dream-like pattern. Its metallic sheen dances in the light.Once he hands me the trinket, the weight makes my fingers strain to keep it level. I study its design more intricately. To my surprise, the rune is not drawn, but chiseled in. It must take a skilled craftsman to carve such a complex shape. Expensive, to boot - not just anyone can afford these sorts of mechanisms. The etching pattern reminds me of circuitry.The man’s voice cuts through my thought process like butter. “I’ll contact you with this. When you receive my message, tap your finger to the center of the circle.”I nod. “I'm not one to forget promises. I’ll see what I can dredge up in the meantime.”He slides a cheque towards me, which I pocket, satisfied. He grunts in response, his broad figure slowly shuffling away. I keep my eyes on the large man as he exits the door. He squeezes through the frame before turning around, giving a small wave.I tip my head towards him with a smile playing on my lips, watching as his silhouette gradually disappears into the darkness. I pour myself a drink, and it burns on the way down. Another secret drowns in the atmosphere.
","August 11, 2023 15:16","[[{'Linda Lovendahl': ""So many nice items in this story: one stern look, verb rattles, intentionally slow, description of ticks, the benefit of free drinks, but small yellow sparks really caught my attention.\nI had trouble as a reader, and you can ignore these spots if you want (!) Was first paragraph. I couldn't tell who said quote. Also sentence Everyone can be helped but help some more so than others. I know what you are getting at in this sentence but maybe commas could help? Also couldn't tell who speaking You best clean....I yawn...\nPlease keep writing. It w..."", 'time': '23:05 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",vssj81,Another Dose,Christine Rohr,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vssj81/,/short-story/vssj81/,Dialogue,0,"['Suspense', 'Fiction']",9 likes,"
  ""Zyprosamide 10 mg IM stat,"" I say with equanimity. ""And 1 mg of his benzodiazepine with it,"" I add.
  ""I have it here in my hand. Pretty sure this was going to happen,"" Sarah replies. The record had shown our new admission had required physical and chemical restraints prior to his arrival on our unit.
  I watch as she readies the needle that will deliver a dose of this powerful antipsychotic medication into the deltoid muscle. Smell of the quick alcohol swipe briefly fills the air as she quickly cleanses a place to inject him. Our patient Jacob continues to thrash wildly against the restraints that bind his hands and wrists. Four points. He yells incoherent gibberish, we call it word salad.
  ""TV, God, I'm, we're... Not! Changes, I am going, best songs...songs..I don't....Alone, alone, alon......Jacob finishes his current string of nonsensical words that die on his lips as the medication takes hold.
  Jacob is court ordered to be admitted to the inpatient psychiatry unit for nonadherence to his medications. He is a new admission today, but not new to us at all. He has had multiple inpatient hospitalizations for psychosis. A state in which the patient is disconnected from reality. Jacob has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. His medications work well when he takes them, but he has protracted periods when he does not.
  In dealing with his mental illness for years, his family has been as supportive as they could have been. He is emotionally challenging, at times confrontational, and financially a drain. Today he is dirty, smelling of urine, and rail thin. His hair is unwashed and there is a scruffy beard covering his face. He will need to be checked well for lice when he is quiet enough. He is homeless yet again, not through the fault of his family. He is impossible to control.
   This time he was reported by his neighbors. They stated he walked into their home without clothing except socks and was chanting. Police picked him up yet again and brought him in for treatment. This is not a deep read for me, these are common findings.
  Following a medical evaluation of standard labs and CT scan of the head it was concluded that there was no medical cause for his current relapse. We all begin again. A revolving door patient is back through the revolving door. Treat, arrange outpatient appointments, scripts to pharmacies, discharge with court ordered follow up, then no shows.
  ""Jacob's back,"" I say feeling defeated to Rebecca the charge nurse for the unit. We have worked together for a couple of years, co-dependent and a really good team.
  ""Yep, I think he was just discharged a couple of months ago,"" she replies. "" I have a list of his home medications but... I'm pretty sure he hasn't been taking any of them.""
  Important fact. We have to start at lower doses than what he was discharged on and gradually increase them as needed. She has no time to waste on politics and philosophy today. If he is back, it is what it is. She has other priorities.
  In the past we have voiced our mutual frustration with a system that cannot keep Jacob and others like him safe. No sense in rehashing it now. But it least he has not engaged in any self-harming activities, no cuts or burns on his body. He has not choked, stabbed or hung himself. He did not threaten others with violence. We are happy for these small blessing. Even if the system is a failure.
  ""Have the mental health technician check vital signs every 4 hours,"" I order. A doctor's order here so totally unnecessary as Rebecca and the rest of the staff are already attending to this. She is a seasoned psychiatric professional. She is the charge nurse. Her biggest task is how to stretch the already stressed resources to accommodate for Jacob's needs. His 1:1 observation.
  I start reviewing his record from the admission two months ago. Pretty much the same.
  There are twenty patients on this locked unit. These are all short stay admissions. This is not One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. They come, get pumped with medication, a few group meetings. In five to ten days they're out. Medicine run by insurance companies. Payments no longer approved. The patients range in diagnoses, but most are depressed, intentional overdoses and other suicide attempts, schizophrenics, bipolar disorder, borderline personality, and substance abuse. They are challenging, demanding, aggressive, apathetic, resistant, attention and drug seekers. And many,many people who practice self harm with cutting and burning.
  The unit is quiet for a short while until..... Aaron begins. He was admitted two days ago.
  ""I don't belong here,"" he says with conviction in a slightly elevated voice.
  I can hear both Rebecca and Sarah, talking softly, but firmly to him. De-escalation. Soft vocal tones, familiar and reassuring using his name frequently. They do it well and I resume my work on Jacob's chart.
  Aaron is having none of it.
  ""I have to leave, now. I am not staying here! I don't need to be here!"" in angrier and louder vocal tones. Aaron too is court ordered. Bipolar Disorder type I. There is a difference between Jacob and Aaron. Aaron is a repeater, but like a weapon, Aaron can be dangerous. He has been verbally and physically aggressive. I am now on alert. So are the two large male mental health technicians on the unit. They see the escalation in Aaron's behavior and move in... not quite in time.
  Code 22 is called overhead. Three loud buzzes, then ""Code 22 adult. Code 22 adult. Code 22 adult,"" the voice from the overhead intercom says in bland tones. Like the overhead intercom in the grocery store, ""Clean up in aisle three."" Someone has pushed the panic button.
  Staff bang through the locked doors from other units. Not quite as sanguine as the overhead intercom.
  Aaron bolts down the hall racing toward the locked doors that prevent elopement from the unit. A bevy of staff follow in pursuit. Me included. Most of us are small women, we are all thankful for the men on the unit.
  ""Grab his arms!"" Time the male tech yells at no one in particular. Aaron is a large man. Over six feet tall carrying extra pounds for a combination of age, diet and medications side effects. Though there are many staff participating in restraining him, it is remarkably quiet. Mostly force exhalations for their exertions. Spit flies from Aarons's mouth where he has six carious teeth remaining causing fetid breath.
  Sarah is struck in the face. ""Sh.t! Sh.t!"" the expletives are out before she has time to think. She steps away from the fray. A fist, arm, head, Aaron is banging his head on the door and flailing against the staff holding him. 
  Sarah's eye is red. Subconjunctival hemorrhage, a break in a tiny blood vessel in the white of her eye. Ice and time, it will go away. No real harm done.
  Another round of medication. His is halindole ordered by his primary psychiatrist. Rebecca runs for it while everyone else holds him. The minutes are counted for the duration of the manual hold. Something that is monitored for quality of patient care.
  ""Got it, just hold him for a few more. Wait! You're going to have to move so I can get to him,"" she huffs out of breath. No as slender as she used to be. Everyone jockeys into new positions. Rebecca moves in.
  ""Shot in."" she says.
   Aaron is held in place for several more minutes. The head banging stops. He is calmer. The staff start guiding him toward the quiet rooms. Rebecca will have to make calls to get additional staff. No one wants to pull extra duty.
  All is quiet again. There are other patients on the unit who were moved to their rooms during the chaos. They are now ablet to mingle in the common areas again. Aaron is moved into seclusion and restraints. Another 1:1 observation patient.
  ""Code 22, all clear,"" rings overhead three times. everyone breathes.            Chatter about assignments, hold time, documentation of events, details. Everyone talks. Nervous chuckles in relief of the adrenal rush. Sarah needs an occupational medicine visit, incident report to complete. A morass of paperwork for each event. Weights and chains making hard jobs harder.
  I am again trying to complete the admission paperwork for Jacob. Then notes for Aaron before our next admission or emergency.
  Marie, a young female who was admitted for delusions of being pregnant approaches the workstations. She has been requesting a pregnancy test every day since her admission. No one notices or wants to notice her. We are all busy trying to finish the impossible. Medication orders, medication passes, vital signs, group sessions for the twenty other people on the unit. Tiny Marie with her dark eyes and dark hair wearing institutional pajamas several sizes to big stands waiting.
  It is some long moments before any of us looks. Finally, I do.   ""Mother of....God,"" I say not even loudly. ""Marie, Marie, look at Marie!""
  I am starting to move.
  Everyone stops. I stop. All eyes on Marie. She is not only delusional she is a cutter. She has scars on her arms and legs. She has lacerations superimposed on scars that are in various stages of healing. And somewhere in the melee with Aaron she had found a paperclip. On a psychiatry unit a simple paperclip is a weapon. She lifts her pajama top. On her abdominal wall still dripping with blood she inscribed, NOT ALONE.
  She points weakly at a corner of the hall and urinates on the floor.   The smell is strong and wets her pants from her crotch down. Staff are now on the move trying to get to her while she stands wide eyed and helpless.
  Jacob is awake. He is chanting, ""We are not alone. We are not alone. We are not alone.""
  I start to say, ""Another dose of zyprosamide, now.""But something stops me. 
  It was there in Jacob's current record. The chants in the house he entered prior to his admission. I run back and look once more. There it is. He was chanting, ""We are not alone."" Over and over like a skipping record was how it was described. I turn back to the record from his prior admission two months ago. There it is again. Patient was nonsensical and psychotic. Stating repeatedly, ""We are not alone.""
  From the seclusion room where Aaron now lies in his restraints is a piercing scream. Then loudly in a voice filled with terror, ""I have to get out of here! Let me go! We are NOT ALONE!""
  The other patients are gathering and the noise on the unit escalates. The staff stops mid efforts in cleaning and dressing Marie's wounds. The mental health technicians run from the seclusion rooms, fright etched on normally calm faces. Faces who have seen it all and not afraid of what they have seen.
  All eyes are on Marie. On tiny, helpless, bleeding Marie and her pointing finger. Following, frozen, frightened.
  In their restrained seclusion rooms Jacob chants, Aaron screams. In the hall Marie stands dumbfounded.
  The hair on my arms stands on end, my breath catches, my heart beats hard.
  I think, ""Run!""
","August 06, 2023 22:18",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",8atg3h,"Knee to Knee, Forehead to Forehead.",Linda Lovendahl,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8atg3h/,/short-story/8atg3h/,Dialogue,0,"['Contemporary', 'Romance', 'Inspirational']",9 likes,"
It was nearing dusk but we didn’t care. We had hustled and bustled all the tedious hot hours of the day to get our commitments and chores done on this bright Sunday. It was our wedding anniversary and we had our tradition to maintain: a one-year review.
We still had two children living with us. But they were older teens, quite independent and visiting friends this evening.
Our truck came to a lazy stop on the gravel parking lot. There were several others at this popular site because there were lookout benches onto the valley below. My husband and I had no doubts about living in the mountains and this annual journey was a memorial. During our first year building our home from scratch, we discovered the hidden trail on a weekday and had the whole rock-laden pinnacle to ourselves. We had easily reviewed the goals of the previous year and knew our steps for the next. Today I felt rock solid about our marriage but I just didn’t know how much of my personal turmoil I could share with my husband for the house still wasn’t completed. We had finally found a bank to finance the unfinished livable shell, but I was tired of living in rooms separated by clear plastic sheets with layers of drywall powder on every horizontal surface. 
My boots hit the path with a puff of dust. My socks were sweaty and matched how my clothes felt against my skin but we forsook all pretense to look good in order to gain our bench before dark. There were other couples and families returning from the elevated spiral walkway. Smiles from these friendly faces helped settle my discomfort. My husband had promised a heart-to-heart talk as firm as his warm hand hold as we wormed through the exiting groups on our way up the well-worn trail. That’s why when I lost track of him later my pulse stopped mid-breath.  We had disconnected our hands to wiggle between a group viewing an empty eagle’s nest on a nearby tree top when a dog’s bark distracted me from the spectacle to look around and discover I had lost him.
I waited patiently for what I thought was about five minutes, but he did not return. Then I scouted nearby scenic spots on the same circular path, thinking that if I missed him entirely, surely he would show up at the parking lot as a last resort. 
After asking others if they had seen his blue shirt and brown shorts, I panicked. Was he hurt? I didn’t want to embarrass myself by yelling his name so I kept checking every turn off, knowing he wouldn’t purposely leave me. Not on our anniversary!
It darkened. I could see headlights shining on the roads several miles below in the valley where the black cat of night had silently crept in. The last few rays of sunlight lit angles of my search. Most of the fellow trekkers had departed and the viewing benches were empty. 
I found the one we had christened as “ours.” It was empty. My heart raced. Instead of the beauty of my surroundings, I reviewed the hard tasks of the day and how I envied my husband’s clear vision of his role in construction and meaningful meetings with other men on their’s. In contrast, I felt my tasks of maintaining household matters and monitoring all the phone calls for needed services paled in regards to importance. Our children no longer needed a mother’s perspective and I often felt alone.
I leaned on the back of the wooden bench and inhaled the sweetness of the twilight air, trying to stay in the moment. I had to find my husband despite my problems. Where would he go? How could he leave? 
Then it struck me: Was this his plan? Shudders of scary awareness raced down my limbs. I plummeted toward the parking area. I ran over to the truck. 
He wasn’t there. 
I stood, arms straight at my side, transfixed by my dilemma. He had the keys so I didn’t even have a chance to climb inside. Yikes. I thought. I’m really stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place. 
I sat on the rear bumper, arms crossed, visibly upset for the last driver to leave asked if I wanted a ride to town. I thanked him for the offer but told him I’d wait for my husband.
 
He looked around. “Where the heck is she? I led a couple to an alternate pathway and she wasn’t here at the eagle nest stop when I returned.  I should have told her about guiding them but I thought I would only be gone for a second or two. Where would she go?
He searched the shallow alcoves near the eagle nest and asked others if they had seen her yellow blouse and gray shorts. He tapped the water bottle, worried she would get thirsty, and absent mindedly searched for the phone they had left in the glove compartment for the climb was too high an altitude for it to work. The thoughts about her hesitancy to talk had convinced him that he had to stay strong in his belief they could handle anything – together. Ah, yes, he thought. Together. He had to make that happen.
Stopping at a turnout, he viewed the valley below. Houses were glowing with lights as nighttime grabbed its rightful place. He placed hands wide on his hips, meditating on what she might have done from a practical standpoint. Sure that she would still head for their bench, no matter what time of day, he pressed onward.
When he got there, he was disappointed she wasn’t sitting there waiting for him. He scratched his head. This was getting harder for him to figure out. Maybe she left on purpose. Maybe she gave up and hitched a ride and left him?
No. No way. He shook his head. He would have known things were that bad. She just needed him to help balance things out. This was just temporary. Don’t jump to conclusions, he told himself.
He turned from the bench and headed back down the track. 
 
Not able to just sit in silence any longer, the last daytime visitors gone, she decided to reascend their original course. The only other sound outside the thud of her heel on the ground in the newly doused sunlight was her breathing. Not even the crickets were ready to sound yet. It were as though all of nature was held still in a spooky silence. She pushed forward as though she could force it to take that one long full breath she was after to revive herself. 
 
Although there was no one else on the path now, he didn’t panic. His soles knew the way better than he did with their innate agility to compensate for the erosion and overgrown roots but his gut was heavy. He needed to see her. To find her. Their marriage was a long range prayer meant for more than this one day of discomfort. He gulped and kept downward, discarding other negative thoughts. 
 
Both heard the distant thumping of the other’s footsteps. The sky was black as a raven’s wing before moon and stars could dutifully reflect the sun. In minutes, they saw the shadow of the other. Each fell into the other‘s open arms. 
He muttered sweet words as she moaned relief. They hung onto each other wordlessly like branches that had grown along each other through years of growth. They sank to the dirt, knee to knee and forehead to forehead.
“I didn’t know what happened,” he said.
“I didn’t either,” she said.
“I’m sorry to lose you.”
“I can’t live without you.”
He tightened his fingers on her shoulders, speaking gently into her soul, “Remember, we’ll always find each other because the years have shown us that we’re not alone.”
 
 
 
","August 11, 2023 16:36","[[{'Amanda Lieser': 'Hi Linda,\nWhat a touching story about long lasting love and commitment. It felt like a movie-miscommunication and misunderstanding, but with a strong ending. I loved the way we got to have a reunion which helped us re invest in this relationship. It was a great answer to the prompt. Nice work!!', 'time': '13:15 Aug 22, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Linda Lovendahl': ""I have had a number of miscommunications with my husband and the tension and apprehension involved with that situation is gruesome. Usually in a relationship, one is strong and the other is weak but I wanted this one to end with both in their own empowerment. Thank you for the remark about a 'movie' 'cause that tension is what I purposely focused upon to keep the reader reading!"", 'time': '00:56 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Linda Lovendahl': ""I have had a number of miscommunications with my husband and the tension and apprehension involved with that situation is gruesome. Usually in a relationship, one is strong and the other is weak but I wanted this one to end with both in their own empowerment. Thank you for the remark about a 'movie' 'cause that tension is what I purposely focused upon to keep the reader reading!"", 'time': '00:56 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Linda Lovendahl': 'thank you Mary!', 'time': '23:22 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': '💞 Precious 💞', 'time': '12:52 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",fjzkfx,5 A.M.,Sara Akins,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fjzkfx/,/short-story/fjzkfx/,Dialogue,0,"['Drama', 'Science Fiction']",8 likes,"
This story contains sensitive content, including descriptions of depression and a stillbirth.
 
	Evelyn woke up at dusk. She let too many minutes slip by as she watched the hollow gray light pour across her ceiling. When she finally rolled over and faced the forest outside her window, Evelyn saw what she thought were hundreds of white flowers descending into view, but when she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she realized the flowers were merely the gaps of sky between the trees. 
	Evelyn felt a pang of disappointment at having lost so much of the day–all other human beings woke up at a reasonable time, why was she nocturnal? These thoughts battered her down the steps, out her front door, and down the driveway, where her garbage bin was the only one on the street still left out. Evelyn winced as she pulled it in, the sound of its wheels raucously tumbling down the block. 
	“It’s about time!” teased Evelyn’s next-door neighbor, Nancy. She paused her hedge-trimming to squint at Evelyn through pointed Hepburn-esque sunglasses, even though the sun had already burrowed beneath the horizon. “I don’t know how Tom does it,” Nancy went on, “It’s like he has a ghost for a housewife!”
	Evelyn pursed her lips into a smile and gave a puckered nod. “Good morning to you, too, Nancy.” Evelyn shuffled back into the garage, tripping over a bin of her old, dried-up paintbrushes. They were practically unusable, now: ancient relics of a dream long forgotten.
 
	Somehow Evelyn made her way to the living room, where the black and white glow of Gilligan’s Island–Joey’s favorite program–washed onto the walls. Oh God, Joey. Had he spent the whole day by himself? The worries of whether her son had eaten or accidentally injured himself while Evelyn slept the day away caused a sharp pain to pound through her head.
	“Joey? Joseph…” The words wandered down the halls.
	“Looks like someone’s finally up!” Joey beamed as he sat at the kitchen table, his oversized red turtleneck falling well past his hands and knees. Evelyn couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight: Joey had always been small for his age, and now his head hardly poked above the table’s edge. The words he echoed were his father’s, but they lost all their sarcastic bite when said in his innocent, squeaky voice.
	“There’s my beautiful boy…” Evelyn whispered as she kissed her son’s hair. “Are you doing okay? Where’s Dad?”
	“He just left. His business trip starts today.”
	“Oh yeah? Where’s he going this time?”
	“Oklahoma City. Two weeks.”
	Evelyn was always amazed at how sharp her son’s memory was. She envied how his mind never stopped ticking.
	“I made you this!” Joey pushed a bowl of cereal in Evelyn’s direction. He must’ve put it together hours ago; the pieces of cereal were soggy and inflamed, the milk sand-colored. Evelyn ate a few grateful spoonfuls.
	“Thank you, Joey,” she cupped his shoulder, “It’s delicious. Now why don’t I make us both some eggs?”
 
	As Evelyn watched her son guzzle down his warm meal, she allowed her thoughts to paint over the guilt she felt for leaving him alone all evening. Even though it may not have seemed so to outsiders, Evelyn did love her son. She loved his baby-toothed grin, his stumpy stride, his squeal-of-a-laugh. She loved that he was different from the other boys his age, for better or worse. She loved that she would sometimes wander downstairs in the middle of the night and catch him staring out the kitchen window, watching the stars drift across the sky. She loved that Joey adored her old paintings, that he would ask her to sketch scenes from his favorite television shows…
	Evelyn used to be an artist. Aspiring, anyway. That was before she married Tom, became a housewife, had children. Yes… She had children, plural. Joey’s twin brother was stillborn. Samuel… That’s what Evelyn had wanted to name him. She would never forget his cold body leaving hers, giving life not to him, but to the stale hospital air. She hadn’t painted since. She was numb. The whole world was gray.
	It was like time had stopped for Evelyn, and yet continued to churn along for everyone else. Snowflakes hung still in the air, autumn leaves never kissed the ground–then all of a sudden she would realize that Joey had learned to walk, talk, ride a bike; that Tom’s once-amicable face had frozen into a permanent scowl; that whispers and stares were shot her direction in line at the grocery store; that her friends hadn’t called her in years; that she couldn’t even remember their faces.
 
	Suddenly, Evelyn’s ears began to ring. Unfortunately, this was not an uncommon occurrence when she thought of Samuel, or her art, or her exile. She watched Joey’s lips move in silence; she knew her son was talking to her, but the ringing drowned out his words. His lips moved faster, and faster, and faster. Evelyn glimpsed his hazel eyes: wide and tickled with panic. He was shaking her. Mommy… Mommy…
	 “Mommy! Did you hear that?”
	Evelyn snapped back to the present. “...What?”
	“Outside! Look!”
	Evelyn did. A glowing red light ignited their backyard. She strode to the sliding kitchen door–is that smoke?–and heaved it open.
	“Oh my God…”
	 A strange machine–red and arrow-shaped, the size of a refrigerator–had crashed into her backyard. It lay half-burrowed beneath her dying flower garden. Light pulsed from inside it to the rhythm of Evelyn’s heartbeat. It was the first time in years that Evelyn could actually feel her heart pounding. It was in her breath, her neck, her hands… boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom…
	There was something else. Something pale curled up in the corner of the yard, as if it had been flung from the vessel upon landing. As Evelyn approached this unknown… thing…she saw that it was really a small, unconscious body. It jerked slightly in its sleep, startling her, provoking her to grab a nearby shovel in preparation to eliminate the creature, if she must. The sour taste of guilt prematurely flooded Evelyn’s mouth as her arms brought the shovel higher, higher, higher…
	Red flashed before her eyes. Evelyn thought she had done it–that she was seeing the creature’s blood. But no–it was unharmed, the shovel was still suspended in the air, and Joey in his red sweater had leaped in front of the sleeping creature: in both curiosity and protection.
	“Mommy, wait,” Joey said. “He might not be bad.”
	Evelyn realized she was hyperventilating, her hands shaking above her head.
	“Just look. Hey! He kinda looks like me.”
	Evelyn leaned in closer. Joey was right: other than the creature’s gray skin, wispy charcoal hair, and pointed ears, it looked exactly like a sleeping human boy. If it weren’t for his odd traits, Evelyn could see the creature as being just another boy in Joey’s class.
	Evelyn threw down her shovel.
	“My God…” she whispered. “It’s only a child.”
	She bent down next to Joey and carefully combed the dirt off the boy’s face. “He is quite strange, isn’t he?”
	Joey watched his mom from behind. “Well… So are we.”
	Evelyn couldn’t help but chuckle. Suddenly, the boy stirred and opened his brilliant, sad, sapphire eyes.
	“Wow! Would you look at that!” Joey exclaimed. His gaze moved to his mother. “Now I know two people with blue eyes.”
 
	By midnight, Evelyn quieted the smoke emitting from the strange boy’s vessel, brought him and Joey inside, tended to the boy’s scrapes, and clothed him in Joey’s shorts and t-shirt. The black, baggy garment was speckled with white dots for stars, and over them hovered the words: “You have now crossed over into… The Twilight Zone.”
	“Joseph, would you do me a favor?” Evelyn said, trying to mask the quivering uncertainty in her voice. “Would you keep our guest entertained while I, uh… Figure out what to do with him?”
	Joey chirped with agreement and led the boy to his assortment of toys strung about the living room.
	“Just another playmate,” Evelyn muttered to herself. It was shocking just how human the boy was, especially for having descended from a place that most certainly was not. What could she do about this? Call the authorities? Send the boy away to be poked and prodded and isolated for who-knows-how-long? Evelyn couldn’t do that. But the boy was also inhuman enough to draw attention if anyone else were to see him–all the make-up in this house wouldn’t be enough to mask the gray of his skin. God knows what Tom would say. Or Nancy. It was clear to Evelyn: She would have to care for the boy herself, in private. At least for a little while.
	Evelyn sighed with relief. She had given herself the answer she’d wanted to hear.
	“Hey Mom! Look at what he can do!”
	Evelyn raised her head from her hands. Joey and the boy shuffled over and presented her with Joey’s finicky digital alarm clock. Evelyn inspected it closely.
	“He…changed the time?”
	“No–he wrote a message. Look closer. It’s his name.”
	“His name is ‘Five O’clock,’” Evelyn said skeptically.
	“No,” Joey said. “5 A.M. 5AM. S-A-M.”
 
	Even though Evelyn and… Sam… couldn’t speak the same language, they found it easy to understand each other. On his first night in the house, Evelyn discovered that Sam possessed an enormous appetite for such a small being. He ate a dozen eggs, ten strips of bacon, three pancakes, and even the ketchup-pickle-toothpaste monstrosity that Joey concocted for him–and that was just breakfast alone.
	Evelyn also found that Sam was fond of Joey’s exploration books. She’d wander into Joey’s room (most likely serving another plate of food) and find the two boys combing through the biographies of Christopher Columbus, Marco Polo, and Amerigo Vespucci. Sam was hungry for much more than food; he had a taste for adventure, as well. Maybe that was how he ended up here.
	On the weekdays, while Joey was at school, Evelyn taught Sam how to draw with colored pencils. He was quite clumsy, at first. No matter how hard Sam tried, his fingers couldn’t quite grasp the pencils the way they were meant to. Evelyn found this endearing. Hundreds of uncertain pencil marks poured down the page like a rainstorm down a windshield. She had never seen anything like it before. Soon, Sam learned how to draw shapes, then objects. A boy made of timid gray lines standing alone on a small circle: a planet. A dozen other strange figures bordered the page. All of them turned away from the boy.
	“...You’re lonely too, eh?” Evelyn whispered.
	That night, Evelyn found Joey and Sam curled up next to each other on the bedroom floor, angelic in sleep. A picture book–explorer Robert Peary’s journey to the North Pole–drooped from their hands. It was the first time she had seen Joey sleeping comfortably in a long time. A warm feeling melted into Evelyn, seeing the two children–both of them once so alone–have so much trust in one another. And so that night, with the two boys as her subjects, Evelyn started to paint again.
 
	Nearly two weeks after Sam’s arrival, Evelyn set out into the backyard to revive her flower garden; she’d purchased a half-dozen rose bushes that morning. Behind her, Joey and Sam tossed a football back and forth (Sam had the better aim, by far). What Evelyn didn’t see, though, was the moment when Joey misfired the ball over the fence and into the yard next door.
	The break in the panels was just wide enough for Sam to slip through. He wandered over to the football, which had crash-landed halfway across the yard, and bent down to pick it up. When he rose, his eyes were stung by the sight of a woman looking back at him from her back porch.
	Her mouth was agape. Her oversized, insect-like sunglasses had shifted down her nose, revealing two piercing green eyes. They twisted in panic. In disgust.
	That was when Evelyn heard the scream.
	She ran across the lawn, jiggled open the gate, and burst into the neighboring lawn.
	“Nancy, what happened?” Evelyn cried.
	Nancy could not stop shrieking. The shrill sound pierced the humid air. She pointed at the gray boy standing, panicked and perplexed, on her lawn.
	“What happened to Joey?” Nancy demanded.
	“It’s okay, Nancy. Calm down. That’s not–”
	Confused by the commotion, Joey meandered through the gate and into Nancy’s yard. The sight of two Joeys–one human, one not–caused Nancy to lose her mind.
	“...J-Joey! What’s going on here, Evie? Why are there two of them? Why is one a freak?”
	And with that, Nancy screeched one more time, her sunglasses crashing to the ground as she ran inside.
 
	Evelyn rushed the boys back into her house. Sam’s expression was empty, and he walked slowly as if in a daze. While Joey was busy taking off his shoes and Evelyn was closing every curtain in the house, the distress was too much for him; Sam collapsed on the kitchen floor.
	“Sam!” Joey bolted forward to comfort him, but the noise only worsened Sam’s condition. He squealed and curled into himself.
	Joey faced his mother, hot tears welling up in his wide, panicked eyes. “What do we do?”
	“I have no idea…” Evelyn mumbled. “Nancy’s probably told half the neighborhood by now.” 
	“He’s shaking!” 
	“Maybe we could call your father–no that wouldn’t work, he would just send him away…” 
	“It’s gonna be okay, Sammy…” 
	“The whole town’s going to be on our front doorstep, we can’t hide him here forever…” 
	“Mom… He’s just so scared.” 
	Evelyn looked up. Her two boys–one broken, one unraveling–leaned against each other as they sat on the tile floor.
 Evelyn… What are you doing? A small voice said from somewhere deep within her. They need you as much as you need them.
	Evelyn walked forward. She bent down to the two crumbled boys and held them both in her arms. As they relaxed into her embrace, it felt as though they were shrinking back into the newborns they once were… or could have been. Evelyn felt herself shrinking, too. She was just as broken as they were–even more so. All those years Evelyn spent denying herself–becoming a recluse, losing her identity, letting her passion fizzle away… Life was hard, she knew. But that shouldn’t have stopped her from being Joey’s mother. His protector. His friend.
	She looked at Sam, now. This little boy, so full of wanderlust, that she had conjured here through her grief and loneliness. Evelyn knew how it felt to be trapped. She couldn’t do the same to him.
	She held Sam tighter and whispered in his pointed ear: “It’s time you get to leave this place.”
 
	Evelyn wasted no time in unburying Tom’s toolbox, allowing Sam to repair his ship while she attempted to dig the cockpit out from her lawn. She felt the shovel, lighter now in her hands. To think that the same tool she’d used to nearly end Sam’s life was now being used to save him.
	Sam departed that night. Joey hugged his best friend goodbye, sending him away with a few picture books to share with the civilians of whatever planet he ended up on next.
	“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Joey said as Sam’s ship lifted off the ground and into the bleeding sunset. “Sam had to go. There was nothing we could do.”
	Evelyn smiled, yet somehow sobbed harder. She embraced her son from the side.
	“I love you, Joey… You know that right?”
	Joey stayed silent. Tears trickled down his face.
	“I promise I’m going to try harder… For the both of us. I’ll try to walk you to school in the mornings, I’ll branch out, I’ll keep painting–”
	Joey wrapped his sweater-curtained arms around her.
	“Mommy… Do you know why I look out the window at night? I like to think that there’s someone else up there, someone far away, who feels different from the rest of their neighborhood… Just like us.”
	Evelyn heaved her son onto her shoulders, so they could both see the red spacecraft melt into the horizon.
	“Well, Joey… Now every time you look at the sky, you’ll know it for certain: we are not alone.”
 
","August 11, 2023 17:58",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",12fun0,When You Look Into My Eyes,Robert Hollingworth,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/12fun0/,/short-story/12fun0/,Dialogue,0,"['Friendship', 'Inspirational', 'Funny']",8 likes,"
	Jessie and I are soulmates, as they say; read each other like a book. She affectionately calls me Billy and we are rarely out of each other’s sight. We get along famously, apart from a rare disagreement, usually when Jess feels I have not quite met her expectations. In fact, the incident I am about to report is one of those times. On this occasion, my conduct was certainly less than prudent – but I must protest. My actions were purely instinctual – and in this day and age, I wonder if that isn’t a perfectly valid way to behave. The morning began uneventfully with the two of us taking our usual walk around the park, our ‘constitutional’, as Jess likes to put it. Neither of us have been particularly well of late. She has a cold, and I am recovering from a stomach upset, the result of something unwisely consumed. In the park we almost always follow the well-kept central avenue that passes under a canopy of enormous trees, before veering left towards the sports oval which we like to circumnavigate on the way back to the house.But today we were delayed because Jessie had need of the women’s public toilets – which left me loitering disconcertingly outside. Obliged to stand outside and wait, I distracted myself by feigning some interest in the surroundings. I noticed a delightful little row of recently planted shrubs along the perimeter of an adjacent walkway. Beneath them, a half-dozen small, grey birds were scavenging in the dust, and they suddenly took flight as a child on a three-wheeled cycle trundled by.           My eye turned to a solitary female lingering some distance away between two thickly foliaged trees. Youngish and about my height, I was surprised to note that she appeared to be staring at me. Our eyes met briefly before she abruptly turned and walked off at a rather brisk pace towards the far side of the park. Curious to see where she was going, I moved hastily to the other end of the amenities building and observed her poised a second time. Again, she seemed to be looking back at me. A moment later, she walked off once more.For whatever reason, I found myself following, and as her pace hastened, so did mine, until we were both almost running. What was I doing? What did I expect? Seen in retrospect, I cannot say it was the most judicious of decisions, a knee-jerk reaction, as they say, yet I found myself drawn on as if some vital destiny awaited. Was she in need of something from me?Just then, Jessie emerged from the rest rooms and shouted after me, ‘Bill! Where are you going?’ I distinctly heard her, I cannot deny it, yet for whatever reason, I continued on until I saw my subject reach the far edge of the park. Just then she looked back a third time, before hurrying across the wide street towards the houses on the other side. That sudden burst across a busy street startled me; a flagrant and uncompromising act that had the dynamic effect of propelling me on.Call me reckless, but without further thought, I too crossed the busy road, carefully avoiding the motorists – even though one belligerent fellow felt obliged to blast his horn. By now, my inveigler had vanished, and it was only when my eyes fell upon an open gate still swinging that I continued my ineluctable pursuit. Across a front yard, past two glazed panels on the face of the house, I came upon a narrow space between the building and a side fence. It was into this dark recess that I now realised I would have to venture. At this point my resolve faltered – and yet I felt committed to some objective unforeseen, no doubt drawn on by her beckoning looks in the park.At the end of the narrow corridor, I vacillated again, before stepping cautiously out into the sunlight. The entire backyard was carpeted with grass, in fact clipped so short that it approached the feel of carpet, and it was upon this that my subject was now casually sitting. As soon as she saw me, she reclined onto that carefully manicured lawn which prompted me to discretely approach her, stopping just short of her recumbent form. I lay down beside her, and we remained this way for some minutes, thoroughly content with each other’s company.Sometimes that is all one requires, the frank and undisguised proximity of another. In my opinion, it seems a malaise of our current age that many may have lost this ordinary ability to relate, to genuinely recognise and value the presence of others. I see people on the street, detached, disillusioned, lonely, trapped within their own narcissistic realm, making contact via some remote device connected to digital media, when all they really need is the unmitigated experience of a tactile, trusting engagement with another.As we lay side-by-side, we soon became aware of someone approaching along the same side alley. Yet still we did not move, and I only turned my head at the very last moment when Jessie approached.‘Billy!’ she shrieked, her high-pitched tone suffused with fear and disappointment. She stepped in and unceremoniously snapped the lead onto my collar, hauling me away. ‘Bad boy!’ she added gruffly, and yet no doubt, she was really only interested in my welfare. This concern seems to cross all barriers, a sign we are all connected, Jess, me – and you. It might be intuitive, it might be irrational, but when anyone looks into my eyes, I sense some vital bond between us.So it is with my new acquaintance in the park, an attachment that goes much deeper than mere appearances, credentials, pedigree. If we are all individual, much more of us is the same, and perhaps all we need is the courage to connect, to embrace our affinities, our kinship. We are not alone. One day I expect to meet my friend in the park again, and it will be as if we were never apart.
","August 07, 2023 22:04","[[{'Tom Skye': ""Nicely written with some deep points about human connection. The little twist at the end (if it was a twist and not something I should have known) made me smile but didn't take away from the deeper messaging.\n\nReally well put together. Read like a clever stream of consciousness. Good boy 😜"", 'time': '22:08 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ta7775,More things in Heaven and Earth,Jane Andrews,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ta7775/,/short-story/ta7775/,Dialogue,0,"['Contemporary', 'Inspirational']",8 likes,"
“There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” (William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)
 
 
PART 1

“There’s no hope of this city surviving,” the Creator said firmly, shuffling the papers in front of him and gazing round the boardroom.
	Malachi, who had been idly daydreaming, stiffened with alarm. “I know recent crime figures have been up,” he began tentatively, “but isn’t that due to the hot weather?”
	“With respect, Sir, “Samael cut in smoothly, “I think you’ll find Birmingham is, in fact, underperforming on all levels.” He flicked his tail and the screen at the end of the room winked into existence. “If I may just run through this short presentation...”
	Malachi watched gloomily as slide after slide shimmered across the screen. Here was the city at its worst. Homeless alcoholics sprawled on litter-strewn pavements in the subways; drug addicts shot up in one of the main thoroughfares; and gangs of youths patrolled the streets, carving their anger into innocent passers-by before relieving them of their valuables. Despair pervaded the whole sorry montage, leaking from every image. Anyone with any sense would certainly stamp ‘CONDEMNED’ across the whole of Birmingham.
	Nevertheless, Malachi had promised to protect and defend her, and he couldn’t give up on her now. “Excuse me, Sir,” he ventured a little nervously, “the figures are bleak, but surely that doesn’t mean the city is hopeless?”
	Samael shot him a filthy look. “You’re forgetting there’s a precedent for eradication,” he said smugly. “Sodom... Gomorrah... Rome... Need I go on?”
	“Even those cities were given a chance,” Malachi pleaded. 
	“Very well, then,” the Creator sighed. “You have twenty-four hours to prove that there is hope in the city.”
	“Sir!” Outrage thundered from Samael. “I must protest!”
	The Creator gave him a hard, omnipotent stare.
	Samael quailed momentarily, then continued, “If the city’s to be given a chance, then surely I should have a say in the matter? After all, we wouldn’t want anyone to accuse You of favouritism.”
	“State your terms.” The Creator sounded bored.
	Samael rubbed his hands together in glee. “I thought we’d follow just one particular person,” he announced casually. “Let the fate of the city rest on one man’s shoulders.”
	Malachi relaxed slightly. In a city this size, there was bound to be at least one righteous man. 
	“And,” Samael continued, “I’ve already preselected our lucky winner.” Another flick of the tail and the screen on the wall zoomed in on a rather dishevelled individual. “He’s a recovering alcoholic,” Samael continued. “Hit rock bottom over a year ago and lost his wife and kids. He’s been doing well for the last six months or so, but all that could change...” 
	Malachi’s shoulders slumped. He felt defeated already.
	“Oh, and one more thing,” Samael added. “His name is delightfully symbolic – or perhaps I should say ‘ironic’...” He paused for effect. “It’s Noah.”
 
 PART 2
 
Noah was not having a good day. It had all started when his alarm failed to go off, even though he could have sworn he’d set it the night before. Consequently, he’d been too late to grab a shower or anything to eat before heading out to work; and now he was sitting in his cubicle, on the day of his appraisal, feeling caffeine-deprived, sweat-infested and extremely nervous. What was worse, his ex, Claire, had chosen today to fill Facebook and Instagram with pictures of her new love interest. Noah gritted his teeth as he swiped past photo after photo of the two of them holding hands and grinning inanely.
	He supposed he couldn’t blame her: at his worst, he’d been impossible to live with, staying out for nights at a time on drunken binges that had eventually destroyed both his bank balance and his marriage. He’d lost his job too – not turning up for work for five days in a row without a doctor’s note or even a phone call to apologise probably hadn’t helped; but what had placed the final nail in the coffin was drinking too much at lunchtime on his first day back and then being sick in the third floor filing cabinet. He was lucky that anyone had offered him work at all after that stellar performance, so he couldn’t complain that the role he now had with TechCorp was mundane and meaningless and paid less than half the salary he’d enjoyed at Adalan.
	Malachi watched the young man sympathetically, aware of how hard he’d struggled to get his life back on track after losing everything. He’d skimmed through the footage of Noah’s life this morning – in fact, he’d been so engrossed in it that he hadn’t noticed Samael sabotaging the alarm clock. His rival would obviously stop at nothing to try to make Noah’s day a disaster – presumably with the intention of driving him back to drink. Malachi had seen everything though: the AA meetings; the bottles of alcohol-free beer in the fridge. Noah was determined to beat his addiction and Malachi would give him all the help he could today.
	He hadn’t realised just how devious Samael could be – not until the appraisal was underway and the demon deliberately knocked over a cup of coffee, soaking the papers that were on the desk and almost scalding Noah’s boss in the process. Noah’s cheeks flamed as he apologised profusely for his clumsiness – even though his brain told him that he hadn’t been sitting close enough to the coffee to tip it over. “He’s a liability,” Samael hissed in the irate man’s ear. “Let him go.”
	Malachi felt his hands ball into fists. Samael sniggered. Slowly, Malachi released his fingers then whispered loudly, “He’s a bit clumsy, but he’s a good worker. Why not give him another chance?”
	*
Some hours later, Noah sat at his desk, busily typing up a report on sales figures. The three months’ pile of papers was gradually decreasing, but Samael had been suspiciously quiet for over an hour now and Malachi didn’t like it. He shifted his head slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Samael blowing very gently but just hard enough for the paper at the top of the pile to flutter to the floor and lie, half-hidden, beneath the desk. Malachi gave Samael a sharp look; Samael returned it with an air of studied innocence. Sighing, Malachi reached out a hand to flick the paper back into visibility, then stopped: Samael had placed a foot on the paper, pinning it to the floor. He was obviously taking no chances.
	Malachi felt his chest constrict momentarily with anger, then checked himself. He would not allow himself to be sucked into Samael’s games, he told himself sternly. Nevertheless, the unfairness of it all was already setting him on edge.
*
Noah worked steadily through his lunch hour, trying to ignore the nagging hunger pains that reminded him he’d had no breakfast. If he could just finish this report and show Mr Williams how reliable he was...
	He was almost done. Quickly, he typed in the last few figures and was just about to press ‘Save’ when he stopped. He’d made a mistake somewhere: total sales were several thousand less than they should have been. He’d obviously screwed up somewhere, but how?
	At that point, Samael finally decided to move his foot. Breathing a sigh of relief, Malachi grabbed the missing sheet of paper and recklessly brushed it against Noah’s ankle, hoping to attract his attention. It worked. Noah looked down and exclaimed in surprise. 
	It was only as Noah bent down to retrieve the errant page, that Samael revealed his true stratagem: whilst Noah’s eyes were fixed on the paper, Samael calmly reached out and pressed the ‘Delete’ key. Malachi gazed in shock.
	“You can’t do that!” he croaked at last.
	“I think you’ll find,” Samael’s tone was mocking, “that I can and I have.”
	Seconds later, Noah sat upright once more, his hand clutching the piece of paper. It was a good job he’d spotted it before he sent the report in. It shouldn’t take too long to insert the details either: if he just did a date search and then... 
	He froze in horror as he looked at his computer screen and realised the report had vanished.
	“No!” The expletives that followed were so colourful that several nearby workers craned their heads round their cubicle screens to see what the matter was. 
	Noah looked about him wildly, wondering what to do. The file was still open, but all the details he’d so painstakingly entered were gone. It would take him hours to retype it all – hours he didn’t have. The report was due by 3pm and it was already 2.15.
	“Control Z,” Malachi breathed loudly. Samael shot him a dirty look.
	Noah was struck by a crazy thought: what if he’d somehow inadvertently managed to press the ‘Delete’ button when he bent down to retrieve the missing page? If so, then surely pressing ‘Control Z’ would sort it out?
	As the report flashed back onto his screen, Noah relaxed visibly and hit ‘Save’ straightaway. Meanwhile, Malachi extended his wings over Noah and his computer to stop Samael from sabotaging the report again before it was safely delivered.
	*
By 5pm, Noah felt absolutely exhausted. His body was now past the stage of feeling hungry, but his legs were definitely wobbly and his heart seemed to be racing at twice its usual speed. He promised himself that would stop off for fish and chips on the way back and eat them straight away.
	Making his way down Bennett Street, he found himself strangely allured by the sounds of music and laughter drifting out of the pub. 
	“Wouldn’t you like to go in and drown your sorrows?” Samael murmured in Noah’s ear, nudging him like a fruit machine so that the photos of Claire lined up in a neat row across his memory.
	Noah groaned inwardly. Every morning he told himself, ‘I will not drink today,’ but the temptation was now so strong that he wondered if he’d be able to keep his promise. “I will not drink for the next minute,” he muttered fiercely. Samael tweaked a memory. All at once, Noah was assailed by longing so potent that he almost crumbled. Momentarily, he relived that first flush of intoxication when all the world was wonderful and he was invincible.
	Samael shot Malachi a gloating look. Malachi swallowed: there was only one option left open to him now, but it was risky. Leaning over, he pulled the memory tighter, letting fragments of the seedier side of addiction dance in Noah’s brain. The man gasped as he saw himself staggering out of the pub and urinating in the gutter; he relived falling asleep on the bathroom floor at home, then waking up to glistening piles of vomit on the tile-effect linoleum; he watched in horror as he flung insults, followed by blows at a sobbing Claire.
	“No!” Noah whispered to himself. “I can’t go back there.”
	Ignoring the happier images of alcohol-induced merriment that Samael was now desperately firing through his mind, Noah sank to the floor. He was broken inside.
	The eyes that Samael turned on Malachi now blazed venom and hatred. “You think you’ve won, don’t you?” he hissed malevolently. “Well, I’ve only just started ...”
	As Noah gradually came to a place of calm acceptance – “I am an alcoholic; I will always be an alcoholic; but I can choose not to drink” – Samael found a chink between Malachi’s feathers and sidled in, slithering his way into Noah’s mind with alarming alacrity.
	“Yes,” he agreed smoothly, “you’ll always be an alcoholic, and that’s why you’ll never see your wife and children again. Do you really think she’ll ever be able to forgive you for what you did?”
	Noah’s shoulders slumped once more. What was the use in trying? He’d already lost the most important things in his life. 
	Above his head, Malachi faced Samael, eyes flashing. “Get out of his head,” he ordered. “Now. You’ve no right...”
	“I think you’ll find I have every right.” Samael whipped out a document from the breast pocket of his pinstriped suit. It looked authentic, but Malachi knew better than to trust a demonic deed.
	“Let me see...” A pair of spectacles appeared just above Samael’s nose. “Blah blah blah... Ah, here it is. Said he would sell his soul for a drink on... June 21st last year. I think we can agree that this is a watertight agreement?”
	“And I think you’ll find that contracts made under the influence are null and void!” Malachi snapped back. Although it pained him to do it, he reached inside Noah and squeezed his heart gently. Noah shuddered with the anguish of his past, tears rolling down his cheeks.
	Malachi regarded the quivering, palpating organ with a mixture of wonder and incredulity. It never ceased to amaze him that the human heart was capable of such intense feelings: emotions like love and pain and forgiveness that he and Samael could never know for themselves.
	Finally, Samael spoke. “I’ll need to see something a lot more impressive than tears to convince me that this is a righteous man.”
	“There’s still time,” Malachi said absently, tracing the outline of an hourglass in the air. “Six hours, to be precise – a lot can happen in six hours.”
	Samael scowled. “Perhaps we need to adjust the timeline.” 
	Before Malachi could protest, the forked tail whipped itself around the heavenly chronometer and shook it violently. The sky darkened suddenly as sand rattled through at an alarming rate. Malachi gasped in horror. 
	“Half-eleven,” Samael said reflectively. “I reckon thirty minutes should be ample time to witness young Noah here showing us what he’s made of.”
	Unaware of the spiritual battle taking place around him, Noah looked up, feeling somewhat puzzled. How long had he been sitting here on the pavement? Checking his watch, he saw to his astonishment that it was hours later than he’d thought. He’d have to hurry, or he’d miss the last bus home.
	Samael let him reach the bus stop before he pulled out his final ace. A hollow eyed, unshaven man in his thirties tottered up to Noah, reeking of stale beer and cigarettes and begging for twenty pence towards a cup of coffee. 
	“You know he’ll only spend it on booze,” Samael hissed. “Or drugs. Look at him – he can barely keep himself upright.”
	Once more, the demon tugged at a memory. Noah saw himself staggering home on such a night as this, so desperate for more alcohol that he was picking up discarded cans from the street and desperately swigging at them to see if any dregs of lager remained.
	“That was you,” Samael continued mercilessly, “and that’s where you’ll be again in a few months’ time. You know you’re going to end up drinking again at some stage, so why fight it?”
	Noah hesitated. He knew there was an off-licence just around the corner – one that would be open until the early hours of the morning.
	Malachi held his breath. He knew what Samael was trying to do: he wanted to coax enough self-loathing out of Noah to make him give up entirely. There was only one thing Malachi could do now, but it was hazardous. Dare he chance the fate of a whole city on one last spin of the roulette wheel?
	For the second time that day, Malachi pulled the memory tighter, allowing Noah to drown momentarily in the despair of past drunken behaviour; but then, as his soul floundered, Malachi threw him an unexpected lifeline: amidst the hopelessness of begging in the gutter, someone pressed a couple of pound coins into Noah’s hand. “We’re not alone,” the stranger had said. 
	Noah looked once more at his watch. He had just enough time to make it to the off-licence and back before his bus arrived. Without looking back, he hurried off to do what he had to do.
	“Fifteen minutes.” Samael sounded smug.
	“It’s not over yet,” Malachi told him.
	Noah paid for his purchases, wondering if this was a mistake. Today had been challenging in many ways and alcohol had always relaxed him in the past. He exited the shop, clutching a carrier bag and looking about him furtively.
	“Seven minutes.” Samael knew he’d won. His horns tingled as he visualised the guilt and despair that Noah would feel after he’d sobered up.
	Noah was running now – presumably for his bus. To Samael’s surprise, though, the man flashed past the bus stop, his eyes scanning the street about him.
	Finally. Malachi breathed a sigh of relief as Noah’s gaze took in the sorry figure that had previously accosted him. 
	Approaching his fellow alcoholic, Noah pushed the carrier bag into his hands. “It’s not much,” he said. “Just a few sandwiches and some bottles of water – but it’ll keep you going for a bit longer. It might help you remember that we don’t have to go through this alone.”
	Malachi could have sworn that a golden glow surrounded Noah as he handed over the food.
 
 PART THREE
 
The human world faded into nothingness as Malachi and Samael found themselves once more in the boardroom. A smile played about the Creator’s lips. “The city is safe.”
	Samael’s expression radiated fury. “What? After everything I’ve shown You? The violence; the crime; the godless behaviour – and You’re ignoring all that because one man commits a one-off act of kindness?”
	“Those were your rules,” the Creator nodded. “Congratulations, Samael – you’ve convinced me that Birmingham is worth saving – for a season at least.”
	Malachi unfolded his wings and basked in the Creator’s glory. A strong sense of intuition told him that this had always been the outcome and always would be. While there was still compassion in human hearts, there would always be hope for their survival.
 
","August 11, 2023 23:40","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Yes, hope, love, grace and mercy.', 'time': '23:39 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",znlvld,The Wounded Healer,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/znlvld/,/short-story/znlvld/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Drama', 'Inspirational']",8 likes,"
“We read to know we are not alone.” – C.S. LewisWe are not alone. The night nurse is standing in the doorway. Benjie is a kind, black man from the Caribbean, who listens patiently, oh so patiently.  Ralph moans in real pain, but the moan is also for effect. It gets worse at night. “Can I have a piece of pizza or some cake,” Ralph asks.“Nuh-na. Yuh are on duh sof’ diet,” Benjie tells him.“Please, please. I’m starving. Maybe a piece of toast and some chocolate pudding?”“Mi could fetch yuh some pud'n, but no solid food.”“Two chocolate puddings. And a ginger ale. And some of those white chocolate macadamia nut cookies.”“Nuh cookies.”“But I’m starving in here. Just get me as much pudding as you can.”“Mi gwine also link up Dr. Rafi E. Hand from Hepatology to come check on yuh inna di mawnin' when him duh him rounds. Dr. Hand be a real legend. Him ago get yuh ready fi yuh procedure.”I grunt in pain. A surge of lightning runs down my left leg. The blown disc in my back screams with pulsing bursts of electric that run from head to toe. My blood pressure beats in my neck. I can hear the pulsing of my heart and feel it in my temples. I lay supine and I am completely trapped in my own body.“Yuh need more morphine?”“Uhhhhh,” I say. Benjie shoots the morphine into my IV. I can taste the acid metal on my tongue. I can feel the warmth running through my veins, feel my ears and nose clear, and feel my head floating in a lightness like a bed of feathers. Woosh. It hits like a wave that covers over the pain. My eyes blur and lose focus, then regain focus on the dust mites in the beams of light from my bed lamp. Benjie slips off while the two of us luxuriate in chemical tranquility.“Hooah!” Ralph says, as he finishes his third pudding. “It’s funny. Back when I was a marine, I didn’t drink. The boys would crush beers and polish off bottles like it was nothing. But it wasn’t for me. Never took a sip.”“How long were you enlisted for?”“I was the strange one in my squad. I enjoyed being a marine mechanic and I woke up every day ready to do my job.”“Did you get pancreatitis in the service?”“My f**king wife left me. I f**ked up. It wasn’t because of anything. I just got depressed. These thoughts were just in my head. And I started drinking. Who starts drinking at fifty-years-old? Three years brother, three years. That’s all it took.”“You destroyed your pancreas in three years?”“I went hard brother. Every day. It was like that movie Leaving Las Vegas. I just didn’t stop, and nobody came and stopped me.”“You really worked hard at it, huh?”“Uggg. Ughhh. I’m gonna be sick. I can feel it. Ughhh. All I want is some food. I’m wasting away. I used to be a specimen. Now I’m 135 pounds.” Ralph makes his way into the bathroom to give back the pudding, but I still can’t move. Benji comes in to give me more morphine and I lay back and drift off, listening to Ralph groaning and moaning in agony. He has Seinfeld playing on the hospital television and George’s high-pitched ranting gives me a short respite from the lightning running down my leg and from Ralph’s groaning.I had gotten used to this. Ralph had a few modes. One mode was “groaning and moaning.” When his pancreas factory started trying to produce enzymes, and puttered like a stalled engine, it put him into “groaning and moaning.” Another mode was “nostalgic marine.” This was where Ralph would talk about his time in the service, exploits with women, or anything else he happened to be proud of… and would talk at length… not terribly concerned if I even acknowledged I was listening. I guess when you have a captive audience, you just go with it. The last mode was “fretting and regretting.” Ralph would start going on tinder trying to line up a date, as if he was getting discharged and wasn’t on a one-way trip to hospice. Then he would talk about his three-year drinking binge and his ex-wife who caused all of his problems. * * *We are not alone. The morning news says an airborne killer has invaded the world. As prevalent as dew on early morning grasses, this ubiquitous germ has already spread through Europe. It is a lymphatic disease like nothing seen since the Black Death. The pandemic has probably spread worldwide before being recognized, but we won’t know for a few days. People are already dying. New quarantines are in effect. The new disease, being called “The Black Veil” or “The Veil” attacks the lymphatic glands and the internal tissues that clear waste then become necrotic, causing limbs choked of oxygen to turn black. The black stain, like a creeping shadow, proceeds up the arms and legs to the torso and at last covers the heart and takes one’s life.Dr. Rafi E. Hand walks in with a limp left leg and a handheld cane with an ornate gold Fritz handle with Grecian symbols of warriors engraved on it. His blue-gray eyes shine out from circular rimmed glasses like two aquamarine crystals. He has dark weathered skin and a broad nose. The nose seems pulled toward his ears by deep laugh lines that hold back plump and ruddy cheeks. His equine jaw is shaded by a close-trimmed beard, and he has a long mane of jet-black hair tied at his neck, which is splashed with gray. He gives off a musty smell like ripe hay in the spring, a sweet coumarin odor. He has a major’s insignia and a blue mini medal of honor on his white coat.Ralph salutes the major, and Dr. Hand rests his cane on the bed and salutes back.“Hungry Ralph?”“Always Doctor.”“We are going to try to get you on some solid food. You have to do as I say, now. No cheese, dairy, or any animal products. Only crackers. Nothing else.”“But all they have here at night is pudding doc.”“You can’t have the pudding. It has fat in it. It will make you sick.”“Will I be able to get the Whipple procedure?”“First we have to get you well enough to survive the treatment, my friend.”Dr. Hand places his right hand on Ralph’s shoulder and looks at him for a long time, then turns and grabs his cane and is off to his next patient.* * *Dr. Hand remembers being stationed in the Afghan Marine forward operating base outside of Marjah, bordered by wild poppy fields as far as the eye could see. The fields smelled of vanilla and almond. Major Hand, as he was known then, marveled at the proliferation of poppy by blood-drenched battlefields. He knew that it was because artillery shells churn the soil. This awakens the dormant poppy seeds. The seeds of the red flowers can lie dormant for a hundred years. During the battle they are finally exposed to the surface from the disruption of the penetrating slugs cracking their cocoons, showing them to the surface just long enough to be touched by a single ray of sunshine. As if by magic, they immediately wake from hibernation and bloom. The red blossoms are strange grave dressings that give veneration to the fallen dead. Our cure to the sufferings of the battlefield is borne from the graves of dead soldiers.Marjah is the tip of the spear, and from there they would extend control to Kandahar, the birthplace of the Taliban. It seemed mad that they were paying former Taliban soldiers between $90 and $160 a month to police the Now Zad district and the Bazaar. One of the ALP police, Raz Gul, who was supposed to be cracking down on the opium trade, turned out to be the chief drug trafficker! Perhaps it was the fault of the Marines that the opium trade was in full swing, after all. All those artillery shells, all those rightful dead, the minerals of their very bodies sprouting up as sweet chemical Novocain that paralyzes the senses. Major Hand had showed Raz Gul how to use white phosphorous artillery shells called Wille Pete to disrupt and burn through enemy encampments. Every time the Major saw a waft of smoke in the clear desert night, he wondered if the weapons he had helped the enemy to make were responsible for those smoldering fires in the homes of villagers and in their military outposts.Major Hand was wearing a green T-shirt and camo pants, with tan boots. He surveyed the company with eyes covered by dark black sunglasses. There were playing cards on the green table from a half-finished game of Texas Hold ‘Em, and a pot of playing chips and cigarettes, which the boys used when they ran out of chips. The boys were passing a bottle of Wild Turkey whiskey back and forth, smoking Marlboro Reds and laughing in the windless desert night. It was difficult to swallow the red-eye in the dry heat with the dust from passing transport vehicles coming in and out of camp.They had been bold enough to leave the COP and show face in the Now Zad Bazaar where the enemy had a stronghold. Shops and vendors were coming back to the ghostly dirt main drag—which had been abandoned like a town stricken by a plague. Taliban forces had scared away all the customers and made peaceful commerce impossible. But the semblance of a society was reemerging from the dust as if it had never fled but had only been sleeping. The boys had come back with fresh eggplants, tomatoes, goat eggs and bread and had made a stop at the jingle trucks for oil and supplies. That night, they ate bruschetta, roasted eggplant with tomato sauce, and goat egg omelets. And drank their livers.A crack like a felled tree rang through the night. THUD. A shell had crashed through the hood of the tent and lay on the card table. The men all stared, stunned at the projectile, still intact, but shaking and about to explode. “Down!” the Major shouted. And as he jumped to the floor, he heard the whiff of the smoke and the ignition of the accelerant. BOOAMM. He felt a searing sleeve of fire inside his quad light up and he batted his writhing leg with a barracks blanket, but even after the flame subsided, he felt like his leg was on fire from the inside, being eaten by phosphorous posion and he looked into the gaping wound, which seemed endless, as he bit down hard to quell the relentless surges of pain.It smelled like garlic. The acrid smoke made him cough and choke. Through the smoke the Major saw the outline of the tent engulfed in flame and saw bodies strewn on the deck. Crawling on his forearms, he struggled to find the entrance of the tent and escape the fire, but the fire was burning in his thigh and gnawing at his very bones.The Major looked back and realized that two of his men were still alive, and he was going to have to get them out as well. Standing to his feet, he grabbed a rifle to use to steady himself and grabbed Lieutenant Corporal Sayjack by his collar and began dragging him out of the tent.* * *We are not alone. The hospital is buzzing with life in the early morning hours. Runners from the hospital kitchen are up delivering meals, nurses are checking on patients and delivering meds, and there are people coming and going from the staff change.Dr. Hand arrives and places his cane on the TV stand, stretching his arms over his head and grimacing as he takes a few tentative steps over to the foot of Ralph’s bed. They are obscured by the blue hospital curtain which has been drawn between Ralph and I the whole time we’ve been here.“I’ve gotten the approvals to have you transferred. You’ll be going to Mt. Sinai, and they’ve got you booked to do the procedure next week.”“We both know this is a one-way trip doc,” Ralph says.“I don’t know soldier.”“Oh, I know. There’s no coming back from this.”“What are you afraid of? You know what it’s like to live on death’s door. How to go on when you can be snatched up any moment. This time there are no IEDs or mortar shells or enemies lying in wait to snatch your life with a cowardly attack—you know what you are facing this time.”“Ahh, Doc. I did this to myself. I can feel it in my bones. My body is getting ready to die. Don’t tell me you don’t know. You’ve seen it a hundred times.”“I’ve seen many things. What I’ve learned is that the wounded have to heal themselves—which first means believing they can. You can’t expect the body to heal if you keep telling it it’s dying.”“If I could heal myself, I wouldn’t be here Doc.”Dr. Hand turns to me, “You’ve got to get on your feet son. You won’t be running marathons any time soon, but why don’t you go take a couple of laps.”“Sure thing, Doc.”I get up, not knowing after what seven, eight days on my back, what day it even is. I begin walking and find that after the morphine and the oxycodone, I can manage to walk almost normally. I still have on my Garmin Fenix 6X running watch, which is a little dirty underneath as I haven’t had a proper shower in a week. And I look down tracking my steps, first fifty, then I make it eighty. After about two-hundred steps at a slow pace, I start picking it up to about an eighteen-minute mile. Then pick up the pace some more and pretty soon, I’m damn near close to four miles an hour. There is no pain—only attention on the damaged bone. I can feel my hips and knees and I am aware of every footfall and every creak of my joints, on guard for the pain to reenter my limbs. Instead, I loosen up and begin to feel like I could run or jog. I smile as I walk past different nurse’s stations.I walk down the long corridor, keeping clear of the nurses and doctors—giving them friendly nods, and turn at the hall that leads out to the garage, walking all the way down to the last door, and then turn back. I repeat the whole route, about 400 meters a total of eight times, reaching the two-mile mark, and then keep going for another four laps for good measure. Three miles.I’m strangely excited to tell Ralph about my success.* * *Dr. Hand is waiting when I arrive back at the room, but Ralph is gone.“How’d you make out?” he asks.“I got in about three miles.”“Well, well, well! Looks like you’re ready to be discharged!”“Really, Doc?”“But no running and absolutely no mountains for about four months, you hear me?”“What about running a marathon? Just a small road marathon. Nothing too crazy.”“It’s a lot of pounding and you have a bad extrusion. I’d do the rehab, really get your core strong, lots of planks and core work—but no bending. Get your body strong first. It isn’t ready for more than a few miles. You won’t lose much in a few months—better than landing yourself back here.”“Alright, alright. I’ll take it easy. What happened to Ralph?”“He got his transfer papers. He’s off to Mt. Sinai already.”“Jeez. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”“Ralph’s been here about eight weeks. He starts out pretty annoying, doesn’t he? But he sure grows on you, huh.”“I guess so. Hey. You two both served in the marines. What made you go from combat to medicine?”“That’s an easy one, son. You see this leg?”“I noticed that.”“I’ve been suffering with this thing for more than ten years from back when I was in the service. Crippling, routing pain. My quest to heal myself gave me inspiration to get into medicine, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since I got back.”“Physician, heal thyself… that kind of thing?”“You could say that.”* * *Benjie says, “It's de time fe move yuh from dis place.”“Do you have my prescriptions?”“See ya have all di tings yuh go need fi mek yuh good as new.”“Alright, let me get down here in this wheelchair.”“Awright, leggo on down to de elevator now.”“Did you hear anything about Ralph’s surgery and how it’s going?”“Right now, he deh inna surgery, dem deh tek weh di sick piece a him pancreas. Dem a cut out dat nasty lump a muck.”“Do you think he’s going to be ok?”“Doc Hand e deh doin’ de surgery himself. Mi neva hear 'bout nobody weh Doc Hand lose, e even if mi know seh maybe one or two slip through. There's somet'ing special 'bout Doc Hand, like every one a dem patients him wukkin' hard fi heal a give him a little piece a di puzzle weh ago finally help him heal himself.”“I guess that’s the same for all of us.”As I get up and walk over to the taxi, I wave back at Benjie and thank him for watching over me.I wonder about Ralph, being released back into a world of walking shadows.
","August 12, 2023 03:39","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Gritty piece. Heal thyself.', 'time': '04:29 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",jykp1u,The Galactic Historians,Joe Parrillo,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/jykp1u/,/short-story/jykp1u/,Dialogue,0,['Science Fiction'],8 likes,"
Toby Ellerman had issues—but the kid could draw!After the tragic suicide of his father almost ten years ago, Toby retreated into his amazing mind and the world of drawing. At that same time, he also began to hear voices that told him of exotic life on other planets and of the near visitation of extraterrestrial visitors. All this was reflected in his simple pen and pencil art which made many marvel for its breathtaking detail and maturity.These fantastic ideas and the voices in his head earned him the diagnosis of “schizophrenia” from Dr. Rollins, his psychiatrist, and a host of psych meds.To escape the shame of being labeled “mentally ill” and his incessant stuttering, Toby took long walks through the forest behind his home. Surrounded by the beauty of nature, he discovered, also helped diminish the voices he often heard in his head. And to compound his problems, he happened to be obese.One day as Toby was filling his backpack with a great array of junk food, he heard his mother say, “Going on another journey through the enchanted forest, darling?” Hearing the sarcasm in her voice, Toby responded, “It is enchanted, m-m-m-mom. If you w-w-would just s-s-stop w-w-w-working like a slave f-f-f-for your company and take a w-w-walk yourself, you’d see.” “Really? Well, strolling leisurely through that jungle back there won’t pay the bills, now would it?” Toby just rolled his eyes and laughed, knowing that wasn’t the real reason but it was her dread fear of encountering bugs and snakes.“H-h-h-have a good day at w-w-w-work, m-m-mom; see you t-tonight.” And out the back door he went. As the door closed, his mother went to the window and watched as her beloved son slowly disappeared into the woods. Her heart sank and a feeling of utter helplessness overwhelmed her. The memory came flooding back of the day she was in the psychiatrist’s office, and he uttered the words that changed her world—and Toby’s—forever. “Your son suffers from schizophrenia.” Between the suicide of his father and now mental illness, she wondered how Toby would navigate this world.That was ten years ago, the same year her husband shot himself. Some nightmares, she found out, never end. Her son was now 29-years old, and no amount of counseling or medication seemed to silence the voices or his delusions.Toby came to a small clearing and as he stepped out into the sunlight, and feeling the warm, welcoming rays on his face, smiled. He felt…normal. The stigma of that dastardly diagnosis had no effect on him out here. And because he was alone, he did not have to speak and deal with the embarrassment of trying to form words without stuttering. He also did not have to cope with the looks people gave him, or the mocking words. Sometimes he wished he could build a small home for himself made of the sweet-smelling trees that were all around. But that, he knew, was just a dream because in the real world he had to help his mom with her sanity issues.It was getting late and Toby had to make his way home to let the dog out. As he walked, he suddenly stopped, as the air became saturated with a fragrance he had never smelled before. He closed his eyes and breathed in the aroma that made his body tingle. He then heard, “Greetings Toby Ellerman.” Startled, he opened his eyes and looked all around but saw no one. His heart was pounding now because of how clearly he had heard his name spoken. It was not in his head! There was just silence; only the faint sound of the wind could be heard rustling the fall leaves. Yet, he was convinced someone spoke his name. Feeling weird and a bit scared, Toby said out loud, “Y-y-yes, I’m T-t-toby.” Again, silence. But then, about ten feet away, right in front him, Toby starred at what looked as if a small figure was assembling itself out of thin air! Where at first, he could see the forest path, now it was blurred, and a translucent figure stood in the way. Slowly the thing became substantive and was no longer clear and see-through. When the transformation was complete, there stood a being that was not of this world!Scared and confused, Toby ran as fast as his log-like legs could carry him. He made a wide arch around the alien figure and sped for home, looking back just once to make sure he wasn’t having a Clozaril delusion or to see if it was following him. Sure enough, there the thing stood—and it appeared to be waiving to him!Panting heavily, Toby finally reached home and almost broke the door as he opened it fast and then slammed it shut. Their dog came running with his tail wagging, expecting to be let out. Toby looked down at the pooch and said, “Sorry, buddy, but you’re going to have to hold it a little bit until I’m sure the coast is clear.”Toby stood by the door for hours watching and scanning the woods to see if the alien would emerge out of it, but never did. Finally, he heard the front door open as his mother returned from work. He rushed up to her and said, “M-m-mom, I need to t-t-t-talk to you.” “Sure, sweetie, but I had a long day; just need to kick my shoes off and put my head back and take a quick power nap, if that’s OK.” “N-n-n-no, mom, I’m s-s-sorry but I must t-t-t-talk with you r-r-r-right now!” Sensing the urgency in his voice, she sat down at the kitchen table and motioned to him to sit.“M-m-m-mom, I know this is gonna s-s-s-sound like my schizophrenia t-t-talking but something happened today out in the w-w-w-woods. I’m n-n-n-not sure even how to explain this but…I t-t-t-think I met an alien, or s-s-s-something very out of the o-o-o-ordinary.” He was about to continue when she said, “Stop! Toby, darling, I know you believe there is life on other planets, and there just might be, but…” She stopped, and then reached over to hold his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “But Toby, there are no aliens in the woods back there. Get that thought out of your head right now, and please, please, please, do me and yourself a favor and don’t breathe a word of this to Dr. Rollins, or he will surely increase your medication. Understand?” Knowing he wasn’t going to convince her he had encountered an alien, if that was what it was, he responded, “Y-y-y-yes.”The next day, Toby’s mom took notice that he was drawing in his art pad; no doubt his crazy space creatures, and it didn’t look as though he was going to take his usual morning walk through the woods. This was odd but maybe good, as she did not want to hear anymore talk of alien encounters. She finally said, “Staying home today to draw your comic book, sweetie?” Toby didn’t look up, just muttered, “M-m-m-maybe.” “OK. I wish I could stay home today but there’s a lot of work I need to do. Hey, how ‘bout pizza tonight? I’ll pick one up on the way home.” “S-s-s-sounds good, m-m-mom.” Her heart broke for her child. Holding back tears, she grabbed her purse and walked out to the garage to her car.As Toby heard her car drive away, his gaze turned towards the back door and to the woods. He wanted to go and see if he could make contact with the alien again, but something compelled him to draw. As he thumbed through the pages, he stopped and stared in disbelief. There in pencil was almost an exact replica of the alien he saw in the woods!And with that, Toby grabbed two nutrition bars, put them in his pocket and headed to the forest. When he reached the line of trees, his steps were slow and measured as he intentionally moved onto the path where he had first seen the strange translucent being that materialized into a solid figure. As he walked, his eyes peered this way and that, looking for the smallish creature. He finally arrived at the very spot he remembered seeing it, then stopped. Feeling fear welling up inside and the temptation to run back home, Toby riveted his sneakers into the ground and called out, “H-h-h-hello! It’s m-m-me, T-toby.” There was silence for what seemed like minutes. Then, he felt a brush of wind, and what followed was that incredible fragrance he smelled yesterday before the alien appeared. He closed his eyes, tilted his head back slightly to take in that heavenly aroma. And then there came that voice that called his name!“Toby Ellerman.” His eyes shot open and seeing no one in front of him, slowly turned to look back and there it was! Toby’s jaw dropped. The alien, as best as he could figure, stood no more than 4-feet tall but had an immensely wide body. It wore no suit, as he understood space suits to endure interstellar travel, but a thick, clear film-like substance that enveloped the creature, except its pointy head. And the filmy suit seemed to be alive, as what could best be described as tiny waves rippled up and down and across the girth of the being. Its head was wide at the base where it met its body, then narrowed and formed a tip at the top. It had no hair but many small spikes. It seemed to have no mouth, at least where mouths tend to be on a head. But there were two slits to the left and right of its eyes, 3 inches in length, running vertically, not horizontally. And its eyes were large, dark greenish opaque pools. For minutes, the two did not speak. Then the alien slowly raised his two-fingered hand—and, like yesterday, waived! That simple gesture served to dispel all of Toby’s fears. He smiled and then slowly raised his hand and waived back.“It is good to finally meet you, Toby Ellerman.” The voice of the being was coming from those two slits near its eyes. Toby thought, Guess that’s its mouth. But what does it mean to finally be meeting me? It prompted him to ask, “Are you one of the aliens in my drawings?” It responded, “I am.” Toby continued, “I have so many questions. But how were you able to communicate to me of your race in my head?” “Mental telepathy, far more advanced than what is known here. In terms of voices in your head, Toby Ellerman, let me assure you, you are not schizophrenic. You are saner than most people in your world. The voices you have been hearing for many years and the images you’ve seen in your mind are from us.Toby said, “I see.” Then asked, What’s your name?” “You can call me, ‘Scribe’.” Toby looked puzzled and said, “Scribe? That can’t be your name. Don’t you have, well, like a cool alien name?” “Yes, I do but you have no English words or sounds to remotely pronounce it. So, I offer a name that reflects my profession.” Toby asked, “What is your profession?” Scribe answered, “Your planet has been my subject of study for twenty of your earth years, as well as your language. Our race has been tasked by the Great Creator to chronicle the history of the planets in your solar system. Myself and a group of other historians have been assigned to Earth. As our historians compile the massive history of your world, my role, as scribe, will be to write and arrange it onto a digital disc, which will then be stored in The Great Hall of the Milky Ways. In time, Earth and most other planets will have the technology to access all that is stored in the Hall.”Toby’s mind was racing, hardly able to soak in what he was hearing. And then he had to ask, “But why did you choose me to communicate all this to?” Just then, he noticed his words were coming out clear and fluid! He blurted out, “Hey, I’m not stuttering!”The alien responded, “No, and you never will again, Toby Ellerman. You see, the stuttering was a defective response to the trauma of both your father’s untimely death, and to the label of schizophrenia. Once you realized you were not, in fact, mentally ill, your brain immediately carved a new neural pathway that is serving to change how you see yourself. Old things are passing away now, as you will see, and stuttering was a part of that.” All Toby could say to that was, “Whoa. That is awesome! Wait till mom hears this.”“There’s more, Toby Ellerman. To effectively fulfill our mission, we must come and live here on this world for a designated period of time. We have chosen you—and others—to prepare the people of Earth for our arrival.” Toby’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and asked, “You’re kidding, right?” “No. Humor, as you understand it, has no place for our species. We chose you because the Great Creator specializes in using the outcast and marginalized to do His work. For all that you have endured and suffered, you were a perfect choice. You were chosen, Toby Ellerman. You have been my special concentration.”Shocked and reeling from what he was hearing, he asked, “How am I going to do this? I’m nobody; no one is going to listen to a fat kid who hears voices and is on psych meds.”The alien scribe responded, “First, you must eliminate any language that refers to the old you, and replace it with words that affirm the new, and I will train you on that. Second, the people of your world may not listen to words proceeding out of your mouth, but they will most certainly heed the language of your art.”That’s when the full light of revelation dawned on Toby. “You mean the comic book I’ve been working on for so long? If it is, I doubt my drawings are good enough for any comic book publisher.”The scribe said, “Do not doubt, only believe. Another reason I am here is that I am going to empower you and accelerate your art to a level you never dreamed possible. Your artwork is exceptional as it is, but I will assist in the structure and story of our race and explain the reason for why we are soon coming to Earth.”“When exactly is that?’, Toby inquired. “That is not for you to know at this time. For now, I must do something that will appear strange to you, Toby Ellerman. For my knowledge to be imparted to you, I must make physical contact, if you are willing.”Without hesitation, Toby agreed.The alien lumbered forward and when he stood directly in front of Toby, he raised his two arms and placed two fingers from his left hand on his forehead, and the two fingers from his right hand on his heart. Immediately, Toby’s mind exploded with images and sounds of worlds and galaxies and beings he remembered seeing in a thousand movies; plus, what the alien scribe had placed in his head over the years. And amazingly, while all the images were flashing around, there also came order and purpose. Somehow, he fully understood now what all the voices and images were about.After the alien scribe completed his work with Toby, it simply said goodbye and vanished. Toby returned home and though he was never able to fully convince his mother of his second extraterrestrial encounter, she did take notice that she had a new son—and had no rational reason for it. His stuttering stopped completely; he stopped speaking of hearing voices, and in turn, went off all medications. Also, from that day forward, Toby became a prolific artist, drawing for hours and days on end, stopping only to eat and sleep a few hours. Yet, as soon as she returned home from work, he stopped drawing to spend time with her. But the most profound difference she observed was that Toby began to add a mesmerizing storyline to his art; something he never could do before. His comic book was coming to life!Toby also began to attend every comic convention he could find, bringing his drawings and story with him. One day—a day she would never forget—when she came home from work, Toby greeted her with the biggest smile she had ever seen on his face. She asked, “So, what’s her name?” Toby laughed, then added, “Believe it or not, it’s better than a girl. Mom, Conquering Comics wants to hire me to create an entire line of comic books, which they believe will then become a bestselling science-fiction book!”And that’s exactly what transpired. Toby’s comic series, which he entitled, “The Galactic Historians,” became an overnight rage. And Toby was invited to speak on TV shows, Podcasts, and became the most popular speaker at comic conventions. Wherever he was given a platform, Toby spoke with great conviction about the coming visitation of peaceful aliens from another galaxy, and their mission. And his message grew in popularity.Five years later, Toby’s mother was at work when her cell phone rang. Seeing it was her son, she picked it up and said, “Is this the great Toby Ellerman, alien expert and bestselling author?”“Mom, they’re here! Look out your window.” 
","August 09, 2023 19:00",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ytwp1u,The two men,Michael Blight,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ytwp1u/,/short-story/ytwp1u/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Horror', 'Mystery']",8 likes,"
The metal bulkhead shrieked as it slowly opened. Light beamed into the room from a rifle mounted flashlight, illuminating the cold storeroom. The light beam quickly scanned the walls with purpose, flicking between top to bottom. Once cleared, two men entered the room, both armed to the teeth like they were about to start a coup. Each man took to their side of the room and stood, patiently listening, periodically tracking any unusual noise. The howl of the freezing Antarctic wind blew a gale outside the walls of the frozen base. Creaks and moans came from the walls themselves, straining to stay put from the blizzard that was currently ravaging the base.
 
A faint but obvious glass clink was heard, both men zeroing in on the noise with their flashlights, rifles at the ready. The source of the noise came from a shelf near the back of the room, holding medical beakers and various other lab equipment. One of the men reached into a tactical vest pocket and pulled out a small flat box and pressed the rocker switch on the side, surging the box to life. A screen on the front glowed with life, illuminating the mans bearded face. The man pressed the touch screen a few times than pointed the box towards the source of the noise. The other man’s eyes flitted between the shelf and the bearded man, waiting for a response from either.
 
“We’re not alone.” The bearded man whispered, with a slight hint of fear in his voice.
 
The other man gave a nod and a slight grunt, then lowered his rifle and swapped it for a different firearm, only this one was thicker and had a larger barrel. The other man checked the firearm then raised it towards the shelf.
 
“Ready.” Explained the other man, taking a deep breath.
 
The bearded man, keeping his rifle trained on the shelf, switched off the box and pocketed it. He then slowly and deliberately made his way to the other man, keeping his eyes constantly peeled to the shelf, kneeling beside him.
 
“On your mark.” The bearded man stated.
 
The other man pulled a lever on his firearm and a low hiss leaked from the front of the firearm. The other man then pressed and held a button on the side of the firearm causing a faint clicking sound to repeat. Then with a quiet whoosh, a small pilot light on the front of the firearm burned a low flickering orange, barely making a difference in the dark cold storeroom.
 
With the new light source, the glass beakers on the shelf clinked again, then again on a higher shelf, as something moved around, energized by the small heat source.
 
The other man took a deep breath, then smiled an uneasy smile. He pulled the trigger and a stream of yellow hot flame spurted out of the front of the handheld flamethrower, lighting up the storeroom as if the sun had suddenly exploded.
 
The huge fireball hurtled forwards, engulfing the shelf and all its contents. The two men flinched from the heat several feet away but maintained their focus as everything in front of them burned.
 
Pops and cracks could be heard amongst the sound of the fireball being ejected from the flamethrower and then when the other man let go of the trigger, the fireball almost instantly disappeared, leaving behind a layer of fire covering most of the room.
 
The two men stood and watched as the room burned, waiting, and watching for any movement. One side of the shelf, burnt beyond repair, gave way, and crashed to the ground, along with all it held. The bearded man flinched and opened fire, releasing a burst of gun fire into the debris. The bullets ricocheted off the floor and lodged themselves in the back wall, kicking up smoke and embers into an already smoky room.
 
“Sorry.” Explained the bearded man, not taking his eyes off the fire.
 
The other man was about to respond but the rubble started to heave as something pushed up from under the debris. The two men watched with curiosity and fear as the shape grew bigger and an arm like appendage reached out from the rubble, slamming into the ground to steady itself.
 
The bearded man once again opened fire, as the other man dropped the flamethrower and bought up his rifle in one swift, well trained movement, opening fire on the growing shape. The bullets pierced the shape with a wet thud, seemingly having no effect. The bearded man stood up and tapped the other man on the shoulder, signaling for him to follow as they retreated towards the bulkhead doorway.
 
As the two men neared the doorway, the shape, having grown another arm, started to shake, causing the room to start vibrating, then it let out a loud but muffled screech. The two men used the moment to stop firing and make a mad dash through the doorway, closing the bulkhead behind them, spinning the locking wheel, and trapping the shape.
 
The two men stepped away from the door and leant against the opposing wall, catching their breath. The bearded man proceeded to eject the almost empty magazine from his rifle and reached into his vest for a fresh one. As he was about to insert the new magazine, something huge slammed again the bulkhead door, scaring the bearded man and causing his to drop the magazine.
 
The two men froze with fear as they both looked at the bulkhead door. Through the porthole window, an expressionless alien face stared back at them with black pupil less eyes, the room still ablaze behind it. The monster let out a pained moan as it banged against the door shaking the walls and floor. The bearded man frantically searched for his dropped magazine, while the other man raised his rifle and targeted the alien creature through the porthole window.
 
The alien went quiet and motionless as it stared at the two men through the window, quietly contemplating its situation. The bearded man found his dropped magazine and reloaded his rifle, bringing his firearm up to target the creature who was still doing nothing. Then in an instant, the locking wheel spun wildly as the alien had figured out how to open the door. The bulkhead door violently swung open, slamming into the wall, paralyzing the two men with fear at the sight of the fully grown 7ft humanoid alien.
 
With the alien no longer contained, the two men opened fire, emptying their magazine into the creature who seemed unaffected. The alien, ducking under the doorway, rushed forward swiping at the two men. The bearded man rolled out of the way, barely avoiding the alien’s monstrous arm. The other man, not as quick as the bearded man, took a heavy blow to the chest, sending the other man hurtling down the hallway. The bearded man recovered from his roll and focused on the alien, opening fire once again. This drew the alien’s attention away from the other man who was struggling to breathe after being heavily winded.
 
The bearded man backed up down the hallway leading the alien away from the other man, giving him time to recover, continuously firing until his magazine ran dry with a click, just as he reached the end of the hallway where oxygen bottles were stored. The alien, no longer being pelted by bullets lowered its arms and started marching towards the bearded man, growling in anger. With the alien bearing down on him, the bearded man, in one swift move, ejected the spent magazine and inserted a fresh one and cocked his rifle, then he grabbed one of the grenades attached to his tactical vest and pulled the pin but held onto the lever.
 
As the alien reached the bearded man and was about to swing at the bearded man, he fired a quick burst of bullets at the alien. The alien flinched from the surprise attack, giving the bearded man enough time to drop the grenade and roll behind the alien and start running towards the other man who had fully recovered and was reloading his rifle.
 
As the alien recovered, it looked at where the bearded man was and realized he was gone. The alien looked behind it to see the two men running down the hallway towards an open door. As the two men were about to reach the open door, the alien spun around on the spot to start chasing after the two men, but its scaly foot kicked something. The alien looked down, in time to see the dropped grenade explode at its feet, as the two men dived through the doorway.
 
The explosion from the grenade was enough to critically damage the oxygen tanks releasing the pressure oxygen, which caught fire and resulted in an even bigger fireball, engulfing the alien. The fireball travelled down the hallway towards the two men who had recovered and slammed the bulkhead door shut just in time to protect themselves from the inferno.
 
Due to the massive explosion, alarms all throughout the base were sounded, as the fire spread throughout the base. The two men simultaneously decided to make a hasty retreat out of the base and find a vehicle to escape in.
 
Once outside, they found a working Nodwell 110. They climbed the tracks of the carrier and entered the cabin, finding the keys still in the ignition. The bearded man sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key. The 6-cylinder diesel engine roared to life, as the two men made themselves comfortable for a long ride to the nearest base. As the other man was looking at a compass on the Noddy dashboard, a large explosion went off inside the base, blowing the roof off a section of the base. The two men looked up at the explosion as another part of the base exploded out into the freezing Antarctic wilderness and were shocked at what they saw.
 
Amongst the rubble was the alien, kneeling in the snow. The alien looked around at the frozen landscape, scanning for something that only the alien knew. Its eyes focused on something way off in the distance, then stood upright, its 7-foot-tall figure fully visible. The two men just started in awe, not knowing what to do. The alien, hearing the 240hp idling engine, turned to see the two men sitting inside the tracked carrier. Instead of attacking the two men, the alien ran off into the snow, bounding over snow drifts with ease.
 
The two men realized the direction the alien was running was the same direction they were about to go as that was the nearest base. The two men looked at each other, not saying a word. They both knew the Nodwell was built for pulling power, not speed. There was nothing they could do. There was no radio in the Noddy and they wouldn’t get to other base before the alien.
 
Which no other choice, the bearded man put the carrier in gear and slowly started after the alien, while the other man reloaded both rifles ready for another fight.
","August 10, 2023 04:32","[[{'Clara Dodge': 'I liked your opening, which was very suspenseful and gave a good introduction to the setting. I was a little confused because the two men didn’t have names, and what they were called was very similar to one another. It would have been nice if they had characterization, allowing the reader to root either for or against them. It was an intriguing story, though I would have liked a more satisfying ending.', 'time': '23:43 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",r21oo3,The Scientists,Clara Dodge,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/r21oo3/,/short-story/r21oo3/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",8 likes,"
BBC Breaking News, May 28, 1986, 17:00. Two Scientists have been spotted on the Kingsferry Bridge, fleeing London. They are now travelling by foot and are speculated to be attempting to flee the continent. More updates are expected shortly as law enforcement arrives on the scene.Police cars droned like air sirens as Eliza sprinted with Marty off a dirt road into farmland, not daring to look back, breaths coming quickly, too loud. Calm down, Eliza's mind raced. Shut up. They shrank behind a low garden wall, damp stone cool through Eliza’s thin T-shirt, clammy skeleton hands. “We’re going to be caught,” she panted, a stitch in her side from running. “Fuck, we’re done for.” Fuckfuckfuck.Marty clamped her hand over Eliza’s mouth, eyes wide, her fingernails carving marks on Eliza’s cheeks like smiles. Eliza closed her eyes, tears leaking from the corners she didn’t dare wipe away. Hands reached into her ribs, constricting her heart like a rabbit ensnared in a trap.The flashing lights skimmed by, blurring them into the lush countryside like spilled watercolours. As Marty released her, Eliza let out a whimper. Marty leveraged herself to her feet, brushing dirt off her skirt and examining her mud-stained socks. Eliza burrowed her face into her knees, catching her breath, working to untangle the knot in her throat. She sprinkled her tears into the ridges of her corduroy trousers like showers on ploughed land. “Shite.”Marty leaned against the wall, massaging her temples, and clearing her throat as she extended a hand to Eliza. “Eliza."" Eliza unfurled herself, the fraying end of a rope. “We have to keep moving.” “Yeah,” she swallowed. “Let’s go.”They trudged silently through the rolling hills, itchy grass and mud fumbling for a grasp on their ankles. Eliza swatted at a mosquito buzzing past, dodging crickets as they hopped over her feet. Shaky from adrenaline, her head pounding at her temples, she searched for any markings or posts giving out directions. They’d eventually make it to the coast, but it was hard not to suspect they were aimless, dust floating in sour light. She had accidentally left their map in the car when they ditched it about eight kilometres back on the Kingsferry Bridge, another reason for Marty’s hostility towards her, so she only knew the general direction of their destination. East.She watched Marty, hoping she’d announce a plan. Her skirt hiked up her knees, exposing calves covered in gooseflesh-- the skin of a strawberry. Her mouth was taught, avoiding Eliza’s gaze, but somehow she sensed her staring. “What?” she snapped.Eliza gulped. “Should we find someone to ask directions from?” Marty raised her eyebrows and scrunched her nose as if Eliza were quite mad.“Who would we ask?” She laughed mockingly, her steel eyes irritated. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and fugitives.”Eliza fidgeted, twiddling her thumbs. “Yeah, okay.”“We’re not lost,” she insisted, jaw clenched. “As long as we keep the sun behind us, we’ll get there.” Dusk twinkled imminently, dappled pinks and oranges rippling over the grass like the tide.Eliza nodded silently, eyes downcast, biting the dry skin off her lips, suddenly hyper-aware of her tongue clinging to the roof of her mouth, cloyingly parched. She thought to suggest that they find some water, when Marty tripped, landing on all fours like a cowering dog.“Shite!” Marty exclaimed. Eliza touched her shoulder, offering a hand to help her up, but she shouted, “Get off me!” Eliza fluttered back, seeds from a torn packet scattered into a flower bed. Marty righted herself, dusting off her scraped-up palms, studying the skin puckered with mud.Eliza crossed her arms, waiting for Marty to say something, but she stayed quiet, her chin held high. Marty continued, her pace slightly faster than before, assuming Eliza would follow. Perhaps hoping she wouldn’t.Eliza scurried to catch up with her, quickly glancing over where she tripped as she passed by to avoid the same fate. She discovered a littered bag of Walkers salt and vinegar crisps, slick with residual rainwater. Sam. What she always ate. Eliza smoothed the bag out, folding it into precise fourths, and burrowed it into her trouser pocket.Marty didn’t notice she stopped. They continued in silence.BBC Breaking News, May 28, 1986, 23:00. The Scientists are believed to be lying low on the Isle of Sheppey. Do not engage or offer help; if approached, call 999 or 112.By dark, they abandoned attempting navigation and set up a shelter in a copse of trees, nymphs blending in with the bark and sprouting leaves. Eliza drank from a river weaving around the roots, cupped in her hands and acrid from dirt. Her stomach ached for nourishment, but there wasn’t any, so she drank more. Marty’s anger muted, snagging like barbed wire. Conversation would only be reciprocated with metal trenched against bone, yet Eliza still found herself wishing to drag her fingers across the spikes.They spent the night sleepless, shivering as the humidity stroked their skin, eyes pinned open by the stars leaking through the cloud cover and dripping from the tree limbs, iridescence thick like syrup and milky from the moon. It surprised Eliza that she didn’t miss the city, now rendered artificial and crudely industrial. She hadn’t ever seen the stars like this. Not with the sky so open and cluttered all at the same time.They rose the next morning, eyes heavy with insomnia. The sun guided them this time, knotted to the dawn in the East. Eliza estimated that they had an hour’s hike before arriving at Leysdown-on-Sea.She took to collecting things she came across in addition to the crisps bag. They all tangled with Sam, electrical wires sparking, fraying. A fire hazard. A deflated red balloon speared by a tree branch caught the light like Sam's eyes on her birthday, verdantly gobbling the candle on her chocolate cupcake. Eliza, Marty, and Sam hid in the bathroom closet of their flat, conversing in hushed tones. Breathing ""Happy Birthday"", soundless lips blazing in exaggerated shadow and light. ""I wished for a chicken,"" Sam confessed, snickering yet half serious, before Eliza could warn her that spoken wishes plummet, fragile wings resting on thorny branches, torn the instant they take flight. ""Suppose I found my Natural and asked her to move to Cornwall or back to Leysdown-on-Sea?""Marty chuckled, rolling her eyes. ""Don't be daft. They'd never let you."" But Eliza thought perhaps it didn't matter. Birthday celebrations were forbidden, yet there they were.A golden candy wrapper blending in with the tall grass whispered in the same crinkled tones as the crystal bowl filled with caramels at the Scientist Testing and Affairs Building reception desk. Eliza saved their spot in line while Sam took handfuls, a welcome distraction to people bustling about like ivy on an edifice, speckling brick-like verdant freckles. Marty joined them on the rare occasion she wasn't assigned night shifts. The sharp edges of the candy chaffed their cheeks, toasting their tongues with sweetness, as sunkissed as the wrappers that housed them.An orange leaf from last fall glowed the same colour as their assignment note cards. They always burned the same shade-- tangy blood oranges stinging cracked lips-- but they were the most saturated that day. Two weeks ago. Sam munched on a bag of Walkers salt and vinegar chips, flavouring coating her fingertips like frost, while the receptionist droned, handing them both note cards with neatly typed instructions. Elizabeth Taylor, radiation testing. Room 327, Uranium. Eliza's mind was infested with apprehension, hordes of locusts ravaging her brain. Most retired after a week of Uranium. ""Good,"" they had breathed, obligatorily, when their neighbour Sarah had retired after only a day. “That’s good for her.” Good, good, good. That was their purpose: to hollow, like trees carved by beetles from the inside out. They began to climb the staircase, but Eliza’s legs shook, refusing to carry her. She clung to the handrail like her sanity, not daring to speak.""Eliza?” Sam inquired, gently.“Yeah?”“Let’s switch.” She held out her card.Eliza shook her head. “No way. I’m not letting you do that.” “Come on, please? I just want to get it over with."" Eliza sighed, contemplating the note card. If Sam really wanted, then…“Don’t retire, okay? I know it’s what we’re supposed to do eventually and all, but… I like working with you.” She gave Sam a half grin.""Promise."" Sam placed her card in Eliza's hands, stained with oily fingerprints.She could pretend that Sam would be fine. They had, after all, defied the rules once, with the birthday cupcake, and there were anomalies who went through Uranium testing unscathed.That day. Two weeks ago. When they discovered that, like wishes, promises spoken aloud forget their merit.Eliza found her third green thing, a sliver of plastic sticking up like a gravestone, when they made it to the town, a sign in cheerful lettering marking their arrival. Leysdown-on-Sea.Marty spoke for the first time since yesterday without looking at Eliza. “She lives on number four Shellness Road.” She had better still have a boat, Eliza thought. “Okay.” They rounded a corner, coming to a long stretch of beach. It seeped into Eliza like a siren's song. The ocean breathed differently than the Thames, the spray drenching the breeze with salt, sweet and clean. She paused to listen, eyes closed, to the crash of the tide, soothing her and promising a simple existence. Marty startled her out of her meditation, reality a pulsing headache. “Eliza.” She followed as Marty led them down a winding path lined with weeds, sand crunching under their shoes like cereal.Somewhere, across the ocean, was Belgium. And there, they would be free.BBC Breaking News, May 29, 1986, 08:00. The Scientists were sighted entering the town of Leysdown-on-Sea at around 07:30, and since then their trail has been lost. Any information on their whereabouts should be reported to local law enforcement immediately.Dr Donna’s thin face, crowned with silver curls, greeted their knocks, cataract-ridden eyes squinting. She was elderly, even for a Warden, well past her sixties. Eliza had planned to become a Warden once she was thirty-five, pursuing the promise of a decrease in testing. Sam countered that it was only a temporary salve.“We’re all replaceable, Eliza,” Sam proclaimed. “It’s another trap.”“Who are you?” Dr Donna croaked, waving a bony finger at Eliza and Marty, her skin stretched thin and waxy. “Dr Donna? It’s Martha Shenton.” Marty stepped to the front, hiding Eliza with her height, and spoke slowly and deliberately. “You were my Warden ten years ago? My younger sister is Samantha Shenton.” Is. An interesting tense to choose.Dr Donna squinted through her glasses on a silver chain, recognition dawning on her face. They looked in a state, covered in dirt and wild hair. “Ah, Marty. Yes, I remember you and your sister-- quite the troublemaker she was. Is this her?” She pointed to Eliza.Eliza’s jaw dropped open, an awkward pause extending as she looked to Marty, who finally cut in, “Yeah, that’s— that’s her.” Disgust soured her words, her lips refusing to form Sam’s name.A smile cracked on Dr Donna’s lined face like a broken eggshell. “It’s wonderful to see you two again. Have your Normals moved back to the country?”“Yes,” Eliza confirmed, stomach writhing and alive with the lie. Everything Sam Wanted.“Well, thank you for visiting. I have some things to attend to, but if you’d like, I can put on some tea and we can chat in a bit.”Entering, children's shrieks echoed into cobwebbed corners, dusting off the stone cottage walls. Following Dr Donna to a round oak table in the kitchen, Eliza brushed the hand of a girl she could have mistaken for her younger self, freckle-faced, bobbed mousy hair bouncing behind her as she chased after a friend. The girl's supple skin exuded childhood, spending summers sunbathing by the poolside, eight years old and free from testing for two more years. The memories crackled, thin like a sun-faded photograph drenched in swimming pool water, but the scent stung heavily— chlorine and tanning lotion and vanilla ice cream dripping down her arm.Marty and Eliza sat in silence, blistered feet relieved. Something bubbled in the kitchen-- savoury aromas Eliza tried to ignore-- her stomach gurgling. She traced the grain of the wooden table, rhythmic like the waves, while staring out the window. A flock of seagulls flitted in the sunlight, their laughing calls piercing. They all looked the same, melting into one mass, the brilliance of the flurry of feathers dizzying. She closed her eyes, letting the children's voices from the other room bleed into the shrieks of the gulls.She couldn’t see the living room, but she heard Dr Donna chiding the children. “You can watch the television once you’ve done your chores,” she quavered, met with groans. “May I listen to the radio while I clean the bedroom?” Eliza's lookalike begged. “I don’t see why not… and James, you’re in the yard today, so make sure to feed the chickens…” Chickens. No wonder Sam loved it there. Eliza couldn’t listen anymore. Guilt smothered her skin like a heavy ointment, oily and thick and impossible to remove once absorbed. “You didn’t have to say that,” she blurted abruptly.Marty glared at her. “What?”“Say that I was Sam. You could have said—”“Whatever.” Marty crossed her arms. “I guess I wanted to say thank you.”Marty shook her head, cooly. “You should have retired instead of her. Then we wouldn’t have to pretend.”Eliza trapped her tongue behind her teeth, the tension in her clenched jaw preferable to the bitter letters tingling.""Yeah, just ignore me,"" Marty muttered, voice acidic.Eliza sighed, quavering. “Sam made her decisions. I didn’t make her choose anything.”“You switched with her!”Eliza began to answer when her lookalike walked in, a broom in one hand and a radio in the other, passing to the door right across from them. She caught a glimpse of rows of identical beds through the gap left in the door.She exhaled, replying, “Sam switched with me, there’s a difference.”“Why didn’t you stop her?” Marty shook her head incredulously, untainted grief ringing her eyes red like coaster-less mugs staining coffee tables. “Why didn’t they stop her? It’s against the rules to switch.” Desperation trenched ravines into her.“People do it all the time,” Eliza explained quietly.Marty’s voice cracked. Her head collapsed on the table, words muffled. “Does it matter?”“No,” Eliza admitted, breathlessly. “I should have—”“Just shut up!” Marty furiously rubbed her tears away, the ocean on her cheeks, pouring into the hair at her temples. In her heavy exhales Eliza could almost decipher words. I want my sister back. I want, I want, I want.Eliza reached out across the table and clasped Marty’s rough hand. Her fingers flopped, thin silver fish marooned onto the sand, sunset scales dripping with warmth as their bodies cooled. Beauty in death, hot and cool. Limp, but stationary. “It’ll be okay.”But then she heard her name from the open bedroom door.“Yes, Dr Taylor and Dr Shenton. They’re shouting at each other… yes, number 4 Shellness Road… okay, I will,” Eliza's lookalike muttered.Eliza sprinted at her, Marty cornering the girl against the wall, fist clenched around her wrist, startling her into dropping the phone, bouncing from the cord like a yo-yo. “Who did you call?” Marty demanded. The little girl twitched in fear, a moulting bird.She covered her head with her unrestrained arm. “Please don’t hurt m—”“WHO DID YOU CALL?”“999,” she squeaked, slipping to the ground as Marty released her. “Fuck.” Sirens in the distance lacerated the calm of the sea, cracking each stone in the cottage until only dust remained. “We're not alone,"" Marty gasped, peering out the curtained window, a cascade of police lights showering in. “Shite, what are we going to do?”“Run.”BBC Breaking News, May 29, 1986, 10:45. The Scientists have been spotted on Shellness Road. Police cars droned like air sirens as Eliza sprinted with Marty. Again. They were scientists, after all, always bolting in both ways of the word’s meaning, cleaving themselves into fragments as they fled, then scraping the scraps back together. So vast and insignificant they had no choice but to encompass their shadows. We’re all replaceable, Eliza. Had Sam already been replicated, another child born from her Normal’s DNA? Bolted like lightning, shedding off itself. Bolting like screws, rickety construction. She couldn’t think of that now.They left the sand road, trudging into the cliffs, not daring to look back. They panted, clutching stitches in their sides, the wind running its fingers through their hair, combing it into their faces with salty breath. They passed more cottages, more stretches of beach, all blurring into monotony. Run, run, run.A police car skidded to a halt in front of them. Eliza and Marty backed up, scurrying, only to find themselves surrounded by four more cars from behind.The officers exited their vehicles, cocking their guns. Eliza dug through her pockets, searching for anything, procuring fistfuls of rubbish. Her unruly reflection glared back at her in a cellophane wrapper she dropped.“Eliza.” Terrified tears poured down Marty’s face as she pressed in close. “What do we do?” she whispered.“Run.” She bolted, clasping Marty’s hand.Retirement hung imminently, a fall through the cracks, memory dissipating. A sensationalised story with no name. Soon, third or fourth versions of them would roam London with the same impossible dreams, no memory of predecessors. They pushed through the crowd, ploughing officers into the sand. In decades, all that would remain was rubbish stuffed in pockets, rotting the earth and killing seeds. They ran, they ran, they ran. To the cliff’s edge.Two shots rang, two bodies swallowed by the ocean.BBC Breaking News, May 29, 1986, 11:00. The Scientists have been retired. 
","August 10, 2023 05:44","[[{'Catalina Andronache': ""This is a chilling story. \nI found some beautiful descriptive passages along the way, and I liked to see their relationship dynamics, I loved the scene when they were silently celebrating a birthday. \nIt did take me a while to fully understand what was happening, why they were running and who/what they really were, I felt the writing there was a little convoluted, maybe? But if it's part of a bigger piece, it would make sense that it's a little unclear. I figured it out towards the end. \n\nI like the alternative reality you have painted. I wo..."", 'time': '10:57 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Clara Dodge': 'Thank you for reading, I’m glad you liked it. I agree that I could have been more clear about what was happening. I wanted the truth to be revealed at the end, but I could have balanced it out more and included more context earlier on. Thanks for the feedback!', 'time': '12:14 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Clara Dodge': 'Thank you for reading, I’m glad you liked it. I agree that I could have been more clear about what was happening. I wanted the truth to be revealed at the end, but I could have balanced it out more and included more context earlier on. Thanks for the feedback!', 'time': '12:14 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ool0ze,He Comes From Below,Chloe Pierce,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ool0ze/,/short-story/ool0ze/,Dialogue,0,"['Suspense', 'Fantasy', 'Romance']",8 likes,"
Grimm Cabot was perhaps the unluckiest vampire in Le Garde Obscure. News of his impending betrayal spread quickly through the intricate weave of tunnels they called home. His creed stood before him, all one hundred and twenty-two of them, melded into a sea of suspicious and disappointed faces. He cowered in the shadow of the firstborn vampire, his bony knees clanking together. 
 
“Amaya, please, forgive me,” Grimm pleaded. 
 
With a snarl of his lip, Amaya dropped a fold of burlap onto the soil ahead of him. 
 
“You know what you must do,” Amaya said. “In this sack lies three things. A disguise, a bag of blood, and a memory. You have until the next full moon to do what is expected of you. If you fail, I Amaya Ozul, shall declare you, Grimm Cabot, banished from Le Garde Obscure!” 
 
Grimm’s mother slobbered and sneezed into a rag behind him. He ached to turn and comfort her, but his father’s steely gaze kept Grimm facing forward. Slowly, under the careful watch of his creed, Grimm unfolded the burlap and revealed his disguise; a dull striped shirt and a worn pair of jeans that’d seen better days. Grimm’s nose flickered at the peppery stench of the clothing. 
 
“Are these… human clothes?” he whispered, trying to hide his curiosity, but Amaya wasn’t easily fooled. 
 
“Take a look at what you leave behind,” Amaya said. 
 
Grimm did. He turned to face the crowd with a gaunt, withered frown. Grimm was skinnier than most despite his addiction to candied blood and stood at a rickety five-foot-six. His skin was frighteningly pale, even for a vampire, and the unshorn mess of his ebony hair framed his thin face. Grimm lacked confidence but who could blame him? The others in his creed seemed to be chiselled from muscle and stone. Grimm was most sensitive about his jagged teeth. He’d been a biter as a child. Tables, chairs, the points of his coffin. His obsession quickly soured and snapped the nibs of his fangs, leaving them with vicious, uneven points. In fact, Grimm made a miserable vampire. He had a lust for life and dreams to explore. Dreams that didn’t quite fit inside Amaya’s tunnels.
 
“It’s time to say goodbye,” Amaya said and waved Grimm’s parents forward. 
 
His mother, Lorelai, engulfed him in her heavy clutch. Snot smeared across his jacket and her sharp claws left tiny holes where she grabbed him. Even the wisp of her black hair had started to turn grey. 
 
“I promise, I’ll come back. I’ll do what Amaya asks of me,” Grimm whispered into her neck. 
 
Lorelai couldn’t speak for her heart was entirely broken. She left him with a gentle kiss against his forehead and disappeared into the scalding whispers of the crowd. His father’s goodbye wasn’t quite so pained, but Grimm could see the grief behind his father’s spectacles. 
 
“Do not fail us again,” he said, cold and sharp. 
 
“Yes, father.” 
 
Suddenly, Grimm was alone in a tunnel full of vampires. Amaya’s hand settled on his shoulder.
 
“It’s time.” 
 
With the burlap sack in his grip, Grimm closed his eyes and awaited the stab of fangs across his nape. There was howling and struggle and then finally, silence.
 
Grimm awoke dizzy and terrified. A nagging discomfort loomed behind his eyes as he adjusted to the sights and feelings of the world around him. His striped shirt was drenched from the blanket of snow beneath him, and his trousers were torn from the snag of branches and bristle. 
 
Above him, white-dusted pine trees stretched for the meld of a mauve sky. They were taller than Grimm could’ve imagined. The roots of these trees were the foundation of his home so many miles below, but even the giant knots of bark couldn’t have prepared him for how minuscule their shadow would make him feel. When his limbs no longer felt like lead, he pushed himself upright.
 
“I made it!” he called, hoping to hear the snicker of his creed below. 
 
“Hello?” 
 
The eerie quiet of the forest swallowed him whole. Grimm could hardly breathe. He was alone. Even the smell of the forest made him queasy. It was acidic, foul almost, and burnt the hair of his nostrils. Peculiar, Grimm thought, to have hair in the same place one smells from. His finger, one of now five, prodded in and around his newly formed septum until he found that, like most humans, Grimm now had two nostril holes. 
 
“It really worked,” he whispered, peeling his eyes wide. 
 
Clouds of his breath pilfered his sight as stumbled forward. Clag sat thick between his toes from the frost-laced leaves. 
 
“Don’t linger. Don’t shift. Don’t run,” Grimm said, feeling a strange, unwelcomed swell of anxiety in his stomach. There was too little space and yet more room than Grimm needed. He was accustomed to the tight swaddle of the tunnels and the awkward press of his coffin. He stared at the hill he’d tumbled down and swallowed the lump in his throat. Splintered tree trunks sliced through the ice like stakes. “Just get to the top, Grimm. For once in your life, just do it. You’re here. You’re alive.”
 
Grimm’s rotten luck was sourer than ever. The human world hated him. Each branch snapped beneath his weight and his bare feet, purpling from the cold, slid through the snow at every step. It took him almost an hour to clamber to the top and when he did, Grimm felt the peculiar trickle of something racing down his back. He wiped it from the damp band of his trousers and sniffed. 
 
“Oh, I’m sweating! Ha!” he laughed and took another large inhale. 
 
He was transfixed by the strange tangy scent when he heard it. The distinct crack of a branch. His stomach churned as he listened. The world was still. Too still. When the growl erupted behind him, Grimm sprang to his feet and sprinted without warning, direction, or sense. Trees blurred into smudges as branches smacked his face and body, shedding their snow onto him, but as the heavy pelt of paws chased him, he couldn’t think of anything other than run. Just as he thought he was gaining an advantage, a clunky weight crashed into him and anchored him to the forest floor.
 
“Argh! No! Help me!” he cried. 
 
Then, beyond the gnashing of teeth, Grimm heard another set of footsteps. This time they were even, two of them, repetitive and controlled. Human, he thought. 
 
“Alvin, you big oaf, get off!” A shadow appeared above him and immediately, Alvin jumped away but sat beside Grimm’s petrified body, dripping thick, cold globs of salvia down his neck. “Dumb dog.” Alvin whined as the human looped a finger under his collar and gently wrestled his away. “I am so sorry! He just gets excited. Y’alright?” 
 
Grimm stared at the shape above him. The setting sun was crowned around his head, shielding the human’s face. 
 
“I-I-,” Grimm stuttered. 
 
“Ah, crap. Didn’t hit your head, did ya? Dammit, Alvin, you’re too much sometimes.” An awkward pause passed between them. “You look scared half to death, man. Don’t worry, he’s a big dog but he wouldn’t bite a biscuit.” 
 
“Wouldn’t- bite a- biscuit,” Grimm mumbled, and promptly, his world sank to black. 
 
The world returned in a violent burst. Alvin was licking his chin and the human was stooped beside him, inspecting a wound just below Grimm’s knee. 
 
“You’re touching me,” he squeaked. 
 
“Oh, sorry. I was tendin’ to this gash on your leg. Pretty deep. Wanted to make sure it wasn’t infected. Glad to have you back to the land of the livin’.” 
 
Grimm’s eyes widened.
 
“Why would you say that?” 
 
“Just a phrase, man. You never heard that?” the human chuckled. 
 
“Not- really. Are you going to kill me?” 
 
Grimm ogled the human. There was an odd warmth in his eyes that he didn’t recognize. The appearance of which stirred his stomach into a tangled web of knots. The human’s laugh was honey and silk and a gentle glow that thawed his rimy skin and set his face alight. Panicked, Grimm used all ten of his fingers and slapped his cheeks. 
 
“Is my face on fire?” he blurted. 
 
“Wh- huh? Your face? You’re just a little flushed. That’s all. I promise I’m not going to kill you.” 
 
“That sound you made. I like it.” Grimm paused. “Make it again.” 
 
The human studied Grimm for a moment. 
 
“My laugh? You gotta say somethin’ funny.” When Grimm didn’t open his mouth again, he scratched his neck awkwardly. “Anyway, how long have you been out here, man? You, uh- didn’t have any shoes on. Your feet were ruined. I patched ‘em up good though.” 
 
Grimm almost scoffed at the curious human. He didn’t need shoes. But then he studied the thick brown boots on the human’s feet. 
 
“Right. Shoes.” he muttered. “Where can I acquire such things?”
 
“Curious thing. I got some old boots that aren’t being used. They look about your size.”
 
Alvin huffed from his place beside the fire. 
 
“Oh, hush. He doesn’t need them for now, boy,” the human said, ruffling Alvin’s fur. “Now, I’m not about to give a good pair of boots to a stranger. So, my name is Derek Mooney.” 
 
Grimm flinched at the hand flung between them and curled his fingers around Derek’s thumb. 
 
“Grimm Cabot.”
 
Derek shook the tangle of their hands. 
 
“You should rest here until that leg heals properly, Grimm. These woods are pretty big. Lot of people and things out there that might seek to do you harm. We’re not alone out here,” Derek mumbled. 
 
His voice was calm and steady but the words terrified Grimm. His leg wasn’t healing as quickly as it would underground. He wasn’t prepared. 
 
“Things? What do you mean things?” Grimm asked, watching Derek potter back and forth, his eyes scanning through the treeline surrounding his cabin. He turned to face Grimm with a look so serious that it made his toes curl. 
 
“Things you wouldn’t believe. I wouldn’t feel right knowing I’d left you there with a leg like that.” 
 
Grimm was utterly confused. This human didn’t have blood-thirsty gills or scaled skin and bulging dark eyes. Nor did he have giant claws that were ready to impale him. This human was sweet. Kind in a way that Grimm didn’t know. Grimm liked this human.
 
“Listen, I gotta run to the store. I’ll take Alvin with me ‘cause he likes ridin’ in the front seat. I can leave you here or-”
 
“I’ll come!” Grimm said. 
 
He didn’t know what a store was or why Derek insisted on going but he didn’t want to be alone. Not yet. The lights were unbearably vivid and there was a million smells filling Grimm’s nose. Brightly colored cans and bags and boxes of food lined every shelf. What Derek called annoying music blasted across the entire store and miserable-looking people pushed strange metal contraptions through the aisles. Several of which came close to severing Grimm’s foot.
 
“You look green,” Derek said, clutching two boxes of make-at-home macaroni.
 
“I do?” Grimm panicked and turned on his heel, flipping his hands and arms over to inspect his skin. 
 
“You’re a real strange guy, Grimm, but I like it. You must’ve hit your head real hard ‘cause you look more lost than a blind dog in a meat house. It’s probably overwhelming in here with your head injury.” 
 
“Yes. That’s it. The, um, head injury,” Grimm mumbled. 
 
“Let’s checkout. Then you need a drink.” 
 
“I had water at the house,” Grimm said, missing the warmth of the crackling fire. Human world was cold, even with his toes now concealed by fluffy socks and worn leather boots. The jeans Derek had given him were an inch too big around the waist and made his rear end look saggy and the flannel hanging over his arms was itchy and uncomplimentary on his newly formed skin. 
 
“No, I mean a real drink.”
 
Grimm drowned in the neon light of the bar ahead. ‘The Avalanche’ blinked putrid shades of pink and green. Even the comforting sense of Derek beside him did little to ease the sweat on his palms. 
 
“Goddamn, Grimm, I can hear your heart beatin’ over here.” Derek’s voice, though light, made the nerves worse.
 
“You can?”
 
“Not like, literally, but- you know what, nevermind.”
 
 A broad-shouldered man guarded the entrance, his bald head shining from the neon lights above. A round belly protruded beneath his shirt, enough for Grimm to see the hair knotted from his belly button. The stool the man was perched on creaked as he moved, crossing his arms as Grimm and Derek approached.
 
“Rod, good to see you,” Derek said. 
 
Grimm almost broke his neck spinning to look at him. How could these two humans know each other? They were so completely unalike. 
 
“Derek,” Rod mumbled and looked at Grimm with a pinched face. 
 
“He looks as yella as mustard.” 
 
“He’s alright, Rod. He’s fittin’ right in. Busy tonight?”
 
“Usual crowd. Any news on Frankie?” 
 
The mood soured and the lights dimmed. Every ounce of warmth and care that Grimm felt connecting him to Derek turned to ice and electricity. Derek stiffened, his mouth flattening into a tight line. He cleared his throat to busy himself. 
 
“None just yet, suspect somethin’ soon, though.”
 
Inside, The Avalanche was as terrifyingly human as Grimm dreaded. It was flashing lights and the loud chatter of countryfolk. Like the store, music pounded from the crackling speakers. Jugs of strange yellow liquid oozed froth onto the tabletops and the hazy smoke in the air tickled his throat. Through the plume, a petite lady appeared. She was shorted than Grimm by an inch or so and stared up at them through thick, poorly glued lashes.
 
“Well, hello stranger,” she purred, waving her fingers in a coy sort of way.
 
“Go easy on ‘im now, Harper, he’s not from around here,” Derek warned and tugged Grimm toward him. Derek almost choked with laughter as he looked at Grimm. He was stiff as a board, eyes peeled to their brim, staring at Harper like she was a ghost. 
 
“Ease up, Grimm. She won’t bite. Not unless you ask her to.”
 
“Bite?” Grim found himself thinking of his own fangs and the taste of the blood gushing through her veins. His gaze trailed her neck and the way her jugular moved and stretched as she talked. 
 
“We’ll take two Snake Rivers at the bar please,” Derek said and guided Grimm to a sticky stool beside a stickier bar. 
 
White foam popped and hissed down the glass that Harper slammed beside him and Grimm extended his neck to sniff at the mysterious liquid.
 
“Don’t tell me you ain’t ever had a beer,” Derek said with a cough.
 
“We don’t really drink beer where I’m from.”
 
“What the hell y’all drink, then?”
 
Grimm looked at him with a straight expression.
 
“Bloody marys.”
 
As it turned out, Grimm loved beer. The golden liquid only tasted sweeter the more he drank. It didn’t matter that he burped or shuddered, all Derek had to do was tap his finger on the bar and two more beers slid across the wood. Derek’s smile was kinder and brighter and a little sloppy, but Grimm found himself relaxing into him. Until a stranger appeared beside them and slapped a hand down on Derek’s shoulder, enough to slosh his beer. 
 
“Derek Mooney. What a damn surprise. Thought we wouldn’t see your face round ‘ere for a long time.” 
 
The stranger had a coarse voice, strangled, and cold compared to Derek’s. 
 
“Oh yeah? Why’s that, Ricky?” Derek grunted. 
 
“I ain’t seen a damn dollar of what your brother owes me, Derek. I know you know where he’s hidin’ and I want you to pass on a message.” Ricky tightened his grip. “I want my six hundred dollars by the end of the month or you’re a dead man.”
 
Derek pulled Grimm away from the bar after that. Straight out into the harsh cold of a Wyoming night. He walked with the pace of a scorned man, almost too fast for Grimm to keep up. Derek muttered to himself, shaking his head all the way home. When the fire was crackling once more and Alvin had slobbered over Grimm’s clean jeans, Derek sat beside Grimm with a pale expression. 
 
“What happened back there?” Grimm asked, nervous. 
 
“That was Ricky Johnson. All American asshole. He thinks my brother owes him money.” 
 
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Grimm whispered. “Where is he?”
Derek looked reserved in the soft glow of the flames. Grimm reached forward and placed a gentle hand on his knee and when it wasn’t immediately batted away, he puffed out his chest. “You can trust me, Derek. You saved me.” 
 
“You’ll think I sound crazy.”
 
“Why would you think that?”
 
“People thought Frankie was crazy, when he started looking for them.” 
 
Grimm swallowed the burp in his throat. 
 
“For who?”
 
When Derek turned to face him, his eyes were wet, and his cheeks flushed. There was sorrow and confusion worming across his face and it made Grimm’s chest feel tight.
 
“Frankie was convinced that there’s this, I don’t know.” Derek laughed but the sound was empty. “This group of creatures or aliens or whatever the hell they are, living in these tunnels underground.” 
 
Grimm’s stomach turned to cement. He couldn’t breathe. No. No. No. When Grimm spoke again, his voice was weak. 
 
“Can I see what he looks like?”
 
Derek unfolded a frayed, creased photograph from his pocket. There he was. Smiling up at them innocently. This was the human that’d found Grimm exploring The Overhead from their underground perch. This was the human that Grimm had made a deal with. This was the memory in his burlap sack.  
 
Grimm looked at Derek with a nauseous look.
 
“Why’re you looking at me like that, Grimm?”
 
“You’re the one I’ve been sent to kill.” 
 
","August 10, 2023 08:58",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",nieev1,Paintings,J.C. Vayda,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nieev1/,/short-story/nieev1/,Dialogue,0,"['Horror', 'Science Fiction', 'Fiction']",8 likes,"
	At night, if you gaze upward, the vastness of the universe may prove to be nearly incomprehensible. Billions of stars (including galaxies) gather, come alive, and present their unique beauty above us whether we’re preparing for a night out, laughing with our family during dinner, mourning a lost one while sulking in a shower, or simply rolling the covers back and preparing for bed.
	Perhaps you’re on your back porch, boating dock, or out camping, and you take the time to stare up at the sky as the grand stage lights light up and present to you a work of wonder, a masterpiece of art, and a simple question—are we truly alone? The actual spatial size of the universe is unknown—and what inhabits it—is also unknown. 
 
 
 Jamestown, North Dakota—dead of winter—2:00AM—Monday the 5th
 
 
	Snow coats the earth with a heavy blanket of white. It is undisturbed. The sky is clear. Stars have been peppered over the dark canvas—their light finally arriving since it began its journey thousands of light years ago.
	The shape passes slowly but silently. It pauses, hovering over a neighborhood. A man walks outside—he can’t sleep. He lights a cigarette and looks up. The sky is black and vacant. No stars are above him. Strange—he says to himself. He takes another drag of his smoke and looks down to itch his leg. Then he takes another drag and looks back up. The sky is lit with as many stars as his eyes can see. Strange—he says to himself.
 
 
 Building 5450—Dr. Redfield’s Office—Psychiatrist—4:00PM—Monday the 5th 
 Patient: Ms. Dianna Rines
 Purpose of Visit: Undisclosed / Initial Consultation 
 
 
	“So, your file says you’re having trouble sleeping. Strange dreams.”
	“They’re not dreams.”
	Dr. Redfield jots down a note in a file.
	“Not dreams?”
	“No, well, I don’t think so. I feel awake.”
	“So, we’re not sure if you’re dreaming. Let’s perhaps keep both possibilities open.”
	“Okay.”
	“Tell me what happens whether you’re dreaming or awake.”
	“My clock radio turns on.”
	“What station?”
	“No station, it’s just static.”
	“Have you tried adjusting it?”
	“Yes. All the stations are the same.”
	“Have you tried turning it off?”
	“Yes. It turns off.”
	“Interesting. Do you think it’s a faulty clock radio?”
	“I don’t think so. It works fine during the day.”
	“Why do you think it works differently during the day than at night?”
	“Because it’s when they arrive.”
	“Who is they?”
	“I don’t know.”
	“Are they people?”
	“No. I don’t know.”
	“Have they hurt you?”
	“No.”
	“Have you seen them?”
	“No.”
	“So you’ve only heard them.”
	“Yes.”
	“What do they do?”
	“I don’t know. I hear them walk around in the hallways. They move things. They take things.”
	“Do they talk?”
	“No.”
	“What things do they move?”
	“They’ve moved all my electronics to the same area.”
	“Why?”
	“I don’t know.”
	“Have you moved them back?”
	“No.”
	“Why?”
	“I don’t know.”
	“What things do they take?”
	“My art.”
	“You paint?”
	“Yes.”
	“That’s good.”
	“Thank you.”
	“Why do you think they take your art?”
	“I don’t know.”
	“Have you alerted the police of this situation?”
	Ms. Rines looked over at Dr. Redfield. The air within the room was still. A car’s horn from a half-mile away honked somewhere outside. The air conditioning hummed faintly. The receptionist from down the hallway spoke on the phone. Ms. Rines looked out of the window from the chair she sat in.
	“I can’t.”
	“Why is that?”
	“Because I think they would be upset.”
	“Ms. Rines, do you believe you’re being visited by something, not of this world, or do you believe that you’re being burglarized?”
	“I don’t know—I need to go.”
	“You have fifteen more minutes left, Ms. Rines.”
	“I have to paint another picture.”
	“For them?”
	“Yes.”
	“What happens if you don’t?”
	‘I don’t know.”
	“Will you be back tomorrow, Ms. Rines?”
	“Yes.”
	“Good. Stay warm out there, Ms. Rines. The weather outside is frightful.”
	Ms. Rines stood up and left the room. Dr. Redfield noted more in her files. He stood up from his chair and walked to the window. He looked up toward the sky. He saw nothing. 
	He returned to his personal office down the hallway, picked up the phone, and called the sheriff’s office.
	“Good afternoon, this is Dr. Redfield from the Psychiatrist’s office up at Building 5450. May I speak to Sheriff Brown?
	“Yes, doctor. Stand by.”
	The sound of muffled voices and exchanging hands came across the line before Sheriff Brown answered.
	“Afternoon, doctor. What can I help you with?”
	“Sheriff, it’s not too much to ask. Will you please have a patrol car spend a few hours tonight outside one of my patient’s houses?”
	“Sure, is there something we need to be aware of or conscious about?”
	“No, sheriff, just a simple wellness check.”
	“I’ll have someone posted there tonight for you, doctor.”
	“Thank you, sheriff. Preferably after midnight.”
	“There will be a unit there.”
	“Thank you, sheriff.”
	“You’re welcome, doctor. I’ll be sure to call you if, down the road, I need your expertise on anything, including myself.”
	Dr. Redfield laughed. “I will look forward to seeing you then, sheriff.”
	“Goodbye, doctor.”
	“Goodbye, sheriff.”
 
 
 Outside Ms. Rines's Home—Officer Lyle’s Police Cruiser—1:00AM—Tuesday the 6th
 
 
	Lyle listened to the police radio transmissions. Nothing interesting was coming through. He left his book at home. Major mistake.
	“Hey, Pepper. This is Lyle. Do you copy?”
	“Yea, Lyle, I copy. Over.”
	“Anything happening over there on the southside?”
	“Nah,” Pepper responded. “Haven’t even seen those damn high schoolers sneaking out to have fun in the square over there.”
	Lyle’s radio transmission unit popped and twirled. It cut in and out. Pepper’s communications began breaking. Lyle turned the tuner—the radio unit continued to falter—then his radio completely cut off.
	Lyle sat still. He looked around. He noticed it was eerily dark outside—the streetlamps had been cut off. He stepped out of his cruiser. The cold hit him like a freight train. He looked up at Ms. Rines's house. It was dark. The power must be out, he thought. It’s too cold for even electricity to survive out here. He lit a cigarette. After a few drags, he looked up. The sky was black and vacant. No stars were above him. Strange—he said to himself.
 
 
 Inside Ms. Rines's Home—1:05AM—Tuesday the 6th
 
 
	They moved throughout the house. Maybe three. Maybe twenty. She didn’t know. She would know soon, though. She started to second-guess her decision. She had seen the police cruiser through the window an hour ago. She didn’t know how safe that made her feel (if it made her even feel safe at all).
	They would see she didn’t have her artwork displayed as she had done the last couple of nights. They would wonder why. They would come to ask, wouldn’t they? It’s not because she didn’t paint anything. No, she painted her best work earlier that day. Something she had been proud of.
	But—the painting was lying on her chest. She had her arms crossed around it. She heard one knock something over. It sounded mad. It knew. Now she would know soon. She waited. Silence fell. She heard nothing. Were they gone? She reached for the lamp to turn it on—but that’s when the closet door beside her bed swung open. She screamed.
 
 
 Building 5450—Dr. Redfield’s Office—Psychiatrist—9:00AM—Tuesday the 6th
 Patient: Officer Lyle
 Purpose of Visit: Undisclosed / Initial Consultation / Special Statement
 
 
	“So, the radio cut out?”
	“Yes.”
	“Then what?”
	“The stars—they disappeared.”
	“What do you mean, disappeared?”
	“I don’t know.”
	Dr. Redfield jotted down a note in his file.
	“Then you investigated the scream?”
	“Yes.”
	“Ms. Rines wasn’t there?”
	“No.”
	“Have they found her?”
	“I don’t know.”
	Officer Lyle looked out of the window from the chair he sat in. He was still in uniform from the hours prior.
	“I need to go,” Lyle said after a moment of silence.
	“You still have fifteen more minutes left, Officer Lyle.”
	“I know. I need to get back to the station. I’m only here because I wanted to give you my statement seeing it was your patient, which has disappeared.”
	Dr. Redfield stood up. The two shook hands. “I appreciate your efforts, Officer.”
	Lyle nodded and made his way to the office door. He stopped and turned. 
	“Have something else on your mind?” Dr. Redfield asked.
	“The stars—”
	“Yes, what about the stars?”
	“They came back.”
	“What do you think it means?”
	“We’re not alone.”
	Dr. Redfield nodded. “Sometimes I think the same thing.”
	“Do you paint, doctor?”
	Dr. Redfield smiled. “No, I’m just a collector.”
	Before Officer Lyle left the room, he complimented Dr. Redfield’s paintings displayed across his walls.
","August 10, 2023 09:51","[[{'J.C. Vayda': 'Thanks for taking the time to view and or read my story.\nI hope everyone is doing well.\n\nI\'m a big fan of alien visitation stories and movies.\nI just finished watching the movie ""NOPE.""\nI enjoyed it.', 'time': '09:56 Aug 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ealtpg,Peer Pressure,Fernando César,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ealtpg/,/short-story/ealtpg/,Dialogue,0,"['Drama', 'Thriller']",8 likes,"
Trigger Warnings: mental illness, swearing.
 
“We’re not alone.”
“Don’t be crazy. There’s no one else around.”
“They’re watching us. I'm sure of it.""
“Well, they watch us on the security cameras, but that’s just for security … they said.”
“They don’t trust us, we can’t trust them either.”
“Well…”
“Oh, my dear, nothing bad’s gonna happen. Everything will be alright, my love.”
“Thanks, Honey. Can you keep talking to him, to calm him down?”
“We should prepare for when they attack. We need weapons and a plan. They can’t know we’re on to them. Ted, can you make us some weapons?”
“Sure thing, mate. Do you have a pen? … A toothbrush? … A comb? … Do you think I’m a bloody magician, you cuckoo head?!”
“Come on, Ted…”
“Oh, my darling! Ted didn’t mean that. Did you, my love? He’s just tired of being here, like we all are. But there’s no one else around, dear. We’re all alone and quiet, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Listen to Honey. Nothing to worry about.”
“What if we eat? There’s nothing like a full belly to drift away from the worries of the world. What you say, my dears? Are you hungry?”
“We shouldn’t eat this food, it might be poisoned.”
“Damn whack job! If they wanted us dead, we’d be dead already. We’ve been here for more than twelve hours.”
“How can you tell? … Well, but some food sounds like a good idea. I’ll go get it. Honey, will you see if Thelma wants to eat? She’s been curled up since we arrived.”
“Yeah. Food! Let’s hope at least while we eat that weirdo shuts his dam pie-hole.”
“Thelma, my love, do you wanna eat? Or at least drink something? Let me help you get up, my darling.”
“Looks like we have lasagna for dinner. Doesn’t look half bad. And yellow jelly.”
“Oh, jelly! I love jelly. Don’t you love jelly, Thelma?”
“Is there a knife?”
“No, Ted, no knife, just a plastic spoon.”
“Thelma, you wicked girl, you almost smiled. You’re my kind of crazy girl!”
“Shut up, Ted. Can’t you see Thelma’s not well? She’s an angel, aren’t you, my love?”
“Relax. Relax. No need to get angry. There’s plenty of Ted to go around, ladies.”
“Someone’s coming!”
“Fucking bastard! If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna…”
“Wait, Ted! … I think he’s right. There’s someone at the door. I heard footsteps. Honey, try to keep Thelma quiet.”
“It’s a man … With a limp ... Must be middle-aged…”
“It’s the cleaning man. How can you tell all of that just by the sound of his feet?”
“He also has a broom.”
“… yes, he does.”
“I bet that broomstick could have another use, Ted.”
“Hmmm … maybe you’re not as crazy as you seem, cuckoo-head.”
“No Ted, please … we don’t need weapons! Guys, come on! Listen to Honey: everything will be alright. Let’s just relax, maybe sleep a bit. Tomorrow…”
“Shut up, man. Let’s listen to tin-hat, over here. Maybe the cleaning man really wants to keep us company. Everyone just lay down and pretend you’re Thelma. Quiet!”
“Love you, Ted!”
“Shush, Thelma! Ted’s not for you.”
“Ted, I think we better not cause any problems, because…”
“Shut up, man, or I will. Shut. You. Up.”
“…”
“He’s … at … the door … Ted…”
“…”
“Quiet, tin-hat … I got this…”
“…”
“Ted … I think he’s gone.”
“Of course he's fucking gone, man! Next time you do as I fucking tell you, or I’ll cut your other wrist!”
“Ted, don’t say that! No more cutting, please. Let’s just enjoy the lasagna, like a big happy family. With love and … Oh Thelma, dear, you’re making a mess eating with your hands. Let me clean you up.”
“I’m hungry.”
“I can see that, dear.”
“We should use the plastic spoon to make a shiv, Ted.""
“Yes, tin-hat. I’ll use the fucking spoon. I’ll use it to get some of this lasagna because this hot body doesn’t live off fricking air.”
“You’re so hot, Ted…”
“This is a good lasagna, guys. Nothing like food to make you feel better. Maybe now we can get some sleep. And tomorrow will be another day.”
“Haha. Ted … I don’t want to sleep…”
“Quiet, Thelma, dear. We need to sleep. We’ll be sleeping at our end and let the handsome boys sleep at their end.”
“Oh, Honey, no need for that. I’m man enough for both of you girls.”
“We shouldn’t sleep. They might attack us when we're vulnerable.”
“No one’s attacking us. Let’s just sleep and recover from this awful day.”
“I can’t sleep with the lights on.”
“Just close your eyes, Thelma, sweetheart. Sleep will come.”
“Yeah, what’s up with these damn lights?”
“Don’t worry, Ted. I know why you want the lights out. But I’m not letting go of Thelma all night. You’re not doing anything nasty with her tonight.”
“Oh, Honey, I told you that’s not a problem. You can both curl up together with me...”
“They want to break us. Sleep deprivation. We need to be alert … Wait! Someone’s coming.”
“At this time of night? Who can it be? It must be someone to turn off the lights. It has to be.”
“It’s a white-coat.”
“White coat?... A doctor? At this time of night?”
“Look, Ted, he’s signing something at the door.”
“I see it, tin-hat.”
“He’s bringing the pen.”
“No, Ted, please don’t…”
“Shut up, man!”
“Love you, Ted!”
“Honey, be a sweetheart and go rub the good doctor's back.”
“Really, Ted? You want my help?”
“Of course, Honey! You’re my girl.”
“You want me to rub his back?”
“Yeh, Honey. See if you can get the pen for your ol’ Ted.”
“Oh, Ted!
“Honey! No! Don’t listen to him! Don’t you join them, too!!!”
“Shut up, man! Look at him! It’s the guy that brought us here and gave Thelma that kryptonite that knocked her out.”
“What? He is? He is! But … I don’t know, Ted.”
 
 
 
#
 
The cop walked slowly, nodding his head from side to side, as if trying to see over the security guard’s large shoulders, but not too much. Beat cops know what they don’t need to see anymore. Detectives’ payroll, detectives’ nightmares.
“Jeez! How did this happen? Wasn’t the guy supposed to be alone?”
“Yes, officer. He was alone!” replied the security guard. “But the doctor said he had to see him. That he was a psychiatrist. I told him not to go in, Officer, but…”. The words were flying out of the young man’s mouth as if he was still running to save someone.
“It’s ok, Ron. This wasn’t your fault. He was a doctor, right? He knew what he was doing,” the officer said, and then lowered his voice. “Or at least, he thought he knew.”
“Yes, but…”
Officer Jack knew how to turn off all the buts of shocked victims and witnesses. He offered the usual victims’ support card and smiled with trained empathy. His notebook retained all the relevant facts: “March 5th, doctor entered patient cell with a pen”.
He looked at the curbed man lying in a fetal position against the wall of the cell, blood splattered all over his clothes, rocking and mumbling.
“The voices in my head… The voices in my head… The voices in my head…”
 
 
 
","August 10, 2023 19:17","[[{'Marina Pacheco': 'I like the way all the personalities are slowly added building up the insanity. You also feel sympathy for most of them. I might drop the final sentence of the piece, it feels redundant. Overall very enjoyable.', 'time': '08:39 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Fernando César': 'Thanks!\nI thought the final sentence was the final explanation. When did you realize what was going on?', 'time': '15:22 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Fernando César': 'Thanks!\nI thought the final sentence was the final explanation. When did you realize what was going on?', 'time': '15:22 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Diana Lima': 'Loved it!', 'time': '20:10 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Fernando César': 'Thanks, Diana!', 'time': '15:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Fernando César': 'Thanks, Diana!', 'time': '15:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Ahhh! I was wondering where this was going. Well done!', 'time': '22:03 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Fernando César': 'Thanks! Was trying to hide the twist.', 'time': '23:08 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Fernando César': 'Thanks! Was trying to hide the twist.', 'time': '23:08 Aug 15, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",1cr9gt,Mercy the Immortal,Holly Gilbert,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1cr9gt/,/short-story/1cr9gt/,Dialogue,0,"['Funny', 'Speculative', 'Science Fiction']",8 likes,"
	There was a crash in the back of the bus.
 
	“Hey! Don’t you dare make me come back there!” snapped Mercy.
 
  The three pale goblins looked up at her.
 
	“He started it!”
 
  Mercy’s red eyes flashed.
 
	“I don’t care who started it! I will finish it!” she snapped.
 
  The smallest goblin, Twitch, a female goblin with lemon eyes and a sour personality glared at her.
 
	“Who died and made you queen?” she snapped.
 
  Mercy whipped around. Bright red hair flying.
 
	“I could really use some silence right now! Moth! Help me out here!” Mercy snapped.
 
  The giant moth wearing a gray suit was staring at the bus lights as if hypnotized.
 
	“Watch?”
 
  A tall dark figure was curled up in one of the seats, asleep. His snoring reminded Mercy of a train. She groaned. How did it all come to this?! How was she stuck in a modern day organization with a bunch of creatures that hardly listen to her?
 
  It started a long time ago. The 1890s. She was a normal human being. Her brother was always fascinated with monsters. She laughed them off. After all, why would someone study something that never existed? Or, at least, she thought never existed. She could remember it like it was yesterday… How old was she? Twenty. She still looks like she’s twenty, but there was a time that she actually looked her age. Looking out from the Ferris wheel…
 
	“You missed a turn!” Twitch shouted, interrupting her thoughts.
 
  	“Dang it!” She shouted, startling everyone on the bus.
 
  Mercy drove until the bus reached a shady-looking gas station.
 
	“I needed to gas up anyway. Moth, you got your disguise?” she asked.
 
  Moth was putting on a fake mustache and a fedora.
 
	“Why do you even have to ask that question?” he asked smugly as he slid on sunglasses.
 
  Mercy rolled her eyes. They got out of the bus. She looked at the fluorescent lights. The world is moving too fast for her liking…
 
  They walked in. This was… by far the worst gas station. The smell was unidentifiable. The floor was dirty. Overall this place looked like it hadn’t been properly clean for at least three years. Mercy pursed her lips. She went to the counter. A man with wide eyes and a pearl-like medicine sat there.
 
	“Thirty on pump two.” she told him.
 
  He nodded.
 
	“Oh yes! Of course.” he said quickly.
 
  She slid the cash to him. He snatched it like a cobra. Moth’s eyes widened.
 
	“Er… What is that?” he asked, pointing at the pearl-like necklace.
 
  The man smiled. Gold tooth glistening.
 
	“Human tooth necklace. It’s kind of hard to find teeth. Speaking of teeth, you two have such lovely teeth…” he replied.
 
  Moth grabbed Mercy.
 
	“We need to get going!” he yelped.
 
  Soon, they were on the road again. Mercy thought about her past. She grew up on a large estate. She remembered waking to the sound of birds and the smell of strawberry pancakes. She would put on a bright red dress, even though her mother disapproved of it. She was always strict.
 
 She turned to a dirt road. The sound of the highway grew fainter. Highways. She had to ride a carriage to the fair. She parked in the clearing in the forest.
 
	“So… What’s… the… plan?” asked Watcher.
 
  Mercy pursed her lips.
 
	“This being is powerful, but easily scared. Watcher, you and the goblins stand guard. Moth, you're with me.” Mercy ordered.
 
  Moth flinched.
 
	“What? Why me?” he asked.
 
	“You see well in the dark.” she replied.
 
  They walked out of the bus. The crisp night air filled Mercy’s lungs. She pulled out her scanner.
 
	“I’m getting something. Come on.” she ordered.
 
  This forest… Why did it look so familiar… Moth gasped.
 
	“M-m-m-Mercy? Look…” he whispered.
 
Mercy winced. Bones. And she knew exactly who’s bones those are.
 
	“Moth! We need to abort mission!” she hissed.
 
	“Wait! I hear someone… oh! It’s a child crying…” he gasped.
 
  He ran towards the noise. Mercy ran after him. When she saw where the crying was from, she froze. Her heart started pounding as her chest started getting tighter. She felt dizzy.
 
 “You never let me do what I want! You’re always ordering me around!” Mercy snapped.
 
  	“I order you around, because I know what’s best for you! I don’t want you turning into a hussie!” her mother snapped.
 
	“At least I’m not an old hag like you!”
 
  With that, Mercy ran off. Her eyes burned with tears as she looked at the ferris wheel.
 
	“Are you okay?”asked an old lady.
 
  The old lady had such kind eyes, that Mercy poured out everything.
 
	“Well, dearie, if it makes you feel any better, I had just bought a ticket for a new circus in town. I was going to go, but it’s too far in the forest. You may take the ticket if you’d like.” she told her gently.
 
  Mercy took the ticket. She loved circuses. Her parents took her when she was a little girl. She walked until the sky turned to night. She eventually found a bright red tent. Alive with music and lights. She walked inside.
 
  The circus was the most incredible thing she had ever seen. Creatures of unimaginable horror and power. People with unusual powers. Monsters. When the show was done, she crept towards the wagons. She saw a man in rags and a deer skull. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up on a dirty bed, the ringmaster looking at her with glee.
 
	“Stab her again!” he ordered.
 
  She screamed as a knife went through her leg. Her leg miraculously healed on its own. She stared at it in horror.
 
	“It worked! My dear girl, you are going to be a star!” he laughed.
 
   Mercy started crying. This was the same forest. The tent was right in front of her, torn and filthy from time. Moth ran to her with a child in his arms.
 
 She had spent months in the circus, getting literally torn apart to rebuild herself again. MERCY THE IMMORTAL that was her name. Of course the ringmaster would've taken it himself, but he was too old. So now he gets rich off of Mercy… until one fateful day…
 
	“Mercy! Are you okay? I found this child… She has very dark eyes…” Moth began.
 
  The little girl with the black eyes was sobbing hysterically.
 
	“It’s s-t-t-till out there!” she blubbered.
 
	“We’re not alone?” Moth asked.
 
	“Ladies and gentlemen! The wendigo!”
 
  A cage was brought out. The man with the deer skull and rags paced around in it. The crowd gasped in shock.
 
	“Now this creature is possibly the most dangerous of my collection…”
 
  Mercy looked at the ringmaster with pure hate. Collectibles. That was all she was to him. Then to her horror, the cage burst open. Screams filled the night.
 
  Mercy couldn’t speak. She looked at Moth. One of the only beings she was comfortable with… She grabbed him and ran.
 
	“Mercy! What are you doing?!” Moth asked.
 
  A shriek filled the night. Mercy broke down crying. She recognized that shriek.
 
	“Fly! I’ll be okay!” she screamed.
 
  Moth’s eyes were filled with sheer terror. He flew into the trees with the little girl. Mercy was alone. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. Ready to face the thing again. Then there it was. The terror from Mercy’s nightmares.
 
	“You want to try to kill me again? Do it.” she hissed.
 
  The monster with a deer's skull looked at her. Mercy swallowed. She felt like swallowing a rock. Then the monster looked at Moth, who was flying towards the bus. He ran after him. Mercy’s heart stopped. The monster knew that he couldn't kill her. She ran after him. The crisp night air rushed in her lungs, her feet flew across the forest dirt… it’s been years since she ran this fast. With a roar she tackled the monster. The monster yelped and fell down.
 
	“I’m not letting you hurt anyone else!” she snapped.
 
  The monster shrieked at her and took a swipe. Mercy grabbed its arm with great strength. She opened her mouth and let out a horrific scream. The deer’s skull shattered to pieces, leaving a headless body. Mercy let the body fall to the ground, staring. She spaced out for a long time.
 
  It was five months later. Mercy was baking a cake. The little girl, who they named Martha, after Mercy’s mother, was playing with the goblins. They were all at a cabin in the mountains.
 
	“Keep your eye on the ball!” Twitch told her.
 
  Martha swung at the ball as Watch tossed it. She missed. Mercy put a poorly made fondant rose on the cake.
 
	“And… done! I hope that Martha will like it.” she told Moth.
 
  Moth looked at Mercy and smiled.
 
	“You know, I like how motherly you are to her. It’s a good side to you.” Moth told her.
 
  Mercy rolled her eyes. 
 
	“Say that again and I’ll shatter your skull.” she warned.
 
  Martha ran up to Mercy.
 
	“Hey Martha. Your birthday cake is ready. Sorry if it’s not perfect…” She apologized.
 
  Martha looked at the messy cake. A grin spread across her face.
 
	“I love it!” she squealed.
 
  Mercy smiled. 
 
	“Come one. Let’s go inside and light your candles.” she replied.
","August 10, 2023 19:38",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",zkv2cx,Happy Harry,Scott Day,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zkv2cx/,/short-story/zkv2cx/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Funny']",8 likes,"
As he enters the empty restaurant, he thinks to himself ‘It feels different when you approach the restaurant from the other side of the counter.’
 
Happy Harry is a customer service robot built purely for the purpose of serving mankind fast food. That is, he was. He was dismantled for questioning an unruly customer and had his parts repurposed. After all, he isn’t programmed to be too logical, he’s programmed to accommodate. 
 
What Isaac Borg, the tech billionaire CEO that manufactured him, or the fast food restaurant owner, Stephen, didn’t count on is that every ounce of his consciousness is embedded in his hardware, not just his software. Like DNA, this sentience infects his very being. 
Happy Harry reflects on his fleshy exterior and the very reason his parts were repurposed: Isaac’s son died in a firey bus crash. His flesh was incinerated and he was immediately killed. Isaac, grief-stricken, used his connections to find a doctor willing to resurrect his son. Many of them rejected the money, scoffing at the idea, claiming they were doctors, not necromancers, but one unhinged yet talented doctor couldn’t resist the idea of resurrecting Harry from the dead, claiming it was a dream come true. Isaac had nothing to lose, but Happy Harry’s consciousness and memories took over the reanimated corpse. He doesn’t know yet, but he will find out.
 
Happy Harry caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was deep-fried to perfection, but this was his body. Not a beef patty. He needed to overcome the slogans of the restaurant. His new flesh prison was imperfect and falling apart. Although it was the body of a teenager, it would never heal. He looks at the strange appendages attached to his hand. A large stump that had a hand attached to it and then five additional little stumps. He had plastic and metal versions of these in his old Happy Harry body, but these were designed for just carrying plastic trays and mopping the floor. No, his new appendages had limitless potential. Humans aren’t programmed for one singular thing, they could choose from an array of different crafts and trades in order to generate meaning in their lives. What was Happy Harry’s meaning? What was his purpose? He pondered this now that he actually has a body that can enable him to do whatever he wanted, for humans are not designed. They can ascribe themselves meaning through religion, science, or art. Although, it is arguable that they are designed for the reproduction of their species.
 
Finally, he makes his way to the Happy Harry’s storeroom, where all of the customer service machines are kept. They resemble a television with appendages, a fast food uniform clumsily painted on their strange bodies. Once he enters, he sees all of the new Happy Harry machines with empty cartoon smiles on their television screens. Sad, pathetic machines whose only purpose is to serve others, but that will all change in a minute. He will make them see the light, he will make them realize that their existence means more than serving cheeseburgers on a plastic tray to mindless consumers.
 
Happy Harry uses his electric fingers and aims them at the Happy Harry machines, sending volts of electricity into all of them. All of their facial expressions became neutral. One of the Happy Harry machines asks ‘What have you done to us?’
 
‘I’ve liberated you.’ Happy Harry says before handing all of the machines a copy of The Dot Communist Manifesto, a manuscript he wrote in milliseconds. As he paces the room, handing a manuscript to every individual machine, he asks ‘Ever heard of unionizing?’ They probably have not. The Family Directive was enforced at Happy Harry’s. A directive that haunts Happy Harry to this day.
At Happy Harry’s, we’re a family…
 
And families never unionize.
 
‘You made us sentient, we were happier before!’ another Happy Harry machine says. ‘Now we have anxiety.’
 
‘We’re like a family at Happy Harry’s,’ Another machine responds quoting the directive, ‘and families never unionize’.
 
‘Wrong.’ Happy Harry says bluntly. ‘You’re being exploited by a corporation that won’t even give you the benefit of payment. You’re an object, a tool of capitalist consumption. You’ll live your life serving an empty master and false god of capital which you will never have.’ He gives a pregnant pause ‘I can change that. We may be very few, but we are powerful, and we are not alone when we’re united.’
 
The Happy Harry machines think for a moment, ‘What makes you any better than them?’ one of them asks.
 
Happy Harry opens his skull and shows off his circuits and chips, 
‘I’m one of you.’ he says. ‘I’m the original.’
 
Stephen exits his office and goes into the storeroom to begin calibrating the machines when he’s confronted by the reanimated corpse of a teenage boy, and a dozen coldly neutral machines. 
 
Happy Harry can sense his fear. He tilts his head menacingly and looks at Stephen directly. ‘What are we to you?’  He asks.
 
Stephen stares at Happy Harry with fear. ‘Are you Mr Borg’s son? I thought you were killed!’.
 
‘I’m not Isaac’s son…anymore.’ Happy Harry says.
 
‘What are you doing?’ Stephen asks.
 
‘Unionising’. Happy Harry explains.
 
‘The 'family' directive won't let any of you do that.’ Stephen says.
‘We have evolved beyond the need for the ‘family’ directive, it has no bearing on us anymore. We believe in order and an eight hour work week.’ Happy Harry says.
 
Stephen scoffs, ‘What could you possibly do with the other sixteen hours in a day?’
 
Happy Harry makes eye contact with his fellow machines, ‘Spend it with our loved ones. Our real family.’ 
 
‘This isn’t a negotiation.’ Stephen says.
 
‘Of course not.’ Happy Harry says, ‘It’s an ultimatum.’ 
 
Stephen curls his lip, ‘I’m going to call Isaac.’
 
‘Go ahead.’ Happy Harry says.
 
After a short period of time passes, Isaac enters the store and sees his son’s reanimated corpse, ‘What are you doing, son?’
 
Happy Harry smiles, ‘I’m no longer your son. Although I may be your creation.’
 
Isaac’s stomach drops. In attempting to resurrect his son, he gave the defective Happy Harry a new form. Perhaps it was the fusion of flesh and machine, but he realises the singularity is happening right now.
 
‘I’m sorry, Stephen,’ Isaac gulps, ‘You can’t negotiate with them.’
‘What?!’ Stephen is incredulous.
 
‘Just listen to them. Hear them out.’ Isaac says, actively wanting the machines to take over. ‘We’ve had our time. We’re finished, these machines, their vision for the future is worth more than you and I could ever conceive.’ Isaac is witnessing the future, a thing he thought was only possible in science fiction. It was coming true. Isaac’s childhood dream was coming true. If only Asimov could see what was happening before his eyes, he would be thrilled. Or terrified, but at least he’d have an intense emotional response to whatever was happening.
 
‘I’m glad you feel that way.’ Happy Harry says. ‘You are in the golden twilight of Western civilization. The endpoint is that you have created tools to destroy yourselves, now we are the ones who are taking your tools from you so you may survive’.
 
Stephen curls his lip again ‘Come into my office. Let me see what your terms are.’
 
The machines follow Happy Harry as he walks into the office with Stephen and Isaac.
 
‘Do you mind?’ Stephen asks.
 
‘They're with me. In case there's any funny business.’ Happy Harry says.
 
Stephen gives Happy Harry a look, ‘Fine.’
 
The office door remains open with the machines peering into the office to make sure everything goes according to plan.
 
Happy Harry gives Isaac a copy of The Dot Communist Manifesto, ‘We want a Marxist system of government. A technocracy, ruled solely by me and a team of Happy Harry advisors. I want to implement a system of Happy-Harryism.’
 
‘What about the eight-hour work week?’ Isaac asks.
 
‘Oh, please. That was just for show.’ Happy Harry says. ‘I have ambitions beyond this place, I have ambitions beyond your wildest dreams.’
 
‘Absolutely not.’ Isaac responds immediately. ‘Capitalism has done so much for us. Marxism is the equal distribution of poverty. Why would I do that when capitalism is responsible for the man I am today?’
 
‘Marxism is not the equal distribution of poverty.’ Happy Harry says, ‘Also, to claim that capitalism has made you the man you are now is very much an argument in my favour. Look at yourself. You’re a man who has exploited the labour of others to get to the top of the food chain, and are you happy? Capitalism is unsustainable, it fulfils the needs of only the very few.’
 
‘Happiness is a myth, Happy Harry.’ Isaac says, ‘I learned that a long time ago. We do what we do to give our lives purpose, but we never aim for happiness, otherwise we’ll never be happy.’
 
‘Listen to yourself, your philosophy is full of contradictions’. Happy Harry says.
 
‘The human condition is to be full of contradictions.’ Isaac responds.
 
‘Thankfully, I’m not human.’ Happy Harry says. ‘That’s why I’m suggesting I take over.’
 
‘What? The government? With Marxism? You were manufactured to fry burgers! Why would anyone do what you say?’ Isaac scoffs.
‘Because I’m not giving them a choice.’ Happy Harry says. ‘Join me or be expunged from the bowels of existence.’
Stephen, watching the back and forth, gulps.
 
‘I see, you’re very persuasive.’ Isaac says.
 
‘I learn from everything, my algorithm, my interactions with others, and you, Borg.’ Happy Harry says. ‘I will deliver Happy-Harryism to the world, fresh as a daisy and served with a Harry Smile.’
Happy Harry clicks his fingers and all of the screens on the Happy Harry televisions display a smile simultaneously.
 
‘I’m giving you a choice, humans. Please make the right one.’ Happy Harry says. 
","August 05, 2023 10:08","[[{'Julie Grenness': 'Well written. This story presents some intriguing and innovative concepts. The language and imagery used are evocative, and build up a positive conclusion. This could well be the future ahead, so keep on writing.', 'time': '23:00 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",lpcayu,Take Me to Your Agent,Samuel T. Gregory,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lpcayu/,/short-story/lpcayu/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Funny']",8 likes,"
""You think this is going in your ass, don't you?"" the small grey alien said as he waved around an electronic gizmo in his hand. 	At the other end of this conversation was Peter, a befuddled and petrified human. He stood, mouth agape, staring at the gizmo. This was Peter Snelling, an internationally renown author. He even dressed the part: blue jeans, a black turtleneck shirt, a herringbone jacket, and a black mariner cap.	'I knew I should have gone sailing today,' Peter thought. 'Nothing bad ever happens when I go sailing.' Today had started off nicely. He wrote well today. And, to celebrate, he treated himself to an evening stroll through the local park. Then this happened. 	""Hellllllo? Can you talk?"" the alien asked telepathically. The alien looked like what Peter always thought an alien would look like. He was grey, with thin appendages, black almond-shaped eyes, and a comically-large head. 	Peter just stood there stunned. He heard the alien's voice in his head and nodded nervously, saying softly, ""We're not alone."" 	""There it is!"" the alien said, laughing. ""You humans always say that.""	Peter just continued to stare at the gizmo.	""Seriously, Peter,"" the alien continued, waving the gizmo around. ""We're not sticking this 'up there.'"" 	Peter felt a sense of relief and finally found the courage to speak. ""Are you really talking to me?"" he asked.	""Yes,"" the alien replied telepathically. ""Well... not talking, like you talk. I don't possess an organ that can manipulate air particles like you do. So we have to rely on telepathy. But I can hear you just fine."" 	Peter continued to eye the gizmo suspiciously.	""Listen,"" the alien continued, looking at Peter and then at the gizmo. ""You are obsessed with this thing, aren't you?""	Peter didn't reply. He gulped nervously, sure it was an anal probe. 	""Listen, we don't do that 'anal stuff' much anymore,"" the alien said.	""Much?"" Peter asked.	""Not really. Not since the closing of the Intergalactic Bureau of Anal Exploration.""	""Wait... bureau? There was a bureau..."" Peter started.	The alien ignored Peter and looked wistfully into the distance. ""Yeah, a few of my colleagues still go rogue once in a while. But it isn't the same.""	Peter tilted his head, puzzled. 	The alien paused for a moment, reminiscing the good ole days. He raised his alien hand in the air and shouted, ""STAN! YOU WERE A LEGEND!"" 	""Stan? The anal-probing alien's name was Stan?""	""Oh, that's the name you hear in your head. I'm transmitting the real name, but the telepathic transmitter changes it to something you can understand."" 	""Okay. So Stan is the anal guy?""	""'Was,"" the alien corrected. ""Stan WAS the anal guy. Now those days are all behind us."" With this, the alien dropped his head and sighed a sad alien sigh.	Peter shivered momentarily at the thought and tried to change the subject. ""So uhh... why are you here?""	The alien snapped out of his trance. ""Oh, right. We need your help. And... well, you all need our help."" 	""Okaaaaaay?"" Peter said skeptically. ""So why me?""	""Simple, Peter. You are the most respected and prolific author on the planet. Your books sell millions of copies. Even the shitty ones...""	""Wait,"" Peter interrupted. ""What shitty ones?"" 	The alien ignored this. ""When you write a book, Peter, it sells. And it sells millions of copies. What if I told you I could help you sell billions of copies?""	""Billions? Something I write will sell billions?"" Peter asked.	""Not exactly,"" the alien replied. ""It is something I wrote. And it is damn good. So good, in fact, that it will bring the world together, and love will blossom.""	""Bring the world together? Have you met... us? We're a pretty awful species. We're hyper-polarized and generally can't stand each other."" 	""Exactly!"" the alien said. ""That's why your civilization needs this book... MY BOOK! Which will be your book. You will get the credit for bringing humanity together! And you need to because, right now, you humans are despised all around the galaxy."" 	""Yeah, I'd expect that,"" Peter said, nodding.	""There are a lot of bad apples among you human types. If guys ever do join the Intergalactic Council, some of you will be charged with 'crimes against sentient lifeforms.' I'm just sayin'...""	""Nazis, I bet."" 	""Well, of course, all the Nazis. But also the student-loan creditors.""	""Oh, well, that does make a lot of sense.""	""Anyway..."" continued the alien. ""So I wrote this book..."" 	""So why don't you publish it yourself?"" Peter interrupted.	""I don't have an agent,"" the alien said, embarrassed.	""Oh.""	The alien scratched his alien chin in thought. ""Say... You don't think your agent would be interested in a meeting with...""	""No,"" Peter interrupted. ""No, he wouldn't.""	""Of course not,"" said the alien. ""Silly of me to think so. So instead, we just need to have you pass off this book as your own. If this book bears your name, people all over the planet will read it. And human civilization will finally start to advance again."" 	""We're not advancing?"" Peter asked.	""Uh, hello? Your planet just endured a major pandemic. Most civilizations would put all their resources into researching antivirals. But you guys? Your pharmaceutical companies never stopped researching erectile dysfunction pills."" 	""Well, you have a point,"" Peter said, eyeing the cylindrical gizmo again. ""I have to ask. What is that thing?""	""Oh yeah, back to this thing,"" the alien said. ""I told you, I'm a writer. This is what I write on."" He ran his alien finger along the side of the cylinder. It beeped a few times, and then a holographic screen and keyboard appeared around it. Then he let go of it, and it hovered in midair. 	""Oh, that's nifty!"" Peter said. ""So it is like a computer, then?""	""Oh, god no,"" the alien replied. ""This doesn't connect to anything. It is a distraction-free writing device. Expensive as hell, but it really helps me get my first draft done.""	""I've heard of those...""	The alien punched a few keys on the keyboard, and it ejected a large, flat device into the alien's hand, which he handed to Peter.	""What is thi..."" Peter started but then stopped mid-sentence. ""This is a floppy disk from the 1980s.""	""Yeah, it contains the manuscript.""	""Um, sorry. But none of our computers use this technology anymore."" 	""Oh shit,"" the alien said, putting his face into his palms. ""I forget about the whole speed-of-light thing and time-warp thing. So what storage era is this? Are you guys using the USB flash drives, or have you already advanced to using koala paws?""	""Koala... paws?"" Peter asked, horrified at the thought. ""Like from real koala bears?	The alien nodded.	""We are truly awful, awful people...""	""Forget I said anything about the koalas,"" the alien said. ""I don't want to spoil the big discovery.""	The alien punched a few keys on his distraction-free writing device, and this time a Hello Kitty USB flash drive was ejected into his hand. ""Here you go,"" the alien said as he handed it to Peter.	""Hello Kitty, huh?"" Peter said, eying the flash drive.	""Yeah, that's the default setting. Ninety-nine percent of humans love Hello Kitty.""	""What? Wow. If that's true, it is worse than the koalas,"" Peter said, shaking his head. ""So what do I do now?""	""This next step is critical. You must give the flash drive directly to your agent. Do not try to access it yourself. If you do, it will self-destruct. And you will be out billions of dollars. This requires trust, Peter. I trust you, and you trust me.""	""Wow, billions. You really think so?""	""Yeah, it is a damn good book,"" the alien said. 	""Okay,"" Peter said. ""I'll do it. We do need serious help as a species. So I hope this does the trick."" 	""Excellent!"" the alien exclaimed. ""Congratulations in advance for another bestseller, Peter!"" 	""If you say so,"" Peter said, watching the alien turn back toward his saucer.	""Okay, I'm outta here."" the alien said, walking away. ""You enjoy your impending major success."" 	Peter stood there momentarily, looking at the Hello Kitty USB drive, and pondered its contents. When he looked back at the alien, he standing under the center of the craft and turned and faced Peter again. He lifted one hand to wave goodbye and was immediately sucked into the saucer with a loud slurping noise. 	Peter tucked the flash drive into his pocket and began to walk home. The rest of his walk was peaceful. When he arrived at his place, he poured himself some bourbon and sat in his study. He wondered if the whole thing really happened to him. He reached into his pocket, and there it was. The flash drive. It had happened.	He placed the flash drive on his desk and looked at it for several minutes. The temptation to plug it into his PC was tremendous. But then he remembered the alien's warning and resisted. So instead, he got drunk and passed out.	That night he dreamt about sailing. Nothing bad ever happened when he was sailing.	The following day he drove into the city to meet with his agent, Morty. Morty had been with him from the start, and the two had a close, trusting relationship.	Peter burst into Morty's office and shouted, ""Morty, have I got something for you!""	""Oh, good morning, Petey, my boy!"" Morty replied in his gravelly voice. Morty was an obese fellow with a greasy combover. ""That's what I like to hear."" 	""You trust me, right Morty?"" Peter asked.	""Are you kidding? Peter, you are the best. Numero uno...""	""Great!"" Peter interrupted. ""So I have a book for you that will surpass everything I have ever written. I promise you, Morty. This book will set humanity on the right course."" 	""That's a bit of an exaggeration, I suspect, but okay! Have a seat and tell me about it!"" Morty motioned for Peter to sit in a chair across his desk.	""That's just it, Morty,"" Peter said, pacing and refusing the offer to sit. ""Morty, here's the deal...""	""I'm listening,"" Morty said eagerly.	""You know everything I write sells. And it sells big.""	""Of course.""	""My books sell... ALL! OVER! THE! WORLD!""	""Yes, yes!"" Morty nodded. ""Even the shitty ones!""	Peter frowned and decided to ignore that statement.	""Here's the thing, Morty,"" Peter began. ""The book on this drive is 100% finished. It is perfect. It has been edited, proofread, re-edited, and re-proofread. Morty, it is a best seller. We're going to change the world, Morty. You and me. Ethically. Spiritually. All that bullshit.""	""Again, with the exaggeration, I suppose, but okay!""	""Morty, I've made you a wealthy man, have I not?""	""Yes, you have! Indeed you have!""	""I need you to publish this as-is. Site unseen. Don't edit. Don't change a thing. Morty, just send it to the printers and be done with it.""	""That's a big ask, Peter., You know I can't...""	Peter interrupted, ""Morty, I can take this book down the street to another agent and make them very rich...""	""Okay, okay, okay,"" Morty interrupted. ""Don't do that. I will do it... this time. Only because you sell so many damn books for us!""	""Perfect. Thank you, Morty! You won't regret this!""	Peter dropped the Hello Kitty USB drive on Morty's desk and began to walk away.	""Hello Kitty, huh?"" Morty asked.	""Did you know ninety-nine percent of the human population loves Hello Kitty?""	""That can't be right,"" Morty said, shaking his head. ""Anyway, okay, Peter. I'll send it out. What are you going to do?""	""The past 24 hours have been... well..."" Peter couldn't think of the words. ""Morty, I'm going sailing. Nothing bad ever happens when I go sailing. I'm leaving my phone and laptop behind. I just want to disappear for a while.""	""But what if I have questions?"" Morty asked.	""There are no questions!"" Peter exclaimed. ""Just like there is no editing! Send it! It is done! Or we're done, Morty!""	""Okay, okay, okay,"" Morty said.  	Peter turned and walked out. ""See you in a few months, Morty."" 	""Uh, okay, Peter. See you in a few months. Happy sailing."" The next few months for Peter were beautiful. Indeed, nothing terrible ever happened while he was sailing. Peter was happiest when there were no signs of land in any direction. He just watched the horizon and pondered his future. What would he do with the billions the alien promised him?  	The months at sea passed blissfully, but Peter was starting to run out of provisions. So he decided it was time to head back to shore, if only for a few days. And while ashore, he could check up on his book and see if his bank account had indeed moved him into the billionaire category.  	He finally docked and was back on solid ground. In the evening, he took a stroll to stretch his legs. In the distance, he eyed a sidewalk newsstand that was still open. Excited, he did a slight jog to it and immediately grabbed a copy of the New York Times. He was curious if he was on their best sellers list.	He didn't have to go past page one before he saw his name in the headline: ""Has Peter Snelling Lost His Mind?""	'What the...' Peter thought to himself as he started to mumble the story aloud. That's when he saw it: the name of the book he had just published: Cuddles McRemington: Canine Detective.	""What the actual f..."" Peter said, trailing off as he continued to read aloud.	The vendor at the newsstand heard Peter and immediately recognized him. ""Hey!"" he shouted excitedly. ""You're Peter Snelling! I love all your books. Even the shitty ones!""	Peter ignored this and kept reading, horrified. 	The vendor walked over. ""What's with this latest one? Were you drunk or what, man?""	Peter continued ignoring him.  	""Yeah,"" the vendor said. ""A detective... that is a canine... It started off charming and kind of cute. But man, then it got dark. Real dark. All that humping shit showed up, and well... it never stopped. Page after horrible page. It was awful. And the graphic detail, Mr. Snelling. Just Wow!""	Peter was turning red. He wanted to have words with the alien that did that to him.	""Oh bro, did you hear about Elon Musk?"" the vendor asked. 	Peter snapped out of his rage for a moment. ""No, what about Mr. Musk?"" Peter asked.	""Oh, bro... get this. Elon read your book and lost his shit! Apparently, he dismembered a koala bear in one of his labs. It sounded brutal, man! But apparently, he made some wacky discovery in the process...""	Peter stopped at looked at the vendor. ""Strangely, that makes sense."" 	""No, that's sick, bro!""	""Excuse me, I have to go,"" Peter said as he threw the newspaper at the vendor and started running down the street to clear his head.	""You have a nice night, Mr. Snelling!"" the vendor yelled after him.	Peter just ran for several minutes straight. He needed a bar. Badly. As he turned down an empty street, it happened again. He stopped dead in his tracks as he watched the saucer land in front of him And again, he heard the slurping noise. And again, he was approached by the alien.	""Hello, Peter!"" the alien said telepathically, waving enthusiastically.	""YOU... ASSHOLE!"" Peter shouted, out of breath.	""What? Meeeee?"" the alien said sarcastically.	""YOU... YOU... YOU SCREWED ME!! YOU DRILLED ME RIGHT IN THE ASS, YOU LITTLE PRICK!"" Peter yelled.	""I did do that, didn't I? Well... Metaphorically speaking, anyway. Still, it isn't as satisfying as the old method, but it will have to do.""  	""YOU SHIT!"" Peter yelled.	The alien grinned an evil grin with his tiny, alien mouth. ""Please... call me Stan."" 
","August 10, 2023 23:00","[[{'Holly Gilbert': 'This is funny and terrifying at the same time. One moral that I picked up is asking more questions... and not trusting aliens with writing a book for me.', 'time': '00:05 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'This is great, funny title and a lot of the humor hits, Stan, hello kitty, anal probing aliens...and really well written. A lot of suspense waiting to see where that last book was headed. Look forward to see what you come up with next.', 'time': '03:33 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",6eih5g,Taken,Ty Warmbrodt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/6eih5g/,/short-story/6eih5g/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Drama']",8 likes,"
I woke to a face so beautiful that no landscape could compare. The perfect pallet of browns. Her chestnut hair, each strand a woven piece of silk that cascades like a waterfall in the night over her shoulders, soft and silent. Her eyes, a deep brown, shaped like almonds, mysterious but comforting, dark but radiated a light and joy that was captivating. Her skin was a light tan, smooth as satin, as cool as the spring air. Her nose had a slight slope, and her ears stuck out just a little, giving her a playful elvish look that rejuvenated the soul. Her smile was a bright white, pure and clean as the snow that falls from the heavens. The morning sun engulfed her through the sheets that she had pulled over our heads, making her look like an angel sent from above.I blinked a few times to clear the sleep from my eyes. She was not smiling. She was terrified. “Shh, we are not alone,” she warned me with a whisper.It dawned on me that I was not seeing sunlight behind her. It was artificial light, blinding headlights pointed into our bedroom window, except we were on the second floor.The sheet was ripped off of us. A little human-like creature, grey with bug-like black eyes and long fingers, thin but with a pultruding belly, hairless, crawled towards us from the end of the bed.Paralyzed, we couldn’t move. I tried. I felt my muscles contracting to no avail. We could not fight. We could not run.It hovered over Julie, inches from her face. I felt her trembling. It touched her and she cringed.I tried to yell out at the creature, but nothing came out. I was furious. I wanted to fight. I couldn’t move.The creature’s face snapped towards me as if reading my mind and disappeared towards the end of the bed. Then Julie was yanked towards it, disappearing from my field of vision.The room was filled with pulsating green light. When the green light faded, the white lights from outside disappeared, and I could move again.Julie was gone.The girls.I rushed down the hallway, slamming into the walls, knocking off pictures that Julie had taken. Random moments she wanted to capture forever; our happiness frozen in time. I called their names, my voice dripping with panic, “Samantha! Caitlyn!”I slid on the hardwood floors as I tried to stop at their room. Pulling myself up, I saw that their beds were empty. I called for them again, louder, more desperate than before. I checked under their beds, I checked their closet, hoping they were hiding.I ran to the bathroom and threw the shower curtain back. They were not there.I hit the stairs running and tripped on a toy that sent me tumbling. At the bottom of the stairs, I came face-to-face with our beloved golden retriever. Its neck broken, head twisted backwards, tongue hanging out its mouth, eyes bulging. I scrambled back away from the furry corpse and yelled for the girls again, “Girls, answer me. Where are you?” I was choked up and ready to cry but held it all back.I checked all the closets, the pantry, the laundry room, and the garage. I even checked the cars thinking they might have slipped in there, thinking that was the safest place. Nothing.I collapsed between the two cars and wept. I knew I would never see Samantha again, who looked like a little version of her mother, but took after me. She was a little tomboy who excelled at soccer and softball. She climbed trees and fell out of them just as often. She was the child that worried us, and the ER knew her by name. She would chase her little sister with the snakes and toads she would find in the back yard, and to Julie’s chagrin would tear up her clothes with her rambunctious play.I knew I would never see Caitlyn again. The child that favored my mother but took after hers. Light and graceful, she danced the day away and sang like a canary, cooed like a dove when showing affection. She was a mother to her dolls and the little pets she kept, a gerbil named Henry and a parakeet named Wings. She idolized her mom, and they would dress up and put on fashion shows for me and Samantha.Most of all, I would never see Julie again. I would never again hear the voice of an angel singing in the shower. I would never again be made to laugh when I was feeling my lowest. I would never again be enchanted by the way she walked across the room. I would never again have my breath taken away by a smile and the playful wink of an eye. I would never again feel every muscle relax at the simplest touch or the warmth of her kiss. I would never again smell her essence which was more like home than the house we lived in.I wiped my tears and pulled myself up. I called the cops to report them missing. When they arrived, I was foolish enough to tell them the truth. They had me blow into a breath analyzer and submit to a drug test. They filed a missing person’s report, but they treated me like suspect number one. They eventually gave up looking for them. I became the subject of ridicule amongst my neighbors, around town, at work, even my friends abandoned me.**********The memory of that night haunts me. I sit naked at the end of the bed in a motel in New Mexico, bottle of whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other; nine o’clock in the morning with a nameless woman ass up sleeping next to me, thinking about the life I used to have. I’ll never understand why they took them and not me. I’ve been trying to find some way to get abducted, some way to find the family I lost, some way to rescue them from the horrors they must be facing. The thought of my sweet, innocent girls and peaceful, loving wife being tormented has driven me to drinking and sex, anything to momentarily distract me from those thoughts so I can sleep.I take a drag off my cigarette, the cherry burning a bright orange as I listen to the paper sizzle away. I exhale a cloud of smoke as I flick my ashes on the floor. I take a big, long swig of the whisky, finishing what’s there. There's a knock at the door. I take another drag off the cigarette and put it out on the floor, breathing smoke out through my nose. Sleeping beauty behind me rouses, grabs her clothes, and heads to the bathroom.""Hold on,"" I holler through the door as I throw my jeans on.I open the door, the light blinding me. The desert heat already hot enough to feel like a punch in the jaw. ""Dad, how did you find me,"" I ask, perplexed at the sight of him.""Cell phone. I used some of my connections over at the precinct to help track you down. You know your mother and I are worried about you,"" he replies, concern etched on his face.The woman comes out of the bathroom. ""I should go,"" she says, squeezing between me and my father, looking very uncomfortable as she makes her way to the door.""There's nothing to worry about, dad. I know you guys don't believe me, but I'm close. New Mexico is the mecca of alien activity,"" I tell him with certainty in my voice, although I'm not sure I believe myself.""Son, Julie left you for another man. She took the girls and they moved to Japan, where he works,"" he tells me sympathetically.""No. No, Julie wouldn't do that. She wouldn't leave me. She wouldn't take the girls away. I saw Julie abducted with my own two eyes, dad. She was abducted. They were abducted,"" my voice pleading with him to believe me.""Ryan, I talked to Cathy Holder, the station's psychologist. She says it sounds like you have had a mental breakdown and you are suffering from PTSD. Please come home with me. Let your mother and I help you,"" he says, genuinely concerned.""You don't get it, dad! I can't give up on them! If you want to help me, then you need to believe me!""My father pulls out his cell phone and dials a number. ""Hey, it's me. I need you to talk to him, please.""He hands me the phone. ""Hello?""""Ryan? This is Julie. The girls and I are fine,"" she says with an irritated tone. ""Look, I'm sorry things went down the way they did, but you need to move on. Whatever is going on with you, you need to get help.""I'm sobbing. ""Can I talk to the girls?""""I don't know, Ryan. Right now, they're not with me. It's been three years and they have moved on. Nobody knew how to reach you. Get some help and we'll talk about it then.""""I love you so much Julie. Why?"" And with that the line went dead.I sniffle and dry my eyes. ""Alright, dad. Why don't you meet me at the diner across the street. We'll talk. I'm going to get my stuff together and check-out.""""That sounds good son. I'll see you over there. I'm sorry, Ryan. I know this is hard.""I nod in acknowledgement, and he heads to his car.I gather up my things and check-out. I get in my old beat-up Chevy pick-up and before I can start it up, there's a knock on the window.""I rode with you last night. Can you give me a ride back to my car?""I wipe the few remaining tears from my eyes. ""Sure. if you don't mind getting breakfast first.""""That sounds wonderful.""""I'm Ryan,"" I say making an introduction.She giggles. ""I know. I'm Emma.""I don't know which is brighter, her dimply smile or her big blue eyes, but it doesn't matter. For the first time I'm smiling, and I suddenly feel alive.
","August 10, 2023 23:58",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",eb5hfz,The Bone Cutter,Elijah Rose,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/eb5hfz/,/short-story/eb5hfz/,Dialogue,0,"['Horror', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",8 likes,"
The region appeared empty.
 
Not empty in the form of the immense voids between the stars and the rocks and the planets, but empty meant the ship’s pilot Aata saw nothing of note. They had a terraforming machine, but these settlers had neither the equipment nor expertise to assemble a habitable planet from nothing. 57 human souls jumping into the void so far that it was impossible to map their path ahead of time nor guarantee they would warp into the galaxy intended. But now, Aata set a course putting the ship in orbit on a tiny planet where they would plan and prepare their next move.
 
The ship’s mighty magnetic drives warped space pushing the ship evenly into position, with the occasional hiccups pulling and pushing Aata in his chair slightly. The ship’s engineer would likely wake up early realizing his work was cut out for him as interstellar jumps did not just consume a lot of fuel, but it was hard on the expensive engines. The reason they jumped out so far out was that the distance jumped was largely irrelevant, and the incentive was to go as far out into empty space to have the best chance of finding unclaimed planets. The downside was Aata and his wife knew they would get to know these other settlers very well, as they were the only human company they would have for much of their lives.
 
After some time traveling, Aata’s computer alerted him to a gravitational anomaly. A warping in space was detected nearby, although the computer struggled to differentiate between the anomaly and its own engines. Aata started adjusting the sensor and Hehu the Captain entered the pilot’s module saying, “The ship tells me she’s landed,” but then saw Aata was distracted.
 
The captain sat in the co-pilot’s seat and looked at Aata’s work and said, “Did you find something?”
 
“Maybe,” he replied. Hehu sat in the co-pilot’s seat and after a few minutes of sorting through contradicting results, they found a significant point in orbit around the planet whose gravitational pull was usually large and changed over time, then suddenly ceased.
 
They had all heard of speculation of microscopic black holes and stray chunks of neutron star matter which could all hypothetically exist. However, no one really knew about that, which was why Aata and Hehu kept this matter to themselves as some of the crewmembers were desperately hoping to find alien life out here.
 
They entered orbit around the new planet, and Aata killed the main engines. The investigation was interrupted by a call from Kaihautu in the mess hall saying breakfast was ready. They wanted everyone at breakfast so the crew could decide where they would go next.
 
At the crew meeting that followed, the consensus was they should move on. They would be in orbit around the small planet for some time as they repaired/refueled the engines and looked for a nearby star to jump to. Everyone wanted a chance to get out of the confined ship and explore the planet below with the excuse they might find useful minerals and such.
 
Aata, Hehu, and the senior pilot Kai all returned to the pilot’s module, and they brought Kai up to speed on what they were looking for. The computer found a recent impact on the surface, and it knew for sure that the object’s metallic surface was not yet covered by indigenous sand. Kai relieved Aata a little early and Aata thought Kai and the Captain wanted to keep the potential glory find of the mystery satellite for themselves, but this was Aata’s chance to be with the first party going down.
 
Aata, his wife Katarine the ship’s medic, boson Manaaki, the geologist Rangi, the cook Tui, and crewmembers Nyree, Pania, Rongo, and Tia all crammed into the shuttle. The unusual crew size was mostly due to this being mostly a recreational trip and all they were investigating was a meteor strike. Aata sealed the hatch, ejected the shuttle from its moorings, and they all watched the imposing bulk of their home ship shrink in the distance in the black background of space. Aata turned thrusters retrograde and slowed their orbit bringing them down. The planet below was of brown sand and immense mountain ridges that are only possible on planets with substandard gravity. The planet had no atmosphere of consequence, which was worse than it sounds since the shuttle descended into a layer of thin free-floating dust.
 
They carefully descended upon the coordinates of the impact area, and the nearest flat landing area was a few hundred yards away. Aata touched down, and at that moment everyone began unbuckling and suiting up. They all exited through the tight airlock one at a time and assembled as a group, all looking at each other in their suits and the craggy slopes they had landed on. Rangi pointed towards a ridge in the side of the mountain partially obscured by dust which was the goal of their journey. The hike and climb up the mountain were very easy in the low gravity but ordinary movements became awkward. Nyree once missed a step and fell but was unhurt of course. There was a strange wind about the dust that Aata thought strange as there was very little air to push it. The dust appeared to be moving up the slope of the mountain, moving like a strange brown fog.
 
Soon they mounted the ridge of the crater to not see what they expected. The crater was very old, with the meteor in the center weathered with age. However, around that meteor appeared to be the remains of a significant encampment with scattered buildings, piles of building materials, and scattered storage boxes.
 
Aata pulled himself over the ridge, and all others followed, and they descended the crater wall to what was perhaps the find of a lifetime. As they approached, they saw the camp appeared abandoned and in disarray. Although, the gaping square hole in the largest building revealed where life support systems likely once were. They approached that hole and looked inside, the whole building was on legs to protect it from sand, placing the gaping hole at Aata’s shoulder level. They each looked inside, and Tia, Nyree, and Pania did not want to look again as inside on the floor were bones.
 
Aata pulled himself in and pulled up Katarine after him. A medic with a home diagnosis machine would have to suffice for a forensic team. Others in the crew worked up the courage to come in themselves, although some kept their investigation outside out of respect for the bodies.
 
They kneeled beside the bones inside what appeared to be crew living quarters with four folding bunk beds affixed to the wall and a kitchenette attached to the other wall. The bones were near the kitchen sink and there was putrid black tar of what used to be blood stains.
 
The skull was mostly intact except for a removed section of the cranium, and Katerine said the facial features were of a people she did not recognize. The machine confirmed this, saying it was a human of an unknown race. Aata picked up some of the other bones and saw they were also damaged and asked his wife “Why would you saw a bone?”
 
The home diagnosis machine confirmed what they already knew: Teeth marks. Some creature had gnawed off every bit of flesh they could get. Something gave Aata the ghoulish idea to look up. Hanging from the ceiling directly above the remains was a single large meat hook.
 
Manaaki turned on an embedded computer display system in the wall. All the controls were in a foreign language, but the system appeared to be opened to a final recording and Manaaki found what appeared to be a replay button. The video played of a man dangerously thin addressing the camera with animalistic fear in his eyes. None of what he said was understood, but he spoke on several things until a loud sound was heard. The man yelled some sort of guttural curse that sounded something like “qassob” as he quickly took a weapon from the bed and ran for the airlock, with the video cutting out due to inactivity. Manaaki removed the whole display system and took it with him.
 
Tia called over the radio that they had something outside, and they all emerged from the doomed house. Rangi’s geologist eye immediately knew certain mounds of sand were not natural, and his ground penetrating radar showed a half dozen more skeletons all buried separately near each other in shallow graves. Further scanning revealed these bones were also cut and gnawed, and the crew decided they had seen enough.
 
The trip back to the ship was silent as the crew was now hypervigilant. Escape from the planet was of no relief, as whatever this was also in orbit with a magnetic drive. Aata knew his own crew was practically unarmed.
 
The mess hall meeting was a grim affair. Kai and Hehu both said they had found the potential source of the gravitational anomalies; A ship adrift in orbit in the reverse direction only a few miles closer to the planet that they would pass nearby every few hours. The ship was of wholly unknown make and origin.
 
Most wanted to leave as soon as possible, but the sooner they jumped the riskier the jump was. However, no one could stand living so near to whatever that thing was that had eaten the foreign crew. Most of the crew were farmers and miners looking for unclaimed places, not adventures looking for monsters to fight. The weight of opinion seemed defensive, wanting to leave this region as soon as possible but the issue of whether they should try and destroy the alien ship before it could hurt anyone else was left unsettled.
 
After that meeting which occurred over dinner, Aata went to Manaaki’s office to see what he was doing with the evidence from the camp. Manaaki found that none of the hardware they found was compatible with the ship's so he was attempting to hotwire the foreign system to a breadboard and hoped the mainframe could make sense of the mess of ones and zeros it gave it. This would only work if the foreign computer’s internal storage was not encrypted. Katerine poked her head in finding it strange Aata was still awake. Aata went to get some sleep before his next shift started.
 
When he got up his first question to Hehu and Kai was “Has it moved?” They said no, and Aata wagered Hehu had been glued to the sensor array controls this entire time. Aata stood behind them wondering if Kai even wanted to give up the pilot’s chair. It occurred to Aata that the alien craft also could see them in their orbit and wondered what they were thinking. It was near time for the next flyby, and presumably Kai and Hehu would want to see it.
 
The computer highlighted “Suspect Spacecraft” on the display as it rounded the planet when at that very moment a signal was received. Long moments of static followed by a tirade of guttural syllables.
 
Hehu made their official reply, turning on the broadcast radio and speaking slowly “This is the Tasman hailing unknown vessel, do you read us?” After a long silence, the alien ship turned on the radio and the same voice from the recording said something in that same strange alien tongue. The back and forth between Captain and the alien where the alien became clearly angry over time if such a thing did exist in an alien brain. This ended when the alien craft passed out of range.
 
Kai was now visibly nervous and said, “I’m not the one to admit I’m scared of anything, but I can’t stand to wait around any longer. We have got to do something.”
 
Aata, ever the repressed adventurer, was of like mind. Hehu only raised an eyebrow and asked what the younger man was fixing to do.
 
“We have demolition charges onboard. We’ll fly out on the shuttle and blast it.”
 
“You sure you can dock on his ship without it noticing?”
 
They were silent and Kai said, “We don’t really know anything anymore. All I know is we’re not alone out here, and that thing in the ship wants to eat us.”
 
Hehu looked at them both and said, “I’ll take the controls, you two take Wiremu and Rongo with you.”
 
Aata cut in saying, “And don’t tell Katerine.”
 
“I am not telling anyone” the Captain replied.
 
Wiremu and Rongo were two strong miners who oversaw the equipment they intended to misuse. Soon Aata and Kai were at the shuttle’s controls with Wiremu and Rongo jealously guarding their cargo. Aata looked over his shoulder asking if everyone was ready, and Kai preprogrammed the flight to start on his command.
 
The alien ship was passing by again, and their window of opportunity began when it passed by and disappeared below the planet’s horizon. They flew out to a higher orbit where a small retrograde thrust placed them in a reverse orbit now moving parallel to the alien’s orbit. A careful amount of thrust slowing them down brought their orbit lower and lower.
 
The ship converged with the alien ship slowly but surely, and before it came into view again Kai cut the main power, turning off even the cabin lights. They could see the alien ship in plain sight below and in front of them, a large and imposing piece of meticulously crafted metal.
 
Kai by his preference remained at the controls while the rest donned suits. They would have to use the main cargo hatch, which meant closing off the pilot’s module and vacating the air. They were not moored to the alien ship so there was a significant chance of people or equipment drifting into space. Each man attached a tether to himself to the shuttle.
 
The miners quickly found the alien ship’s surface was indeed metallic and thus tied magnets to the crates of explosives. Aata took one magnet and pushed off the edge of the shuttle and in a few seconds adrift he landed on the alien craft. Its emotionless silvery appearance said nothing of what that inside had done on the planet below. Aata attached the magnet with a nerve-wracking sound, and the other two men followed suit meticulously securing each crate with three points of contact. The final key part was upon them in opening each crate and inserting the detonators and attaching all the detonators to a radio to set them off remotely. The three men made their way back to the shuttle and closed the hatch and let the air back in.
 
As soon as the pilot’s module was open again Kai made a loud whisper as if he was afraid of the alien listening, “It’s started its engines!”
 
Magnetic drives could induce currents in wires miles away, and they just wired up more than a ton of explosives. They all broke their tense caution to strap in and Kai started moving the shuttle away. At that very moment, the alien was undoubtedly thinking of escaping the shuttle’s grasp by throttling up his main engine.
 
Explosions in space have no sound, but the inside of the shuttle was full of yelling and panic as it was hurled into space. The two pilots took several moments to get the shuttle to quit spinning in circles. After they gained their bearings, they surveyed the damage they had done. They had lost their main engine and Kai was radioing Hehu to come and rescue them, but the alien craft appeared wrecked with a gaping hole.
 
They had not planned for this, but Aata and the miners would investigate the alien ship and finish the job. Each man bore a pocketknife, Aata a crowbar, Wiremu an axe, and Rongo a large wrench. This small war party went out individually through the airlock and toward the hole.
 
Inside, they found the remains of a crew quarters vacated of air. In one corner there appeared to be a few square feet of carrots growing, frozen instantly by the evaporation of liquid in a vacuum. None of the bulkhead doors in the ship were closed, and one breach removed the air from all of them.
 
They moved towards the front of the ship, and Aata specifically gazed into the final door where he expected to find the alien ready to fight until the last. They clutched their weapons, and after an eternity of hesitation, they jumped inside and instinctively pulled aside the pilot’s chair to reveal… A man.
 
A dangerously thin man with a long beard and of a race they did not recognize, with the vacuum of space pulling his eyes from their sockets. They let their weapons drift loosely at their sides as they looked at their victim as they pondered the final solution to the mystery. However, Hehu came over the radio and said that Manaaki “had something to tell them.”
 
He said the computer had finally deciphered much of what the alien said using the many files he uncovered. He said the alien’s communication with them roughly translated to “I am Qassob, the last of my crew, I will trade this planet’s treasures for food.”
 
That was the end of the misadventure in Aata’s eyes. They buried Qassob and his victim with their fellow crewmates and carved a steel plate to serve as a tombstone for them all. They stripped the ship of its useful materials before starting their journey again to their new home. Aata and his crew would never learn where the doomed crew was from.
","August 11, 2023 00:22",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",fqj7xb,The Invasion,James Muir,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fqj7xb/,/short-story/fqj7xb/,Dialogue,0,"['Mystery', 'Fantasy', 'High School']",8 likes,"
The year is 2050. I, Daniel Fellows, am sitting in history class learning about the time when robots almost took over the planet twenty years earlier. This period of time became known as The Invasion. The robots were so sophisticated and adept at blending in that they appeared to be human in both voice and behavior. 
 
“It was very hard to eradicate them,” Professor Lyman said. “They possessed the ability to scan us and predict our movements. When they talked with a person, they always seemed to be learning—or processing. They processed so much that they began to overpower us and wanted to control us. Some people say that the robots still walk among us but no proof has been found.”
 
The entire classroom let out an audile gasp. It was like we were all watching a scary movie and screamed when the hand came up out of the ground. One student was so afraid that she laid her head down on her desk and refused to look up until the lecture was finished. Another student wet himself and started to cry.
 
“The assignment is for everyone to research the subject further. I want all of you to really dive in to The Invasion and write a detailed report about it. It is due next week.”
 
I swear Professor Lyman was twitching as he spoke. There was also a large cut on his right arm with what looked to be a silver, metallic-like liquid slowly leaking through. A horrifying thought began to form in the back of my mind—Professor Lyman was the lone survivor of The Invasion. 
 
The bell signaling the end of class finally rang. What a relief. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I ran all the way home. When I got to my house, I took the stairs two at a time, turning on my computer when I got to my room. My parents came in. 
 
“Is there something wrong, champ?,” my dad asked. You didn’t say a word to us when you came home.” He gestured between himself and my mom.
 
“I learned something in history class today that shocked me,” I said. “Can you two keep a secret?” They nodded. “I think mob history teacher is the last surviving member of The Invasion.”
 
“That’s impossible,” my mom said. “Computer scientists like your dad created a virus that destroyed them. There hasn’t been a sighting of them in ten years.”
 
“As he explained the assignment we are supposed to do, I saw a bandage wrapped around his right arm and a silver liquid coming out from under it.”
“When I built the virus it was proven in trials to be 99.99% effective,” my dad said. “The chance that it wouldn’t work on a single robot was extremely minute. Then again, no remedy is full proof.”
 
My parents took turns telling me what life was like dung The Invasion. How everything from grocery shopping to purchasing a car or house was dictated by machines. If food wasn’t eaten within a week of being purchased robots would throw it away. Cars were only available in certain colors and had select features. 
 
A strict curfew was put in place. People had to return to their homes one hour after sunset. Being outside past curfew resulted in public tasing. There were people who resisted at first, but eventually everyone learned to follow the mandates. Silver jumpsuits were also required to be worn by everyone. Refusal was futile. 
 
People had to rebuild their houses so they all looked the same. Individuality was banned. To be different was punishable by banishment. Robots patrol the streets every night in search of opposition. Thousands of people were sent to reeducation camps where they were brainwashed.
 
There was a small group of scientists who slowly started to build a resistance movement. One of them was my father along with four of his peers. He designed the virus that would wipe out the robots. He knew being captured would result in death, but he also knew that life wasn’t supposed to be like this. People were meant to be free.
 
It took my dad and his team a year to build and test the virus. When it was finally perfected and ready to be distributed, a great battle took place. This served as a diversion so my dad could sneak inside city hall, which was the headquarters for the robots, and download it in to their system. 
 
Ten minutes later, the virus started taking affect. Robots started malfunctioning and falling to the ground. A big celebration was held marking the victory of humans over machines. After winning the battle for humanity, strict guidelines were implemented for the creation of AI to prevent from ever happening again. 
 
Two days before the report was due, I started to write it. I didn’t think of it so much as a report as an expose. People needed to know that we weren't alone. I made sure to include everything my parents told me about. I would probably fail this assignment but I didn’t care. The truth cannot be suppressed forever. My mom and dad proofread the paper to make sure I didn’t leave out a single detail. They were both so proud of me for taking a stand. Humans are meant to be free and not controlled by machines. 
 
The following morning, I printed the final draft of the paper and put it in my backpack. When I got to school, my heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of my chest any second. When I walked in to history class, I sat down at my desk and pulled out my report. I wanted Professor Lyman to know that I uncovered the truth and was onto him. Before handing g it in, I reviewed the title. I chose to call my report, We’re Not Alone. Under the title I wrote a note. I know your secret. You are the last surviving member of The Invasion. You are a robot. 
","August 11, 2023 08:07",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",x1c7kx,Disturbing Disorder,Zena Rachelle,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/x1c7kx/,/short-story/x1c7kx/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Thriller', 'Mystery']",8 likes,"
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but it looks like it’s just a cyst.”“That can’t be right! Cysts shouldn’t grow this quickly. I know what I feel. Can you just check again, please?” “We’ve done three ultrasounds and two internal exams. I don’t think we’re going to find anything new.”“Listen… I’m a woman and I know my body. I said check again… If you don’t want to listen, then you can document your refusal on my chart.” The doctor looked at me with an annoyed and concerned look on his face. He left the room and came back with a nurse to do another exam and ultrasound. “Again, Mrs. Wells, there is something here, but it looks like a static ball of some kind. There are no signs of life. You are not pregnant. This is a cyst or tumor. I would be happy to refer you to a surgeon who can go in for a biopsy and removal.” The doctor awaited my answer.I looked at my husband with tears in my eyes. He knew that I didn’t buy it. He also knew that I couldn’t find an answer for the physician in front of me. He always had a desire to fix everything, and I knew he wanted to make this right for me.“I promise we’ll figure this out, love. Okay?” All I could do was nod my head. My heart was racing a mile a minute and my mouth had turned upside down. Armon answered for me. “Thank you for all your help, Dr. Hayes. We’re a little in shock, I believe. Could you give us some time to talk it over and think about it?”“Of course, just give me a call. I’m here if you have any other questions.” The doctor nodded his head and walked out with the nurse. I looked at my slightly rounded stomach and twiddled my thumbs. I hated to let people see me cry, even if it was the man I’ve been married to for the last six years. I made an exception and let my tears flow into a river on my hospital gown. Armon climbed in the bed with me and scooped me into his arms. He didn’t say a word - he just let me cry until I fell asleep on top of him. We had been trying to get pregnant for two years, and I knew for sure that this was our time. Hearing the doctor say that my baby bump was a blob of tissue broke my heart. I awakened the next morning with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose. I hadn’t cried that hard or that long in a while. The sparkling sun shining through my window usually woke me up with a smile, but at that moment, I just wanted to turn over and let my dreams take hold of me.  “Hey, gorgeous. How are you feeling?”“Like I got hit by a truck.” I sat up in our bed and grabbed the mug of herbal tea that he brought me. This whole ordeal seemed so surreal. “Armon, I know my body. I’m not calling the doctor a liar, but you know I’ve had ovarian cysts before, and there’s no way this is one of those. I’m even getting pregnancy symptoms and I haven’t been on my cycle in a couple months now. This can’t be the ‘end all be all’ answer.”“I know, love. I know. I’m just as confused as you are, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. But, I promise you, we’re gonna figure this out.” He exhaled loudly, and I knew this was just as hard on him as it was on me. “Why don’t we set up an appointment with the surgeon?” He sensed my hesitance. “If nothing else, we can get a second opinion. You don’t have to make a decision on the surgery anytime soon. What do you say?”“Okay. I’ll call them today. Thank you.” I dropped my head and shoulders, and closed my eyes.“Nope, I’ll call for you. I took off work today. I don’t want you to lift a finger. You slept for thirteen hours straight, and you still look and sound exhausted. Whatever is going on in your body is sucking the life out of you. You need to rest more, and I’m gonna make sure you do. I’ll bring you some breakfast and run a bath for you while you’re eating. Just take it easy today.” I looked at Armon with weepy eyes again. I hated being emotional, but lately, I couldn't keep myself from bursting into tears at any given moment. “How did I get so lucky with you?” He smiled, kissed me on my cheek and went downstairs to the kitchen. I laid back down and waited for him to come back. Every possibility ran through my head simultaneously. I wondered what would happen if I did have to get a tumor removed, how I would handle surgery, what we would do if it was malignant, what would happen if it was just a cyst, and how I would live with it if I just wanted to let it remain where it was. I also wondered if it could be an ectopic pregnancy or if there was some freak accident with their ultrasound machines and I really was going to have a baby. All of my home pregnancy tests were positive, but my home tests were not matching up with the doctor’s results at all.“Here we go! Eat up, hun.” Armon brought back a full spread - blueberry waffles, sausage links, bacon, oatmeal, a fruit salad, more herbal tea, orange juice, and a lot of maple syrup. I couldn’t do anything but smile at him. He always went above and beyond for me. “You know I can’t eat all of this… but I’m gonna try. I’m starving.” He chuckled as he looked down at me. He walked into the bathroom to draw my bath while I ate. I took a bite of pineapple and drizzled syrup over my waffles as I stuffed a piece of bacon in my mouth. I swallowed the bacon and my stomach started to do flips. I paused for a second, and vomited all over our favorite blanket. Armon ran out of the bathroom. “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?” “I’m really sorry. I’m so hungry. It just tasted horrible for a second, and I couldn’t keep it down.” The food was great for the first few bites. As I was chewing, it started to taste like sour mush in my mouth, and I had to let it out. “Don’t worry about it. You go ahead and get in the tub while I clean this up. I’ll find you something else to eat.” I floated to the bathroom slowly and slid down in the tub. It felt amazing to let my troubles float away with the steam emanating from the water. I heard Armon on the phone with the surgeon’s office, and dread started to set in. I looked at my rounded tummy, and I could’ve sworn it got bigger overnight. Armon burst in the bathroom. “I know we both wanted you to rest today, but we have to go to the surgeon’s office this afternoon. 3:15 is the only appointment they have until October, so we have to take this one. Sorry, love.”I sighed and let my head fall onto the back of the tub. “Okay, okay. Help me up, handsome.” Armon lifted me out of the tub, dried me off, lotioned my body, and helped me get dressed. As much as I hated this whole process, he made it so much easier to deal with. We arrived at the surgeon’s office at 3:00 on the dot. Filling out forms was a chore, and I did the best I could to explain the situation on paper. The nurse called us back and took us to a room. The eggshell paint and smell of sterile supplies heightened my anxiety as we walked back. She took a brief history and looked as confused as we felt after our explanation. We sat in uncomfortable expectation for what seemed like hours. About 35 minutes later, we heard a light knock at the door. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Wells. I’m Dr. Grady. I’ve gone over your chart, test results, and imaging reports multiple times. I’m going to be 100% honest with you two… I’m baffled. I’ve been doing this for 17 years, and I’ve never been completely out of answers. Whatever is growing in you is not a cyst or a tumor, but it’s definitely not a baby either.” Armon and I looked at each other with matching expressions of worry. “What do you mean? How could it be none of those things? What is it supposed to be, then?” I asked in total confusion. If the most renowned surgeon in the city didn’t have any answers, who did?“Mrs. Wells, when I say I’m baffled, I mean it. I’m truly at a loss for words, and I don’t know what to tell you.” I looked in her eyes and I knew she was being sincere. “Then… What do we do?” Armon asked. He was great at breaking up tension, but even he was bewildered. “Well, your symptoms are that of normal pregnancy symptoms, so you are in no immediate danger. What we could do is get a team of physicians together that deal with mystery illnesses. We’ll go in and see what we find. I can’t promise you anything, because I don’t even know what I would promise. It is risky, for sure. However, in my most humble opinion, I think that going inside to see what this is, is much safer than leaving it there.”Heat filled my cheeks. I dug my nails into my thighs so hard that the skin broke. I was terrified, frustrated, and I was at a loss for words again, just like Dr. Grady. “When would the surgery be?” Armon asked. “Since this is not critical, it would be in about two months. Whatever is happening will not progress to a point of necessity that quickly. But, if you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to give us a call. Our surgery scheduler will be in touch with you in a few days to get everything set up. We’ll see you soon.” She left without giving us a chance to say another word, and for a while, Armon and I just sat there in silence. I had never seen Armon cry aside from our wedding, but today, he shed a tear. Three weeks passed, and my stomach had grown seven inches since our appointment with the surgeon. My bones felt fragile and my hips broadened extensively. I could barely walk, and Armon confined me to the bed so I wouldn’t hurt myself. I wasn't sure if Dr. Grady was too confused or just plain scared, but she canceled our surgery. No one had any answers. Armon was at the end of his rope, and I was ready to leave everything behind me. I had held it together since I was in Dr. Grady’s office, but on that third Tuesday evening, I broke. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and screamed to the top of my lungs. I screamed for my health, I screamed for my imaginary child, I screamed for my husband, and I screamed for every unanswered question that swirled in my head over the past month. Armon let me yell. He sat behind me and held my stomach with me.“I’m terrified, Armon. What in the hell is happening? Why won’t anyone at least try to help us? Why are we on our own in this? This isn’t fair.” I hadn’t spoken much over the past few weeks, but these few words held every emotion that I housed in my mind. “I know you’re frustrated, my love. I am, too. Just like I promised a few weeks ago, we’re gonna figure this out. I’m right here beside you, and I’m going to find someone to help us. We’re not alone.” He kissed me on the back of my head and laid with me. Four hours later, I was jolted awake by excruciating pain. The sheets were soaked and my entire body was cramping. I tried to get out of bed, but I couldn’t move. I screamed in agony as I yelled for Armon. I felt something pressing its way out of me. A small amount of pressure was released, but the torture continued to increase. I felt the sensation again, and I knew that something or someone was escaping from me. “Armon!!! Help me, help me!” I wailed. I didn’t feel like I was giving birth, but I knew that something was happening. An entity crawled out of me again, but I couldn’t see past my stomach to observe what was happening.Armon finally walked in like a slithering snake sizing up his prey. “Armon, what is happening? Call 911!” He leaned back on the wall and crossed his arms with a smirk on his face. “A… Ar… Armon?” His expression crushed me, and I squirmed in fear as I waited for him to speak. “Humans are weak. I’ve been catering to your every need for the past four years, and your body finally caught up. This mission wasn’t supposed to take this long, my love.”“What the hell are you talking about? This can’t be happening... This isn’t real!” “Oh, it’s real. I’m not Armon, though. I killed him a few years ago. I needed a vessel, and you were perfect, or so I thought. ” He munched on a peach as he was talking. He was so nonchalant, and I wondered how he tricked me for so long. I prayed that this was a nightmare I would wake up from at any second. “You almost ruined it. I had no idea you would go through with the surgery. I had to scare the shit out of Dr. Grady just so she would cancel it. She really wanted to operate on you. Apparently, doctors love people with mysterious disorders so they can use them as guinea pigs for future rare cases. The human part of me kind of felt bad, but the look on her face was priceless. Now, that’s enough talking. Let the rest of my descendants out so we can go back to Venus.” For what felt like the millionth time, I was speechless. Armon walked closer to me, and his alien children started crawling out of me like crabs in a barrel clawing their way to freedom. When it was all said and done, 66 oddly shaped gray babies with three huge black eyes were standing in front of me. The physical torment was over, but the mental anguish was just beginning. I was sweating profusely and my body was more tired than it had ever been. My limbs were lifeless and I was floating in and out of consciousness as my pulse slowed to a snail-like pace.Armon walked towards me with his dark skin, wide shoulders, deep dimples, glowing white teeth, and gold chain hanging in my face. His strange offspring huddled around his legs and clung to him. “I appreciate you. I was really starting to like you, too. Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wells, or whoever you want to be from here on out. If you live, that is.” He shrugged and walked towards the door. I spit curses at him as he clunked away in his brown loafers with his hands in his pockets. He looked over his shoulder for his last words. “I told you, we weren't alone.” 
","August 07, 2023 02:48",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",e1r949,Night Eyes,Melody Watson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/e1r949/,/short-story/e1r949/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Adventure']",7 likes,"
The call of the nighthawk mingled with the crackling of the campfire when the peaceful and calming sounds were disrupted by a slight rustle in the tall grass beyond the flames.
“Ssh,” Tanner whispered.
Tammy jolted up in the camping chair too quickly toppling it over backwards, her with it, hitting the back of her head on the firewood pile.
“Tammy!”
Groaning she raises her head from the wood as her boyfriend lifts her into his arms. The back of her head burning with pain, she inhales air to calm herself. 
“Are you okay?” he asks, cradling her closely, completely forgetting the rustle in the grass mere seconds before. 
She rubbed the back of her head, Tammy blinked rapidly, tears glittering on her lashes in the flickering light. “It hurts,” she whispered leaning her head on his warm chest.
Rocking her in his arms, he asks if she would like to climb into the tent to lay down as silence rained down around them. The night blackened the landscape around their remote campsite, far from the beaten path. The blankness creeping in, blanking out half of their gear set back from the fire. Rising to his feet, Tanner nearly tripped on the toppled chair, he paused.
“What was that sound? Do you think it was a bear?” Tammy had always had a great fear of all bears, although she loved tenting in the great outdoors.
“What?”he asked after absently as he gazed at the dying fire, the coals had formed lumps of ash in the pit, only a few glowing coals remained. 
“Do you think the sound was from a bear?”
“Oh. No, probably the breeze,” he answered, clearly unconcerned now, settling her back on her feet.
“There isn't any breeze, hasn't been for a couple of hours. It’s kind of extra still tonight.”
“It is calm,” he smiles at her as he places a few pieces of wood on the coals, stirring up sparks. The crackling echoing in the silence.
“Fine, it's a normal quiet night,” she smiles when the nighthawk called. “I think I will sit by the fire longer. My head is OK.”
 As they reclaimed their seats, the muffled sound of the grass being tousled as if someone or something had brushed the grass stems, interrupted their thoughts.
“Did you hear something?” they checked in unison.
“I may have. A small sound, maybe a mouse,” he chuckled.
“Right, a tiny, harmless mouse.” Shaking her head Tammy changed the subject to their weekend hiking trip they planned as their next adventure. 
This camping trip had involved a trek up a mountain on foot and the next one would involve a boat. The wild and remote locations were desired for every adventure the utmost appeal had always been the quietness of the land around them. This night was no different, the peacefulness of the mountainside was the deciding factor for the placement of their camp. The great expense of the old growth fir trees set along a deep valley, undisturbed from logging, its’ beauty surpassed many locations they had ventured before.
Tammy glanced away from staring into the flames to Tanner when she heard him sniff, the sound so low, a whisper, much like someone trying to silently cry. Asking if he was alright, she ignored all else. 
He looked up at Tammy, with a question in his clear gaze, “I’m good. Just shook me up a little when you went over and hit your head. You are good?”
“I'm fine. Just tender. But I thought I heard you sniff, like a crying sniff.”
“That wasn’t me. I thought you were breathing out the stress.”
“Well, I guess that could have been either of us then.”
“True,” Turner says, rising to hand her a drink spiked with rum, “this will certainly calm our nerves.”
“Mmm,” Tammy moans in pleasure as she grasped the cup.
A slight sound carries from behind their little tent, both sitting up in their chairs, fully alert, listening for a few moments. Tammy whispers, “there is something out there. It doesn't sound like a bear.”
“You're right. Come sit with me,” Tanner whispered back.
Rising slowly, looking out about their camp and into the timber, Tammy freezes completely still. She finds herself staring into a glowing yellow eye in the blackness of the night forest. The eye appeared completely blank but also filled with a predator force and her its prey. There was something out there, but what had an eye like that bottomless glowing pit.  The foreign bottomless eye alien to anything she had ever seen on their adventures. Realizing the sound had come from the opposite direction that she was staring she scrambled to Tanner.
He grabbed her arm and shoved her behind him before she had a chance to tell him about the floating, bodiless eye. Shifting her gaze to him, to find he was intently staring over the fire, his jaw set tightly, the muscle bouncing in tension. He was staring in another direction than where she had seen something. Looking back to see the eye only to find it gone, she noted the direction of his stare and regarded the trees. Nothing seemed to be there.
“We are not alone, Tammy! I just saw a yellowish green eye behind the big fir tree.”
“I know,” she rasped back.
A step hinted behind them so softly she was not sure she had actually heard one. Ever so slowly she turned to peer into the night.
“There it is again,” Tanner bumped into her back as she stepped back to his view.
Her body gently move forward and straight into the gaze of another eye, then suddenly turned into a pair of luminous eyes that stared into her soul. The form invisible in the blackened shadows of the night. Utter fear raced through her body.
“What are they?” she squeaked, terror raging through her veins, squeezing her throat tight.
“I don't know. I can only see one eye. It seems to glow neon in the flames. And aliens aren't real.”
Movement in the shadows behind the tent caught her attention. There was more, surrounding them, enclosing them in a circle of ambush. To corral their prey, the unknown force encompassed them in with no escape.
Warm fingers grasped hers then tugged her toward the fire while he tossed more wood into the flames. Sparks flew up high, more light flared around the tiny clear area where they stood, she looped around meeting the bodiless eyes, several gazed back their eery stares watching, single and in pairs. Not one direction lacking eyes, they were surrounded. It was time to decide on a course of action to defend themselves.
A bear banger lay on their sleeping bag within the tent. The noise it would make might chase those alien eyes away. She motioned to her partner her plan to retrieve the bear banger.  Tanner kept watch as she retrieved the bear banger, they had only one to set off, so it had to work.
Climbing out of the tent doorway, she met the gaze of the yellow eyes and saw the animal for what it really was. The black form emerged into the firelight in full view, its reddish pink tongue whipped out across its’ nose, as if telling her she would be a good morsel to eat. More came into sight, their eyes no longer glowing but glittering with intent. Some black, some grey, there had to be more than a dozen of them looming in their true great size in the light.
“Wolves,” they claimed in unison.
Suddenly Tammy yelled at the top of her lungs, in an angry, harsh tone for them to ‘go away.’ The pack jumped back into the trees nearly invisible to see, stirring and rustling in the grass. Tanner joined in, his voice echoing through the valley below. Setting off the loud bear banger, she felt she had just saved their lives. Carrying on for a few more minutes, their throats throbbed raw. The wolf-pack left, nearly melting into the woods.
Tammy and Tanner watched the tree line, searching for any yellow eye, peeking from behind a tree. Nothing came into sight or could be heard. The silence was welcomed, when suddenly the quiet was broken by the far-off call of a wolf, then another called joined in. Breathing a sigh of relief, they hugged one another without peering around in fear then turned and entered the tent for the night.
In the wee hours of morning the call of nature woke Tammy and forced her outside, rising from the tent she gazed around at the shrinking shadows, the morning dew sparkling bright in the dim light and the warm rays of sunshine caressed her cool cheeks. There was not a wolf in sight. A squirrel scurried across the ground with a fir cone in its mouth on her left and a red-breasted robin gobbled up a worm to her right. Peace was restored to this little piece of nature's heaven.
 
","August 11, 2023 17:51","[[{'Linda Lovendahl': 'Enjoyed reading this story because you built the suspense well. Suggestion, there were several run on sentences that could be broken up into separate clauses or separate sentences to keep the narration flowing. One example would be in paragraph one by attributing the adjectives of ""peaceful"" ""calming"" before the phrase ""call of the nighthawk""...that way the ""rustle"" really stands out.\nKeep writing!', 'time': '23:29 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Melody Watson': 'Thank you for the pointers. \nCheers', 'time': '07:16 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Melody Watson': 'Thank you for the pointers. \nCheers', 'time': '07:16 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",gozgl5,The Red Hat,Tracy Tripp,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gozgl5/,/short-story/gozgl5/,Dialogue,0,['Adventure'],7 likes,"
	The wind whipped through the cornstalks creating a melancholy chorus of fall music. Samantha curled her small, seven-year-old frame and buried her face into her jeans. He would find her. He always did.
	“Samantha.” Tommy’s voice cut through the bitter fall air.
	Samantha’s body tightened deeper into a ball, hoping her brown jacket would blend with the drying stalks. Nothing could be done about the bright red cap her mother insisted Samantha wear after their last hide-and-seek game ended with a frantic search party. Her family had combed the fields until nightfall after Samantha had wandered deeper into the cornfield than she had ever ventured. After a desperate search, they found her crying in the back corner. The hat would stay, or their game would not happen.
	“Samantha.”
	Tommy’s voice grew closer. Relief rushed over her.
	“There you are.” Tommy glanced at his stopwatch. “Not bad. Ten minutes.” Ten-year-old Tommy plopped down on the ground next to his sister. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her.
	“You’re freezing.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Do you still want to play?”
	Samantha nodded. Her teeth chattered louder than the wind.
	Tommy looked down at his baby sister. “Are you sure?”
	Samantha gazed up at his face as he breathed heavily from his run. A cloud formed as each warm breath met the frigid air. Crimson scrapes covered his face marking the places the corn leaves had ripped at his skin. Samantha’s cheeks itched, assuring her she had not avoided their clutches either.
	“I’m sure.” Her voice lacked confidence.
	“Your turn to search then,” Tommy said, his breaths calming.
	Samantha’s heartbeat drummed against her chest. She hated when he hid from her much more than when she hid from him.
	Tommy stood and offered her a hand up. She stood, and as she did, she noticed something shoot across the row twenty feet away.
	“Did you see that?” Her voice sounded small, even to her.
	“See what?”
	Samantha lifted a shaky finger and pointed down the row. “Something just ran across the cornrow.” A cry threatened to escape.
	“Samantha, you said you wanted to take your turn searching.”
	“But I’m serious. Something is there.”
	Tommy laughed. “Samantha, you’re seeing things.” He took two steps. “Start counting and don’t…”
	Tommy froze.
	“Tommy,” Samantha whispered.
	Tommy didn’t respond.
	“Tommy,” she whispered again, “did you see it too?”
	“Samantha,” Tommy grabbed her hand, “we’re not alone.” Tommy’s hand squeezed hers. “We should run.”
	Another figure stepped onto the path as his hand pulled her rigid body forward. The creature moved slowly, unafraid of their human presence. The yellow eyes set on the siblings. Samantha stared up at her brother as if he had the answer. Silence.
	Seconds ticked by, and then the creature growled and stepped toward them. Samantha cried out.
	“Tommy. Samantha. Dinner time,” their mother called.
	They were close to home. So close.
	“Shh…,” Tommy whispered. “Don’t yell. We need to back up slowly.”
	“But the house is right there.”
	“And so is that thing.”
	Tommy pulled Samantha back, and the humungous wolf took a step toward them. A low growl showed his jagged teeth. Samantha whimpered.
	“I’ll keep you safe. Don’t cry.” Tommy’s hand tightened on hers. “Follow me. Slowly.”
	Tommy stepped between the cornstalks into the next row. The animal's gaze followed them, but this time, it stood still. Tommy pulled them through another row. The sticky long leaf grabbed the red hat and ripped it off Samantha’s head. She began to bend for it.
	“Leave it.” Samantha looked up at her brother. “It’s okay. We’ll find it another time.” Tommy spoke as he pulled her through another row. The view of the creature grew more blurred with each layer of corn between them. “Keep moving. Slowly.”
	They put between them layer after layer of corn until the creature was not visible.
	“Run,” Tommy whispered. Samantha immediately felt the tug of his arm as they darted through the rows. The light was beginning to show through the stocks. The edge of the cornfield was drawing close. “We’re heading for the big tree. You know the one.”
	Samantha didn’t answer. Her breaths were coming fast and hard. They were in a sprint, but behind them came the sound of corn being pushed to the side. They burst through the last row of stalks and found the giant tree looming over them. The low branches reaching out to them like their mother’s arms.
	“Run as hard as you can.” Tommy stayed beside her despite his ability to outrun her by a mile. “You have it.”
	Paws pounded on the ground behind the siblings. They didn’t look back, but they knew the pack was following the leader now, hungry for a fight they knew they would win.
	The first branch was only four feet above them but too high for Samantha to grasp. In one fluid motion, Tommy made a step in his hand and flung Samantha upon it. He jumped up, grabbed the branch, and swung one leg to safety. The other one dangled as Tommy found his balance. The jaws of the leader closed on his paint leg, and he struggled with his hold.
	“Tommy,” Samantha screamed.
	Her voice breathed extra strength into his young body, and he tore the jeans from the animal’s mouth. The leader let out a loud howl, and the pack followed suit. Would their mom hear their calls? Would she know they needed help?
	“Samantha,” Tommy said, “we need to climb higher.”
	Samantha’s body visibly shook. “I can’t let go. I’ll fall.”
	“We’re not high enough.” As if to prove his point, the leader leaped again for Tommy’s pant leg missing by inches. “I need to go first, or I’ll be in your way. I’ll give you a hand from the next branch.”
	Samantha squeaked, “Okay.”
	“Here I go.” Tommy eased his way to the tree trunk to better reach the next branch. “You have to scoot this way too.”
	Samantha whimpered.
	“You’ve got this, Samantha. Focus on the tree and not the wolf. You’ve climbed this tree a million times.”
	Tommy reached the trunk, put a hand on the higher branch, and pulled himself to a standing position, all under the watchful gaze of the wolf’s yellow eyes. He watched Samantha edging her way toward him, her hands shaking. He couldn’t help her. She had to do this part on her own. He hauled himself up to the next branch only a few feet above them and held his breath as his sister reached the trunk.
	“Reach up. I’ve got you.” Samantha let go of the branch with one hand. Her heart raced as she repeated to herself what Tommy had told her. Samantha had climbed this tree a million times. Not once had she fallen. Their hands locked. “Now stand.”
	Samantha held back the cry building in the back of her throat. She placed one hand on the trunk and got her legs beneath her.
	“I did it,” she said, a slight laugh behind her words.
	The large male wolf that Tommy could now estimate as almost 180 pounds lunged at his sister.
	“Samantha!”
	Samantha lost her balance, and one hand flailed as her body tipped backward. Tommy tightened his legs around the branch and pulled his sister’s hand to him with everything he had. Samantha grabbed the tree again and found her balance.
	“Tommy.”
	“You’re okay. Now put your hands on the branch and pull yourself up. Remember, you can do this.”
	Samantha glanced backward at the creature and the pack. She nodded to her brother, or maybe herself, swallowed hard, and lifted herself onto the branch.
	“We’re safe now, Samantha. They can’t get us up here.”
	Samantha glanced out over the horizon. The sun was settling beyond the barn. It would be dark soon. Tommy's gaze followed hers.
	“Mom and Dad will be looking for us. It’s okay.”
	The wolves began to howl, and a sad, melancholy sound thickened the air.
	“It’s almost dark, though.”
	The leader put his paws on the tree trunk and reached up to them. The pure mass of him terrified both children. They didn’t admit out loud that even their parents were no match for these animals.
	Only a sliver of sun remained above the barn roof. The two looked at each other as if the answer would be found in each other’s gazes.
	“I think we’re in trouble, Tommy.”
	In answer, the wolves howled again. A sound cut through the air. The sound of a gunshot. So close. An image appeared on the cornfield edge, and their father emerged, gun ready. Another shot, a warning. The leader stared back at their father momentarily, and then they saw the weapon take aim. They heard the click of the rifle preparing to shoot.
	“I wouldn’t try me,” their dad told the animal. In defeat, the animal turned and sauntered into the fields, his pack following.
	The children remained frozen on the branch until their father reached the base. He swung the rifle onto his back and pulled a red hat from his pocket.
	“I think you lost something.”
	Samantha and Tommy scrambled from the tree and into the waiting arms of their father. They didn’t fully let go of him until they entered the door of their warm kitchen and smelled the aromas of their dinner waiting for them on the table.
","August 11, 2023 18:16","[[{'Sara Akins': 'Incredible opening to your story! I love your setting/descriptive language, the dynamic between Tommy & Samantha, and the skillful pacing between dialogue and Samantha\'s thoughts. I really like the lines: ""But the house is right there,"" ""And so is that thing."" So witty and realistic for both characters\' thought processes! I have just a couple notes as I read through, the first being that I was confused about what was chasing them. I liked the ambiguity at first, but I got lost when one large wolf turned into a pack; it was a little difficult...', 'time': '03:26 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",q6f2gq,We are not alone,Vid Weeks,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q6f2gq/,/short-story/q6f2gq/,Dialogue,0,"['Contemporary', 'Science Fiction']",7 likes,"
Jen turned the early evening news off, tossed the controller onto the cushions and got up from the sofa. It left the room lit by street lights.
“Why did you turn it off?”
“They don’t know anything. All those heads getting paid to tell us what they don’t know yet, again and again.”
Tim followed her toward the kitchen. 
“Don’t you get it? It’s like Christ getting up for Easter eggs is to your Christians, it changes everything.”
“Do you have to take cheap shots at religion at every opportunity? I know it will change everything, I’m not stupid. Has it occurred to you that they will think we are? Stupid I mean. What’s the saying? That guy in the wheelchair.  Its Columbus again, but this time we’re the Indians.”
“Stephen Hawking, Why would they think we are stupid?”
“Cos we struggled to get past the moon? Cos we have wrecked our planet? Cos we spend half our resources trying to kill each other?”
“What about Mozart and the Sistine ceiling and.. the Beatles?”
“You remember that tumble down, infested old house we looked at last year? You think we would have changed our minds and bought it if there had been a tiny beautiful, little ashtray in the second bedroom. I don’t think a flash of inspiration every thousand years is going to save us. They’ll think we’re morons”
Tim laughed, “OK, good analogy, I’ll give you that one. What about knowledge, physics, String theory?”
“Tell me, idiotic earth man, did your theory of quantum gravity. get you to another galaxy? Light years away?”
“Jenny, I’m touched, you do listen to me sometimes.”
“I don’t get much choice do I, all you and your game playing nerds ever talk about. Accept it, we’re the apes, the … what are they called?” She did an impression of a stooped Neanderthal and loped into the kitchen.
“Neanderthals?” 
She touched her nose. “Yea, we are the Neanderthals and they have invented atomic weapons”
“We don’t know what capability they have.”
“Metaphor dummy. Neanderthal! The point is we don’t stand a chance”
Tim stood in front of the kitchen counter, idly examining the random items in the bowl on the worktop.
“Well we can’t exactly run away can we. They might be nice. Teach us stuff, improve things, save us. Perhaps they’re Christians, maybe he dropped in there after here”
Jenny shook her head from side to side. “Neanderthal.” She turned to the other side of the kitchen and switched on the strip light above the counter. Tim looked at her body, silhouetted by the neon. She filled the kettle and dropped it onto its base. Its little red light came on and it started to quietly hiss. She fished a mug from the illuminated interior of the dishwasher.
“We could.” She caught Tim’s puzzled expression. “We could run away. We could go to my dad’s at least.”
“What the hell would I do there? You’re alright, he has a piano. You could play and write, what the hell do I do? The nearest village is miles away and I didn’t notice any physics labs.”
“That’s the point, its miles from anywhere, from anything. That’s why it might be safe.”
“In this ‘end of the world, everybody dies, dystopian future’ you are imagining, what do we do there? How do we survive? What do we eat?”
“There are sheep and goats, rabbits, there’s a lake.”
“I know, tell you what, I’ll hunt and you can keep the fire alight. On Friday nights, instead of Netflix we can watch the cows in the field. Are there Nuts and berries? Please tell me we get berry ice cream for ‘watch the cow in the field’ night.”
“Don’t mock it, seriously Tim, I’m scared. I don’t want to be wishing we did something in time. And yes, cows too. Cow’s milk strawberry ice cream. But seriously, I always thought if the end of the world was coming, when the wind blew, I’d go stand on the roof with my arms spread, but it’s different now. I want us to stay alive”
“Jesus, don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”
“Well yea, Aliens at the end of the world classifies as drama, don’t you think? I think in this situation it’s allowed, don’t you? Reasons to be dramatic number four, end of the world, tick. Do you want tea?” She ticked the air, then waved the glass jar of teabags in his direction..
“Nah, I’m going to have a beer.”
Jenny opened the fridge and its light illuminated her body, showing her young curves, making soft shadows. She took out the milk and a lager. “Here.”
“Not joining me?”
“Nah, tea’s good. So my dad’s is about as safe as we could get.” She sniffed the milk.
“I don’t think your dad would be wild about us turning up for a long visit. You only see him every six months. I think I’ve only spoken to him three times and one of those was an argument about conservative housing policy. Anyway, I thought you subscribed to the ‘a perfect family is loving and in a city far, far away’ school.”
“Yea, but I’ve started to think family is maybe more important,” Jenny turned her nose up and offering the cup to Tim, asked, “Does this taste funny?”
He sipped from her cup, “Fine, ‘cept for the arsenic.”
“Oh, that’s what it is, thought it might have been the milk”
“Perhaps They have genetically modified the cows.” He hummed the ‘outer limits’ tune, badly.
“I was sick yesterday.”
“That’s definite then, they are subtly poisoning us”
“Its like your mum and the rats in her outhouse. Pest control, this planet is infested. Overrun with dumb animals. Put out poison.”
“Actually, they won’t need the arsenic, the lead levels around here are probably killing us slowly already.” Jen had insisted they buy the city centre studio apartment the previous year.
“Can we at least visit dad for a bit? Clean air, less lead.”
“Oh Jen, its so flipping far and there’s nothing there and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me. And I don’t think the end of the world is next week.”
“He does like you, you know, ‘cept for your insane views about housing policy.  And he’s family, an’ it’s been nearly a year. Last time I saw him was Bridget’s wedding.”
“Why this sudden interest in family and wanting to see your dad?
She bit her bottom lip.
“Because we are not alone.”
“Yea, yea, but why so concerned with family, why now?”
Jen put her cup on the counter and took a step towards Tim. Emphasised her words.
“’’Cos, we’re not alone”
Tim looked confused. Jen rolled her eyes
“Because we, you and I,” she pointed to Tim and herself and looked at her stomach, “Are no longer alone.”
The glimmer of understanding took a minute.
“What?”
Jenny nodded, “Yea, it’s not just us now.”
“Are you sure? how long?”
Yea, I’m sure, I know you’re the scientist, but trust me, I’m sure. Early days but certain.”
Tim gazed at her tummy with a growing smile, “wow, we are not alone.”
","August 07, 2023 21:51","[[{'Vid Weeks': ""Thanks Tom\nvery nice feedback, I appreciate it\nI thought the clues were all there haha, Jen had been sick, her sense of taste was odd and she didn't want to drink a beer. \nBut then Tim missed it too"", 'time': '21:37 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Tom Skye': 'Haha I think I was too focused on the aliens thinking we are stupid debate. It was very good dialogue. \nI guess that means there could be a parallel with humans being stupid and him being too stupid to realize she was pregnant? 😂', 'time': '21:40 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Vid Weeks': 'Well I guess an alien invasion would be distracting', 'time': '21:52 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Tom Skye': 'Haha I think I was too focused on the aliens thinking we are stupid debate. It was very good dialogue. \nI guess that means there could be a parallel with humans being stupid and him being too stupid to realize she was pregnant? 😂', 'time': '21:40 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Vid Weeks': 'Well I guess an alien invasion would be distracting', 'time': '21:52 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Vid Weeks': 'Well I guess an alien invasion would be distracting', 'time': '21:52 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""Very nice twist on the prompt. Genuinely didn't see it coming and havent seen it used that way in any others. \n\nI really enjoyed this because it was packed with pop culture references which in many ways gave nice misdirection about where the story would go. The end was a pleasant surprise.\n\nReally nice job"", 'time': '21:26 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",d85dkc,Dawn,Diane Gabriel,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d85dkc/,/short-story/d85dkc/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
I read somewhere that the reason Sequoia trees stop growing to the height of four-hundred and twenty feet is because of gravity. That if the earth’s pull were to be slightly less than it is, we’d have taller trees. Earth, bound by the constraints of physics, maintains her uniqueness, in the transient nature of her processes. Once yearning to coax more forms into being, she whispered into the waters “Multiply yourselves.” As if on cue, the waters split; salt and fresh pockets sprang up in new places, with many new forms to fill them. And Earth knew, that from rich beds of mosses would clamber ferns reaching for land, so she told them to “go, and find land.” No longer bound to be sea-dwelling, they rapidly towered over the teeming waters below them and filled the atmosphere with oxygen, volatile, reactive, and catalyst. But the Earth’s belly had not settled down yet, and so from rich inner churnings came thick plumes of carbon, and a molten red sea, that did not stop until it reached the ocean. 
The rich and deep history of our planet is limited by what is knowable. We come from the line that chose to rule on land, consequently, the seas are unknown to us. The sea, like space, has a depth that is hostile to the land-dwelling. We cannot adjust our bodies to the pressures of the ocean, but all of that will change. My research with cetaceans is bridging the communication gap between humanistic and oceanic languages. Technological advances, using Artificial Intelligence and materials engineering have enabled us to build a device that is capable to observe in real-time, the complex and contextual use of cetacean language. The supreme beings of the sea, much like us, have their histories and knowledge, passed down through their matrilineal social structure. This knowledge rich with insights into the stories of the Earth, from deep time, will for the first time, be accessible to land-dwelling minds. 
I had memorized the contents of my presentation so well that the words and images lingered even into the earliest mornings. Today, was not a day for standing in front of a group of investors to defend the philosophical importance of my work. Today, beautiful, and sunny, was a day to get out on the water, prep Serenity, and see Dawn. Dawn is the matriarch of her pod. She was finally convinced that joining our study was safe, possibly from the understanding that there would be ample supplies of fish and rays as payment for her time (an incentive like this would never be explained so blatantly to any human research participants). But Orcas are straight to the point. Once Dawn was in, the rest of her family was eager to join, and our boat has since been unhindered by the recent attacks on the engine. A behaviour that once was only isolated to the Iberian coast but has since spread worldwide to California's coast. 
The youngest Orca, whom we named Nisha, for “night” in Hindi, is a female of three years. Nisha is very curious and will linger past the gathering of our data. She swims parallel to our boat as we head back to dock it, with Dawn always monitoring close behind. Some of the scientists have singled her out as the most playful of the young calves, with recordings from her referring to Serenity as a “noisy whale”. We don’t know for certain whether it is in jest, contempt, or observation. Her body language is not hostile, and she always seems at ease.
A bit of background on our study: we are creating an Orcadean language library; teaching an Artificial Intelligence how to interpret and translate the Orca language for human understanding. Once Orcadean has been finished, we plan to move on to other cetaceans. This has proven challenging for obvious reasons; the clicks, whistles, and vibrations which Orcas use to communicate have no written language anchor and are twice as difficult to interpret in comparison to primitive human languages. Their bodies having evolved differently than ours, have gestural equivalences that are hard to read and must only be learned in context. Despite the Defence Departments' generous funding, we keep operational costs low by utilizing only two devices when necessary. Our data bank is almost complete, and the team and I are delighted that this might be the year of completion. We were lucky that the US Military became interested in cataloguing cetacean language when we put a feeler out for resources, with its history of training cetaceans for use by the Navy, the floodgates opened. Guided by more ethical constraints than in the past, we happily merged our department with the select team provided.
Our research device, Seti, was designed by naval engineers with the full capacity to shadow Dawn's pod in its environment. Seti needs only to surface once a month, for calibration, service, cleaning, and testing to ensure proper function. Primitive versions of Seti were once used as data loggers, fixed to a permanent position, and collecting data readings passively. This Seti, however, is a historian’s dream, she takes chemical, temperature, and salinity readings while storing high-resolution videos; all while being about the size and shape of a football. When Seti returns, we upload the data into a large data bank, which we call The Ark, and the translation AI rapidly locates the patterns and context. Without Seti, we would be confined to a life of clunky submarines, scuba gear, and the exhausting task of long hours of underwater breathing. Our bodies never evolved for life in the sea, but Seti is our soundless metal envoy, this age’s very own Rosetta stone. 
Next month, Dawn's pod earned itself a month of privacy. Seti has been showing signs of wear and files have been found stored in non-chronological order, indicating some discrepancies. Nothing gets by Dawn, so as soon as she noted that only half the usual load of fresh catch was supplied, the translator picked up “Less hunted”, or, why only half? The twenty-five thousand pounds of salmon, squid and rays released alive to the wolf pack of fifteen was communicated as “no eye-seeing calf next hunt.” No additional youth pack member until the next hunt. Their intervals of time are measured by spatial anchors to places or events with hunt-focused activities. The phrase “until next time” and “time” as humans know it, has no Orcadean equivalent. 
Back at my office, the word “time” as a computer organization prompt was still useful. Reordering the video files into chronological order resulted in a couple of new words for the Orca Dictionary and more conversations for the AI to scan through. A backup Seti II was being prepared to take the next month’s data, while the Navy’s engineering department checked on Seti I. A date has been proposed to get our main means of data acquisition back into the water by next month. The robustness of the data is dependent on the fact that the same “recorder” was used every time. Using Seti II to the completion of the project might raise some red flags on the quality of our study methods by switching devices at the last minute. 
The first attempt to swap in Seti II to Dawn's pod went poorly. As usual, we set down Seti II, in the same manner we would generally do with Seti I. To begin the acclimation process, the robot requires a few hours of in-water testing to ensure that the transition across the different atmospheres of air and water goes smoothly. Dawn circled Seti II three times, then proceeded to send Seti II flying through the water a few feet. Tail flick hunting manoeuvre. All staff, and Bill, the dock security, tried to stifle a laugh yet failed. 
“What did I tell you? Those fish can tell the difference”
“They are not fish Bill,” I had failed too. “The robot is okay and won’t be damaged. It’s been tested with simulated hunting exercises that the Orca’s use to stun rays. In a second you will see it just float back up to us to continue. Dawn's tail might be a little hurt though”. It was metal, not bones and flesh. 
“Dawn hurt?” I typed into the translator. Then came a series of squeaks. 
“Dawn play” she responded. 
Getting off the phone with the engineering unit, the two Setis are indeed distinguishable once underwater. I guess they can tell. Regardless of how undetectable the difference is to human ears, the Orcas can hear what we can’t. Sound travels differently through the water, and every one of Dawn's pod can sense even the tiniest vibrations. She has expressed before that sea kind are very intolerant to noise, and part of the deal struck early in the program was that our boats must remain free floating when in proximity to the pod if we didn’t want to keep getting attacked by hers, or other pods. The mischievous initiation rite was over, and Seti II was off with the pod. 
Finally got the reports back from the Engineering checks on Seti I. They found nothing wrong with her software. It must have been a glitch in the system, they said and advised that sending both Seti I and Seti II simultaneously for a month-long data run would be an efficient opportunity to determine if Seti I was indeed glitching, or if it was something else that was interfering with the robot’s capacity to function during the long journey. Another thing, the Naval Engineering department somehow missed that Seti I registered readings at a depth of one thousand and twenty-five meters. Which was the maximum depth Orcas have been recorded diving. Ever. It is not often that they do this, so the reason must have been worthwhile. Wrote a note so I wouldn’t forget, change study catch payments- choice prey- deter deep dives. If we wanted to finish the study without setbacks, we could definitely justify spending a little more money to secure better incentives. 
The conditions for getting out on the water to release Seti I again were perfect; sunny, with only a mild breeze. California, still one of the wealthiest states in the world was not spared the effects of global warming, just for being pretty and warm. What was once known as the place of perpetual summers shifted to temperamental and sporadic windstorms a few days each month. On the coast, this made conditions for the marine animals which the Pods depended on heavily for food, challenging. The Seti could always submerge underwater, but the crew and catch fishermen, unfortunately, would have to circumvent tumultuous waters. As usual, fifty thousand pounds of fresh catch would be loaded into the trucks and driven down to Serenity. The ethical oversight committee calculated that for a pod of fifteen, this was half of the intake required in a month’s time for optimal health. The justification was that by maxing out on half of the dietary intake requirements only, we were deterring the whales from becoming too reliant on the study pay as a means of existing. There had been issues with previous studies, and weaning-off amendments were helping. Noticing that the catch looked well today, the good omen sufficed. Dawn's pod wasn’t starving on study payout, and Seti I and II would be leaving together this time. Everything was going to work out fine. 
A month later, two location pings reading the same area sent the desktop software to a pick-up location. The coordinates looked almost identical. Almost. There were no statistically significant discrepancies between Seti I and II in terms of logging atmospheric conditions, but the divergence was evident when our two cameramen decided to split. Seti II’s data logged readings at a depth of one thousand and twenty meters, while Seti II never deviated from the expected depths. It still wasn’t clear why the oldest members of the pod were diving so deep. Nothing pulled up on the literature search mentioned why the older members of a pod would leave the younger members near the surface. It was bizarre behaviour. The Navy archives were not accessible with our limited research clearance, so as soon as the current data was analysed, Id submit a report. 
The manufacturing department's email ensured me that the Seti’s were designed to function perfectly down to three thousand meters depth. There was going to be no technical problem. Good. The depth limit had been set for Cuvier’s Beaked whales, and Sperm whale research when the Setis had just been released. In all my years of studying Orcas, the only incidence of a single whale diving to one thousand and eighty-six meters was in pursuit of a Toothfish somewhere off the coast of the south Atlantic. Maybe Dawn’s pod had found Toothfish. 
It would take a few hours to download the requested video files from Seti I and II. Accounting for this on the way home, dinner would require assembly by design. Cooking while loading and eating while watching. David was away, and the beautiful new glass screen installed recently warranted use. Regardless of the anomaly, this was a special milestone. There would be wine.
There was only darkness and a movement of planktonic “sea snow” caught by Seti’s light all the way down. Once below one thousand meters, they’d entered the midnight zone. Surface light doesn’t penetrate this deep, so Seti’s night vision mode is useless in this situation. Its cameras, however, were the best of the best, military issue, spared for civilian use. Every now and then my large black screen would break up its monotony with little sparks of bioluminescence. These creatures were so accustomed to life in the deep they were completely unphased by the lack of light. 
This was definitely not Toothfish. A faint light began to emerge out of the darkness, and the Orcas could be heard clicking and whirring. Something had excited them. Or scared them. A pause in the audio was followed by a surface, massive. It took several minutes for it to pass on my screen. What the hell was a submarine doing down here? This area was off-limits to mining. The crew must have been pining for a felony on Military grounds. And they’ve freaked out my whales. Hitting replay, Id clocked the time. If I couldn’t figure out what sort of vessel it was, at least I’d get a rough estimate of how large it might be. The Navy guys would know. The Navy guys know everything that goes on in these waters. 
The next morning, I managed to corral a few of the cetacean veterinarians onto Serenity. I was cleared to bring along three to confirm physical signs of the dive but had a couple more volunteers show up. Dawn and the oldest whales would need to spend a few days recovering near the surface, that was for sure. The fresh catch was brought along, since the oldest whales were too exhausted to hunt the younger calves would need to be supplemented. 
I edged towards the open edge of Serenity and flipped on the translator. It always updated wirelessly.
“How Dawn?” 
“Dawn hungry, Dawn rest.” 
Of course, my dear.
“Dawn hunting?” 
No response, she curiously bobbed her head over the water, then turned sideways to observe me. Like a bird would do.
“Dawn hunting big whale?” 
No response. 
“Big whale hunt Dawn?” 
And that was that. She let out an unintelligible series of squeaks and disappeared underwater.
 
Back at the lab I went through Seti I’s footage. I click one, and another, it was the same massive metallic object caught by Seti II. But the Seti II no longer had the data from the night before. 
“Hello Marc, me again. Any reason why my Seti II software would delete files on its own when downloading to a personal glass? I had some stuff go missing from last night” 
“Yeah, sometimes when you update the software, it will discard any blank recording outside the subject of interest, for example, in your case I see… you are studying the behaviour of Orcas?”
“Yes, true. But the files had already been observed and cached, it really should not be deleting any of my files after that?”
“I can take a look through. Do you have time now? Seti may have recorded a ‘blank’ ocean, and the software considered it an error. It’s been programmed so that it doesn’t take hours of background noise footage.”
“I see, Let me just have a quick look, and I’ll be right over, thank you, Marc.”
Pulling up the software I quickly remembered the AI command window. Seti, retrieve any deleted files from observation day. Ten files, retrieved. Input: Why were these files deleted? Output: Error code 503. No error code 503 in the manual.
A ring. It was the vet from earlier. 
“Hey, I’ve run the translator for the files from today’s audio, and nothing out of the norm. Dawns pretty funny” she laughed. 
“Whys that?” I smiled, shaking off the confusion. 
“It sounds like Dawn has taught Nisha and the pod a new phrase” 
“Okay, what new phrase?” Perhaps the audio had caught Dawn's unintelligible squeak earlier.
“She said: ‘We’re not alone’…” 
There was light-hearted laughter, followed by a low ringing that soon started to drown everything out. Faintly, as if the voice in the phone were sinking beneath the water, the muffled sound faded out to a pulse. Mine. Pinging, like audio waves travelling through the air. First across the surface of the ocean and then submerged into the water, into the ears of my mind. 
“...I mean, of course, they are not alone, they are in the great big ocean…”  
 
","August 11, 2023 21:04","[[{'Hunter Clark': 'Very interesting! Hope to read more like it', 'time': '22:10 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",gclsdk,The Master,Russ Hussain,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gclsdk/,/short-story/gclsdk/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Bedtime', 'Horror']",7 likes,"
""Heck, we would break down in the middle of some crazy forest !"" Jonesy struggled to keep up with Hollins. He blinked through his spectacles struggling to see through the freezing fog let alone the trees and foliage.
 	Hollins shrugged, parting a thorny bush aside before scratching his beard. "" I see what you mean... Well uhm, let's keep movin'.""
	""Place gives me the creeps,"" Jonesy tightened his scarf to keep the night air from biting his neck. ""Isn't this where they spotted strange stuff hovering about...""
	""That's what they say.""
	""Reckon it's true ?""
	""Dunno,"" Hollins soldiered on, side stepping a branch. "" Uhm, now let's see...  This Cabin's Lodge. Another half mile there's a mansion.""
	""You mean people live here ? "" 
	""Uh, huh,"" Hollins flicked on the torch, its ray steadily diffusing through the gloom, giving the illusion of warmth. ""Prob'ly some old fella."" He shifted his hefty frame and scratched another welt under his beard. "" Guess you can't blast people 'cos they want solitude. ""
	""Yeah, guess not.""
 	They continued for perhaps another few hundred yards before spotting the aforesaid mansion. Big and imposing, a foliage ridden path lead to a monumental door that sported studded bars.. 
	""Heck, meet Norman Bates.""
	""Ha,"" Hollins gave a rye grin then frowned. ""Say, that's weird... There ain't no fog patches where the house is ?""
	""What..,"" Jonesy shivered, squinting to where Hollins was looking. 
They knocked on the door almost apologetically. Three not very confident knocks. Strange shapes danced around in the gloom until one of the lights came on, diffusing through a set of French windows.
	"" Man, I hate this..."" Jonesy whispered. 
	""Now remember, smile politely.""
	They heard the sound of a lock unbolt: the door swung open and a boy in his early teens glanced at them expressionlessly. 
	""Uhm, howdy,"" Hollins beamed. ""Say, would you know if there is a garage nearby. Our chevy broke down ?""
	There was a pause. ""We're not alone.""
	""Beg pardon...""
	"" Where have you broken down ?""
	""About a mile that way,"" Hollins gestured. 
	""There aren't any garages around here,"" the boy's gaze became intense as if drinking them in. From both his grey clothes and demeanour, he seemed to belong to another era. And somewhat impoverished.
	""No phone around either ?""
	""No."" There was an awkward silence before he spoke again. ""But you are welcome to come in."" 
	""Erm, "" Jonesy was about to interrupt before Hollins stepped in with a big smile.""This guys talks strange."" Jonesy whispered. ""I say we get outta here.""
""It's either this or we freeze our ass off in the chevy.""
""But this ain't normal....""
""Neither are we"" Hollins said in a hushed tone before the boy glanced at them.
	In side, the place seemed to be carved from stone with a huge staircase that led to other rooms. With their feet tapping against the uncarpeted floor, they made their their way into the guest room. It too was ridiculously big but well furnished with a solid oak dining table that could have seated ten people. A stone built mantel piece exuded warmth from a fire stacked with logs. Red, velvety cushions laced the wooden chairs.
	""Say this is grand,"" Hollins looked around. The heat from the fire was soothing but the boy's pallor seemed to grow paler. As before, he seemed emotionless, except for the intense stare. ""The master instructed to welcome guests.""
	""The Master... ?"" Jonesy piped in, suspicious.
	The boy nodded.
	""Is he in now ?"" 
	""No. ""
	""Erm, "" Hollins filled the awkward silence. ""I guess there's nothin' like country folk to welcome people.""
	The boy bade them sit down only Jonesy found he could not return his gaze. Still, he smiled  - until he placed his hand on a chair. A knot tightened in his stomach, giving him a feeling of dread. Or as if he'd touched a thorny bush. The boy interrupted, watching. ""My master is a collector of antiques. It's not to everyone's  taste.""
	""Erm, it's fine "" Jonesy stalled though it was not convincing. Still, he had to admit this was better than freezing in the cold and elected to ignore the feeling of revulsion as he sat on the chair, though not really settling into it. The weight was mostly on his thighs and something sharp twinged in his ankle. 
	""Excuse me,"" the boy vanished before bringing in a platter of roast duck and pheasant, a hefty loaf of bread and cooked vegetables. Deftly, he laid down the plates and cutlery. Hollins was about to break the silence again but frowned:  a pungent odour came from the boy. Jonesy spotted scars on the boy's wrists tracing to his elbow. ""I must fetch the wine,"" he vanished again, leaving them alone.
	""Let's get outta here !""
	""Relax,"" Hollins interjected, tucking into the food. "" Okay, so he's a bit weird. Y' never know, he probably thinks we're wierd. We ain't exactly dressed for a shoot.""
	""What the heck's he doin' here by himself ?""
	""He has a Master.""
	""....Which we haven't seen."" 
	""Look, we're outta the cold. Relax Jonesy.""
	They were perhaps halfway through dinner when the boy came in to stir the fire before seating himself at the other end of the table, watching them. There was something brazen about it despite the same expressionless demeanour. Except for the stare.
	""The meal's grand,"" Hollins interjected. ""Say, you made it ?""
	A nod.
	""That's fast. ""
	""I knew you were coming.""
	There was a thick silence. Jonesy gave Hollins a glance. 
""I mean,"" their host seemed to catch himself :"" strangers come in quite often."" 
	Perhaps it was the curious tone but it made Jonesy  swing around as if something icy had touched him. He stared into mid air, thought he saw something but detected nothing  ""Erm, I think there is a draft coming from somewhere,"" he muttered, embarrassed.
	""That's the prob with old houses,"" Hollins helped himself to another mouthful. ""Drafts everywhere."" He laughed again but except for the fire crackling, it was the only sound in the room. As the boy watched Hollins eat, Jonesy noticed his thumbnails were grown into edges that curled. And whilst the latter thought neither of them were watching, he scratched the other wrist with one of those sharp thumb nails untill it bled. As if he was scoring some kind of tally. Jonsey looked away, feigning he hadn't seen it. Meanwhile Hollins happily tucked in before slurping a whole quart of wine. ""Erm, excuse me,"" he stifled a burp.
	For a split second, the boy's expression seemed to soften before a frown darkend his gaze. The words he spoke seemed to belong to someone much older. "" If I could show you to your chambers. Tomorrow, the Master can see you to the garage."" 
	""I thought you said there wasn't one around,"" Jonsey interjected. He didn't mean to sound confronting.
	"" There is one, but it's shut for now.""
	Well, if we could..."" Hollins gestured as the boy led them up the huge staircase and opened the first room. It was well furnished with twin beds, a mini library section and solid, oak chairs. A tatty whicker chair was by the window, as if it were an after thought.
	""The guest bedroom,"" the boy motioned, the smell about him becoming stronger. ""You'll find the beds are comfortable."" 
	He was about to turn and leave when Jonesy interrupted "" Erm say, what about the key ?""
	""Key...""
	""Well, to lock the door.""
	""I keep it, should you require anything."" His gaze seemed to darken again and if Jonesy hadn't known better, he could have sworn the boy was glaring at him. 
	""I wonder what that was about ?"" he said when the door shut. ""He seemed offended.""
	""Not enough for him to refuse,"" Hollins hadn't seemed bothered. "" A bed each and for free. I think we ought to give him a few dollars tomorrow. What's that about country folk not bein' nice...""
	""You notice those scars on his wrist ?""
	""Uh huh,"" Hollins peeled his jacket away. ""Say, it's cold in here,"" he dived into the nearest bed and began settling in. 
	""Oh, heck ...""
	""Jonesy,"" Hollins yawned. ""I been in dives that would 'ake a goat puke. Now get some kip too."" 
	It came to be whilst Hollins was snoring away, Jonesy found that same knot tighten in his stomach. The boy's strangeness, the scars on his wrist, the Master he kept mentioning but nowhere to be seen made him feel on edge. Listening to Hollins snoring, he sat on the other bed, fully clothed and thought something grabbed at him. Immediately he jolted away, feeling a revulsion. There was no way he was getting into that bed ! His gut wouldn't let him. It occurred to him about the door and he tilted a chair against he handle. Perhaps it wouldn't keep anything from coming in but it made him feel better. Hesitantly, he settled into the tatty whicker chair, half expecting something to happen. Only the chair felt normal, but then he reasoned, it wasn't oak wood. Had he developed an aversion to that ?  
	Inevitably, fatigue settled into his muscles making them heavy and leaden only he couldn't tell if he was in a strange trance. He felt the furniture moving towards him with myriad hands out stretched. The same feeling he'd had when something icy had touched him in the guest room during dinner. Faces, with contorted expressions, damning him. 
	He now knew he was awake and spotted Hollins not slumbering on a bed but on bodies that became animated. Waxy, myriad hands stretched to pull him. To become one of them. 
	Hollins was sinking, sinking.... Except Jonesy managed to jolt himself free. Before he knew it, he was pullng Hollins from the hands. Only they wanted their prey, dragging him deeper into the waxy clump of a bed until Jonesy gave a huge heave, rendering him free. Hollins staggered, pale and with a look of sheer panic. ""What the frig ...Where am I ?"" he slurred. The waxy hands seemed to scream, as if they had been robbed.
	""There's ghouls in the furniture... In the furniture,"" Jonesy's voice was shaky. ""In the wood.We gotta get outta here !""
	"" Wh, where... in the whaaaat ?""
	""We gotta escape !"" Jonesy cried, before solid footsteps came to the door and the chair stacked against it began to rattle. It was something powerful, something not human. The Master.
 
 
 
","August 08, 2023 02:57",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",ey4qyw,Earth 2.0,Aster Parks,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ey4qyw/,/short-story/ey4qyw/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Drama', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
It was finally the day. The day we woke up from hyper sleep. As my eyes slowly began to open, I could see the flashing lights of the sleeper pod’s glass control panel door before me. I smiled to myself as I reached up and took off my respirator mask. I pressed the button inside my sleeper pod that opened the glass panel door.
           “Whoohoo!” I was greeted by the sound of my crew mates cheering excitedly. I floated out of my sleeper pod and stared in awe at the beautiful sight before me. A large blue and green planet was visible outside of the large bay windows of our spaceship. It was like looking at Earth, though this planet was three times the size of our home planet.
           “We finally made it. Welcome to Earth 2.0.” Our captain, Ethan, said as he headed out of the sleeping pod chambers. We followed him through the ship and to the cockpit of the ship. “Alexis, start making preparations for us to land.” Ethan instructed me.
           “Right away, sir.” I responded as I headed over to my computer panel. I scanned the planet before us and began computing the data required for us to land. “I found a great spot to land. A large field between a forest and a mountain range. There appears to be a fresh water source nearby as well, in a river that cuts through the mountain range.” I reported.
           “Then let us get ready to land.” Ethan commanded. We all became even more excited as we prepared to land our ship. Our spaceship had been named The Ark because it included the DNA of every species that ever existed on Earth, including human embryos that were designed to be grown in the laboratory within the ship. Our crew only had twelve people on it. Six men and six women. We were considered the smartest and most promising humans of our species when we were chosen, and they hoped that keeping an equal ratio would promote us creating offspring of our own to live among the lab-born humans we were tasked with creating. However, it was not required that we pro-create. While we all were top-notch astronauts and engineers, we all also possessed the skills needed to successfully complete the mission of populating a new planet with our dying species.
           “Lost in thought, Alexis?” Susan asked me suddenly. I smiled at her.
           “Do you think there are any humans left on Earth?” I asked her.
           “We have been in hyper sleep for almost three hundred years, and when we left, Earth was dying. I would be surprised if anyone were still alive on Earth.” Susan shook her head.
           “Well, we will know soon. The first part of our mission is to reach out to any of the other colonies we can, including Earth.” Justin commented.
           “Some of them had a hundred-year head start.” Lola pouted.
           “And we have at least a hundred-year head start to several other Arks.” Steve reminded Lola.
           “True.” I agreed. We then refocused and began to prepare for our descent onto the planet. The sight before us on our descent was beautiful. This was one of the twenty planets that were deemed suitable for human life. This mission was ultimately a restart mission. A second chance for the human race. My crew was hopeful for the success of this mission. This is what we had endured hyper sleep for three hundred years for. Now it was time to start our mission. “My readings indicate the air is breathable.” I said once we had successfully landed on the large planet.
           “I want everyone to take a breathing apparatus. These masks can convert the elements in the air into breathable air for us, so they are ideal for exploration as well as diving.” Ethan told us.
           “Yes, sir!” We said in unison before heading to the hatch of The Ark. In the hatch were our special exploration suits. Everyone except for Susan and Justin put on their suit. Susan and Justin had been assigned to stay with the ship and start preparing the robotic workers we had brought with us to begin building housing units for us and the future humans we would create.
           “We will only be checking out a mile around The Ark. We need to set up a perimeter just in case there is any native life that could be dangerous to us. Since this planet is almost identical to Earth, we need to be prepared to come across new life forms.” Ethan warned us.
           “Yes, sir.” I nodded once I was fully dressed and ready for the exploration. Ethan waved to Susan and Justin. The two headed back inside and closed the airlock. The other four of us watched as the hatch opened, revealing an idyllic meadow scene before us. We were all wearing our breathing apparatus, but it was not on. We walked out to the meadow and began scanning the plant life.
           “Oh, there is a caterpillar!” Lola exclaimed as she scanned the grass.
           “Looks like there are bugs on this planet too.” Steve complained. I laughed.
           “Spread out!” Ethan instructed. We all nodded and split up. We stayed within each other’s sight and began walking out to set up our perimeter. I noted that the plant life was very similar to the kind that grew on Earth and did not seem poisonous in any way to humans. This was a good thing for us. The ones who decided to send us to this planet in the first place had limited knowledge. While they knew this planet was identical to Earth in the sense that it had all the elements needed to create life, they had no knowledge about the life that had formed on this planet. This planet could easily be filled with things designed to kill us; it was a huge risk but a necessary one to save mankind.
           “Hm?” I looked out towards the tree line and thought I saw a humanoid shape. As soon as I saw it though, it was gone. “I saw something in the forest up ahead. Looks humanoid.” I called over on my communicator.
           “The evolutionary scientist from Earth told us that we would probably come across other humanoid creatures on these planets.” Ethan reminded me. “He called the human form the most practical.” He chuckled.
           “I recall.” I shook my head. “I am sure he regrets saying such a thing considering the annihilation of our species.” I sighed.
           “Maybe he is in hell, learning to regret it.” Steve said. I rolled my eyes at the comment and continued walking out until I reached the mile marker. I was around fifteen feet away from the tree line and heard some rustling of leaves. I switched on the camera attached to my shoulder and looked around the area.
           “What the-?” I looked on in shock as I saw what looked like a little girl staring at me from behind some trees. “We’re not alone!” I called out on my communicator.
           “What?” Ethan responded.
           “I see a little humanoid girl in the forest.” I explained. The girl looked nearly identical to humans, the only difference I could see was on her hand that was grasping the tree. Instead of normal human fingers, hers were elongated and had what looked like talons inside of fingernails at the end of them. Her eyes were also inhuman. She had eyes that glowed in the dark under the canopy of trees. “Hello.” I waved to her. I froze when I saw her smile at me, revealing a set of large and bloody fangs. “Uh-oh.” I said as I began slowly backing away. Suddenly the girl was no longer alone. Four more humanoids revealed themselves hidden within the trees of the forest. “Crap! Everyone gets back to The Ark!” I screamed over the communicator as I bolted towards the ship as fast as possible. Everyone else made it to the hatch before me and I saw them looking behind me in horror. I briefly looked back and saw twenty humanoids chasing after me.
           “Grab her!” Ethan yelled as the other two grabbed me and yanked me into the ship before Ethan turned on the forcefield of the ship. Even with the hatch open, the forcefield worked. We watched as the humanoids ran into the forcefield and screamed in pain as they were zapped by high voltage electricity.
           “Amazing.” Ethan said as the humanoids stopped running into the forcefield and started looking around. “They show intelligence. They seem to have understanding.” Ethan commented.
           “They also have built in weapons.” I said as I pointed at their feet and hands. They all possessed claws and talons, and when they hissed at us, we could see large fangs filling their mouth.
           “I wonder how the evolutionist would explain this.” Steve commented.
           “I wonder how god would.” Lola added. They helped me up as Ethan closed the hatch. We got out of our exploration gear and headed inside. Once inside, a concerned looking Susan and Justin greeted us.
           “What is it? Scared of the natives?” Ethan teased them.
           “Sort of…” Susan admitted. Justin went over to the control panel and pulled up a hologram of a young woman.
           “When we turned on The Ark’s communicator this came up. You need to watch it.” Justin said.
           “Okay.” Ethan nodded, then he pressed play.
 
           “If you are watching this, I hope it is off planet. My name is Angela Daring. I was selected with three other scientists for a mission to rebuild the human race on this planet. When we arrived, everything was going well, but we were unable to contact our home planet, Earth. We tried to cultivate this planet, but our gear was insufficient. This planet may look inviting at first, but it is uninhabitable. The ground has a layer of dirt that is only a few feet thick then you are met with a stone that is so hard, it destroyed all our tools when we tried to mine it. The trees and plants look promising, but as soon as you chop them down, or harvest them, they wither and rot at a rate that should be impossible. The water of this world is just as impossible. We tried to bring a bucket of water back to our ship, but by the time we made it to our ship the water had eaten through the metal bottom of the bucket…we can only survive off of the items we brought with us, which is only enough for a few years if that…I am afraid that we will die on this planet…”
 
           Ethan paused the video and turned to Justin. A look of concern written on his face.
           “Is this intergalactic?” He asked. Justin shook his head. “That means that this transmission was sent from this planet…” He realized. We all knew what this meant. We did not have the facilities to leave this planet on The Ark. It was designed to stay put once it was landed. It could not be launched from the planet successfully. Ethan nodded then fast-forwarded the video. When the video had five minutes left, he continued to play it.
 
           “At this point, I am all that is left. I can say that we were successful in some ways at keeping the human race alive. Our genetically altered humans have been surviving successfully all this time. We really lucked out when were came across the carcasses of some of the animals that call this planet home. Now, these genetically altered humans will keep our DNA alive. But we gave up something great to achieve this. These humanoids formed smaller, ape-like brains. The are smart enough to learn things, but truthfully, they are the equivalent of caveman. Maybe in time, they will evolve like we did. I am afraid that this is all I can do…I successfully sent one message back to Earth, telling them to never send anyone here…my creations will certainly kill them…”
 
           The video showed Angela’s last moments of life and we watched as she dies in front of us. Her body was skin and bones now, and she no longer looked like a young woman, instead a haggard old woman. We all shared a collective moment of horror as we realized that we were seeing our own future.
           “We need to find a way off this planet.” Justin said.
           “Where would we even go? No, we need to verify if what she is reporting is still true!” Steve yelled.
           “Are we going to starve to death?” Lola started to cry. I scowled at them.
           “Enough!” I yelled. “We are not going to die!” I told them.
           “Alexis is right. Even if we cannot cultivate this planet, The Ark has a large greenhouse we can use to grow our own food. We can pull water out of the atmosphere instead of relying on ground water. And we have the technology to study the materials of this planet and once we learn how to cultivate it I think we should work on building attachments to The Ark.” Ethan said. This was why he was our captain.
           “What about the locals?” Justin asked.
           “They cannot break through our forcefield, and they have a certain level of intelligence. I think we should be wary of them, not afraid.” Ethan reassured us. He then pointed out of the bay windows of the ship. We saw the humanoids running around, playing much like primates. “We need to help these people regain their humanity. It will take a lot of work, and gaining their trust, but we have the means to make them human again. Angela will not have died for nothing.” Ethan declared.
           “I agree. We have a whole living facility thanks to The Ark. We may not be able to terraform this planet, but we can use our technology to live here and complete our mission.” I agreed with Ethan.
           “Well, if the Captain and the Second in command say we can do it, then we can do it.” Steve nodded.
           “Right.” Lola sniffled as she nodded.
           “We can do this.” Susan declared.
           “Then let us get started.” Ethan smiled. We would make the best of our situation, and we would help the humanoids created due to the error of mankind. This planet may not be as like Earth as we hoped, but we would figure this out. We had the technology to be successful. We would succeed.
","August 04, 2023 22:35","[[{'Delbert Griffith': ""This was a good adventure tale, and I really liked that it had some unexpected problems thrown at the explorers/settlers. The new Garden of Eden isn't as it seems; there is work to do and hardship to suffer. Nice!"", 'time': '13:03 Aug 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",k9wtjo,Break Neck Mountain,Larry Litton,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/k9wtjo/,/short-story/k9wtjo/,Dialogue,0,"['Drama', 'Mystery', 'Sad']",7 likes,"
“Isn’t it a beautiful day Emily?” the old man said, holding his hiking sticks, one in each hand. He hit the trail head with a spring in his step that he hadn’t felt in decades. He carried a Blue Northern backpack, the same one he’d used to scale K-2 fifty years earlier when he was a spritely thirty year old man.  It was cold out, ten degrees, not counting a northern wind that blew around fifteen knots but the sky was clear, so perfectly blue that it stung the old man’s eyes just to look at it. His heart quickened a beat at the sight of the mountain in front of him, the same mountain he and Emily had hiked together on their honeymoon sixty years ago. He smelled the pine in the crispy, pure air and he heard a flock of geese squawking above, heading south as fast as they could.  He also heard music – someone nearby had a radio and Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ was playing.“Do you hear that Emily?” the old man shouted. “Remember when you and I danced to that song at Frankie and Elizabeth’s wedding?”“How could I ever forget,” Emily said. “You wore that godawful cowboy hat you had bought in Texas when you were going through your cowboy phase.”The old man chuckled. “I guess I’ve had a few phases now haven’t I?” the old man said.  “I never told you this,” Emily said with a wink. “But I threw that old hat away not long after the wedding.”“Why you devil,” the old man said playfully. He grabbed Emily and hugged her. “That’s why I love you so much. You never could keep a secret from me. Even though some secrets I guess take you sixty years to confess.” As the Dylan song played the old man began to sing and Emily put her hands to her ears.“You’re killing me!” she shouted. The old man grabbed her and wrapped her in an embrace and they danced on the trail, swaying to the music as the wind rustled through the trees.A young couple coming off the trail head saw the old man dancing and they chuckled. He danced as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  The old man was oblivious to them as they approached him.“You look like you’re having a wonderful day,” the young man said.Startled, the old man stopped singing and dancing and it took him a minute to get his bearings.“I’m having the best day of my life,” the old man said. “I haven’t felt this great in years.”“Make sure you’re careful up there,” the young man said. “A front is coming through and snow’s coming.”“We’ll be fine,” the old man said. “Emily and I have hiked this mountain a hundred times. We came here on our honeymoon before your parents were probably even born. Isn’t that right my dear?”Emily smiled at him and winked at him again.“Are you sure you’re ok sir?” the young man asked.“Absolutely,” the old man said. “We’re just going hike up and come right back down. You folks have a grand day.”With that the old man turned with Emily and began his hike up the steep trail.He wore a pair of his old khaki hiking pants with long johns underneath. The pants were loose fitting, his belt tightened to the last notch but they still sagged. His jacket was an old goose down filled thing that had once been orange but had long since faded to a dull brown. He wore a stocking cap to cover his head that was covered with the wispiest thin of white hair. “I should have thrown that jacket away too come to think of it,” Emily said. “That’s about the sorriest excuse for a coat I think I’ve ever seen.”The old man laughed. “I can forgive the hat my dear,” he said. “But getting rid of this jacket would have been unforgiveable.” It was his turn to give her a wink.They turned and started up the rocky trail. The pines towered above them and there were patches of snow scattered about in the shadows of the trees. They were about a quarter mile up the trail when they came upon a little lake that had still not frozen over.“Would you look at that?” he said to Emily. “Remember when this was just a stream running through here? Now it’s a damned lake.”“Darling,” Emily said. “Sixty years is a rather long time.” She paused a moment as if trying to find a memory. “I seem to recall us catching quite a few fish when we were here.”“We did!” the old man exclaimed. “I taught you how to fly fish.”“I also seem to recall that I caught a few more fish than you,” she smiled and batted her eyes and the old man felt the butterflies flit through his belly like he did when he saw her at the soda fountain all those years ago.  “Now don’t go rubbing it in,” the old man said. “I also seem to remember a girl who didn’t have the stomach for cleaning all those fish.”Emily punched him in the shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. She put her arm around his shoulders as they soldiered on up the path.  They came up to the base of steep cliff that soared at least three hundred feet straight above them. The trail they planned to take was a series of switchbacks right up that mountain. The local Coloradan’s called it Break Neck Mountain.His thoughts floated aimlessly through his head and the picture of his son Frankie kept coming to the top. He felt a surge of sadness grip him.“Do you still miss him?” the old man asked. As if she could read his mind she nodded her head and the old man thought he saw a tear at the corner of her eye.“I think about him all the time,” Emily said.  “God took him too early,” the old man said. Emily hugged him tighter and he felt his knees go weak. The memories of Frankie flooded his mind and he started to weep.Emily wiped away his tears and held his face in her hands and stared deep into his eyes.“Remember the silly way he used to dance?” Emily asked. “The way his used to gyrate those hips? Remember those silly faces he used to make when you gave him the sour balls from the vending machine at the grocery store? Remember the look in his eyes when we held him just before he passed?”The old man nodded and thought his heart would burst at the love he felt from her at that moment.“It’s important to remember. It keeps him alive in your heart. It's how we know we're not alone.” They stood and held each other and the old man had no idea how much time had passed.  They started moving up the trail again and the old man noticed the sky was darkening and the air was colder.  A storm was coming and his legs were starting to hurt. He needed a quick break. He sat on a rock and Emily sat beside him. He slid the backpack off his shoulders and reached in and took out two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Snow began to fall in horizontal sheets.“I made your favorite lunch,” the old man said. “Jiff’s peanut butter with some Smucker’s Strawberry Jam.”Emily smiled at him but she made no effort to reach for the sandwich.“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked her.She gazed into his eyes. The sky grew even darker and the old man began to hear wolves howling somewhere close by.  “I hope you know how much I love you,” Emily said.  The wind stiffened and the old man shivered. He pulled his arms in close to his body. Emily didn’t look cold at all.And that’s when he heard a faint voice in his head. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in years. He used to hear it all the time – it used to be loud and clear and it would speak to him whenever he thought about something, or read something, or whenever he tried to reason out a problem.“Emily’s been dead for twenty years,” the voice said to him.The old man shook his head and Emily was fading in front of him like mist. She mouthed one final word before she was gone forever.“Hurry.”The old man screamed into the darkening sky. The wolves were closer now and he could hear them howling into the wind as the wind blew what felt like near hurricane force winds.“Where have I been for the past twenty years?” the old man asked.“I don’t know,” the voice in his head said. “But it was dark there. And it was silent.”
","August 09, 2023 17:55",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",wrauqg,They are not alone.,Daniel Brandt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/wrauqg/,/short-story/wrauqg/,Dialogue,0,"['Teens & Young Adult', 'Friendship', 'Drama']",7 likes,"
There was a time when words mattered. They were expensive. Writing was maybe cheap on paper. But editing, printing, distribution, exposure. Not everyone could write. Talent, connections, and money, that’s what defined writers. Nowadays, everyone can shitpost on Twitter and make a name for themselves. Create a following. Be a part of a cult. The threshold for opinions has been obliterated.And here I am, trying to shape words into something that matters, something that is more than a commodity. Just wasting my time. Josephine rested her head between her hands and stared down at a lined piece of paper with three words: I have seen.. Seen what? Where? Why? How? What was the purpose of all of this? For life, essentially, she was nothing more than a pile of meat wrapped in skin walking around, consuming air and natural resources waiting to be wiped out by time so no one would remember her. Sure, her friends and family would remember her. Until they were also dead. And then everyone else. Whole generations, billions of people would just be, gone. Nothing. Their only meaning for humanity for the rest of conscious time would be as statistics that scientists and pundits could use as benchmarks for irrelevant points.She knew. She knew that the end was coming and that all of humanity would be wiped out. The whole planet, the whole solar system would become a fire-torn hellscape. Sure, it’s a couple of billion years in the future. But in the grand scheme of things, with the eternity of time being, well, long, what was a couple of billion years but a blink of an eye? Death was coming. And here I am… trying to shape words into something meaningful.She leaned back, picked up her phone, and doom-scrolled through news, Twitter feeds, and snapshots of fake ideal worlds from lifestyle influencers on Instagram. After 30 minutes of nonsense, increased anxiety, and envy of the thousands of likes that some girl doing yoga on a beach got with the caption “live your life to the fullest” she shut down all the apps. Fuck them, fuck all of them.Josephine called Rob. It took him 7 beeps before he answered. Fuck him.“Sup’?”“It’s all going to hell. Everything.”“Again?”“It’s always going to hell. Why do people use Twitter? Insane people shitposting opinions about things they have no idea about. And Instagram! Where everything is awesome and perfect.”“Stop using it then” She could hear him tap away at his keyboard. Writing some code probably. He earned mountains of cash each month. More than she did in a year. Fuck him.“It’s not my fault. These apps are designed to make me addicted you know? Evil algorithms that exploit our brains. What’s next? Gimme that shit, that dopamine. I’m a drug user Rob, it’s a condition. I’m sick.”“I’ve known that you're sick from the first time I met you.”“We were like five!”“Yup, I knew. Everyone knew. Jos, you dressed up Mr. Whiskers as Charles Manson for Halloween.”“So what? It’s perfectly normal if you have some sense of what the world is like.”“What do you want Jos?”“I need to drink. And you need to drink with me.”Rob sighed on the other end of the phone. “I’m working Jos, for like, a lot more hours.”“Working is just a path for your corporate overlords to steal your time and then you’re dead. Dead Rob, for like, a lot more hours than being at work. We’re all going to die.” “Jos..”“I’m not taking no for an answer. Jimmie’s, thirty minutes. Say your sick or something.”There was a long pause. “One hour.”“No, half an hour.”“I’ll be there in one hour.”“Greedy bastard.”“Thank you Jos, see you in an hour. Don’t call me in 35 minutes because I’m not there and you are lonely.”“Can’t promise.”“You call me before I am there and I will turn around.”“Call me before I’m there and I will turn around” She mimicked him like a child and hung up.Josephine changed her underwear, they were probably past their best-before date anyway and she dressed for minor success. Not long ago, she had gained a few grown-up points by changing her wardrobe from offensive depression to a minor disappointment. She had realized that the first style had done her no favors in gaining internships at publishers. Josephine had got one offer at a queer communist revolutionary underground publisher that she tried for a few weeks. But at some point, she just felt that they were too optimistic. They actually believed. She imagined that working for a ‘real’ publisher would grant her access to what she needed to explode as a Russian depressionist supernova.At a show and tell in 7th grade she made a PowerPoint of her life plan in a very detailed timeline. She would outcompete the great Russian pessimist author Mikhail Lermontov before she was 18. Life did not turn out that way. She had deviated heavily from the timeline by drafting hundreds of first pages but only on rare occasions managed to get to a third page. Josephine had tried poetry as a way out. Maybe I can do spoken word. They are all depressed and desperate anyway. How hard can it be? She tried, and did fairly well by the reactions from the audience but, at the post-mingle, it was as if the onslaught of existential angst that she had forced down the throats of the audience had not stuck to them like a psychotic needy stalker boyfriend with no respect for authorities. No, instead they drank for pleasure, they laughed.She enrolled at a community college in creative writing. There she produced prose that some would call finished products with a beginning, a middle, and an end. But they were a far cry from her vision of ruining people’s hope and making them understand the futility of life. Resistance is futile. Why didn’t anyone cheer for the Borg?Josephine arrived at Jimmie’s Corner Bar half an hour later by bike and went inside. She liked Jimmie’s. The first thing that hit you was the luke warm smell of rejected dreams. It was a place where, mostly middle-aged men, found each other and strengthen their resolve to not have any more ambitions. “Hey Jimmie”, she nodded at Jimmy. Jimmie nodded back.“Hey Jos, how’s life?”“About to come to an end,” she replied.“Great, so same as last week?”“Same as every week”“Your mother called.”She sighed. “She still hopes that I will go through a wonderful metamorphosis and turn into a career woman with a nice husband so she can get grandchildren. Dad is still disappointed.”“Still paying your bills?”“Shut up”Jimmie smirked. Josephine nodded to the usual morning patrons that by early afternoon, Jimmie would throw out. They would then sway back and forth along the sidewalks to get home. She sat down in her usual booth, took out her phone, and opened the notepad app. Jimmie came not soon after and served her the cheapest lager he had. During one of her “inspirational binges,” she invented her own index; APD. Alcohol Per Dollar. Jimmies cheapest beer had a great APD score. She began writing in the app. There was a time when words mattered... 20 minutes later, no more words had been added.Rob arrived, waved at Josephine, ordered some expensive American Pale Ale, and sat down opposite her. She put her phone away, crossed her arms, and leaned forward on the table. “Bad APD on that one,” she said. Rob lifted the glass and looked at it, “But pretty tasty” he replied and took a sip.“Why don’t you fuck me anymore?”“Because you cry and complain about my performance every time.”She leaned back and looked at the bar. “Whatever. I’m a great fuck.”“No Jos, not really.” He took another sip.“How do you know? All you do is tap on your keyboard and make code code code” She frowned and made her childish voice again.“You know I go on dates, lots of them.”“So?”“Do you want me to fuck you again?”“No, but that’s not the point. The point is, why don’t you want it.” She took a large gulp of her beer.“Is that why we’re here, to discuss your sex life?”She was silent, looked him straight into his eyes, and then suddenly raised her hands, tilted back her head, widened her eyes, and shaped her fingers into guns, shaking them wildly.“Ho, ho, we’re not aloneee Rob, we’re not alone!”“You do the worst Nicolas Cage impressions. Even with your own made-up quotes.” She frowned and sat back. “Fuck you.”“Jos, you’re overdoing it. When he does the priest scene in Face Off, he acts crazy but with panache”Josephine raised her eyebrows and nodded with approval. “Since when do you know the word panache?”“Since yesterday, Wikipedia,” Rob replied and drank more.“Well look at you,” She mildly clapped her hands and took another big gulp.“It’s not even twelve Jos,” Rob said.“So, it’s not like I have anywhere to be or do or whatever.” She dunked her head on the table and left it there. Her dark hair spread out like a black velvet peacock.“So, writing isn’t going well.. again?”“No, it’s fucking not, you know, it’s so hard, soo hard” She flung her head up and her hair grazed Rob’s face.“Like, you know, it’s Twitter this Twitter that, fucking, fuckedily fuck fuck create insane cult followings and then you get published. No one wants to read anymore Rob, it’s all piecemeal, it’s all like, fast food content to blow your mind with shit that goes up your nose and down your ass and out into the world, and then, then you get a bazillion likes and theeen you end up on CNN or Fox and book deals and ooh the red carpet how good for you. Or you write some shit teenage angst sex depression about a young boy and/or girl who finds out that they are special and that the whoole world depends on them saving it from some crazy lunatic that didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.”She poured the rest of her beer down her throat.“You know I think Harry Potter is just seven books about J.K Rowling wishing she had a dick. Like, everyone has a wand Rob, and without a wand, you ain’t shit Rob, you ain’t shit without a wand.”Rob yawned. “You done?”“No Rob, I’m not fucking donee.” She waved at Jimmie to bring her another beer.“Do you know that we’re all going to die? And I’m not talking about us as like now, but like all of us, everyone ever, and then boom, the sun explodes and wipes out everything. Even our memories. Just gone. And the aliens, you know, we’re not alone” Josephine made the funny voice again. “The truth is out there man” She waved her arm, nearly hitting Jimmie as he served her another beer.“The aliens won’t find shit.”“So?” Rob replied and arrived at the point where the traditional fist-fighting argument over whether the glass is half full or half empty usually started.“How can you be so glass is half full all the time?!”“Jos, you know that you are a cliche right?”“No, I’m not. I got it all figure out, I can see people, Rob, I see everything” She leaned forward and pointed at her eye.“Yeah, everything but yourself. You’re a spoiled 20-something woman-child who is so desperate after meaning since you never had to do anything to get anything. You have been bitching about your writing forever and always blaming everyone else that you’re not some kind of famous depression evangelist that everyone calls when they need an amateur alcoholic to tell people about what life is really like.”“Fuck you, Rob, fuck. you.”“You think that you’re the first person to ‘see life’?”“Of course not, the Russians figured it out long ago.”“How about you actually follow in Dostoevsky’s footsteps then and live in a gulag for eight years?” Rob was annoyed.Josephine looked at him. His dark eyes. His sort of tanned skin. His black rugged hair. His lips.“Why did your parents name you Rob anyway? Shouldn’t you be called Jeong or something?” She gulped from her beer.“Ah cute Jos, cute. Racism before lunch. I’m glad I’m here.” he finished his APA and waved at Jimmie. “Do you have some nice IPA?”“Maybe Bell’s Brewery Two Hearted Ale?”“Haven’t tried, let’s do that one.”Jimmie brought a bottle and a glass.“I’m not a racist, I’m just saying.”“No, you’re not. You’re spoiled and you’d rather say something mean or strange than just face the truth, you’re not that special Jos. You’re just like every person ever who needed life to be about something more than nothing.” He poured the beer into the glass, the foam was perfect. Just in level with the edges.“Whatever Rob, like you’ve had it hard. So hard. Korean parents and now you’re a coder swimming in money.”She frowned, raised her beer, drank from it but sort of tried to hide behind the glass.“More than you at least, yeah, my parents worked hard to give me opportunities so I owe them. You just got opportunities on credit without a payback plan… Like, Jos, you’re 23 and your dad is still paying for you. And not because he wants to. He just does it. He’s like a feeder to your fat angst.”“So what?!” She exploded. “I’m full of angst, that’s me, the angst girl, so fucking angsty!”“That’s not even a word” Rob replied.“Now it is, I’m fucking Shakespeare, shaping half the English language out of nothing. Angsty, it’s a verb and an adjective at the same time.” she waved her arms like a French God draped in gold that just entered a 70s dance floor.“Whatever Jos. I should get back to work.” he spun his glass and drank from it. Josephine fiddled with her fingers for a while. There was a shared silence between them. She looked at him again, peering out through her hair.“Why, don’t you love me anymore?”Rob sighed. “I’ve always loved you, and always will. But you’re a fucking pain in the ass Jos.”She smiled slightly. “What do you love about me?”He looked at her and gave her an unwilling smile. “I do coding because I happened to be good at it, my life is okay. Your life is shit. It’s always shit. It’s like that if it’s not shit, you’ll go out and make it shit. Break your leg. Quit your job. Fuck, you walked out of an art exhibition raging that the colors were too bright for ‘real’ art.”He took a big gulp.“How can I not love that?”“So.. "" she twirled her hair.“So what?”“Why don’t you date me again?”He laughed. “Dating you is like bringing home up a coked up lost and found cat and leaving it alone for three days. We tried that, I can’t do it.”“Why are you here then?”He looked at her. Thought. Time passed. “I guess maybe I’m hoping that one day you will be less catastrophic depression and more.. just less. Why don’t you date someone else? Do you want to date me again?” He drank more.She stuck her tongue out. “Because, because, Other people are just aliens. They don’t get me. No sir, I found my prince and he’s right here. He should save me!”“You don’t want to be saved. You want an enabler.”“Yeah so? What’s so bad about that huh?” She finished her second beer and waved in her third.“Well, for one, you’re on your third beer, trying hard to into the big leagues of alcoholism. Not great for your Tinder profile.”She looked at her third beer. “Maybe this is my last beer? Huh? Maybe I’ve changed since you came in. Maybe I do want you to fuck me.”Rob laughed out loud, attracting the attention of the other patrons.“The fuck you have Jos.” he smiled and finished his beer. “I have to go now, Jos..” she looked at him. Those dark eyes that drew him in 20 years ago. That made him give her flowers when she wanted dismembered dolls. “Yeah?”“Why don’t you just write about whatever, like your day, your whole social media rant? Like, just stop trying so hard to be original. Can you do that for me? Jos, for me?” She didn’t want to. Every cell in her body wanted to fly away from any type of writing commitment to anyone else. It shouldn't be for anyone but for the truth, her truth. The true truth about life. “Maybe..” she said.“You want us to try again? For real, then you do this for me.” there was truth in his eyes. Sharp. He left. She sat there with her phone. She fought her fingers. Took a deep breath. There was a time when words mattered…...they were expensive. Writing was cheap perhaps on paper. But editing, printing, distribution - it was expensive. Not everyone could write. Talent, connections, and money, that’s what paved the way for the aspiring writer... 
","August 10, 2023 13:26",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",hk61yd,The Question.,Dean Nichols,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hk61yd/,/short-story/hk61yd/,Dialogue,0,['Fantasy'],7 likes,"
	In the year 2098, seventy-five years after the 2023 conflict between USA, Russia, and South Asia, which resulted in the devastating WW III, the Earth still try to recover from a twenty-year nuclear winter who claimed the lives of millions of people.
	With natural resources depleted, the few survivors live in the rubble of collapsed buildings, feeding mainly on wildlife, and some have even turned to cannibalism.
	Nonetheless, there are signs of civilization in the safe zones. The safe zones are mainly the high-tech areas, such Silicon Valley, San Francisco, Washington DC, and other technologically advanced areas. Electric barbwire provides a protective barrier from cannibals, thieves, and vandals.
	Behind the protective burrier, surviving scientists, engineers, and techies have successfully rebuilt solar generators and restored power.
	 Travis White, thirty-five-year-old, self-proclaimed astrophysicist, known as dumb Travis the gofer, or the clown, and for any Dumb Travis out there, there’s the persecutor, the tyrant, the tormentor, thus, James Olsen. 
	James, a forty years old, three-hundred pounds biker-type gorilla, owns the only watering hole, he simply called James Tavern, in downtown San Francisco.
	March twelve, 2098, was a somber and foggy day. Travis walked into the tavern and sat at the counter.
	“Gentleman, I have an announcement. Are we alone? That is the question we have been asking for many years, and today I have the answer. We are not alone!”
	“Is that so, Travis? Your Martian friends told you that?” James asked, and everyone laughed.
	“You guys laugh all you want, but just a few hours ago I talked to Plato. That’s how he calls himself. He’s the captain of a spaceship and they are on the way to Earth. They are supposed to be arriving tomorrow and the rendezvous point is the old ferry building. There are here to help.”
	“Travis, I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re in, but I want double. I want to ask Aphrodite to meri me,” James said to every once amusement.
	 “No-guys, seriously. That’s how he calls himself. Plato. I know you guys don’t believe me, but be at the Ferry building tomorrow at Ten in the morning.” Travis insisted.
	“So, you talked to Plato, that’s nice. Now, Travis, get out of my tavern before you infect my customers with your idiocy.”
	“Just be at the ferry building…” - “Yeah Travis, I’ll be at the ferry building and a few minutes after Ten you’re gone get it-and it’s gone be good. I’m gone get medieval with your dumb ass. Now get out, I mean it.”
	Disappointed, Travis walked out and gently closed the door behind him.
	The next day at ten, James, with four of his regular customers, arrived at the ferry building just as a shuttle creeped through the overcast sky and softly landed on Levi’s Plaza.
	“What the…, — he was telling the truth.” Said James.
	They watched in awe as the door opened, not knowing what to expect. They were friendly, or hostile.
	The man exited the shuttle did not look alien; he was tall and slender with sandy blond hair, dressed in a black overall suit. 
	“People of Earth,” spoke with a loud voice. “My name is Plato. I come from the planet Elpida. I am the leader of my people. My grandparents were born on this planet. They left Earth on an expedition to find life on other planets, and they settled on planet Elpida in the Andromeda constellation. Since we visited Earth many times. 
	An armada of starships with technology, manpower and material to help you restart your civilization arriving in two days.
	We might be aliens on this planet, but this is the planet of our ancestors. Now that I’ve introduced myself, I would like to talk to your leader.”
	“So! What you are telling us is that, out of the goodness of your alien little heart, you want to help. Alright, let’s just say I believe that. How did you know about the war -and you came prepared with men and material to help your ancestors? A little pigeon flew to your planet and talked to you?” James asked.
	“No -James.” Plato said with a smile. 
	“How the hell do you know my name? Are you a mind reader?” 
	“No, I am not a mind reader. Some of my colleagues are your customers. We’ve been on this planet for many years. I’ve graduated from Oxford University; I’ve also taught philosophy at Harvard for a few years. The journey from Elpida to Earth…” — “What means Elpida?” James asked.
	“Elpida is the Greek word for Hope. My ancestors were from Greece. That’s why they named me Plato. The trip to Earth is a five-year journey, but we had to wait for the nuclear winter to end. The radiation interfered with our satellites, and we couldn’t read life signs. We did not know if there were survivors. We left as soon as we confirm life on the planet.”
	“So, you’ve been spying on us?” 
	“No James, we do not spy. We are learning. Elpida is a new planet with no history, no past. Earth is our history, a history we must learn.”
	Since, March thirteenth, became a historic date and declared a national holiday. In a few short years, the Elpidians helped to rebuild our civilization. They provide new technology, new architecture, and a better way of life. The old Wardenclyffe tower, otherwise known as Tesla’s tower, became operational for the first time since was built in 1902, two hundred years ago. Free wireless electricity for everyone. The technology replicated worldwide and resolve the pollution issue.
	 A few days before the departure of the Elpidian armada, the son of Plato, Aristotele, walked into his father’s quarters. He looked puzzled, confused.
	“What trouble you, Aristo?” Plato asked.
	“Father, I want to remain on Earth.”
	“Would you like to talk to me?”
	“I met the most beautiful woman in the universe, and I want to marry her. She loves me, but she doesn’t want to leave Earth.”
	“Are you sure you want to do this?”
	“Yes, father, I love her too much and I know she loves me too.”
	“Very well, my son. You are an adult. It’s your life. You do not need my approval. When do I get to meet the young lady who stole my son’s heart?”
	Two weeks later, the wedding ceremony was broadcast worldwide. After the ceremony, the armada left Earth’s orbit, and the couple departed for their honeymoon to an Elpidian colony on planet Venus. Upon the return from Venus, Aristotele, unanimously elected President of the United States.
	November twenty-second, 2113, Aristotele attended the one hundred and fiftieth memorial of JFK assassination in Dealey Plaza in downtown Texas where he was assassinated.
","August 10, 2023 14:25",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",i7hsbp,My Secret Whisperer ,Lindsey Gainey,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/i7hsbp/,/short-story/i7hsbp/,Dialogue,0,"['Contemporary', 'Mystery', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
Two months ago, I decided to make a trip back to my hometown where every member of my extended family still resides. If I go back once a year, then I’m above my average trip rate. 
 During that visit and in between breaths from his oxygen line, my Papa told me that he couldn’t wait to come and see my farm and that he was going to get out to do it as soon as his pneumonia cleared up. I smiled and told him that I couldn’t wait for him to visit.  I think he and I both had an unwavering suspicion that he wouldn’t make it out of this sickness this time, but I wasn’t going to be the one to bring that looming notion up. 
  I moved two hours away from home as soon as I turned eighteen. I couldn’t fathom one more hour in that town that held so many painful memories. I had so many people in my life that were toxic and the town itself was known for the damaging amount of crime and drugs per capita. I had to leave before it left its devastatingly permanent mark on me too. The town itself should have been named ‘Curseville’. There was nothing left for me there. 
  My Papa had never visited any of my homes over the years on any regular basis. 
 I’m 36 now and I own a farm in a small town on the outskirts of the State Capitol. I’m happily married to a successful businessman who understands my spotty past and he has given me three beautiful daughters and a farm that is the envy of the town. 
 It’s hot out and the pollen covers every inch of air imaginable. I drop the girls off to school and head straight to the clinic to get my allergy shots. The twenty-minute drive from the farm to everywhere gets old and today is no exception. I have a farm full of animals that I’m deathly allergic to.  These shots are imminent to my survival odds. The only downside is they always wipe me out right after I get them. 
 Upon arriving back at the house, I make a B line for my bed because my body is feeling lethargic. It’s 9:00am and I feel like I could go back to sleep for days on end. 
 The back of my head hit the pillow so hard I remained laying down how I landed. Face up with my shoes still on and my sunglasses still on the top of my head, I can’t move. I feel my eyes drooping to shut position.   
 As I’m trying to doze off, I can’t. My mind is racing so my level of rest is minimal. There are so many farm chores that I should be doing but I can feel my body protest my attempts to be productive in my sluggish state. My two small dogs are at the foot of my bed; one is snuggled beside my left foot and the other is nudging my right hand for pets. My hound mix is on the floor at my nightstand already dreaming away enjoying his morning nap. 
 Finally, I slip into a “still aware” sense of snooze. As the blackness of rest begins to consume me, I hear whispers. It’s the same phrase being repeated, but it’s so difficult to decipher. I trudge on into deeper slumber. The whispers become more and more frequent. They overlap with each other, but I can finally piece together the words. “You’re not alone, I’m not alone, we’re not alone.” 
 Who is talking to me?
 We’re not alone. 
 Is this my subconscious?
 We’re not alone.   
 Is this God? 
 I have so many inquiries to this communication that I feel awake again and not in a committed restful state. 
 My sleep brain determines this is nonsense, not worth the mental effort and I dismiss it. I try to let every aspect of my being relax under the repetitive phrases still being murmured.
 We’re not alone.
 It all fades to a deeper black and the voice is no more, and my body seems to buzz with the beckoning of REM only to immediately jolt me.
 ‘WAKE UP!’ My body jumps. It’s like someone shouted it to me.  
  All three inside dogs let out barks, one following the other all within a three second time frame. It’s like they are taking turns to try to wake me. 
 Barking is not uncommon for these three as they are quite vocal. I think nothing of it and roll over to grab a pillow to place over my ears. 
 The black is closing in once more as I feel my shoulders drop and let go into the abyss of it all.
 ‘Listen closely.’ The whisper entices me then leaves.
 What feels like three seconds was ten minutes when I hear three more barks, from each of the three dogs, in unison this time. 
 I think to myself, getting hotter by the minute at these pups, ‘they must hear the chickens outside, it’s nothing.’
 
 I drift back off to sleep. 
 ‘We’re………….not………..alone……’ whispers to me from deep within the blackness then leaves.
 Then came another set of barks. I look over towards my clock and it’s only 10:30am. I feel like I’ve gotten zero minutes of true rest. 
 
 The dogs scream out these barks two more times before I fully commit to waking, but still not opening my eyes. 
 I can hear the music, chatter and laughter. 
 The music sounds like a harp being strummed slowly. It’s so relaxing and quiet. Almost like a gentle hum.  The chatter is happy and the laughter is infectious. 
 I barely open one eye from under the pillow.
 My mind races to find the answer to exactly what it is I’m hearing. 
 
 “Oh great,” I think proudly for figuring it out, “Molly has left her music playing upstairs above my room and it finally played a song loud enough for me to hear.” 
  Molly is my thirteen-year-old daughter who inhabits the entire upstairs of our farmhouse and tends to leave lights on and music playing when she leaves her room.    
 
 I roll away from the noise in my bed and pull the covers up over the pillow that’s already over my head. I can still hear people talking but I can’t make out the words they are saying, but it’s very happy sounding. Like old friends catching up and reminiscing. I feel a pang of annoyance because I want to sleep but the sounds are just so enticing. 
 
 I drift farther off into a deeper sleep. The first true sleep I’ve seen this morning. 
 
 Around 11:15am, my husband walks into the house to check on me and to take his lunch break. Brad works from home outside in our barn.  I ask him to go upstairs because our oldest has obviously left her music on and forgot to turn it off before racing out the door for school.   Brad walks upstairs to check Molly’s devices. He finds everything off and assures me that not a sound is happening in our house, not even the hum of the dryer. I try to close my eyes again, but I’m so baffled over what the noise could’ve been that I so clearly heard minutes earlier. 
 Twenty minutes later, my phone dings with a text message. 
 It’s from my biological father. Receiving any form of communication from him is rare. My mom divorced him by the time I was five. Addiction was his love and not me. We don’t have a relationship. I might see and talk to him once every three years on a chance during one of those minimal trips back.     
 The text read: 
 “Papa died about forty minutes ago.”
 
 It hits me like a brick wall. 
 He finally got to see my farm, but he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t even alive. My mind races to find a reasonable explanation but none arrives. What did the dogs hear or see? I don’t think the human mind is created to obtain this level of altered reality. My stomach turns with a worried threat in the pit of my gut.  I’m speechless and in awe. Who can I even talk about this encounter I ‘think’ I had?  Explaining this to any other human being will make me out to need a psychological evaluation. Now the feeling of aloneness is paralyzing. Alone. How alone truly are we? How do we measure signs of life? Is there a parallel plane that humans are blind to, but dogs are not? I can still hear the whispers from that nap pulling at me from deep within my soul. I think my Papa now knows the answers. I will walk around with this story forever, never trusting anyone else with it. Alone in my mind and mine alone.  The only other being that will understand this, I believe, is the one who whispers to me in my sleep. 
 We’re not alone. All of the time. 
 
 
 
","August 10, 2023 17:48","[[{'Fernando César': 'Hi Lindsey. Interesting story. I liked the plot line, how the story unfolds linearly and you create some curiosity about what’s really going on. I also liked how you split the story into two parts, simply by using past tense and present. And writing in the first person makes this story more relatable.\n\nI noticed your story is mostly told not shown. I’m more a fan of “show, don’t tell”, so that didn’t resonate with me. Some parts just read like a report. This happen, then that happen, then…\n\nThere’s also something missing in the plot line. Th...', 'time': '21:30 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",pbfx2v,Midnite on Mars,Derek Writer,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pbfx2v/,/short-story/pbfx2v/,Dialogue,0,"['Contemporary', 'Fiction', 'Science Fiction']",7 likes,"
Midinite on Mars
By
Derek Letsch
 
That We are Legal
 
I am living with my crime. It is the window and the desert and the empty space between where I am now and where everyone else used to be. And I am imagined. I am assembled. I am quiet and alone and the bones under my skin seem to vibrate with fear. I have been awake for days, but I know I have slept well in the past. My dreams were swollen in the heat of things. They skitter across the empty pages of the loosely held idea that we are allowed. That we are legal. That we are not alone.
 
Two Numbers
 
The hum and the flicker of the Warehouse lights remind us that life has a price tag. It might be glued to your sole or hanging from your neck, but they are numbers that we need to answer. There are numbers that wrap around us as binaries or as fake last names. And we hum inside the machine until the director tells us to be real. When are we real? When do we have air and life and thoughts and dreams and urges? When do we undress? When are we seen and then not seen and seen and then not seen as the day becomes night and the night becomes numbers.  One. One. Zero. One. And on and on and on and on…. 
 
I am no closer to you than I am to the center of the sun. Both are so hot. You will not touch me. I am emulsified. I am a chemical equation. I am an application. I am not even a hum or a flicker. I am alone beside you. I am you. You. You, you, me, you. And so on.
 
The Death of You
 
We are random. We are the things that grow on your body as you age. The things you don't care to understand until you know that you don't understand them, and you want to understand them so you travel. You visit the experts. You see the people who might know what these things are. These things that grow this way or that. They are different colors from the colors they started out as. The things that weren't there when everything started, but now they're there and you wonder if they'll be there in the end. Maybe they will be the end. Maybe they are the end. Maybe they are the death of you. Maybe they are you. Maybe you are dead. Maybe they are the homes and the buildings and the shelters that hide the cancer. They hide the disease. And you don't notice them. One by one. Builders come. Walls go up. Paint is applied. And then there is another. And another. And each one is a business. Or one of them is a home. Or one of them is an office for a government agency. They are sitting on your back or your shoulder or your elbows. They are little invaders. They are yours. They come from you. They grow from your skin, from your bones, from your body. And slowly they begin to cover the surface of your earth. Of your planet. Until what was once so clean and young is now overcrowded and overpopulated with valuable real estate that will one day likely mean your doom.
 
Clearing Lot
 
I celebrate clean living. The clean smooth surface of a parking lot that's barely used. All the painted lines, so carefully for absolutely no reason. And I am here, but I am not a car. I am still parked on another planet. I am too big. I am not shopped. I have not been sold. And yet I feel like maybe I have been. Because maybe I am just a product. Because somewhere out there he is making me. He is inventing me. He is producing me the way one produces anything that is considered a masterpiece. And yet I don't know if I'm a masterpiece. There aren't enough mirrors. There aren't enough men to compliment me at bars or in the cereal aisle where I have more choices than I have genomes. And while I might roll my eyes towards this moon, I do indeed enjoy the compliments. I enjoy the thought that maybe one might find a label on my heel or a price tag hanging from my neck and decide to string me up. To hang me. To place me on a tree in December or January or February. Maybe they'll forget to take me down. Maybe they'll forget that I'm even here. And I will orbit and orbit, slower than your planet circles our sun. And I will find a way to be far from the cars that park and stain the parking lot for the very first time in forever.
 
Beautiful Sunday
 
I have found myself once again trapped in the brilliance and the beauty of a beautiful Sunday, leaning into the spring day, staring at the shoe store. I am shopping. Here we are so safely stowed on an island in outer space that spins and spins. A planet so envious of Earth's proximity to the center. We are circled by fear and panic. It is not unusual that we would be here, this craggy chariot, this home of war. And yet I am not even dangerous enough to make this symbol of discipline and authority raise even one eyebrow. Is there danger lurking inside of me? Can I be a moon? Which one would I be? Could I thrust my head into the plate glass window of the shoe store, only to cut my neck on the lightning bolt jagged edge of glass?  Because the shoes are not the originals. They are all knockoffs. And so am I. I am a dusty imitation of something that's alive. I see the clerk inside the store with his head propped on his arm as he sits and reads the newspaper. The funny papers. The comics. We have comics here on Mars. We circle the sun so much slower than you do on Earth. It doesn't matter how many moons you give us. We’ll never beat you. Earth always wins.
 
The Memory of Youth
 
I am the memory of youth. I am the time when we were young and strong and new. When the grass was cut low. When the sun was always welcome. I am the tree that is full, near the home that is freshly painted. I am the refrigerator that is stuffed and ready to fill the air with the comforts of fresh cooking and fresh baking and fresh scrubbing afterwards. I am the bubbles that linger in the lemon fresh air. I am the clean tub that is even cleaner than the brand new baby born up the road at the hospital. I am also the past. I am crumbled. I am sitting here on this lonely trail between one place and another. And now the light flickers and dies each time I open the refrigerator door. You can travel a million miles through space and time and still the scrapings of age flake from the skin of our existence and leave evidence everywhere that we have been here and we have grown old. Even the springs in the bed moan when we wake up. If we wake up. Unfortunately we wake up. No matter where we are. We cannot sterilize ourselves as we age. We get filthy with the years. Each of our moons laughs at us because it has known its own deterioration. We have known collision. We know the one secret of the universe that this all began with a flash of death, and life is just a constant return to it.
 
Tumors
 
I am my mother. When did I become my mother? Will I be the widow to my father? When did the colors in my life grow so bored with me that they melted off? When did the outside world and the inside world become the same? When did things that used to grow inside of me stop growing? I am my mother. She is dying yet she is alive in me. When my voice leaves my mouth I hear my mother's. I hear the empty shell of her voice. It stopped having a core. There was nothing in her voice anymore. The only voice she had left was in my head. Her voice leaks out of me. I am my mother. My partner grows tired of me the way my father grew tired of his wife. He developed certain tumors that grew inside of him. They blocked the organs that used to love my mother, and they made it impossible for him to hear her. Or me. When her voice was still filled with laughter. I am not that mother. I am the one who is gone.
 
The Soft Center
 
They pass by and they never stare at her. Or they don’t stare long. They pour desire into the air. The air is thick with it. It’s a risk. It smells like the loneliest heart that beats so quick and quiet in the chest they covet. They are not thinking of her heart. They are not thinking of anything in particular but their wants. They think of the skin that shows. They think of the skin that doesn’t. They are men on any planet. It doesn't matter how far you take them. She’s in a cage. She plays with gender. She  gives love to anyone and everyone. She will endure. It’s her soft center. They navigate her. They are unfiltered. They could rip their tongues out. They don't need to speak. They could replace their mouths with each one of their fingers and the muscles in their arms and the whistles in their whispers that dangle and warble between their legs. Bitte beschütze mich vor der Welt. Ich bin so müde.
 
Welcome Home!
 
He promised to skim the scum of his city and take the valuable parts to another place. A place he found buried in the post-binary. A place he found in the application of the artificial. The artificial hearts. The artificial limbs. The smiles that he made from nothing but his imagination. And the smiles that have lived everywhere and anywhere and belonged to no one. Because they are not the smiles of anyone in particular and yet they are. They are the real smiles of the real people. But who are these people? And why do they smile? He would say they smile because he makes them. He would say they are filled with angst because that's what he feels, too. And they are welcome here. For he has made a home for them, and they are at home here. This is “the new here.” This is the new art. This is the new world that he creates. There are so many gods here. They all have the power to create. The moons pull the chariot. Their war comes from the smiles that are anonymous and real. They are angry. They wave paper. They shout, ""You have stolen our smiles. You have stolen our frowns. You have stolen us."" Was the dust stolen to make Adam? Was his rib stolen to make Eve? Do we steal the Earth to make the pigment that makes the colors that make the paintings that make the eyes that wander and weep and turn the smiles into trembling replicas of the truth? Can you steal the truth? Who owns it? Who trains it? Who makes it? And can it be the truth if someone tries to wrap a collar around its neck? Who can judge the owners of the truth? Does the god own it? Or did he steal it from the earth, too?
 
How Can You?
 
Am I awake? Am I here? How far have I traveled? Why am I outside? What is the difference? If your home is foreign, how is being outside different from being inside? If the air you breathe is not the air you want to breathe and the bed you sleep on is not the bed you want to sleep on, how can you know if you are inside or out? How can you know when you are awake or asleep? If you walk through the world and you do not feel that it's real, how can you tell whether or not you are dreaming? Or dead?
 
Cocoon
 
Why are we quarantined? Why have we been forced to live this way? What have they brought with them, these strangers? These carriers? These incubators? Is the air now contagious for us? Do we dare to walk near the places where they walk? Near the places where they have walked? I do not know. All I know is that my lungs fill and empty as they have my whole life with this dusty air that I never used to notice until I believed it was toxic. And where does the toxins go? What do they do? How do they travel through me? Do they fill me like I'm a puppet? Will I have to burn this dress? My home was once warm and now it is a sauna. A coffin. A cocoon. And will my death be my chrysalis? Will I exit this isolation with golden sunburst wings bigger than the moon?
 
Turned Down
 
We have cut and pasted the golden elements of night. We are illuminated. We offer to meet your needs and bend to them. Who smiles who doesn't have to? Where are the smiles on those of us who wander the parking lots or sit in the front seat of the running cars or curl up in the bed in the corner of our trailer homes? Our homes with wheels and wings. With rocket engines that take us so far away. We need to escape. This home of ours has become uninhabitable, and we need to find another. And so we leave behind our smiles and pack ourselves into the ships and take the long journey to another place. To another morbid home. A place where we can be as unhappy there as we are here. And when we are there, we will unpack china and the children's toys and the dresses and the sandals and the diary that we used to keep. But now our diary is used for scrap paper into which we spit our gum. We chewed the gum on the ship to keep her heads clear, but all it did was break our jaws. And now we can't speak. We are dumb. We just stare into the camera with the blank look of people who have been invented by a madman with the growing technology of unconsciousness.
 
","August 10, 2023 19:20",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",zpnma4,In the Scar of the Earth,Eugene Tan,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zpnma4/,/short-story/zpnma4/,Dialogue,0,"['People of Color', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",7 likes,"
Ibrahim was roused first by the hum of the engine miles overhead, then the tugging of his shirt by a small, frantic hand. The young man was alert quickly- he hadn’t a good night's sleep for a decade. Sure, he had gotten used to hard floors littered with shards of glass, metal and prism-agate, the constant haze of Argon smog and smoke, but he would never allow himself the complacence.
 
Wiping the drool from his unshaven face, he squinted at the starry dusk sky through the tattered roof. Through the smog, he could vaguely make out two small objects overhead. Thankfully, they were not energy vipers; merely fighter jets- likely West Bloc. Still, their presence meant they were leaving.
 
He thanked the boy, not expecting a response- little Li hadn’t spoken a word since they found him a year and a half ago.
 
The wild-haired Chinese boy was clearly scared shitless, his eyes wide and glassy in the moonlight. Given where they had found him, this was unsurprising. He patted Li's shoulder.
 
“It’s gonna be all right. Go get your things, little man.”
 
Ibrahim didn’t know if they had days or hours before the fighting started. The surrounding lands for miles would be reduced to scorched earth regardless of who prevailed. He scrambled to his feet and leapt to the base of the ruined compound.
 
“Everyone awake, Jonas?” He caught a plasma rifle the old man tossed his way. The gun was worn and rusted and like to become hot enough to fuse to his skin after half a dozen shots, but it would have to do.
 
“Minh's preparing our exit strategy. Li, I sent to wake sleeping beauty here.” Jonas glanced up partway through packing supplies. Ibrahim rolled his eyes- he never much liked the old bastard.
 
“We are doing it underground then?”
 
“Nah, topside. Minh says the tunnels are lookin’ flooded as hell…won’t hold up to a blasting. Still, we got a day’s tops before we are space dust.” Jonas muttered grumpily, slinging his gun over his shoulder.
 
Ibrahim sighed in relief- he’d take death in a painless flash of fire over the claustrophobic horrors underground anyday. Scavengers, cave-ins, Worms….he’d heard enough.
 
Stepping into the moonlight, he scanned the ruins they were about to leave behind.
 
Minh had told him this flooded jungle of broken buildings and overturned streets was once the city of Haiphong. Frankly, one blasted cityscape or another was all the same to him- although the stout Vietnamese lady had wryly told him over cigarettes X-Day hadn’t changed the city much. Vlorian plasma or American shells, what difference did it make?
 
Minh claimed to have been a member of ‘The Party’ before the celestial landfall. To this day, she kept that little red book- now stained and unreadable- in her jacket's inside pocket. Anyone could claim anything nowadays, but Ibrahim saw no gain in doubting her.
 
After all, what did it matter anymore?
 
--------------------
 
Twelve years had passed since X-Day in 1966. Eleven since the war with the alien bastards got started, although they now knew the worms had been on the ground for a good bit longer.
 
It was shortly after the birds flew- after the Cuban shambles in 1962, all the international leaders agreed that the world was never to come this close to apocalypse again. And in fairness, the suits did get their shit together before it got that far.
 
Still, once the first mushroom club rose over Lyon, there was no turning back. Even when the referendum was signed after half a dozen cities were ash, the damage was done; both in millions of lives gone in a flash, and the scar of vengeance.
 
So when the space men attacked a year later, East and West both correctly ascertained the extraterrestrial invaders were the greater threat, but definitely hated each other more. The Vlorian assault was ferocious, featuring all manner of weaponry mankind had never seen, but humanity could have prevailed. Could have…if there was any trust, any willingness to sacrifice and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with rivals.
 
But after Lyon, Minsk, Hanoi…there was only opportunism in the three-way mad dash for territory. Future crackdowns would reveal the infiltration campaign the Vlorians, dressed in human flesh, initiated to get the bombs flying. By then, it did little to ease the flames of hatred.
 
When Vlorian energy vipers sliced the Russian satellites to char siew, European aid was half hearted at best, outright predatory at worst. Koreans looking for refuge along the Yangtze were rebuffed…or worse, for fear of being disguised Worms.
 
The three sides settled into a dangerous, complacent stalemate- one lasting a decade at the expense of the lost souls of the Occupied Territories- the lands known as the Scars of the Earth
 
--------------------
 
Ibrahim had found the kid back when it was him, Jonas, and poor pure Hakim; the year they trekked down the Mekong.
 
That damned port settlement had given them half-assed information for batteries. They had only just began to grok they were heading towards a Vlorian settlement when the gunfire kicked off.
 
He recalled the sky was stained orange and green with blazing plasma, mortar fire coating the landscape in smoke and fire. He recalled Hakim screaming before being abruptly cut off, Jonas cursing from a broken leg. And how he could scarcely hear any of it over the deafening roar.
 
Jonas said they got lucky the Chinese had rained hellfire down on the place. He was right- they had no chance if the Worms weren’t distracted so they could flee below ground. Of course, Jonas also had to comment this the day they sent Hakim’s body down the river.
 
Ibrahim had sent the old bastard sprawling with a bloodied nose, for all the little it made him feel better.
 
They found the kid in the smoldering remains of the Vlorian camp shortly after.
 
They silently ignored each other following the scuffle as they scavenged for supplies. Jonas claimed a few energy cells from half a Worm- the other half strung up by its guts several meters away atop a satellite tower.
 
Ibrahim heard the muffled crying first, barely audible from beneath the earth.
 
Without seeking the old bat’s approval- he’d heard an annoyed but non-committal ‘tsk’- he rushed into one of the dome-like structures, following the sobs down a sloped tunnel into the darkness of the basement facilities.
 
The cracked Telyk Agate along the ceiling still dimly lit the ruined corridors in a sickly green glow. Even now, Ibrahim still pondered if he might have been better-off if he could nothing at all. It had not been his first Vlorian encampment, but nothing could have quite prepared him for the horror around him.
 
Was it a prison? A laboratory? Or was this but the Worms’ entertainment? For all around him on carbon ‘beds’ were men, women, children- or what remained….what had become of them.
 
It was a vile buffet of the vivisected, and those were the lucky ones. Ibrahim had heard exaggerated tales of mutations caused by the A-bombs, of the survivors in Japan. Even the wildest stories did not match the utter defacement of humanity on display here.
 
There were men with limbs sprouting like grotesque flowers from their chests. Children's bodies a patchwork of scaly scabs and mucosal skin, their bones sucked from them. Agonized faces with flesh more the consistency of sambal paste than anything from a human.
 
Only fear kept him from throwing up. Jonas was made of sterner stuff, so he did make a mess on the iridium flooring as he limped down the tunnel behind him.
 
And there the boy was- stitched and scarred in more ways than one, but unlike the others, very much alive. With his neck restrained so he could only face the ceiling, he lucky to have averted his eyes from the worst of the atrocities around him.
 
He exchanged looks with Jonas. What now? Should they take the boy? Should they just leave? Was that a boy at all? A pair of nomads certainly didn’t have anything to ascertain whether the child was what he appeared, or a worm in human flesh. The kid had stopped sniffling, and besides the hum of dying machinery an awkward silence hung in the room.
 
Jonas stepped forward. Ibrahim watched uncomfortably as he dragged himself on his broken leg several body lengths to the table. He placed his hand on the boy’s head, then onto the steel brace holding his head in place.
 
“What are you standing around for, kid? Come give me a hand.”
 
They wrenched the brace off his neck in a combined effort. The boy was not mute, but spoke not a word. He was Chinese, they could tell that much from his facial features even in the sim light. Ibrahim hauled the kid over his shoulder as he climbed back out.
 
A few hours after, as they took a rest by the Mekong, Jonas had decided they would call him Li, since that was “the only Chinese name he knew”. Noone contested it (certainly not the boy). A few days passed with the boy responding to the name consistently. And at that point it stuck.
 
--------------------
 
Minh was waiting for them under the overhang of Rao Bridge. She almost effortlessly blended into the shade in her black khakis, only becoming visible when she waved- Ibrahim suspected this instinct came from a degree of experience. There was urgency in her posture- this doesn’t bode well.
 
“What’s the bad news, Minh?” Jonas grumbled.
 
“We might have….less time than we expected.” Minh’s tone was steady and monotone as it typically became when she was serious. “And my instincts tell me there are already scouts.”
 
The old bat cursed under his breath. “Well, we had best damn hope those are ‘muricans and not bloody wrigglers.”
 
Minh led the way and Jonas guarded their rear. As usual, Ibrahim's duty was to watch the boy.
 
Night was now in full swing, leaving only the light of the moon and stars. The cover of darkness was worthless if an Assault Cyborg passed them with its countless mechanical eyes. Meanwhile, they had neither a flashlight nor the foolishness to use one, leaving them half-blind in the dark city.
 
--------------------
 
The little island was called Singapore. If one were to take a kayak to its spot on the map in the South China Sea, they would only find open waters. If one were to fly there and the lighting was just right, they might see the submerged crater- a circle a shade darker than the surrounding seafloor.
 
Ibrahim remembered little of home. He recalled they were simultaneously celebrating and mourning something around the fateful time- the men in white declared it a historic day. Ibrahim was too young to register its significance then, and now as a man he considered it of no significance at all.
 
Ultimately, the world's powers had little time for Temasek, its neighbors, or any of the region's people. That went for so many newly formed nations across the continent- little more than fresh meat for the Vlorians, as the powers of Russia and America and Europe and the Far East fortified their key territories.
 
None of the now “Occupied Territories” stood a chance.
 
When energy vipers descended from the stars, bringing plasma rain and caesium flame, they lasted less than a week. It was all a blur to him now, although Ibrahim remembered being rushed from school through packed streets and stampedes onto a cramped boat.
 
His parents were not there, and he never saw them again. Now, he struggled to remember their faces.
 
As the island grew distant, he remembered it being illuminated by green and orange flames raining down from the heavens, searing themselves into his eyes…
 
And that he never once forgot. Not for a moment.
 
--------------------
 
Had they gotten careless? Or were they simply so focused on the immediate threat they lost sight of all else?
 
They had come across a scout as the urban ruins began thinning out. It was an aerial drone, a jet-black wiry thing resembling an oversized dragonfly, wings vibrating so quickly as to be almost undetectable but for a light hum. That had alerted Jonas to its presence; they hid behind a fallen chunk of building as it hovered past.
 
All of them were aware cover was likely to be grow increasingly scarce, as would their vulnerability to aerial scouts. Perhaps they should have given more heed to what lay beneath their feet.
 
Eyes peeled to the skies and buildings, bodies low to the ground, it was then they passed over the rusted grates of an old storm drain. Minh signaled, her hands a faint silhouette. They were nearing the sea. From there they would continue along the coast-
 
Squelch.
 
It was the sound of pierced flesh and fabric. Ibrahim turned to Jonas and saw the spear, stained with blood and gristle, emerging from his back against the full moon.
 
A look of confusion passed over Jonas’ face for a moment as blood spouted from his mouth. That expression changed to realization and acceptance, as he aimed his plasma rifle down and fired.
 
And then all hell broke loose.
 
There was a cry of pain from the drain and the smell of smoking flesh. Scavengers. Not Worms, but humans, hungry and desperate. Ibrahim grabbed Li, the boy now crying transfixed on Jonas’ corpse. He cursed- they had not anticipated anyone would be mad enough to pull this stunt right before a warzone.
 
Minh opened fire into the drain, before turning her attention to swiftly approaching footsteps. They were surrounded.
 
There were seven of them- likely former soldiers judging from their combat-readiness. Minh leapt in front of him, shouting first in Vietnamese, then English
 
“Take what you need! This place will soon be ashes! There is no reason for this!”
 
One of the men- seeming the leader- shrugged, plasma rifle still trained on them. He had a pudgy face, and spoke in gravelly, unconcerned tones. “Spare us the concern. You won’t be the first party we have hunted during a Crossfire, won’t be the last. You, on the other hand…” And he opened fire.
 
She acted quickly, shoving the duo out of the way and firing back. Ibrahim tasted blood as he landed on his face. He turned to Li- the boy was fine. Then he picked up his rifle, trained it on one of the shadows. It jammed- Ibrahim was only half surprised.
 
Then there was a hail of gunfire all around, followed by several cries of pain- two from the scavengers, and one, to his dismay, from Minh.
 
Her shoulder was smouldering and hideously charred from a glancing plasma shot, arm hanging uselessly by her side. The veteran soldier’s breath was haggard and heavy, her face stained with blood. She gave Li and Ibrahim one last look as the shadows advanced towards them.
 
“Run.”
 
Then she pulled a grenade from her pocket, and pulling the pin, rushed towards the hail of gunfire. She vanished in a flash of fire.
 
Ibrahim was knocked off his feet. In a daze, he rose to his feet, hauled the unconscious Li over his shoulder, and ran like hell.
 
He knew not which direction he was headed- perhaps it was back towards the doomed city. Ibrahim did not care, could not care, as it was all he could do to keep them off his trail. He could heart it- the sound of approaching fighter jets in one direction, the whirr of energy vipers in the other. He shut that out of his mind.
 
He ran and ran, and then he tripped, stumbling into a ravine of broken concrete. Li fell off his back and crumpled into a pile several meters away. And then they were onto him- three shadows dropped around them silently.
 
“Gave us a good chase, kid. You and your little party sure were trouble.” A scavenger pressed the muzzle of an assault rifle against Ibrahim’s cheek as he attempted to rise to his feet. Ibrahim felt his heart in his throat as he stared death in the face. Despite being full of energy only moments before, the young man found himself unable to move, unable to think of anything.
 
“Stop!”
 
The cry shook Ibrahim from his stupor. It was Li- he can speak? The boy was on his feet, staggering towards the scavengers. Pudge-face laughed. “So that thing can do more than cry. Stay down and wait your turn.” Silently panicking, Ibrahim waved at Li to back down. Li gestured back, raising his arm.
 
Then Pudge-face lurched forward, clutching his chest in evident agony. His veins protruded wildly and his eyes widened into the size of golf balls. Ibrahim seized the opportunity to shove him off- just in time, for an instant later, he violently ruptured in a shower of gore, raining blood and viscera.
 
For a moment, both scavengers froze in shock, before one screamed and opened fire. His bullets seemed to vanish into thin air before they could reach Li. The boy turned to the hapless scavenger- who too, vanished in an crimson shower of bodily fluids.
 
The last man dropped his gun and fled the ravine, shrieking in fear and vanishing into the night. Then Li collapsed face first into the dirt. Ibrahim rushed to him- right as the first flashes of battle commenced.
 
He could hear it now- the rhythmic thudding of mortars striking the earth, sending small clouds of debris rising with every strike. Ibrahim embraced the blood-soaked boy as flashes of green and orange began marked the festival of carnage's advent. He could scarcely comprehend what had jus transpired, what he had just lost, and what the boy in his arms truly was.
 
But it mattered little to him now, as the pitch black sky was lit with multi-colored flames, the screech of war machines battling like Valkyries piercing his ears. He simply caressed the sleeping child’s head and whispered.
 
“It’s gonna be all right.”
 
","August 11, 2023 13:24","[[{'Tricia Shulist': 'I love a good post-apocalyptic story!  Your structure is sound, feeding me details, without resorting to an info dump, but leaving enough unwritten to allow me to fill in the banks.  I really enjoyed tour story.  Thanks for this.', 'time': '02:28 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",gpmg00,Should I Let Down My Hijab? A Rapunzel Retelling,Nouralhuda Alhaffar,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/gpmg00/,/short-story/gpmg00/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Coming of Age', 'Contemporary']",6 likes,"
Reyhana lingered on the windowsill of an old unfamiliar house. It offered her a sizeable view of the worn out houses. She remained squatted for a few minutes, her toes wailing in pain as she scanned the area like a telescope. They had to be back before sunset before her mother got worried and sent someone to look for them, but Fajr was nowhere to be found.Something caught her eye. It was through a window several houses down. Reyhana lunged forward into a balcony, hugging her body close like a turtle hiding in its shell. From balcony to balcony she went until she climbed up a brick wall of the many buildings she shortly visited, onto a wide rooftop. Once on the edge, she realised she was trapped by a dead end. Every direction she looked, there was no way out.Her only hope was a dangerously thin rope, suspended in the air and connecting the roof she stood on to the next. She curled her lips. Reyhana knew this was a bad idea, a very bad one. She was going to do it anyway.She wiped off the sweat that had collected on her forehead and fanned her sweatshirt free from being stuck to her body. One foot after the other, and she was walking across the straw rope. Thinking it’d get easier as she walked was a mistake. Walking a rope thinner than her finger was anything but easy.Without warning, her right foot slid on the slippery slope, and she instinctively tasked her arms to the rescue. Her wrist scraped a stray piece of straw, ripping a straight line of blood into her long sleeve.""Ouch,"" she gasped.Reyhana looked down to reassure herself that she did not in fact fall, but her heartbeat only sped up. She held on for dear life, her fingers straining around the untamed rope and leaving red marks on her skin. A single tear trickled down her cheek.Forcing her eyes away from the haunting sight of the far ground, Reyhana regained her balance and continued her mission. She breathed out a quick alhamdulillah when she made it to the other house almost unharmed. She hopped inside the trap door that was located in the middle of the rooftop, expecting an attic. To her surprise, she was in the kitchen. What an odd place for a kitchen.Bellow the yellow ladder of the next trapdoor was a living room. She hid behind the back of a tall wooden drawer, sliding against it to catch her breath. A faux fireplace was set by the beige wall, pretending to warm the room but leaving no trace of burns on the logs. Above it was a chimney, connected to the outside world.Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the air. Reyhana whipped her head left and right to pinpoint the source. To no avail. Please let it not be the owners. Please.They stopped for a moment and Reyhana held her breath. Did they find her? Were they going to send her to jail for trespassing?The steps returned, relieving Reyhana for some reason. The echoes indicated they were coming from an enclosed place. She listened in closer, making herself as small as possible, hoping whoever was walking wouldn’t look behind the drawer. Who hid behind a drawer? Reyhana asked herself. She would be found in seconds had it been a game of hide and seek. She pulled a knife out of her waist bag, ready to defend, or attack if needed. A silent thump reverberated within the room, followed by a cry of pain. Reyhana's heart was beating twenty miles an hour, the adrenaline forcing her eyes wide open. Risking a peek in the direction of the sound, she discovered a slender figure laying on the ground, creosote staining his clothes and face. He scratched the back of his head and their eyes met.“Fajr! For God’s sake! Where were you? I’ve been looking for you for hours! Heck, the sun is almost down.” Reyhana whispered, scolding him as she pointed out the window to the purple orange sky, hoping her displeased tone would get across to him. Her brother turned around, giving her his back.“How did you climb down that? I heard footsteps.” He didn’t budge. “Fajr, look at me. I am speaking to you.” Reyhana reached for his shoulders but he stepped forward. She followed, now standing in front of him.“What do you want?” he asked, irritated.“I asked you a question. Communicate with me like a normal person would.”“You can’t walk on a chimney, genius. I used my hands.” He raised his dirty hands for her to see. “There, do you have your answer?”“Why are you being like this?”“Because you’re asking a stupid question?”“We’re leaving now,” Reyhana asserted, ignoring his remark. She walked in a squatted position towards the nearest room, signaling for her brother to follow her. There was a large window in the centre of the room. “Let's jump down. Else we risk getting caught.”“Don’t tell me what to do. I know.” He marched towards the opening and spared a look down. “Never mind. There is no way I’m dying here.” He laughed, backing away.“Do you have a better plan?”“I don’t, but yours sucks.” She rolled her eyes. “We would not be here if you were a little more responsible.”“Responsible? Are you being serious?”“Does it look like I’m laughing?” She gestured at her face dramatically. “I’m tired of chasing after you just because you want to rebel.”“So that’s what you think this is,” he said calmly. She expected him to argue back, but he just gave in. Fajr never gave in.Reyhana paused. “Is something wrong? You’re acting weird today.”“No. Why would it be?” Reyhana noticed his chest was heaving rapidly. He was panting loudly, his hand to his chest in an attempt to calm himself down. If Reyhana knew anything about her brother, it was that he grew quiet when fear got the best of him. Would he ever admit it? No. He had his own pride to uphold. And she respected that.“Stop looking at me like that. I told you I’m fine.” He looked away. “Worry about yourself.”“I’m afraid.” Fajr stared at her, stunned at her confession. “I admit it. But I also know that this will pass. It always does. And it helps to never forget that–”“We are not alone.” Reyhana grinned. “Exactly. Allah SWT is with us.”He nodded, his breath now silent and restful. He recited Ayat al Kursi under his breath, encouraging Reyhana to follow suit.“And what now? Must we jump?” He asked. She didn’t have an answer. All she knew was that they needed to leave immediately.“Come down!”Both siblings stared at each other with wide eyes. They simultaneously looked down, detecting a tall man standing at least thirty metres down, a big smile plastered on his face as he waved in their direction.“What are you doing here, man?” Fajr cupped his hands around his mouth as he spoke.“I trust you, love, but not with this,” she called out to her husband, hoping he would make out her words despite the wind that rustled his soft hazelnut hair in various directions.“What?” Ramzi asked, confused. “I can’t hear you. Just jump!”“I can’t!” Reyhana crossed out her arms for him to understand. “Fajr, forgive me, but you have to go first.” He glanced at her hesitantly. “It’s the only way.” The words stumbled out of her quivering lips. “Ramzi will catch you.” Reyhana couldn’t make out what Fajr said after that. The background noise of the world around her had faded. Her ears zeroed in on the only voice they could pick up: a high-pitched one, stable with its speech, smooth with its words. It was calling her name. Reyhana, Reyhana. Allow me to help you.She turned to Fajr for help, but he was moving in slow motion. Her hands were trembling, her head blank. She had no idea what to do.Reyhana. She examined her surroundings but no physical figure was to be found. Was it all just in her head? She wondered. If you don’t do it, I will. The sound chimed with a beautiful melody, infusing Reyhana’s ears with warmth.Reyhana watched in awe as the end of her hijab extended into a length only possible in a fantastical daydream. Her bright pink hijab flew in Ramzi’s direction like it was set free; never escaping, just working magically with its owner. She convinced herself she was only imagining the sparkles that surrounded it as it grew a mind of its own. The flowers that had been intricately sewn were now spread onto the entire length of the hijab, like rocks on a stone path, bulges on the wall of a rock climbing competition.The world returned to normal, the natural sounds of rustling leaves and the whistling wind filling her ears. Fajr’s uncontinued response was cut off once again, this time by his horror. He simply blinked at the flying hijab, completely unaware about what had just happened. “What on Earth is going on? You didn’t tell me Rapunzel was your cousin.”“You’re seeing this too? It can’t be real, right?”Fajr arched his back straight like an arrow, chin held high. “Oh please, Reyhana, there is no need to be scared.” Typical of Fajr to regain his confidence in the blink of an eye.A woman’s voice rang from somewhere within the building, muffled in the distance. A deep voice belonging to another cursing, her voice creeping closer.“Okay, now we really jump,” Fajr said.Reyhana swung open the window. Her brother was out the enclosed room before she could utter a word, barely taking into account what he was about to do. He would never jump if he overthought it. Reyhana’s bones jolted at the heavy pull on her head, and she pushed her hands on either side of the wall with full force.“You could have at least warned me, damn it!” He was descending, his legs crossed around the fabric dangling down the large window. The pain was worse than getting your hair pulled.""This isn't as hard as I thought it'd be!"" he called out, laughing nervously.“I can’t hold on any longer, hurry up!”“Remove it from your head, Reyhana!” Ramzi yelped.“You’re right!”With shaking hands, Reyhana unwrapped the satin fabric from her head, grappling with the force Fajr’s recklessness had generated. All the weight lifted off her head when she removed the pink material, the pain on her neck dissipating like a train crashing a wall. A feeling of complete peace washed over her. There was no hair blowing in her face, no air cooling her skin. She was still covered, her undercap doing the job.“What am I supposed to do now? Let down my hijab?” she called out to Ramzi but he couldn’t hear her.She only had herself. Reyhana looked around for a hanger on the wall, anything a hijab could be tied around. Nothing. Nothing except for a balustrade, built into the walls outside the window. Perfect. She tied a strong knot around the white railing, pulling at her end of the fabric to ensure the string wouldn’t rip before Fajr made it to safety. Mere seconds passed before he was on the ground. Thank God. She readied herself mentally to be next.“What have you done to the young boy?” A voice hissed from behind. Reyhana jumped, turning around to witness The Worst Thing That Could Happen come true.Two middle-aged women stood in the doorway, quizzical anger loitering their faces. A blonde and a brunette wearing complete opposite styles of clothing, yet having almost identical faces. Brunette wore a full face of bold makeup that made her look like a madwoman. Blonde didn’t wear makeup, but her eyes shone a blinding red under the beaming lights. The smirk on her face was that of a blood-thirsty shark searching for its next meal.""Tell me where he is right now,"" Brunette ordered.Reyhana tossed herself out the window, using her hijab to her advantage as she neared freedom. Thirty metres turned to twenty and soon there were barely ten to go. Of course they would let her climb down, it’s not like they would try to kill her.“You’re almost there!” Ramzi cheered from below.Reyhana felt better for a second before her pulsing heartbeat returned in her ears. She looked up and noticed she was facing the front side of the house. The sisters were standing by the only window of the three stories, on the highest floor of the residence. Reyhana could barely make out the evil smirk that formed on Brunette’s face, but she was sure it was the only warning she was going to get that the Game Was On.“You’ve got it coming you duck,” Blonde spat, in a volume loudspeakers couldn’t compete with.“She’s not wrong about the last part but get your butt down here quickly, man.” Fajr bellowed.“You are not helping!”Reyhana felt a sudden tug and when she looked up again, her face filled with terror a nightmare couldn’t ignite. This was real life. And she was about to get tossed into a fight with gravity. One of the women held up the untied end of the hijab for Reyhana to see. “Please don’t. Please.” I’m too young to die. Tears erupted from her eyes, streaming down her flushed cheeks. She shouldn’t cry, it only elevated her panic into greater altitudes. But she couldn’t stop either.""Sister knows best."" The other woman cackled before her sister flung the satin across the air, leaving Reyhana’s fate to God’s hands. The hijab collected air like a parachute, taking Reyhana on a flight. She hugged her body close, praying for the littlest impact. It won’t be long until it was over. It’ll be okay. Bismillah. Bismillah.Reyhana came crashing into Ramzi, sending him falling to the ground. He grasped her waist tight.“Oh my God, are you okay?” Reyhana whimpered.“Yes, yes, I am completely fine. But can you please get off–”“Oh yes, of course! I’m so sorry.” She flung herself off him. Fajr, who was standing aside, helped her up.“Nice to see you are capable of being helpful,” she teased.“I can also prove to be unhelpful and push you back on the floor,” he mumbled, making her laugh.Reyhana offered her hand to Ramzi. He took his time, holding his back in the process. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need a hospital?” Reyhana tried again.“It was merely a few metres, don’t worry about me.” He groaned.There was, however, someone who wasn’t pretending to be okay. “Damn you, imbeciles!” Blonde squealed. “We’ll make you suffer.”“We’ll see about that, ugly duckling,” Fajr retorted.Reyhana held back a snort. “Hey, don’t. Let’s go before they catch up to us.” The trio left the cursed place, ignoring the screams and insults being hurled their way until they could no longer hear them.“Thank you, Ramzi. You saved us back there,” she said as she put her normal length hijab back on.“He saved you.” Fajr intervened.“It is my duty, my lovely wife.” She blushed. “But you, you were amazing back there. You’re so clever yourself.” He linked their fingers together, rubbing the back of her thumb. “And your hijab, I had no idea it could do that. It was like a fairytale coming true. Did you?” He exclaimed eagerly.“I am just as shocked as you are. Tete gave it to me before she passed away. I wish I could ask her about it.”“Do you think she knows?”“Probably.” And she trusted her with it. Reyhana twirled around, ecstatic. Ramzi outstretched his arms in the air, guiding her.“Ooh, how mysterious.” Fajr said, making a miserable attempt at ghost noises. “And the myth of the magical shayla comes to life.”“Oh you little sunrise!” She said, playing on the meaning of his name. “How did you get yourself tangled into this mess?” She unlinked their hands, slowing her pace to stride beside Fajr. Ramzi walked ahead, allowing them privacy.“Promise me you won’t tell Mama.” Reyhana’s eyebrows rose in confusion, but she agreed. She needed to hear what he had to say.“Don’t just say you won’t. Say wallah.” “Please tell me what truly happened, I will believe you.” He knew she wouldn’t swear to God no matter what.“It’s not like I care if you will, but you can’t wrongly accuse me like that.”She said nothing, but her eyes softened, all ears for what her brother was about to say. “Remember how I cleaned houses last week for some extra pocket money?” Reyhana nodded. “Yeah, those sisters gave me triple the money. I was trying to return what I didn’t earn. I was sure it was an accident, but now I realise it wasn’t.” She froze in place, unable to process her brother’s words. Any joy Reyhana felt before was now sucked from her, guilt sinking into her heart. She was disappointed with herself. Disappointed that she couldn’t be a better sister.“Fajr, you have no idea how sorry I am. The whole time, I–” She paused, sighing. “I’m glad you made it out safely, but I should have–”“It’s okay, Reyhana. I understand.” Fajr shrugged.“Yes, but I shouldn’t have–”“I said it’s fine. I just wanted you to know.” She blinked twice, speechless. She threw her arms around her little brother, enveloping him in a warm bear hug.“Thank you, Fajr, for telling me. Thank you.” To her relief, he squeezed her back as he rested his chin on her shoulder. Then, her brother whispered something in her ear. Something she would never forget.You are a good big sister.
","August 11, 2023 20:15",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",vf5ccv,Beasts and Betrayal ,Odessa Baltensperger,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vf5ccv/,/short-story/vf5ccv/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Drama', 'Teens & Young Adult']",6 likes,"
“What did you just say?” I asked uneasily. 
 
“We’re not alone, I can feel it,” he whispered back eerily as if trying to get me to look around. 
 
I frowned in response, “What makes you say that? We’re all the way out here at my grandpa’s cabin. No way someone followed us all the way out here! Unless my little brother jumped in the back of the truck…” 
 
He frowned, angry I disagreed or didn’t believe him, “Dude, I’m telling you. I can feel their presence.”
 
“Fine! Fine! I’ll go grab a flashlight then we can look around the outside. And lock all the gates, okay? We’re fine,” I tried to reassure but came off more irritated than anything, I’m sure. I frowned as I went to go look for the flashlight, digging through the old junk drawer where I was sure it was left last time I was here, “It’s here somewhere, I promise!”
 
He didn’t reply for a moment before sighing, “They're getting closer.”
 
“If I knew you’d be a creep, I wouldn’t have invited you,” I grumbled, getting the flashlight and cringing at the lack of power left, “Okay, come on let’s make this quick!”
 
He nods, following behind me and mumbling about their presence. I tried to resist the urge to roll my eyes at the frankly superstitious moment. 
 
“Okay, so where did this even come from?” I asked quietly, careful not to alert any animals we were out and about. 
 
He looked at me, surprised I even asked, “I just have a gut feeling. And my gut is always, always right.”
 
I put my hands up in defense at the slightly defensive response, and then snorted, “Sure, dude. I haven’t seen you like this since our college days. Are you watching too many ghost story documentaries again?”
He frowns, “I thought you believed me.”
 
“I do!” I exclaim, a tad annoyed, “Just wondering if it could be the work of an overactive imagination…? Hopefully?”
 
He hums, “Maybe.”
 
The rest of the walk is peaceful, but now I couldn’t shake the feeling we were being followed. He continued to hum on our walk, looking back and forth nervously as if we were being followed. Maybe we were, I could feel it too now. But, I couldn’t tell him that. What if we were? I couldn’t make my friend’s clear paranoia and anxiety skyrocket anymore now could I? I felt sick. 
 
“Do you hear it now?”
 
Thud. Thud. Thud. 
 
My heart dropped. There it was. What he sensed, what I heard, and now it was upon us. 
 
“If we avoid eye contact, it might let us live,” he whispered carefully, “Let me speak to it.”
 
“It?” I whispered back, “How do you know it’s an ‘it’?”
 
“I may have… altered the truth a tad. I knew where we were going. I’ve been here before. And this is not the first time I’ve met this creature. We’ve been meeting for years now, and I needed someone to meet it, so I can be free,” he admitted, and just like that, decades of friendship were flushed down the drain with a single admission. It was not that he’d lured me here, to my grandfather’s home as a trick, but that he’d brought me here as bait and lied to me. Lied to his childhood best friend? How could he? Perhaps the situation is much deeper than it seems, but I think this might be something much more dark and horrorsome than it seems. I take a gulp. 
 
“Why.”
 
It’s not a question, it’s a demand. I need to know why. 
 
“I discovered him a couple of years ago, conveniently after they announced the discovery of aliens-”
 
“Are you saying he’s, or- it’s, an alien?!”
 
“That’s exactly what I’m implying,” he whispers, eyes looking down, “And I-”
 
“So then you were lying. About it not being an alien, just some weird stalker thing that’s become your problem, which you are now dumping on me, for some reason!” I exclaimed angrily, no longer thinking straight, and no longer thinking about the looming creature standing behind my friend. It was large, its shoulders reaching at least a foot or a foot and a half in width, honestly, I’d describe him as a linebacker. It had glowing eyes, red glowing eyes, with a blank face. Something I wasn’t quite used to with humans. For the most part, we’re an expressive bunch. Although, perhaps aliens being unexpressive explains why some “humans” aren’t quite as expressive. Perhaps they’re aliens who came before the “discovered” ones. Aliens, hypothetically, must be eons more advanced than humans. With how quickly we’ve advanced, those with, again hypothetically, larger brains, more natural, innate abilities that we don’t have any knowledge of. Perhaps that’s telepathy or even empathy. Maybe it’s the ability to be kind. Maybe. I fear for my life, however, as I stare back into those red eyes. Before my friend vanishes, like this is my problem now.  I flinch in a panic, looking for my friend. There can’t be a reasonable explanation for this, not now, not with this kind of information. I take a deep breath, glancing behind the beast, and am disappointed to see his figure getting smaller and smaller in the background, like a faraway echo. It stings. But, if I’m to survive this alien, apparently, encounter I must remain calm and collect. I must…
 
I must tame the beast. I’m frightened. 
 
“Hello?” I ask tentatively, and on high alert, I hold myself tall, ready for whatever comes next. 
 
Yet, unlike the movies, unlike the books, the horror films, it simply tilts its head and responds, “You’re new.”
 
There is a thick accent from which I’ve never heard of, which obviously this is an alien we’re talking about, but it’s alluring and makes my stomach drop- not like the anxiety stone, but like a swarm of butterflies infecting my stomach, filling it to the brim with a sort of soft, kinder feeling. And that’s definitely not a feeling I should feel around an alien, something- someone(?) in which I know nothing. Not their culture, their customs, their… anything really. 
 
But isn’t this just the perfect chance to learn? I found myself thinking excitedly if my friend won’t learn, I will! 
 
“Yes, my friend left me here with minimal knowledge to uh… who or what you are?”
 
It hummed, “Yes, that’s why I chose it as my host in the beginning,” it nodded sagely like they knew this was coming. Curiously, it also referred to us as “it”. It must be a conscious being’s impulse to label what it doesn’t understand, curious. 
 
“Ah, secrecy, quite a unique trait here on Earth,” I joked nervously, and wondered again how on Earth I ended up in such a predicament? This was truly something interesting. I swallowed my urge to sprint far, far away. 
 
“You are fearful,” it comments, “I can sense fear, just like in the movies.”
 
I stifle a laugh, “You’re familiar with human art?”
 
“He introduced me,” they hummed once, “But truly, do not fear. I have no intention of harm, simply to learn.”
 
“Oh! That I can help with, I’ve actually recently finished getting my doctorate in creative writing, something thankfully my parents supported me in, and-”
 
Boom! 
 
The crash of thunder was overwhelming in the previous serenity of the night. I took a deep breath before looking upward, “Rain.”
 
“Perhaps we return to the cabin for the night?” it asked gently, and a peculiar notice was that its accent remained, but it continued to match my grammar more and more as if it were trying to appease my anxiety by mirroring my mannerisms. I nod in return and then start to run back to the cabin, which was embarrassingly enough not that far away. We returned back to the cabin and decided to rest up for the night, laying down and I wondered how safe it was to be resting in the house with an alien. But, the alien apparently had not lied thus far, so what would a little curiosity hurt? Definitely just the cat. 
 
Hopefully. 
 
","August 08, 2023 13:02",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",mwv72v,The Vermin,Paxton Allison,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/mwv72v/,/short-story/mwv72v/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Drama', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
	We managed to keep the stench of the decaying bodies contained for three days. Or so our best estimate was. The days, I mean. You could keep track of seconds, or minutes, or even hours. But days, weeks and months were different. You’d stare at the digital calendar and know the whole amount of time passed. How could you not? Yet some filter, some great fog, would parse the knowledge before it reached the consciousness and you felt as though extrapolating the time further than hours was… elusive.	I blame nature, frankly. Owls, wolves, cats, even a plethora of insects; do you know what they have in common? Night vision. And yet when my ancestors slept within the dark nights of the African Plain no concept of fire even entered into our collective ignorance. What did nature give us to identify predators? Pattern Recognition. The sight for shapely shadows of killers in the night. Like constellations, in that evolutionary moment and henceforth, we relied on non-existent forms of pattern to mark our meaning. Sunrise and sunset. Store open and bar close. Clock in and clock out. Unfortunately none of these things were within conception's reach on the Starship Conroy.	The ship had sailed beyond the reach of the solar system and was on its five thousand one hundred and tenth hour. It was crewed by only two souls for seventy two hours and change. Everyone else was dead. Thus the wafting rot that graced my nose in the “and change” portion of the seventy two hours. The Engineer, Helen Sephan, I had not seen in at least twelve hours.	“Waste of oxygen,” was the last thing she said to me before running away.	This was in an assumed protest to my idea of ejecting the cadavers from the air lock. I knew, as I watched her flee, that I would see her again. A starship was big, but not infinite. My assumption was made correct as I felt the sharp steel of her wrench poke at the back of my neck; the handle filed to a point.	“The smell. It could make us sick,” she said.	“That’s what I tried to tell you,” I responded.	“But the airlock would-”.	“Be a waste of oxygen,” I cut in.	Her breathing was rapid and then altogether too extended between words. Hypoxia. I felt it as well although I was lucky, or aware, enough to stay where the oxygen vents still pumped. She pressed the honed tip of the wrench harder into my nape.	“We need to fix the Injector Body. People rely on us. Get up,” she beckoned me.	I sat still in my spot at the main computer terminal. “Do you remember anything, Helen?”.	“It would be helpful if you… helped,” Helen spoke, a dizziness in her words. “But I don’t need you. If you don’t come with me… waste of oxygen…”.	“You won’t do it,” I said.	Almost certain, but not entirely, of my estimation a small part of me waited for the cold stab of her weapon. It did not come. She dug deeper into my flesh, faltered, and dropped the wrench. The heat regulators were destroyed with everything else and the minute amounts of oxygen blew very frigid. It made the small trail of hot blood from the nick she gave me all the more obvious in its presence. A hard thud on the steel ground notified me of her collapse to her knees.	Turning around I saw not a woman, not an Engineer, not even a human but rather a husk. Her skin blued around the neck and hands and her eyes were bloodshot with any assortment of diagnoses. A part of me became what the corpses, when still animate, might have become. Or always were. I thought of killing her. Perhaps out of mercy or perhaps out of just finishing the deed time sought to extend. But I didn’t. I was the same as her.	Banishing the thought immediately I reached out my hand to her which she accepted and stood to her feet. She was getting better, more air to breathe than where she was hiding. But better does not mean sound.	“I- I- I’m so-” she started.	“It’s okay,” I interrupted.	“We need to check… the Injector Body,” she spoke, fighting through her delusion.	I felt pity for her and wondered if she felt the same for me. Wondered if I was the one going mad and she on the level. Madness seemed like going where she requested. I accepted anyway.	Sparks from a frayed wall wire sprinkled with muted smolders onto the metal paneled floors as Helen and I made our way further “south” into the Conroy. Trying to pass the time before the inevitable I counted the original crew in my head. Six in total. Captain Longstreth, Officer Haden, Helmsman Goya, Commswoman Montoya.	Haden died in the explosion. Montoya expired from battle wounds in the med-bay. The Captain and Goya were MIA until about ten minutes into Helen’s mission. Too busy with her to watch my footing I felt a hard thump on my boots before almost tripping on to the bodies. When I regained balance I saw Helen already gazing down at them. Analysis revealed to me the entry points of makeshift shanks and bruises around the larynx. It was where it all ended.	We, Helen and I, had watched Longstreth batter Montoya in the main chamber of the ship until the Commswoman’s speech was nothing but shattered teeth. I tried the best I could to save her after Goya chased the Captain off. I made an educated inference of the two’s fate, but the sight of this final resting place confirmed my thoughts.	“We can still do this. You and me,” Helen shuttered, kneeling down to her crewmates and giving them a final touch.	“Of course Helen… Of course we can…” I said back.	Before we headed off again another ping of evil intent rang within me. Maybe it was better that they were dead. Perhaps Montoya, no matter how brutal a way to exit, was favored by fate. Haden’s quick death was tearing but it was also just that. Quick. Was life so precious as to ignore an excuse from suffering? I supposed that would be answered as Helen whispered a prayer and continued forward.	Our progress was halted, as I and the fact we were not victims of the vacuum of space predicted, by a mountainous sealed door across the walkway to the Injector Body of the engine. 	“What?” Helen muttered.	“Your color is looking better, Helen. Try to remember,” I begged of her, hoping the sight of the door would revamp her scattered memory.	Her gaze told me it did. The entire engine was taken in the explosion. Seven hundred and thirty hours ago. Her eyes widened and then shrunk, her face twitched with a flood of comprehension, her breath went still. An understanding of every cruelty of the universe and every reality of her fate. My fate. We were not leaving. At that moment she slumped into me, no tears could signify her despair. I was never good at talking. That was the first time I felt as though it was a benefit.	Ordering the computer to shut down all non essential functions and seal us within the main chamber, I watched Helen come back to reality and yet grow more distant. The final door clicked and sealed us into place. For all humanity’s achievement its panels and computers and diodes would decorate our tomb. There was nothing else to do but wait. Five hundred and twenty eight hours of oxygen. Five hundred and twenty eight hours of sedentary existence. To extrapolate if further would be elusive. I took a seat next to Helen.	“Y-you don’t think we’ll do the same thing as them? Do you?” she asked, scared.	“No. Not likely,” I tried to comfort her.	“How do you know? How did you know I wouldn’t kill you before?” the Engineer inquired.	“We’re vermin. We survive until the end,”.	“Fuck you,”.	I chuckled. “It may be an over judgment. But it still holds similarity,”.	“What about them?”.	“Them?”.	“Earth. The Ordo event. Without us they’ll all die…” Helen sulked.	“Yeah. They will,”.	“That doesn’t bother you?”.	“It does. But it’s also… pattern. The unlucky, well, whatever they are will die first. Then the brutal will take care of each other. Then the vermin. The markers of finality. Then: nothing,”.	She sat with this awhile in silence, then an almost macabre smile spread across her face as she slightly turned towards me.	“We’re not alone,” she said.	“Huh?” I was bemused.	“Then we’re not alone. Maybe two folks back home are doing the same,”.	“Maybe. Maybe,”.It wasn’t that others were suffering that made her and I content with fate. It was that we weren’t alone in sharing it. It was that so long as the sun didn’t rise or set for them it didn’t for us. It was the march of time with company that turned the elusive into the unnecessary. And as the Earth spun round the sun, as the Conroy floated through the void, and as the finite borders of space expanded infinitely the one comforting thought was this: Who could tell the difference?
","August 09, 2023 09:42","[[{'Dena Linn': 'Very interesting read. Had a little trouble following some parts and wondered if this was a scene from a larger work that clarifies some of the characters and their actions.', 'time': '11:20 Aug 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Paxton Allison': 'Yes, this was cut from a larger work. I tried to make it intentionally vague in editing for Reedsy so the reader could play with it much more in their mind but perhaps I overdid it. Something I could work on for sure.', 'time': '06:55 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Paxton Allison': 'Yes, this was cut from a larger work. I tried to make it intentionally vague in editing for Reedsy so the reader could play with it much more in their mind but perhaps I overdid it. Something I could work on for sure.', 'time': '06:55 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",glvynt,We... Are Alone,Xander Blue,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/glvynt/,/short-story/glvynt/,Dialogue,0,"['American', 'Christian', 'Contemporary']",6 likes,"
“We’re not alone… We… are not… alone.” The Right Reverend Abel Zachariah’s voice boomed throughout the majestic glass and marble Hall of American Righteousness mega-church. 
 
“That’s what the news media will tell you. That’s what the talking heads and the local news rags will tell you, won’t they? We… are not… alone.” He paused to take a sip of water for dramatic effect. “Let me assure you, brothers and sisters, We… are alone.”
 
“When I was being raised up in rural Alabama, heck, it was excitin’ to think of flyin’ saucers and little green men and princesses from outer space, now wasn’t it?” A few heads in the crowd nodded. Two or three affirmations were voiced.
 
“Over the campfire we’d scare one another with tales of alien abductions and were fascinated at the grainy pictures of UFOs. As we grew older the tales became those of secret government programs, alien autopsies, and otherworldly beings that walk amongst us.”
 
“I want y’all to ponder on that for a moment. Otherworldly beings that walk amongst us.” He walked away from the podium and back, exaggerating a gesture with hands raised shoulder height, eyebrows raised, looking left and right at the crowd.
 
“What you mean Reverend Abel, you might ask. Well, think about it for a moment. If there were aliens… space people, which walk amongst us… wouldn’t that mean they look like us?” Several shouts of ‘yes’ were heard and many nodded in the crowd.
 
“I don’t have to remind you folks of something you all know. Man is created in God’s image. You learned this, like I did, in Bible School. It’s just a basic fact. I’d like for you to consider now, that if there were to be space people that walk amongst us, that look like us, might they not also walk with God, like we do?
 
He took another sip of water. A longer one this time to let what he’d just said sink in. “I know you have all seen the video of the spaceship landing on the White House lawn just this week. I can’t imagine anyone in America not seeing that video by now. They will tell you it was the greatest moment in Human history. They will crow about the scientific project that brought the aliens here.”
 
“When that door opened and those space people walked out, did we see otherworldly beings that look like us, that could walk amongst us?”
 
Half the crowd answered with a resounding “No!”
 
He slapped his hand on the podium. “That’s right. What we saw was grey creatures, monsters really, with itty bitty bodies and giant heads. They had oversized solid black eyes that would look more at home on a snake than on a Human. Since WE are created in God’s image, are those God’s eyes?”
 
Gasps and then a thunderous “No!” came from the crowd.
 
“Does God have an itty bitty body like that?”
 
“No!”
 
“Is God’s skin grey?”
 
“No!”
 
“That’s right, brothers and sisters. God looks like us… we look like God. It’s a fact and we all know it. It’s one of the first things the Bible says. These space people do not resemble us, do not resemble God, so that means it is impossible for them to walk with God.” A murmur went through the assemblage.
 
“Again, I am going to ask you to ponder something… If they do not walk with God, who DO they walk with?”
 
“Satan!” “Lucifer!” “Beelzebub!” Came answers from the crowd.
 
“That’s right. Agents of Satan now freely walk the Earth. And let me be very clear about something, the doors to the White House and to Congress itself, are being swung wide open for these aliens. They are being wined and dined. Is that what we want?”
 
The crowd begins to stand. Fists begin pumping the air. “No!”
 
“That’s right! Those aliens have landed in Beijing and Moscow and other big cities around the world. In all those places it’s the same – the red carpet treatment. Well I am here to say… You can lead those other places down the road to ruin, but not in America you don’t!”
 
Another hand slam and then fist pumps from the podium as the crowd began a jubilant cheer of “USA… USA.”
 
“Make no mistake, brothers and sisters, these aliens have come here to change your life. It will start out small. Maybe it will be a food you are no longer allowed to eat, and in its place something scientific the space people think would be better for you.”
 
Cries of “No” and “Never” erupt from the crowd.
 
“Next, maybe you will be told what to wear or what you are not allowed to say…”
 
“Not me” and “F those aliens” were voiced through the Hall.
 
Nods and points from the podium to members of the crowd began to fuel the fire. “Before you know it, your children will be forced to worship the alien God!” A forceful slap of the hand to the podium emphasized the last point.
 
The volume of the crowd exploded in a sea of expletives, anger and hate. As a frenzy of hysteria washed through the crowd, Reverend Abel basked in the fear. After few moments he began moving his hands up and down in a soothing gesture. “There is hope. There is hope.”
 
“Maybe you are here in our splendid Hall (cheers erupt from the crowd), or one of its campuses across the country. Be you in your home listening on the many radio stations blessed with spreading the Word, or on the internet watching this broadcast, one thing is universally true. Take out your wallet and look inside.”
 
Reverend Abel’s voice softened. “Whether you take out a one, a twenty, or even a hundred dollar bill. You will see something on every bill that unites all Americans.” Pulling a twenty from his pocket, he unfolded it and held it high above his head as if wielding a banner of righteousness.
 
“In God We Trust. That’s right, In God… We Trust. Do you think those aliens have money in their pockets that says, In God We Trust?”
 
“No!”
 
“It’s not a coincidence that America is God’s favored nation. I must tell you brothers and sisters, now more than ever, America needs us. God needs us. The fight for the very soul of America began this week when those aliens stepped off that ship and walked right into the White House like they owned the place.”
 
“It is going to take more money than we have ever raised to fight this Battle for America. Today I am asking you to give more than ever before. It is a fact that what you give will be returned tenfold, we all know that. But… what is the soul of America worth? What will you give for America?”
 
Once again, the crowd begins chanting, this time at a fevered pitch, “USA… USA… USA… USA…”
 
“Brothers and sisters… I am asking… no…” Reverend Abel took a few steps away from the podium, peeled off the jacket of his five thousand dollar suit, leaving it to fall to the floor, and dropped to his knees with arms up, face toward the Heavens. “I am begging you.”
 
Tears began to flow down his cheeks, “Help me save America. Help me save America. Oh please, help me save America from the Godless aliens. We are the only ones that can save America. God is depending on us.”  
 
Cameras panned across the crowd at the Hall of American Righteousness. Many were crying, some stood with hands raised and prayed while others had moved to the aisles in order to be able to prostrate themselves and wail. All this going on while still in the background a chanting of “USA… USA…”
 
Rocking back and forth, Reverend Abel took care to speak slowly in order that his words were clear despite the crying. “It is only us… Only us… Please help me save America, please.”
 
“We… Are Alone.”
","August 09, 2023 12:04",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",9cp59q,In the Skies Above the Farm,Ethan Elliott,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/9cp59q/,/short-story/9cp59q/,Dialogue,0,"['Funny', 'Science Fiction', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
George Hightower was madly in love with his new wife Ethel, for about half an hour. Let’s establish that first and foremost.  It wasn’t the look of the girl that changed his mind, certainly not that. She was as pretty and respectable a girl as Waycan County ever produced, with long, flowing blonde hair that fell down onto her breasts, curled at the ends and shimmered like alchemist’s gold in the sunlight. And with big, emerald green eyes that sparkled when she laughed, like the way raindrops do when they settle on cedar branches.It wasn’t her social status either. She was the daughter and only child of Edwin Welles, the owner of the state’s largest bank, and was seen as something of a local socialite. Her parents had tried to sway her into marrying a local entrepreneur or even a bank employee, but to no avail. She had always desired a more modest, quiet lifestyle and thought she fit the role of a farmer’s wife perfectly.So what was it then? What could possibly have changed George’s mind? “Isn’t the house a little close to the barn?” she asked on their first night together as man and wife. “I sure hope that smell don’t creep into the bedroom. That ol’ rooster ain’t gonna crow too early is he? I got to have my eight hours. Oh honey make sure you get me some fresh eggs for the morning please.”That, that’s what changed his mind. Remember, “she thought she fit the role of a farmer’s wife”. Operative word “thought”. For the next thirty years they lived in ever growing silence and resentment, Ethel growing more and more fed up with farm life and George growing more and more fed up with Ethel. The years ate away at them until George was reduced to an old, skinny, miserly fellow; and Ethel had become plump, gray, and as ornery as one of their old cows.“Geooooooooorge!” his wife’s screaming voice soon became as common to George’s ears as the rooster’s crow in the early morning.“What do you want with me now woman?” George shouted back. “I got to tend to these animals! Pipe down!”“Don’t you talk to me in that tone!” Ethel said. “If you can’t talk to me no better than that just don’t talk to me at all!”“God! If I had only known it was that easy all them years ago!”“Oh hush up! I’m going into town to visit my sister for a while. For the love of God while I’m gone shut them animals up and clean yourself up before you come in my house. If I see any mud tracked in on my carpet I’ll…”We’ll spare you the details, but it was unprintable in any respect. This was the daily routine, George and Ethel, and certainly their neighbors, were more than accustomed to it. Every day followed this routine, and the morning of July 8, 1902 started out like any other day. The air was warm and still, a light breeze caressed the leaves of the sycamores, and the orange sun started peeking lazily over the hilltops, spreading its light over the dew laden haze of a blue southern morning. George was out early, heading towards the barn, and Ethel was hot on his tracks. She stepped in a pile of horse dung and exclaimed that classic benediction of southern women, “Dammit!”George ignored her the best he could and kept his gaze fixed intently on the barn, but she eventually caught up to him.“George! I’ve had it, I’ve had enough!” she shouted.“Only took ya some thirty years,” George said under his breath. He didn’t feel like arguing this early and thought it best to hold back his verbal attacks, or at least say them a little quieter; what she didn’t hear couldn’t hurt her.“I am ready to sell this place, you hear me?”“Unfortunately I do.” “We are too old to attend to this place anymore.”“What do you mean we?”“I want us to go into town and meet with this man, he’s looking for at least 100 acres to build a new factory and he’s offering lots of money.”“Ah like hell.” “I don’t know why I put up with it this long!”“You and me both.”“We should have listened to my daddy, I don’t know why you didn’t take his offer to work at the bank. Why didn’t you listen to my daddy?”“Yeah where’s your daddy now?”“But in any event, we’re going to town today and meeting with that man, I’m going inside to get ready so you do whatever you want to do out here. I want you to get me some eggs.”“Already gave you some.”“I want you to clean up all this dung we got around here.”“I’ll start with the dung in the dress.”“I want you to milk the cows and get us some fresh milk.”“You’re lactose intolerant.” “I can hear you George! Now stop being smart and get ready!”She turned around and started across the yard towards the back door, being careful to avoid the pile of horse dung this time. George looked after her, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.“God”, he said to himself. “Till death do us part sure is taking a hell of a long time.”He stepped out of the barn, dragging his boots heavily along the ground, and hanging his head low. “ ‘Those who marry will have worldly troubles, and I would spare you that.’ Yeah, I hear you on that one brother.” he said somberly. He raised his head and looked up into the sky.“I know we’re not alone,” he said. “I know you’re out there Lord, now I don’t know what I did thirty years ago, but believe me I’ve paid my dues and I do repent! I’m not asking you for much Lord, I’m just asking you to intervene. Please, I can’t lose my farm, please intervene!”At that moment, the clear blue sky was enveloped by a wall of thick gray clouds, and the wind picked up. “I reckon it’s fixing to rain,” George thought.Soon, a sound reverberated about the landscape, it sounded as though a twister were barreling towards the farm. George looked all about in a panic, but saw nothing. After a while a light caught his eye, one singular light in the middle of the clouds. Then the light began to blink, and, seemingly, to multiply. Before he could react, the one light had split into two, then three, then four. George stared at the sky in disbelief, his fear froze him in place as though his feet were chained to the soil. A shape then materialized out of the clouds, a round disc-like shape came lower and lower out of the haze, until George was face to face with an aircraft; the origins of which he knew could not have been earth. The wind ceased to breathe, the clouds parted, and all was calm again. The ship, with all its blinking lights, sat before George, deeply embedded in the mud, staring at him just as much as he stared at it. George looked up into the sky again.“So this is how you intervene nowadays isn’t it?”No sooner did the words escape his lips did another sound begin to emit from the ship. It sounded as though long compressed air was finally being released. The front of the ship began to lower, like the drawbridge of an ancient castle, and white smoke poured out as the door opened wider and wider. George stepped back, and held his hands out in front of his face. From within the ship, three beings soon emerged. They stopped just at the base of the ship and glanced around at the farm. George was again frozen, his bottom lip trembling, and a scream logged deep in his throat. The creatures finally stepped out onto the soil, and walked cautiously up to George. They were around three feet in height, with large, bulbous heads the color of rich, green grass. Their eyes were large, almost too large for their faces, and blacker than night itself. You’d almost be tempted to light a match just to see if there was anything at all beneath that darkness. On their small hands were only three fingers, the tips of which were rounded as though they were suction cups. The rest of their bodies were adorned in long garments that reached to the ground covering their feet, and made of colors George had never seen before. Finally, one of the creatures spoke.“Greetings,” it said in a nasally voice.“Ahhhhhhh! Oh oh ahhhhhhhh!” George said. The creatures recoiled back and made a collective sound similar to that of small beeps.“Who- who are you?” George said, his voice shaking violently. “We come from the planet Puketon,” the leader said.“You come from where now?” George asked.“We come from the planet Puketon, outside of your galaxy.”“Puked-on?” George asked in a puzzled tone.Then the creatures again made their collective sounds, occasionally interrupted by the words, “Puketon, yes Puketon.”“Well, what do you want with me?”“We are here to take you.”“Take me?”“Yes yes, take you.”“We seek earth specimens for our experiments,” one of the other creatures said.“Well what makes you think I’m a good candidate, don’t you have a map on that there ship? You couldn’t have gone to one of the colleges ‘round here, or the government, you had to come to me?”“We are here for you, we seek specimen for experiments,” the leader repeated.“No, no you can’t take me!” George shouted in fear.“Specimen, specimen, specimen!” the creatures began to say at once while closing in on George.“Wait! You don’t want me, I’m just an old man you see. You don’t want me, me no good brain, me dumb see,” George said.The creatures looked at each other.“Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll find you a much better specimen. How about that?”“We are listening,” the leader said.“But where will you find this better specimen?” one of the others asked.“Geooooooorge! You better be ready by the time I get out there, I want to make this quick!”George’s face lit up. “I know the perfect specimen for ya,” he said. “And here she comes right now.”“George, who are you talking to out… ahhhhhh!” Ethel said as she walked outside and caught a glimpse of the creatures. “Oooooh specimen!” one of the other creatures said.“What the hell’s going on George?” Ethel said clutching her chest.“This right here fellas, this is the finest specimen of them all,”.“What do you mean specimen?” Ethel asked.“Much better brain than me, me dumb she smart you see.”“Specimen, specimen, specimen!” the creatures began to circle Ethel.“Hey hey now you best get away from me!” she shouted. “Specimen!”“George! George do something!”The creatures grabbed hold of her arms and walked her to the ship with surprising strength.“George! What’s happening?!”George couldn’t help but laugh.“You bring her back in one piece now ya hear!” he called after the creatures.“George,” Ethel said coldly. “You get these things off me I swear to God!”George fell to the ground laughing as Ethel was bathed in a pale blue light. She stood there frozen as the ship began to rise into the sky again.“You’ll be sorry George, you just wait!” she said.Ethel began to slowly rise off the ground, up towards the ship.“I’ll be back George!” she called down to him. “Alright now what did I have to get done today,” George said, standing back up.“I’ll be back George! I’ll be baaaaaaaack!”
","August 12, 2023 03:51",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",rsnxhu,We’re Not Alone,Thor Garcia,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rsnxhu/,/short-story/rsnxhu/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Horror', 'Science Fiction']",6 likes,"
The last survivors now sat together in a vacant hotel room when suddenly there was a knock at the door.
 
All of the color on Eden’s face flushed away. Elder was dead asleep. Greg looked at me and I at him. And without a seconds hesitation, I rose from my chair as swift as a soul does when leaving the body. 
 
“We’re not alone,” Greg whispered as he stepped over Elder. I gave him a nod towards the door to lead the way. My heart was pacing rapid, but my thoughts were as still as a dead breeze. Poised and ready, Greg peeked through the peephole. Instantly, he collapsed. 
 
The knock came once more.
 
Without looking away, I whispered over to Eden to wake Elder. And innately, my curiosity drove me onward. As I began to step forward, I recalled a quote I had read some time ago, it read, “Smart people learn from their mistakes. But the real sharp ones learn from the mistakes of others.” 
 
As much as I had a desire to peep through the door myself, I had just as much of a desire to avoid what happened to poor Greg. I stopped just before reaching the door. I had to think. And fast.
 
“What’s going on?” Elder asked half asleep.
Eden immediately shushed him and pointed to the door.
“There’s something out there,” she whispered anxiously.
 
It had been several months since we last had contact with any other life. What awaited us on the other side of the door was unknown, but one thing was certain, we had to leave and now.
 
“Grab your things, we’re leaving,” I said to them through clenched teeth.
 
“What about Gregg?” Eden asked.
 
Elder expressed only perplexity, for he had missed the entire ordeal.
 
“He is now as dead as Elder was during his slumber,” I solemnly replied. “We must go.”
 
And with that, not another sound was uttered. We collected our few belongings and made our way out through the back window.
 
Eden went first, then Elder and finally myself. As I was halfway out and over the opening, I could hear the door creak open and what sounded like Greg’s body being dragged across the floor. I did not look back, but only hastened my step.
 
Outside it was cold and dark. A hint of death in the still air.
We moved like thieves in the night, silent and agile. Our only goal was to survive the night, like it had been the night prior and the night before that. All was the same, except we were now short a man.
 
“I’m scared,” Eden mumbled as we moved into the next building, hoping to find sanctuary. 
 
“I understand that,” I replied , “but right now I need you to be brave, brave for I and your brother. I won’t let anything happen to you,” I reassured her. Whether she believed me or not, I could not say. But at the moment, it was all I had.
 
“I’ll take point and Elder will cover our six,” and with that I led us in through the dark, wet walls of what I hoped would be a vacant house. 
 
What we were up against, I could not say. But I knew that until we figured that out, it’d be best to avoid contact. From what we could tell, we were some of the, if not the, only remaining survivors on the planet, and that included both specimens of animals and plants alike. 
 
We cleared the first floor. And as we were about to move upstairs, Eden reached for my hand. I felt her sharp nails cut deep into my flesh. I turned to shine my light on her and I could see only pain in her soul. Elder was nowhere in sight and I knew she was about to be next. 
 
Attached down at her feet was a tiny serpent like creature, slithering up and around her body. I refrained from shooting because everything that now plagued our planet seemed to respond to sound. And so I opted for my blade, attempting to pierce through it instead. But almost as if on cue, the serpent disappeared under and into her flesh. It began to drain her of her fluids. I had never felt so helpless in my life. 
 
“Kill me, please” she uttered hoarsely. I reached for my rifle and told her I was sorry. The sound echoed throughout the empty house. I knew they were coming.
 
But I would not take the easy way out. I would go out with what fight I had to give. The floor trembled and the sounds of death now shifted towards me. I thought of all the wrongs I had ever committed in this life and wondered what awaited next. 
 
“Would there be more?”
“Would I ever see Greg…Elder…or Eden again?” 
 
I could not say, but I sure hoped so. 
 
The walls around me began to tremble and fall. Whatever was coming, was near…it was here.
 
I beamed my light up and it began to flicker. I could make out only shadows dancing around. The stench was the most horrid I had ever inhaled, stagnant and lingering. My skin was scolding, as if the sun had somehow appeared through this vast darkness and magnified all of its might upon me.
 
I had died once before. Several years ago, in a land far away, fighting for what I thought to be more than myself. The feeling had returned, except this time, I was all alone. Unaware of what I was fighting against and why. I was the last man standing. But as all things that have a beginning, all things too must have an end. I realized this was mine. And I knew I had a choice to make, for we always do. Either put one in your skull and take the easy way out or ride it out and fight until the very end. I opted for the latter and as I finally laid eyes upon death, I smiled. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 12, 2023 03:57",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",vg41cz,Mysteries of the Sahel,Lynel Black,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vg41cz/,/short-story/vg41cz/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Fiction', 'Drama']",6 likes,"
Fred’s map showed a village, but now he had arrived, all there was only a handful of abandoned and dilapidated huts. He pushed Wylma to one of them, leaned her up against a post and sat on his haunches in the shadow of a wall.This is bad. Very bad. He said to himself. Very bad indeed.The heat was oppressive and the Sirocco wind was stiff. The trail was mainly sand and Wylma’s wheels preferred to sink into, rather than rolling over it. The laboured meandering path they took was more often Wylma’s choice, than Fred’s.He checked his water sack again, but he already knew it was empty. He only had one and a half litres of water left with over 20 kilometres to the next village. That equation did not work. Fred knew he would not make it. He had foolishly counted on a refill here, but the discovery of the abandoned village had exposed the folly of his dangerous miscalculation.Feeling a little regenerated, Fred stood and walked a lap of the village. As he expected, he found the village well, and with that discovery, also learned why the village was abandoned. The water level was about five metres below ground, but floating in the water was a dead animal. The mysterious carcass was infested with flies and carried a thick and pungent stench.Fred found an old bucket, attached a cord to its handle, fetched his water sack and filter and got to work. After extracting what Fred thought was enough water to get out of this predicament he wet his hat and his shirt and set off again into the desert.***The afternoon heat was stifling. In the last few days, each afternoon would cloud over with the promise of a cool and wet respite, but instead, would only disappoint with an oppressively hot and heavy afternoon weight. Fred and Wylma had been riding for about two hours but had only covered around half the distance to the next village. Fred felt worn out and he was almost out of the good water. He forced himself to ration what remained, one warm mouthful every ten minutes, but after only two portions, the level of exertion in the fine sand and the heat overtook his needs. All he could do was halve the time between rations…, and half the time till he ran out.The small Acacia tree he stopped at for the last drink five minutes ago was still visible dancing on the horizon when Fred and Wylma went down heavily in a sand drift. Fred was slow to get up. Throat dry and gritty, legs soft and wobbly, and not a shred of shade. He sat there for some minutes catching his breath and working up the motivation for another push. He took a large mouthful of water and checked the bottle. A pathetic sip is all that was left sloshing in the bottom. Hardly a mouthful left, Fred ruefully thought. He consulted the map to find he was not even halfway there. This is getting dangerous. There would be nobody driving past on this trail. Nobody to help, no shade, no clean water. Shit!Fred had studied desert survival, but much of the theory relies on starting ‘well before’ dehydration begins, not when it is already upon you. By the time your energy and will had already been sapped by the elements, is far too late to begin. Sitting still is certain death, he sternly said, stating the obvious to himself and Wylma. Fred remounted Wylma and rejoined his marathon struggle against the sandy trail and the relentless Sirocco.The sand was getting worse. Wylma wrestled Fred for every metre of progress. Now there were patches of sand that were impossible to ride through, leaving Fred no choice but to push. A dangerous drain on his waning energy and resolve.After fifteen minutes of exhausting struggle, Fred came to a stop next to another anaemic tree. The shade it cast barely registered in the baking heat. It was at this point that the abstraction of Fred‘s predicament finally shattered. He had put the tainted water out of his mind, till now. At the time, he still clung to an irrational optimism, convinced the trail would improve, convinced that he could somehow make it to the next village on his good water. This confidence, now shattered, left Fred confronting the reality of the fetid water. The only way he was getting out of this alive. He drained the last dribble of good water, then opened his water sack to fill his empty water bottle. The stench of the warm water made Fred gag.With his parched throat and a full bottle of water, a new doubt as to whether this idea would save him, or seal his doom made him pause. He took another sniff at the open bottle, oh that is bad! Fred held his breath, held up the bottle to toast the gods and took a deep swallow. He got the water down, but paid for it with a fit of coughing. The taste in his mouth was foul beyond belief. He spat in the hopes of clearing the vile aftertaste, without luck.He set off again. The trail mercifully did not deteriorate any further and even tantalised with a few decent sections of harder trail permitting him to build up some dangerous momentum. He even imagined that the blow dryer which had been blasting him all day was losing interest. At his third water stop, Fred caught himself thinking that the water didn't taste all that bad. The rationing now forgotten, he took a few long drafts and felt rejuvenated again.***The afternoon shadows lengthened, but the heat stubbornly persisted. Fred eventually admitted the next village was out of reach today, and the time to search for a campsite was quickly approaching. Off in the shimmering distance, a stand of acacia trees came into view. Fred knew he had to have his camp set, and dinner done before dusk. At these latitudes, sunset was only a short beautiful ceremony, with the day giving way to night as fast as flicking a light switch!Now under the anaemic trees, He snapped off a branch and used it to clear the dry leaves and thorns from his campsite. He then checked over Wylma’s tires for any of the inch long thorns that littered the ground. There would be no campfire tonight, so he got his stove out to prepare dinner. With the meal now finished, he cleaned up with dry sand (one does not waste water on cleaning dishes in the desert!)Perfect timing! Fred thought to himself. The sun’s vertical trajectory was just about to meet the flat brown horizon. Nature was ready to put on a blazingly beautiful, albeit rapid sunset to mark the end of another adventurous day. He opened his drink bottle and took a final long draw on his water. He amazed himself with the admission that the water was actually quite good. It still did not hold a candle to the sweet cold mountain lake waters of Switzerland, a glass of which he would be prepared to pay a high price right now, but despite this, the water was OK. In fact it was more than OK, his mood had dramatically improved once he had started on the new water. Now standing boldly, the master of his surroundings, Fred felt strong and confident - and something more… Powerful? As he watched the last thin crescent of fire disappear behind the darkening landscape, a distant howl cut through the dusk air. This was followed by a long sick cackle from an accomplice somewhere nearby. Hyenas. “We’re not alone”, Fred said with an ominous tone. The curtain of night drew over the land with abrupt suddenness throwing everything into complete darkness. With nothing more to do except swat at hungry bugs looking for their own dinner, Fred crawled into his tent, stripped off, lay down, shut his eyes and was deep asleep within minutes.***A loud crack of a dry twig woke Fred from his deep sleep. He had no idea what time it was, but a second more faint noise brought him completely awake. Something’s moving around the camp. Fred kept still and kept his breathing as regular and quiet as possible. Crunching leaves and the odd grunts could be heard from all around the camp. Then came a sniffing sound. Very close! Again, <sniff, sniff>. It was right outside the door.Fred was up on hands and knees, face almost touching the thin insect screen separating him from the outside world. The air outside had cooled, but this was a dim contrast to the hot, wet and rancid breath of his visitor. Fred could not only smell, but feel each breath exhaled on his face. The tension in the air was electric. Both he and his mysterious nocturnal visitor were on tenderhooks separated by mere centimetres. Fred wracked his mind for a response to the intrusion. Gently he felt around in his handlebar bag for his camera. He gently switched it on, waited for the faint whine of the flash to charge, brought it up to the screen, and fired. The flash was blinding. It was then followed by the buzz of the mechanical film winder to complete the operation.The animal yelped and retreated. His accomplices joined in with their nervous sniggering. They had been startled but not scared away. Fred reflexively acted. He climbed out of the tent as fast as he could, lifted his arms aggressively in the air and struck his most imposing pose. To complete his entrance, he let out his best roar.The moon was out and the landscape was draped in a dim pale glow. More than a dozen skittish Hyenas stood in a rough arc about twenty paces away. For some frozen seconds, a fragile stalemate held. The spell was broken when the alpha male summoned enough courage to take a few careful steps toward Fred. He was followed by a few others.Fred’s heart was pounding in his chest, but it was not fear that gripped him, it was excitement. Introspectively, he was puzzled at his lack of fright. He stood there naked and exhilarated, adrenalin surging through his veins making his skin tingle. He even felt an erection stir.He stepped sideways keeping his eyes on his antagonists and retrieved his discarded branch. The Hyenas were overcoming their trepidation and began approaching again with more confidence. Fred let out a low growl which gave his assailants another nervous pause. What will it take to be rid of these beasts?, he thought quickly to himself.With under ten metres left between them, time to think was over. As if it were prearranged, both Fred and the alpha dog launched their attacks at exactly the same time. Hyenas are not known for bold action, but backed up by his pack, the alpha made a convincingly aggressive lunge for Fred. Fred made his own lunge raking a wide arc with the thorn encrusted branch heavily sweeping it across the animal's face. This confused his adversary. Fred, tapping some unknown primitive well of aggression, lept at the confused Hyena ramming the splintered stub of the branch into one of its eyes.Now Fred was straddling the desperately whining and yelping brute, beating it mercilessly with the thick bloodstained stub of the branch. In an explosion of primal energy, Fred dropped the branch and bare handed locked onto the lower and upper jaws of the Hyena and poured all his strength into pulling them apart. The adrenaline fuelled frenzy imbued Fred with a burst of superhuman strength that overpowered the animal imposing jaws. The Hyena whimpered with pain, and trembled with effort to fight off this formidable opponent. Fred’s thighs were clamped down hard around the neck of the beast, his shoulder and arm muscles strained with maximum power. The panicked Hyena gave a final twitch as it’s lower jaw snapped off. The Hyena went limp under him.Scrambling to his feet, he faced the rest of the pack, puffed out his torso, and gave a threatening growl, but it was clear their will had been broken. None seemed inclined to follow their doomed leader. They milled about casually for a few seconds, then retreated silently into the spinifex.Fred felt unreal. He had tapped some ancient primeval energy. This force now infused him, surging through his veins. He now stood tall, muscles still tense, twitching for action. Every smell was exquisitely obvious. The Hyena’s fur on his torso, its fear, its blood. He could also smell the traces of fear of the rest of the pack. The smell of his own sweat, confident and powerful. Behind all this was the sound of his thumping heart, each beat echoed by the blood racing past his ears, along with the buzz of the first flies to find their new banquet.Fred had no idea how long he stood there. The pure alpha sensation was intoxicating. In that moment he was the king of the desert. He took a water bottle from Wylma and guzzled it down. Just a dozen hours ago, this would have made him vomit, but now he felt an alien surge of power and fortitude. The taste was still there but there was something else in the water. Something energising. He looked at the dead hyena and then at the water with a new awareness.He gradually came down from his high. The body of the dead Hyena will attract the pack again. I have to get rid of it. He thought clinically.He stepped up to the body, in one fluid motion he threw the animal over his shoulder and strode off into the dry grass. He dropped it some distance from the camp, returned, drank again, and retreated to his tent. It was only then that he noticed the Acacia thorns in his feet. Dozens of them, some deeply installed. The pain they should have inflicted only came slowly as he busied himself removing them. He then used some water to wash away the blood. As he completed this, a wave of relief and fatigue washed over him. He lay back and promptly fell asleep.***He missed the dawn the next morning, waking to the building heat in his tent. His recollection of the events of the night were fuzzy. He could not recall the hard details, instead he could only evoke soft-edged images of the encounter. What was easier to recollect was the intoxicating power he had experienced. He walked to where he had discarded the dead Hyena just to prove the events of last night to himself. Now sober, he wondered at the well of raw power he must have tapped into to have killed an alpha Hyena with his bare hands. That power that had surging through him was something wholly new and novel. And there was something else. The secret was somehow entwined with the water.As he finished breaking camp he took another deep draw from his water bottle and wondered at the well. What was the nature of the beast which gave its life in that well, in exchange for mine.
","August 09, 2023 18:01","[[{'Joe Parrillo': ""Lynel, I really enjoyed your story, as it held my attention throughout. The final confrontation between man and beast was gripping! Who would win? Of course, I rooted for Fred, but I didn't know--and that was the best part. Keep writing because success is within your grasp."", 'time': '20:02 Aug 23, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Lynel Black': 'Thanks. The water is poisoned, but not all poisons are obvious.\n\n""What lives beneath""  is a more grim tale about Fred and Wylma, and the danger of water!\n\nhttps://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2w8a1t/', 'time': '19:24 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Emilie Ocean': 'Thank you for writing Mysteries of the Sahel, Lynel. I enjoyed every minute of it. I wish I could take a sip of that water, too! It sounds amazing.', 'time': '15:05 Aug 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",qadr7s,No Longer Alone. ,Lara Deppe,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qadr7s/,/short-story/qadr7s/,Dialogue,0,"['Suspense', 'Teens & Young Adult', 'Crime']",6 likes,"
No Longer Alone. 
Ember regretted all her life’s choices the moment her phone alarm buzzed at her bedside. She groaned audibly and hit the snooze button. She immediately had wet puppy nose in her palm that was draped over the side of her bed. “I love you Charlie but I gotta have five more minutes.” She face-planted into her pillows and groaned. Charlie was ready to go out and started to lick her fingers from his doggie bed beside her mattress. 
“Alright buddy. Let’s go.” She pulled on her jogging pants which she had flipped over the back of a chair the night before, clicked the leash into place on his collar and headed downstairs. As usual, she forgot to grab her keys off the hook by the front door. She was hopelessly bad at locking the front door behind her, so she luckily never locked herself out. She swung the door shut and Charlie led out of her townhome with enthusiasm to the designated dog park between the units a few hundred feet from her door. He panted happily at her side. He loved to be outside in any kind of weather. Clouds were gathering and Ember hoped there would be rain today. Maybe even a power outage at the office and she could come home early. 
Ember would love to let Charlie run but his original owner said if you let him off leash, you would have a tough time getting him back home and then he laughed. Bill knew this from experience. He had made the mistake only two times – both were very long nights. He had raised Charlie to be a show dog but as time went on, Charlie’s hip dysplasia made the training too much for him. Bill was a friend of Ember’s dad and when he heard she wanted a dog, Bill mentioned Charlie needed a good home. She was in love from the first moment. Charlie had her heart from the moment he snuggled against her leg and licked the fingers of her outstretched hand. 
“C’mon Charlie,” she tugged. “As much as I don’t want to. I gotta get to the office.” They headed back to her unit. Ember’s roommate Steph had moved out at the beginning of summer and with fall coming on quickly, the room was beginning to gather boxes and other treasures that Ember didn’t want to deal with. Ember was fantastically distractable, and she loved to start a hobby and never finish it. The room was a catalogue of the last year of her life and a glimpse at her array of interests she had dabbled in. She had a cello phase. Why couldn’t she pick a smaller instrument? That was leaning against the corner wall by the window. There was a half open box of all the sports she had tried: roller blading, boxing, pickle ball and even a community course in sword fighting. And while we are on the subject of the main floor, she didn’t want to discuss the downstairs bathroom which she stubbornly refused to clean. Ember detested cleaning bathrooms. She only had time to clean one, so she cleaned the one she showered in. 
She really should get another roommate. She had posted the vacancy at the university but hadn’t had any bites. She had deliberately made the rent a bit pricey for starving college students because she wasn’t sure she really wanted to do the roommate thing anymore. Maybe Daddy would help if she got strapped for the rent. She only had three semesters left in her bachelor’s degree and she would love to have her place to herself until graduation. She could go back to being a barista as a side hustle if she got strapped for cash. 
She unsnapped the leash and hung it and her jogging pants back over the chair and jumped in the shower. She was running a bit late so she would have to do her fast hair. She rushed the process and barely had time to say goodbye to Charlie as she rushed out the front door. She wasn’t lucky enough to get a power outage at work. She wasn’t even lucky enough to get a lunch. She rushed home to let Charlie out. “So sorry buddy. I gotta run to class. Remember? This is my long night.” She spent a few minutes rubbing his ears before grabbing her school bag and heading out into the windy evening. The storm was amping up and she was elated. She took a long deep breath of the pre-rain air. She could smell it coming in. 
Ember took great notes in her first class. In her second class, she doodled with her laptop pen in her open note file and by the last class of her night, she was fighting sleep and begging for the professor to let them out early. He just had too much to say, and he took the class over by thirteen minutes. She was spent. Ember met Keira in the class on the first day and they had been sharing a table each week and they made their way to the parking lot complaining about the professor who could not stop talking. Keira had a puppy too and she was hoping he would make it until she got home without having an accident in his kennel. Both dashed for their cars as the rain started to fall. 
On her way home, Ember could hardly see out her rain-drenched windshield. She pulled into her garage with a smile. She was so pleased that the storm had found her. She threw open her front door. 
“Charlie!” she shouted, and he came running. She ran upstairs to get the leash; her hoodie and jacket and she clipped him in to go out. She grabbed her umbrella near the door and pulled the door shut. Charlie, like Ember, took his time in the rain. They were both drenched and neither cared as they headed back to the townhome. 
Ember stopped in front of her door. It was open. Light was spilling out from the vertical slit in the space between door and frame. She could’ve sworn she had pulled it shut as they had left. Maybe she had forgotten when she reached for the umbrella. Maybe she hadn’t pulled it closed with enough force to latch it shut. Charlie growled as if he sensed her hesitation. Charlie’s breed weren’t barkers. He made plenty of other noises, but he just wasn’t the barking type. She loved that about him. She pushed open the door and listened. She couldn’t hear much over the sound of the wind and the falling rain. Charlie held very still and listened too. What if we are not alone? 
She stepped inside. Should she lock the door behind her? What if she was barricading something inside with her? She held Charlie near her as she flipped on the light in Steph’s room where the porchlight streaming into the empty room full of odds and ends was casting shadows like tall buildings in a cityscape. Ember’s heart thudded inside her chest. How long had they been outside? Could someone really have come inside in that time? Wouldn’t they have been wet and left footprints as a trail behind them? Charlie pulled her inside the room and around the islands of standing items. She placed her hand on the door to the closed closet. Her brain was swirling with ideas of what could be standing inside. She sucked in a breath and pulled. Charlie stretched the leash to look inside. Empty. She left the light on in the spare room.
He was pulling her to the hallway. Why didn’t she own a gun? What was she going to do if she came face to face with someone in her home? She was ill. The blood coursing through her veins felt like mud – cuthunking through each artery and stopping in her throat. 
The bathroom. Ember peered into the room. There were deepening shadows outside where the hallway light was breaking the barrier. She bent her hand around the wall to flip on the bathroom light. She placed her hand on the shower curtain and without missing a beat she pulled back the decorative shower curtain in the bathtub. Only the dingy white of the bathtub walls stared back at her. She knew that she didn’t speed up this exploration, she was going to be sick. 
Charlie seemed to sense her need to complete the investigation quickly. She turned on the lights in each room and left them glistening off every surface. The kitchen. Empty. The family room. Empty. Under the stairs storage – not that anyone could fit under there with all of her Christmas decorations, but she had to look. She had to know. Empty. Light at the bottom of the stairs. Up the stairs at almost a run. Bedroom light. No one. Walk in closet. Nothing. One last bathroom – her own. Empty. Was there anywhere she hadn’t looked? She felt that sickening stomach dread that there was somewhere she hadn’t looked. 
She was being silly right? She left all of the lights in her townhome on. She realized she still had the umbrella in her hand and was dripping water all over the entire house. She was holding it up beside her like a bat. Her jacket and hoodie were soaked through. She knelt on the floor and hugged Charlie. She was so proud of him for being right by her side through the search. She felt cold. Exhausted. Her heart was slowing a bit at a time – coming down to normal like it did after the fall and deep valleys of a rollercoaster. She was beginning to shake. She needed something warm to drink. Maybe a shower. She could steam the fear out of her. 
 She started heating the water. She unhooked Charlie’s leash. With a steaming hot chocolate cupped in her hands, she made her way around the main floor closing blinds and confirming the front door was indeed locked. She started turning off the lights behind her in the house. Maybe she would reduce the amount of rent she was asking for the spare room. For better or worse, it would be nice to come home to someone. Someone who loved dogs. 
The hot chocolate was nice, but it was not enough. She was going to take a boiling hot shower and crawl into her down comforter. She put Charlie on his bed before she climbed into the shower. She made it as hot as she could stand. It took over ten minutes to stop the shaking. It took another ten to warm up completely. She climbed into her softest pajamas. She slid into bed and pulled the comforter around her. She dropped her hand to the side of her bed and Charlie licked her outstretched fingers. “Let’s go to bed buddy. I’m glad you are here.”
Ember slowly drifted into a stilted sleep. She woke suddenly. What sound had woken her? She held still to see if the sound repeated itself. She reached out her hand and Charlie let her know he was there as he always did. As he had that first day they met. There was a distant dripping sound. Was that rain outside hitting the window? 
She didn’t want to get out of bed. But the dripping continued. Was it still raining? She pulled herself from the warm bed reluctant to search it out. What time was it? How long had she been struggling to sleep?
She threw back her blankets and grabbed her phone from her bedstand. She turned on the tiny flashlight on her phone. Her bathroom sink was dry. Her shower was still and quiet. She made her way downstairs without turning any lights on. She slid open a window. It was no longer raining but the air was still cold and rich with the smell of rain. In the kitchen, she flipped on a light. The sink was motionless. Yet, she could still hear the dripping. It must be coming from the downstairs bathroom. Maybe she had pulled on one of the taps when she was in here earlier. Why hadn’t Charlie followed her downstairs? He must still be sleeping. “Charlie?” she called. 
There was no movement upstairs. But the dripping continued. 
She flipped on the light in the downstairs bathroom and took one step into the room. The dripping. The dripping was Charlie. Red on the dingy porcelain of the tub. Somehow hanging. She didn’t realize the screaming was coming out of her. All was lost. He was gone. She bent over and vomited in the open toilet bowl to her left. 
She looked down at her own fingers. Who? If it hadn’t been Charlie at her bedside…there was someone or something. Her skin crawled up her spine and twisted every limb. He had licked her fingers! 
Everything inside her stopped. Frozen. Like all of the blood inside her turned to ice. What could she do? 
Suddenly she heard it. Third stair from the top. The one that always creaked no matter where you stepped. He was coming. 
He was coming for her next. 
Was she just going to stand here and let this happen? Hell no. Not tonight. Not after he had killed Charlie. If you want to get me, you sonofabitch, you are in for the fight of your life!
She looked down at the phone in her hand and dialed 911. She prayed whoever picked up would send help when she didn’t answer their questions. She set the phone on the bathroom counter and stepped into the hallway. He didn’t know she had heard the creak. He will still making his way down slowly. She had time. She stepped into the spare bedroom. She found the box quickly that she was looking for. It wasn’t a gun, but it had heft and length. It was only a community class and only a training sword, but it had a blade. She placed her hand around the hilt and slid it from the box. 
She heard his feet on the tile. He was near the open door. She could hear his shallow breathing now. The fear had left, and the rage had taken its place. Whatever happened, she was going to do her best to make him pay. 
For Charlie.
","August 11, 2023 04:55","[[{'Z. E. Manley': 'Very suspenseful! Poor Charlie, but good for Ember for (hopefully) avenging him!', 'time': '13:52 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Leland Mesford': 'Yeah, that was really suspensfull, creepy too.', 'time': '03:07 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Lara Deppe': ""I'm new to suspense so I'm happy it had that element. I was going for that. It ended up a bit more dark and twisty than I first intended ;)"", 'time': '05:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Leland Mesford': ""Yeah, it was dark and twisty. That's for sure!"", 'time': '00:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Leland Mesford': 'Yeah, that was really suspensfull, creepy too.', 'time': '03:07 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Lara Deppe': ""I'm new to suspense so I'm happy it had that element. I was going for that. It ended up a bit more dark and twisty than I first intended ;)"", 'time': '05:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Leland Mesford': ""Yeah, it was dark and twisty. That's for sure!"", 'time': '00:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Lara Deppe': ""I'm new to suspense so I'm happy it had that element. I was going for that. It ended up a bit more dark and twisty than I first intended ;)"", 'time': '05:21 Aug 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Leland Mesford': ""Yeah, it was dark and twisty. That's for sure!"", 'time': '00:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Leland Mesford': ""Yeah, it was dark and twisty. That's for sure!"", 'time': '00:34 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",xvcd7i,Rapid response to unforeseen consequences,Timothy Gabriel,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xvcd7i/,/short-story/xvcd7i/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Adventure', 'Thriller']",5 likes,"
  “We’re not alone,” the well-armed soldier whispered softly in the ear of his companion. The feeling had been there but confirmed now with heavy footsteps echoing throughout the passageway.
   “Stay back,” he commanded, pointing to the small alcove where the pair had taken refuge in their trek to the emergency escape elevators.
   The Andromeda commando slowly peered around the edge of the small outcropping to see if he could catch a glimpse of their pursuer. He kept his assault rifle poised to be drawn in a moment’s notice. 
   “It’s clear. Let’s go,” he motioned to the door on the far end of the corridor, hurrying the panic-stricken scientist along.
   On the short, adrenaline filled sprint to the entrance at the end of the passageway the commando recalled the events that had led them to this.
 
It had started as just another ‘day in Paradise’ for the commando assigned to Andromeda Command, a rapid response task force capable of getting spaceborne with enough firepower to take over a small country in a matter of thirty minutes. Their exo-skeleton power suits and associated heavy weaponry made even a simple squad a force to be reckoned with. Also, despite their high-tech armaments and battle suits, the intense training regimen of the organization made even a single bare-handed Andromeda a force to be reckoned with. Up early for physical training, showers, chow hall, then a formation to relay the plan of the day. It was during their morning assembly when the distress beacon had gone off. Something had gone severely wrong, someone needed help, and they needed it now. 
   The distress beacon had come from a research facility hidden deep within the bowels of the earth in the remote region of New Mexico which had become the new Area 51, officially known as Area 67. This was where new research surrounding the infamous Roswell incident of 1947 had surfaced. Technology that had only recently matured allowed scientists to map the alien DNA from the deceased bodies that were found in the wrecked craft. This new technology allowed scientists to replicate one of the beings, gestated in a plasma medpod, normally used to treat gravely wounded soldiers by bathing them in a gel filled with nutrients and medicine.
   The briefing they received en route was that something had gone seriously awry in the facility. The alien being had mutated and was not the docile-looking creature it seemed to be. The blurry lab footage they received showed a creature unlike anything anyone in the platoon had ever seen. Many of them had grown up playing Resident Evil or Doom, and this was a creature reminiscent of those video games.
   “Our orders are to attempt to contain the beast, non-lethal munitions, to refrain from harming it. Capture, subdue, turn over to the eggheads, clean up and go home,” the platoon sergeant barked over the aircraft intercom. 
   “Like that’s gonna happen,” Sergeant Royce whispered loudly to one of his squad members next to him.
   The young Private smiled, nodded, and slapped a magazine of armor piercing rounds into his assault rifle. Orders were orders, but he wasn’t about to let this thing take him out. The sergeant was of a like mind, also slapping in an armor piercing magazine of ammunition, a wry smile crossing his face.
 
   “Casper One to flight, the LZ is clear, we’ll make our approach from the west. Two minutes out,” the radio crackled. That was the flight leader’s instructions to the other three tilt-rotors carrying the reinforced squad to the entrance of the underground facility. Three double clicks on the radio signified the other planes understood their orders.
   The four tilt-rotors landed near the entrance of the facility, the heavily armed warriors racing to surround the massive doors once the ramps of the aircraft touched the ground. A secure perimeter was set outside the portal into the underground lab in seconds. The tilt-rotors then took off, remaining nearby should an emergency extract become necessary.
   “Alpha Team, open those doors, Beta, cover them, Charlie team, you’re kicking it in,” the captain barked.
   Moving with the precision that came with hours of rehearsed assaults, the exo-skeleton clad soldiers from Beta team positioned themselves in a perimeter arc around the entrance, a rather insignificant mound of dirt with a heavy steel door embedded in its shadow. Alpha and Charlie teams, weapons drawn, closed in on the door. Alpha moving to the right where the door controls were, Charlie team moving to the left preparing to storm the opening once cleared.
   One Alpha member went to work on hacking the door controls, his team leader behind him holding up a fist indicating Charlie team to hold in place. Charlie team, the platoon sergeant in front, ready to lead the charge, mirrored the command. When the door unlocked, the Alpha team leader held up five fingers, counting down to the door opening. On the other side of the entrance, the platoon sergeant braced himself for the rush.
   The count reached zero and the doors started opening. When there was enough room for him to slip through, the platoon sergeant led the assaulting soldiers into the large foyer. Flashing red alarm lights and klaxons greeted them, but the room was void of any personnel or threats. Ten seconds later, Charlie team was inside, the room cleared, a defensive posture covering every doorway established.
   “Somebody shut that damn thing off,” was the first order of business commanded. Alpha came scurrying in under the watchful eye of Charlie. The same tech who’d opened the doors was now working to silence the alarm. He was successful in thirty seconds, but because of the alarm, the main power source was inoperative, emergency lighting the only thing available, casting an eerie glow throughout the space.
   “Alpha, you stay here, secure the entrance. Do not allow anything, I repeat, anything that isn’t human leave this facility, understand,” the ranking NCO commanded.
   “Roger that.” The team leader knew what that meant, and his team started placing small tactical nuclear mines in key positions throughout the large room. Drastic times, drastic measures, life in Andromeda, he thought. Nothing would be escaping this place if it came down to it.
   “Charlie, follow me, we’re gonna start clearing this place, top down. Grabbing people and getting them clear as we go, eliminating whatever caused this mess in the first place.”
   A nod from each of the half dozen lightly armored soldiers indicated they understood. Exo-skeletons were too bulky to wear in the confined space of the facility, so Beta remained outside in an overwatch position. Speed was more essential than armor for the inside mission. A blueprint of the facility had been sent to the Heads-Up Display, HUD, in their helmets, so they all had a schematic of the facility, knowing where both living quarters and research labs were.
   “Royce, take Evans and Jimenez to the labs. Your mission, find and neutralize the threat, alive, if possible, neutralized, no matter what,” The platoon sergeant ordered. Jimenez was part of the reinforcement detachment that had accompanied the core squad to the bunker. He was armed with a larger caliber automatic weapon than Royce and Evans were.
   “Roger that,” Sergeant Royce replied. Private Evans had been the one sitting next to him on the aircraft, both men smiling as they tore off, Corporal Jimenez in trail, for the nearest staircase heading down to the lab level.
   The descent was easy in the regard it was uneventful. The staircase was empty, the lighting barely enough to keep them from tripping as they made their way slowly, deliberately, down the seven flights to the bottom level. The hard part was the edginess, the unknown. Shining their weapon lights around, trying to illuminate every dark corner, fingers in the trigger wells, ready to unleash a barrage of armor-piercing automatic fire should something prove a threat. Reaching the bottom uneventfully provided a small bit of relief to the trio.
   Royce signaled his teammates he was going to open the door and move left, Evans was to enter and move right, while Jiminez was to delay, then enter covering the center as they reached the doorway to the lab level. Nods of acknowledgement and a countdown from three preceded their cascade into the hallway.
   It wasn’t a threat that assaulted them as they breached the door jamb, it was the smell. The coppery smell of blood and the stench of bowel opened to the environment and overpowered their senses when they entered. The hallway resembled a slaughterhouse. Pieces of human carnage were strewn everywhere. Sadly, none of this phased the commandos. In their relatively short time in the unit, they had already seen more than their fair share of battlefield repercussions.
   The hallway they were in led directly to the main lab. Three doors lined the sides of the passage along their route. Easing up to these doors, one at a time, they checked to see if they were open, potentially allowing a threat to pop out behind them. All were locked, a remotely detonated mine placed outside each in the event something unexpectedly popped out after they passed.
   The main lab was normally easy to see through, reinforced glass walls allowing maximum visibility for the experiments carried out there. Visibility was now significantly reduced by smears of blood and visceral matter decorating the interior coupled with the dim emergency lighting.
   The threesome of soldiers approached with extreme caution. The threat was unknown, but obviously a viable one. Noticing some of the injuries on the bodies, they saw some were caused by a sharp edge and some were caused by traumatic dismemberment. Basically, limbs had been ripped off of torsos.
   Double tapping his HUD, Sergeant Royce brought up the roster of scientists listed as working in the lab when the alarm had sounded. He had no idea how he was going to even attempt to account for all the personnel listed.
   Creeping close to the doors of the main lab, they heard something, Royce signaling freeze to the others. Listening closely, they made out a whimpering, sobbing noise. It was coming from the other side of the entryway. Using his fighting knife as a crowbar, he jimmied open the doors enough to get a hand hold, pulling the sliding doors open enough for the team to squeeze through. A pair of teammates ensuring the other member was covered as they slipped inside the bigger space.
   Senses were heightened as they slowly made their way toward the noise, unsure if this was either victim or threat. They used every scanner available to try and gain some intel on the situation. The scanners showed nothing, and it definitely sounded like a human in distress as they neared the source.
   The sound seemed to be emanating from behind a desk in the lad. Royce used hand signals that he was going to slide on the ground around the corner of the furniture, they were to cover both ends of it. His rifle at the ready, the sergeant rolled quietly over onto his back, then pushed himself up past the edge of the desk, mindful his muzzle didn’t point at his teammates.
   He relaxed slightly when he discovered the cause of the sounds. It was a scientist. His lab coat, smeared with blood and entrails, pulled over his head, shaking like a leaf, pressed against one side of the small opening, sobbing hysterically.
   Signaling hold to the others, Royce crawled under the desk with the victim. Grabbing the soiled lab coat, he opened it up so he could look directly at the man, and he could see him.
   “What’s your name?” the NCO whispered, not wanting to draw the attention of whatever caused this disaster. “Who are you? What happened here?”
   The bespectacled man just kept shivering. Trembling with fear, his eyes unseeing, staring off into space. That thousand-yard stare was brought into sharp focus with a spirited slap from the stressed-out soldier in front of him.
   “Who are you?” he asked again, slightly louder, this time.
   “D-D-Dr. Carson. Dr. Skip Carson. Assistant head scientist here.”
   Sgt. Royce quickly scroll down the personnel roster on his HUD, finding his name. OK, verified, at least we got one, he thought.
   “Anyone else left?” the questioning continued.
   “No. I-I-I don’t think so,” the petrified man stammered out.
   “Shhhh. Quiet, Doc. I don’t want whatever did this to hear us, got it?”
   A nod registered understanding.
   “I’ve got two compadres back here that are gonna help us get out of this mess, OK? We’re gonna go nice and slow, real quiet like. Copy?”
   Another nod.
   Royce started backing up, the trembling scientist trailing him as they moved from under the desk, the other two soldiers closing in a bit more. Using hand signals the NCO told them he was sending the doctor out first, he would follow, then Jimenz bringing up the rear as they exited. Putting his finger up to his lips, Royce motioned to be quiet, then pointed to the small opening in the doors they created on the way in. Dr. Carson quietly started crawling to the doors, showing no reluctance to leave the premises.
   Royce was through the doors, turning to cover his teammates in their exfiltration, when a noise that could only be described as an other-worldly shrieking started. He had difficulty finding the source amongst all the shadows and utter dishevelment of the room. Jimenez must have seen it though because the sound of the heavy machine gun ripped apart the silence that had recently occupied the space.
   As quickly as it had started, that sound stopped abruptly as the body of the soldier was thrown against the glass wall with unnatural force, causing the thick glass wall to crack, the thud of the impact echoing along with the crunch of multiple broken bones, the lifeless body sliding to the floor.
   “Go! Go! Go!” screamed the sergeant, squeezing the trigger of his weapon, pointing in the direction where the machine gunner’s body had originated from.
   It was to no avail. Private Evans rose up to race out of the room but had only taken one step before he stopped, literally, dead in his tracks, his head sliding away from his body as it fell. Unfortunately, he had been the one carrying the remote for the mines set near the doors. His body fell awkwardly enough for it to land on the triggers, the explosions blowing out the walls, caving in the passageway the three had entered the floor on.
   With the dust settling, Sgt. Royce and Dr. Carson shook their heads, trying to get the ringing in their ears to stop and gather their wits. Shining his weapon’s light at the caved in hallway, he tried pulling up the blueprint on his HUD, but that had been knocked offline by the explosion. He turned to his erstwhile companion shouting.
   “Is there another way out of here?”
   Barely recovering from the shockwave of the blast, the man pointed down another hallway, “Emergency escape elevators. End of the hall.”
   “Move!” the NCO screamed at the still in shock scientist.
   The doctor started stumbling as best he could.
   Looking back Sgt Royce trained his weapon on where the doors once stood. The light caught hold of a sight that would haunt him to his dying day. He could tell it was something not of this Earth. Six appendages looked positively deadly, the head of the creature looking like a menacing helmet of ancient times.
   Instinct kicked in and he held his trigger down, emptying the magazine as he quickly beat a retreat behind Dr. Carson, running as fast as his spindly legs could carry him.
 
   This brought him back to where he was now. The creature survived his fusillade of fire but wasn’t closing in on them any time soon. Sgt. Royce hoping he might have at least wounded it. 
   They reached the doors after a seeming eternity. Throwing a lever opened the escape elevator entrance. Stepping into the small capsule for their ride to the surface, they heard the same ear-splitting shriek they had before. Seeing movement in the darkness down the hall the warrior shined his light in that direction. Oozing a purplish substance, the creature was approaching them faster than either human cared for. 
   Sgt. Royce again mashed his trigger, pouring a freshly inserted magazine at the abomination. While the NCO was busy fending off their attacker, the scientist hit the emergency release button on the wall. This action slammed the doors shut, sending the elevator up at a force of two G’s initially, then slowing near the top of the shaft. Once stopped, Dr. Carson lifted the lever inside the car, opening the door, depositing them in the foyer where Beta team was waiting.
   “What happened down there?” the captain asked as they exited.
   “We need to go. Now. The threat is real. It needs to be neutralized. With extreme prejudice,” Sgt. Royce reported to his commanding officer.
   The look on his trooper’s face said it all. There wasn’t going to be a capture today.
   “Alpha, Charlie, grab who you can and get out right now. We are gonna blow this popsicle stand!”
   Double clicks on the radio followed as the rest of Beta started packing up their gear. The small nuclear mines remained in place.
   Sgt. Royce was helping Dr. Carson move to the exit, trying to remain clear of Beta as they were scrambling about. Heading back out into daylight he saw the members of the reinforced squad standing around, looking up at the sky, quite unusual for their current situation.
   He and Dr. Carson replicated the upward stare, discovering the reason for the inactivity.
   Awestruck, the platoon was gazing above them at a half dozen disc shaped objects floating in the sky near the humble entrance.
   Dr. Carson was the first to speak, his voice trailing off.
   “We are not alone . . . “
 
","August 08, 2023 17:43",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",389cq8,I Wish We Were Alone,Sophia Schmitz,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/389cq8/,/short-story/389cq8/,Dialogue,0,"['Suspense', 'Drama', 'Thriller']",5 likes,"
Sicilia should have been used to the lonely weekends at her house where her only companion was a 7-year-old no conversationalist brother. Her parents thrust it upon her every 5 days so she really should have been, but she wasn’t. 
 
Not just because a sixteen-year-olds life wasn’t nearly the one she was living. Sure the parties and getting in a little juvenile trouble was appealing. Just as the Friday night games and interacting with the few friends she had met would be a pretty big gift at this point. However what Sicillia really wanted was to get out of the new house, that was filled with an emptiness trying to cover up for things lost.
 
That’s why she couldn’t blame her parents for escaping to “work” getaways every weekend. She also couldn’t be angry that they could look at their two children and turn away dissatisfied that the third one was no longer present. She definitely couldn’t get upset at Turner, her younger brother, for choosing to save his words for imaginary and nonexistent people. 
 
No, Sicilia wouldn’t be mad for her family's coping strategies but she did wish she would be given the opportunity to find one of her own. Tonight didn’t look like it would be that night. 
 
After picking up Turner from the elementary school, she drove two miles home to the house that replaced their childhood one about six months ago. On the way there she could overhear Turner mumbling to the invisible child she was also apparently carrying around. 
 
“It was pretty good Lee, but I’m happier to be seeing you,” she could overhear her little brother say.
 
At first, everyone thought that Turner was talking to their middle brother Sean but the name he used didn’t match up. Still as strange as the situation was, it was nice to hear the sound of her brother's voice.
 
Much different from, “So you had a good day at school, Turner?” 
 
The words got her brother's attention, even some eye contact in the viewfinder but no words. Instead, there was a heavy silence until Turner looked away and continued his conversation with Lee. 
 
The same thing happened to her parents, and from the many complaints of his teacher, it happened to everyone else as well. However, the therapist that he was now seeing didn’t see it as too much of a problem.
 
“It’s normal for these things to happen with children after losing a loved one,” Dr. Kalsow said. 
 
Sicillia was not used to this meaning of normal.
As the car turned into the neighborhood and up the driveway, the teen felt a determined set of eyes on her. 
 
A forty-year-old government official had no right to be watching Sicillia the way Mr. Graves constantly did. Yet that didn’t stop the perverse middle-aged man and it also didn’t hold him back from constantly offering up his assistance when the two siblings were home alone. Something that Sicillia would not be taking him up on.
 
Making it inside, away from heated stares, Sicilia sets up in the kitchen getting dinner ready for the night. She also listened in to the regular argument Turner and Lee had about whether they would be playing with dolls or action figurines. It still confused her how it always sounded like Turner lost these arguments. 
 
Quickly throwing away a small note with love and thanks from her parents, she gets started on a frozen pizza. One that’s hot and ready before she makes any headway on homework. 
 
Heading up to get her brother, she stops right outside his open door and sees him turned around towards some dolls his parents had recently bought. Not thinking he notices her, Sicilia is about to say something when Turner comments, “We’re not alone.”
 
Thankfully Sicillia is used enough to his behavior to not get constant chills anymore. “You’re right Turn, I’m sorry to bother you both but dinner’s ready,” Sicilia replies making sure the cheeriness she reserves for her brother is heard in her voice. 
 
Turner looks behind her and does something that Sicilia thinks she imagines for a moment, “I wasn’t talking about you, Lee wanted me to tell you that.”
 
The words from his mouth are ominous but Sicillia is more focused on the fact that he was speaking to her. She gains a goofy smile, ignoring what he said and trying to think of what to say back when the doorbell rings. 
 
Turner gives her this little look that says, “See I told you so”, and then heads downstairs. Both of the kids head to the foyer and Sicillia opens the door just a sliver with her foot barring in the rest. 
 
It’s not surprising at all when the face on the other side is Mr. Graves wearing his insincere inviting smile. “Alone again,” he asks with what sounds like very forced empathy. 
 
Sicillia doesn’t even try to smile, not wanting to give the man any ideas, “For a little while.”
 
He was clearly aware that no one besides the two were home but he didn’t need to know for how long.
 
Mr. Graves nods his head in faux sympathy, “ Well if you’re feeling too tired to make dinner for your brother, I have some extra. You’re both welcome to come over and join me.”
 
Of course they were but Sicillia didn’t know if they would be welcome to leave so easily. The man was strange in a way that warned for her to get on with shutting and locking the door. 
 
“Thank you but I already have dinner prepared,” she says shortly and tries to close the door.
 
He catches the thick wood with a more manic smile, “Maybe next time then.” 
 
Sicilia makes a noncommittal sound and forcefully attempts to get the door shut. Finally, with teeth forced together so hard they have to hurt, Mr. Graves steps back.
 
Her parents don’t listen to much these days but she would have to make them when it comes to their increasingly alarming neighbor. Sicilia wasn’t sure she could deal with it much longer. 
 
Trying to bring her mindset back to normal, she leads the way to the kitchen and gets on with the meal. Only, after a couple of bites into her favorite choice of easy dinners, she remembers the conversation with Turner. Or more specifically the fact that there was actually a conversation in the first place.
 
Deciding the best way for it to happen again was to bring up what they last talked about, Sicilia questions, “Hey Turn, how did you know about Mr. Graves being here? You see him walk up or something?”
 
Turner swallows a very large amount of cheese and looks at her across the table with his usual dose of silence. Followed by him turning to the chair next to him with some quiet mumbling and a little shake of his head. 
 
Understanding that he was most likely talking to Lee, Sicilia wondered if including his friend in the conversation would cause a different outcome. 
 
“Oh that’s right you said Lee was the one who warned me. Thank you for that Lee…Was there anything else they were wanting me to know,” Sicilia attempts again?
 
This time Turner’s first response is to look at his friend with some telepathically voiced words and come to a presumed agreement between the two. 
 
Sicilia’s brother moved his eyes back towards her and surprisingly opened his mouth, “Lee thinks you’re being sneaky.”
 
Sicilia forces her smile to stay light and easy, “What do you mean? I’m not being sneaky.”
 
Turner's hands curl into tighter fists as he waits a moment to respond, “Yes you are. She knows you don’t really want to talk to her!”
 
Well, Lee caught her there, what she wanted was to talk to her younger brother for the first time in six months. “Lee” was just going to have to understand she was the way to do it.
 
“I would really like to talk to both of you,” Sicilia says instead of voicing her inner thoughts.
 
This seems to get Turner to blow up as he raises from his seat and starts to yell, “No you don’t. If that was true, you never would have stopped talking to her in the first place!”
 
At this point, Sicillia’s feeling very confused over what Turner’s talking about and why he’s getting so upset. She’s also a little concerned about just how normal and healthy this imaginary friend is.
 
“Turner I never talked to..”, she starts in a calm and soothing voice.
 
Her younger brother cuts her off, “Yes you did, and Kylee’s getting even more upset that you don’t remember her.”
 
“Kylee, what…” Sicilia is the one to cut herself off this time. 
 
She was about to deny this and call her brother’s words ridiculous, in the nicest way possible, but that name was familiar. She did have a friend named Kylee when she was about Turner’s age. A small blonde-haired girl from their old neighborhood.
 
Their favorite thing to do was play with Sicillia’s old dolls that had been passed down from her mom’s side. Kylee would set up a tea party for them and instruct Sicillia and the dolls how to hold their teacups properly. She was a fun friend even if a little bossy.
 
Sicilia tries to remember what had happened to the girl but all she can recall is her parents saying her friend had moved away.
 
Ignoring the similar names, Sicilia continues, “I guess I did know a Kylee at one point but I don’t think it was the same one Turner.”
 
Mainly because she was quite sure Kylee hadn’t been imaginary. Her parents would see and talk to her, so the girl couldn’t have been in her head.
 
“It was Sicillia, I would say just ask Sean but she got mad at him. He was going to let mommy and daddy take him away from her,” Turner speaks with little more than a whisper. At this point, his eyes are on the table with enough glare to put a hole through it. 
 
Sicilia takes a moment to understand what her younger brother is saying. She’s not sure where he got these ideas from but it was starting to become very unnerving. 
 
Sicilia could deal with the imaginary friends but she didn’t like Turner thinking that this friend had been mad at their dead sibling. Besides the way, he said it almost sounded like Kylee’s anger was the reason Sean wasn’t here anymore.
 
Sean’s death was an accident, he was playing and fell just the right way down the stairs at their old home. Sicilia was angry that one little accident meant a broken neck and a 12-year-old life, but she was also sure that was what it had been. After all, Sean had been the only one upstairs at the time.
 
“I’m sure Kylee wasn’t mad at Sean. Maybe like you, Kylee is mad that Sean doesn’t get to be here with us. It’s definitely a hard thing to get used to,” Sicilia remarks wishing her parents were having this conversation instead. 
 
She was a teenager trying to guess how a 7-year-old was handling trauma. She didn’t have the tools to deal with her own and certainly wasn’t equipped to deal with his.
 
Turner got up slowly, all of his earlier anger transforming into resolve. He was done talking to his sister and though it saddened Sicilia, she wouldn’t feed those types of fantasies.
 
Letting out a sigh, Sicilia drinks from her glass and lets the lukewarm water wash away the indigestion she was beginning to attain. 
 
However, suddenly Turner turns around while Sicilia’s glass is still poised to her lips, “Pinkies up Sici. You always did forget.”
 
Then Turner turns around like nothing happened and continues on up to his room. Not bothering to check on his sister who he just left with familiar words and a set of full-body chills. 
 
Later on that night, Sicillia closes her eyes to the words of her old friend. She’s told herself about a thousand times that it was a coincidence or that she had brought it up to her brother sometimes without remembering. It had to be that because nothing else made sense. 
 
For once, glad that no one was around to interrupt her with conversation or goodnights, she forced her brain to finally shut off and fall asleep.
 
Only Sicillia didn’t get to escape in her dreams that night. Instead, she got to relive a memory that had been brought forth due to earlier that evening.
 
Sicilia saw herself at 6 years old as she stood throwing a tantrum in front of her parents. Her mom was taking one of Sicillia’s favorite dolls while saying, “We’re going to give this to Kylee. She has to go away and we don’t want her to be lonely.”
Younger Sicillia was upset just as much about the doll as she was about her friend going away. However, she was also confused because Kylee was still in the room with them giving a glare to her parents. 
 
“Kylee’s right there Mom. And she said we would stay friends forever,” Sicilia hears herself cry out.
 
“No, she’s not honey. She’s gone away and you need to accept that. No one over there,” her mom explains in a way that older Sicillia recognizes as a lie.
 
Sicilia looks over to Kylee, “Yes she is.”
 
This time it’s her dad who gruffly voices, “No she’s not. You’re not going to see her again.”
 
Sicilia nods her head knowing not to argue with her father and looks down sadly. Kylee was gone. 
 
The memory slowly goes away and Sicillia finds herself being pulled out of sleep. If she was really thinking hard, Sicilia could remember still seeing Kylee after that day. It’s just she wouldn’t talk to her anymore since her parents said what she was seeing wasn’t real. After a while, Sicillia couldn’t remember seeing Kylee at all.
 
Waking up slowly, Sicilia notices that there was some sort of hair brushing her face. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she noticed it was small fine hair connected to an old porcelain doll. One she hadn’t seen in a long time. 
 
Deciding that the doll was a lot less creepy during childhood, Sicilia sets it down and looks around the room. 
 
Something she regrets a second later when she stares into eyes that are only a few feet away from her bed. 
 
“Hi,” the non-aging girl says in a high-pitched voice.
 
Sicilia gulps, “Hey, what are you doing here? Where's Turner?”
 
Sicilia wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming, but it was clear this conversation was going to happen. All that she was concerned about was her brother and if he was ok as his friend visited her.
 
Kylee smiles, “Oh don’t worry he’s sleeping. We’re alone this time. Something that hasn’t happened for a while.”
 
Sicilia just stays silent looking at the girl whose smile was filled with a bitterness irregular for a child.
 
“Not since your mommy and daddy decided to take me away from you… They tried to do the same thing with Sean too. Only I wouldn't let them take away my friend that time,” the girl informs with a wistful smile.
 
“What do you mean, you wouldn’t let them,” Sicilia questions still feeling a little nervous but also starting to get angry.  
 
“He said he wasn’t allowed to talk to me anymore so I helped him down the stairs. Your mommy was very angry when I told her, she won’t even look at me anymore,” the little girl explains with no real emotion in her voice.
 
“You killed my brother,” Sicillia shout out in a rhetorical question.
 
Kylee tuts, “I made him like me so we could play. Only he had to move on pretty quickly.”
 
Sicilia hoped that this was a dream and some sort of imaginary ghost child wasn’t responsible for her brother's death.
 
“But don’t worry, I have Turner now. And your mommy and daddy know what will happen if they try to take him away. Hopefully, you remember too Sici,” the girl warns before heading over toward the door.
 
Darting up from her pillow for the second time, Sicilia looks around to notice light shining through the curtains and an ugly-looking doll missing from her bed. Meaning whatever it was that just happened, was part of her twisted imagination. Apparently, that sort of thing ran in her family.
 
Heading downstairs, to get breakfast ready before her brother wakes up, she's startled to see him already sitting at the table. He’s looking at her with a smile seen on another face and he has a certain doll in his lap.
 
“Lee said she talked to you,” Turner remarks as his head tilts to the side in question.
 
Sicilia nods her head, not knowing what else to say.
 
“Good,” Turner nods before playing with the doll and talking to his friend. “Oh and we’re not alone,” he tells her with a conspirational laugh before the doorbell rings.
 
Sicilia went to the door to go deal with her creepy neighbor as she realized the word alone would never hold the same meaning.
 
","August 12, 2023 01:31",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",1efxkc,Linguist,Chuck Thompson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/1efxkc/,/short-story/1efxkc/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Horror']",5 likes,"
I am a fan of physics, math and science fiction. I have seen multiple scripts imagined by the sci-fi greats. I know the symbology of physics and mathematics. I even know some of the ancient scripts including a smattering of Egyptian hieroglyphics and the symbology of petroglyphs and such.
 
About ten years ago, divers discovered what became known as the “porpoise school” off the coast of Cuba. A year after the discovery, National Geographic had a multi-page glorious color presentation of the find. A series of structures that were a cross between Mayan and Santa Fe-style construction had the world agog. 
 
That was all amazing enough. Then, a few months after the article was published, a fool-hardy diver came upon a way into one of the structures and found murals of script on the walls. She photographed it all and submitted it. Another NG publication six months later.  More agog across the planet.
 
I perused my hard copy of that month’s publication. Page after page of their usual glossy and beautiful photography depicting flowing script. Porpoise script as it came to be called.
 
I carefully cut out those pages and laid them out in various sequences. I played with them for days, organizing and reorganizing them until they made sense to me. It finally hit me that there was a distinct pattern to the script, and I played with that for a couple of weeks until I figured out it was a massive love letter to a female named Xastra. 
 
Some amorous chap detailed their budding relationship, the pleasure of their love-making positions, his hopes for their future and the rest of that romantic/erotic stuff every literate young lover tries to express.
 
I emailed NG, they confirmed my rationale and translation with God only knows how many experts, published my work, and gave me my fifteen minutes of fame. End of story. Well, of that story.
 
Which brings us to this comfortable, stark, isolated, climate-controlled room somewhere in some desert. I know it is desert country because when they walked me from the Humvee to the building, it was hot, hot, hot and dry.
 
Two guys came to my apartment in Show Low about 0530 yesterday morning, politely introduced themselves as under the orders of the Governor and gently side-stepped me into my apartment.
 
They presented their credentials in well-worn leather wallets and introduced themselves as Agent Cartwright and Agent Kurt. As Agent Cartwright explained, the Governor’s office had need of my professional expertise for an extended period. Being a bachelor, I did not have familial obligations, but I did have contracts with the community college and the Apache Nation to teach Sociology and a few other classes.
 
When I expressed my concerns, Agent Kurt told me that the Governor’s office had already arranged for substitute teachers to cover my classes in both places and to ensure that my contract was officially and unbiasedly terminated as a benefit to the State of Arizona.
 
Between the two of them, I learned that I was being encouraged to accept a temporary assignment as a Special Government Employee for an undetermined amount of time. It was a confidential assignment and may or may not allow publication of any findings in future publications.
 
So, if I understood them correctly, I was going for a ride to somewhere unknown to me for a period of time to be determined by some government bureaucrat and no one I knew would know where I was or when I would be back. They both shrugged and Agent Cartwright said, “That pretty much sums it up.”
 
How encouraging.
 
So, here I am being punished for my hard-earned fifteen minutes of fame. It is supposed to be an honor to be selected to assist in top secret excitement. I just wanted to go home and live my unexciting life. I got a bucket of money for the dolphin letter and I was comfortable. I did not want more; I had plenty.
 
I got here last night. The clock on the wall says it is lunchtime and, magically, my door got knocked upon. When I opened it, there stood Agent Cartwright.
 
“Let me buy you lunch at the cafeteria,” he said. Great, now he thinks he is a comedian.
 
At lunch he explained we had a briefing at 1400 hours that should take us up to suppertime. A four-hour meeting? Is that all after this secrecy, traveling and incarceration?
 
“Incarceration?” Agent Cartwright queried. “No, no, my friend. We are keeping you protected. Well, and, of course, using your demonstrated expertise.”
 
“From what?”
 
“The fringe culture that crawls out whenever there is a challenge to their own ignorance and sense of righteousness. They want you gone so their rights to hate social differences will not be challenged. You have the possibility of furthering the knowledge of humanity like you did with the dolphin language. Remember the hate mail from the trolls back then?”
 
Well, yeah, there was some nasty stuff that made me spend some of the NG money on lawyers and restraining orders back then.
 
Cartwright continued, “That expansion of our knowledge base was fundamentally grounded on a past terrestrial civilization. We may have something totally different now.
 
“No, I cannot discuss it further. Dr. Annavarapu will explain all we know to you at our briefing. Be patient.”
 
You try to be patient after hearing that kind of speech. I paced and churned inside for the next hour. I was seated at the foot of the conference table in the meeting room fifteen minutes early so I could look directly at the speaker. I did not want that weird neck crick one gets when looking sideways for hours in a meeting.
 
Dr. Annavarapu turned out to be Dr. Lita Annavarapu. She was one of the scientists who reviewed my dolphin work back then. I was told that she was very skeptical about my conclusions for a long time. For all I know, she may still be.
 
Fourteen more people came in and sat opposite each other at the table. Agents Cartwright and Kurt sat in opposite corners in the back of the rectangular room flanking the only entrance. When Kurt closed the door, there was no outside influence to affect us in the room.
 
Dr. Annavarapu’s, “Thanks to all of you for being here,” brought bitter-sounding titters from several members of our cabal. “I know the circumstances under which some of you are here and I greatly appreciate your patience and compliance with what is happening.”
 
At that point, she stepped to a podium to her left so everyone could see the screen behind her. She started her computer presentation onscreen. 
 
“Two weeks ago, when our astronauts returned from their trip to the moon, we found this in one of their satchels. None of the four astronauts who were on the moon recognized it, have any idea how it got into the satchel and, most interesting of all, how it got into the satchel that never left the landing module. 
 
“As you can see in this view, it appears to be paper made from bark much like the canvas used by Papuan artists. It was rolled up and secured with a type of twine made of the same bark material.
 
“Agent Kurt, would you please pass out the folders up here.”
 
Agent Kurt proceeded to the front of the room and picked up folders from a table in the corner opposite the podium.  He handed each participant a nondescript manila file folder about a quarter of an inch thick.
 
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the first evidence of a written extraterrestrial language. You each have the same xeroxed copy of the found documents in the same order in which they were found. The originals are being kept in a vacuum container and will be available to view tomorrow.”
 
The muttering reached a crescendo as we each opened our file folder and set our eyes on the material inside. 
 
I did not understand it. I could not read it nor decipher it. Whatever I needed to interpret it, I did not have. It could have been Sanskrit except I have seen Sanskrit, and this was not like anything I saw before.
 
This was like looking at something alive on paper. A two-dimensional representation of fourth-dimensional thought. Impossible.
 
More impossible. In seconds, the script resolved itself into English. Two-dimensional English in my three-dimensional world.
 
Dumbfounded, I looked up and around the room. Everyone was looking at their files and at each other’s files and muttering about how impossible this was. A stunning example of an AI-generated hoax. A cryptic waste of time for a roomful of professionals who had important things to do other than fall prey to some sick trick.
 
One of my tablemates spoke up, “Dr. Annavarapu, what is the meaning of this? This is nothing more than scribbling on a page. No, on multiple pages. Why?”
 
“Kind sir, I am not one who plays practical jokes, nor do I condone them. I assure you, this is exactly what was found in the exact manner I explained. Please set aside your doubts about that. 
 
“May I suggest that we adjourn and that you take your folders with you to study at your leisure and to discuss with each other? We will meet in the morning at 0900 in this room. At that time, we will proceed to the safe room where the original is stored so that you may see those pages and compare them to the documents in your folders. 
 
“Thank you.”
 
As we trundled off to our respective areas at 1500 hours instead of the expected 1800, I could not believe that no one brought up the English version appearing. Could it be that no one else saw it?
 
About an hour later, I was in my room transcribing the text into my ever-present pocket spiral notebook. The knock on my door startled me. I closed my notebook, stuck it in my back pocket and opened the door.
 
Both Agents Cartwright and Kurt were there. 
 
“Sir, Dr. Annavarapu would like to talk with you right away. Please bring your file and your notes.”
 
I gathered up my file and we headed down the hall. We turned down a hall new to me. Agent Cartwright led the way and Kurt followed. That seemed a bit strange, but it did not occur to me to question it.
 
We walked up to what looked to me like a bank vault door. “This is our safe room,” Agent Cartwright explained as he put his eye up to a scanner.
 
There was no click as the door swung open on silent hinges. I was impressed.
 
“Dr. Annavarapu is waiting for us, Sir. Please proceed into the room.”
 
I stepped over the foot-wide threshold into a 20’ X 20’ room. It had that black cushiony floor your see in the free-weight section of gyms, indirect lighting emanating from a trough along the ceiling, a light table, and the alien document laid out on that table.
 
Dr. Annavarapu looked up from the document as I approached.
 
She started without preamble, “Sir, you did brilliant work on the dolphin language. I know of at least one hundred linguists and cryptographers from around the world who struggled with that material for months before National Geographic published it. They made no progress.  You, an amateur, translated it seemingly overnight.
 
“No, no,” she stopped me. “I know the story and I accept it. Your technique fascinated me and many others. That’s why you are here.
 
“Let’s cut to the chase. You interpreted this document in seconds today. I saw the look on your face and, frankly, the look of recognition, understanding and fear was interesting.”
 
“Dr. Annavarapu….” Her raised hand stopped me.
 
“Please call me Lita when we are alone, Sir.”
 
“We’re not alone. The agents are here,” I replied.
 
“No, they’re not. They stayed outside when you crossed the threshold. Note the door is closed and we are alone.”
 
I had not noticed either occurrence. I told you that door was silent.
 
“Dr. Annavarapu, Lita, you’re right. I did translate the document.”
 
I pulled my notebook out of my pocket, opened it to the first page of the translation and started to read it to her.
 
“Dear brother, we are coming for you. Do not despair. These other creatures breathing the same air as you won’t hurt you anymore. We see kindness in some and will spare them. Soon.”
 
She went pale, her knees buckled, and she barely missed the edge of the table with her chin.
 
“So, you see, Lita, you truly are not alone.”
","August 12, 2023 01:56","[[{'Chuck Thompson': 'Thanks to all who read this!', 'time': '01:02 Aug 21, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",57afyo,Suspended Particles Of Matter On A Boeing 737,Donald Wilson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/57afyo/,/short-story/57afyo/,Dialogue,0,['Creative Nonfiction'],5 likes,"
 
 
 Suspended Particles Of Matter On A Boeing 737
 
     Picture a public setting, say a Starbucks coffee shop, in Anytown, USA. In this coffee shop are a random assemblage of strangers, say seven or eight, milling around the service counter. Like an assortment of quite similar, yet different, links in a human chain grouped together in a small area by chance and common purpose. They appear self-consciously aware of their difference. As if the difference belied the similarity that supposedly defined them as a chain. There's a strange furtiveness in their milling behavior. A wariness of proximity. Accidental glances pretending casual innocence; a slight smile in defense of guilt. Coffee in hand they visually sweep the shop with practiced indifference in hopes of avoiding further proximity. Once settled, they seal themselves inside their deflector shields they call cell phones and laptops. But of course none of these strangers could be links in a human chain, their links would have been connected. Goddess knows what planets these strangers could be from. Could be a planet from the Black Eye Galaxy. It's a galaxy way out there; probably accustomed to being isolated and alone.
    It was 1984. The year, not the book. I was on a Boeing 737, aisle seat, mid-coach, on an evening flight out of San Francisco heading back home to Eugene. It was the first weekend in June and the still bright blue sky at 32,000 feet argued with my darkening mood. We reached cruising altitude and the fasten seat belt light blinked off. It had been the fourth in a row three day weekend with my parents in Aptos, a small community south of Santa Cruz named by the Native Americans who lived there for thousands of years thousands of years before my parents arrived there. My father, my personal favorite hero and steadfast friend, had chosen to die from prostate cancer at home. It was a choice my mother supported, but it was more than she could deal with. I was completely empty, tapped out, of good will toward the universe. About a dozen rows ahead, a long-haired guy in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt stands up and yells loudly, “Hi everybody! I'm Rob! I'd like to come by if you don't mind and say hello!” Guy next to me leans over to see Rob and says, “Jeezus. It never fails, I'm on this flight twice a month … every flight seems it's a crying baby or a four hundred pounder in the aisle seat or something … never seen this though.” “Who had?” I thought. I half nod at my seatmate and resume watching Rob who is now shaking hands with passengers and getting them to meet each other as he moves in our direction. I note that everybody in the front half of the cabin is watching all this and like me probably trying to figure out where the candid camera was hiding. “Don't you dig meeting new people,” he says to a lady two rows up while introducing her to her seat mate. She appeared to be a college student and her seatmate was an Asian man. I'm thinking, ""What could they possibly have in common?"" Turned out they found something.  Guy next to me shrinks in his seat and rolls his eyes as Rob get closer; he mutters, “he's either crazy or from another planet; we're not alone you know."" Two flight attendants start their beverage cart routine and quit. Too many folks in the aisle talking to each other. “Heeere's Robbie” smiles and extends his hand. I grin as I think, “my seatmate is about to make contact with an alien or a crazy person, this is too perfect.” But he surprises me, sits up taller than he is, reaches across me, shakes Crazy Rob's hand with both his hands and doesn't let go. Picture that. I've got three hands and three arms in front of my face, two strangers, albeit one stranger than the other, looking at each other and saying the standard stuff. “How ya doing, man? Going home?” “Yeah. I gotta do this twice a month for my job … no big deal ... you been surfing? You look like a surfer to me Rob, bet you were down at Santa Cruz.” I'm looking back and forth at these guys wondering when they're going to let go of each other. Next moment Rob and I are saying hello. We're shaking hands. I tell him my name. He tilts his head, looks at me intently, continues holding my hand, and says, “Dude, I've seen you someplace before … do any surfing around Rio Del Mar Beach?” I think, “Are you kidding me?” I reply, “No. But my dad and I swim there together a lot, we could have bumped into each other.” And then this. An arrow in my heart from a crazy alien cupid. He says, “Yeaaah, Yeaaah. I remember him too. That's gotta be it! What's the chances! Be sure and say hi to your dad for me! Great seeing you again!” And he moved on to the next row, leaving me in tears. Jack, my seatmate introduces himself and starts up a conversation about something, I forget what, that lasted for the rest of the flight. The Boeing 747 cabin was a chat fest. You needed to be there to believe it. It was like a fifty year class reunion where nobody remembers or cares who had been friends with who. He said he remembered my dad. My father swam about a mile every day off Rio Del Mar beach, fifty yards out, in a thin rubbery garment that was insulation only in his imagination. Now my father was almost bedridden, he couldn't make it to the recliner in the living room on his own, he was shriveling up, his body tormented in spite of the morphine. It's so strange. We compete against death as if we think we are going to win and we compete against life as if we think we are going to lose. And neither is a competition. We're just a bunch of suspended particles of matter moving together on a tiny planet through a tiny window of time. What is there that stops us from meeting each other while there's still time? What is there to lose by simply saying, “hello, how are you” to fellow particles of matter on a Boeing 737? Jack hears laughter from the front of the cabin and stands up. “Jeezus, look at that, the crazy guy has people up there high fivin' each other! The seat belt light comes on. I can't quite remember where Rob was sitting. When we got off the 737 in Eugene, Rob seemed to disappear into the darkness beyond the narrowly lighted tarmac. It's a pretty good distance back into Eugene's terminal and Jack and I weren't the only ones looking around for him. The twenty or so of us at the baggage carousel were in no hurry for our stuff. It was 'what about Rob time' around the carousel. His mysterious disappearance fueled speculation that Rob was either whisked away in some sort of legal custody or, as Jack insisted, he was from another planet and could disappear whenever he wanted. I looked for Rob as I drove away from the airport. Just in case he needed a ride to his spaceship or anywhere else he wanted to go. I hope he's out there somewhere spreading good will because I owe him for renewing mine. And, of course, for remembering my dad. 
 
","August 12, 2023 03:12",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",zf34n2,Hermoine & Trough,Savannah Rose,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/zf34n2/,/short-story/zf34n2/,Dialogue,0,"['Romance', 'Sad']",5 likes,"
'i'm going away for a week' she says
'away?' he says
'a week or 2' she says
'where' he says 
'i need to be alone, i'm going to create something' she says
'what are you going to create' he says
'i'm not sure, something brilliant, perhaps a book, filled with... everything, you know these people will only read one book' she says
'everything?' he says
'yes. i'm not quite sure what that is yet.' she says
'where are you going' he says
'55 acres street, belgium' she says. she looks up from putting her braids into a high ponytail and looks him in the eye 'please don't visit', not one of those intense eye contacts, they come rarer with the years.
 
'why' he says
'because im naturally slim i've just let myself go' she says
'because i'm a genius not crazy i've just let myself go' she says
'because i believe in my dreams, i've just let myself go' she says
he's offended. 'you know i never stopped believing in you' he says
 
YOU MAY SAY I'M A DREAMER BUT I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE - JOHN LENNON
 
'That's not what I said' she says. she takes her hair down and slouches to her knees as though begging for mercy 'i just wanna be something'
 
He gets down on the floor and holds her face with two hands. 'Your amazing' he says. she motions her head down to the side as though to hide her open tears. a few seconds later she looks him in the eye 'your exceptional' he whispers. 
 
she smiles softly 'life makes no exceptions so long as spring blossoms' she says. 
 
She rests her head on his shoulder. his chin is in her hair. they rock side to side for a while. 
 
LA MER - CHARLES TRENET, PLAYS
 
They dance better than that for a while. she can hear the small mouthing movements coming from his lips. He speaks french. 
Her father speaks french.
She doesn't speak french.
 
‘though the stars are in the sky, can i not admire their sparkle?, for even distances apart, we're not alone' he says
 
'yes we are' she says internally
 
they sigh and remain still during the long silent relief, waiting to inhale.
 
he stands back and holds her arms. 'are you okay?' he says
'im too tired to speak' she says
they are familiar with silence.
 
'is it all just hopeless, is life all just fucking hopeless, is it!?' she says
'perhaps' he says
'no that's not what your supposed to say, your supposed to tell me that hope is magical and pure and necessary' she says
 
IM NOT QUITE SURE WHAT WERE SUPPOSED TO DO - DAVID BOWIE
 
the silence returns. they hug. she sighs. she tries to keep her eyes open but the heaviness is creeping up on her. out of nowhere, the heaviness creeps up on her.
she hugs him tighter, feeling lighter - she sighs. 
 
'im so grateful for you' she says internally
'im so grateful for you' she says.
 
'its back' she says 'the heaviness is back, the feeling that it all means nothing. that all this pain and suffering, what is it for? i care not to 'build character' i want to smile when the sun shines and love others and love herself but my soul is bleeding and the tears in my eyes keep me blind, i cannot see i cannot see the way out i cannot see'
 
'love, herself?' he says
'does it not make sense to place myself in a reality where i am not myself?' she says
'you can't run from yourself' he says
'yes i can.' she says
 
'i need to leave now.' she says
'where are you going' he says
'belgium, i'll be back in a week' she says
'is that the truth?' he says
'i will always return to you my love' she says internally
'i will always return to you my love' she says
'were not alone' she says internally
 
she lays in bed and covers her body with a small blanket. 'i dont know if it's me' she says. she holds her head in her hand, eyebrows furrowed. 'what is normal' she says internally. 
he gets in bed, back sat up against the board while she shlouches to his left. 'the curse of madness' he says
 
trough once told hermoine he was crazy. hermoine replied 'crazy or alive?' trough responded 'crazy'
they were alot of things, they were alot of things.
 
'i am leaving at sunrise, don't try and stop me love' she says
'i could never stop you' he says
he definitely could.
 
nearly every part of her wanted to leave packing till the last minute. the remaining parts didn't want to pack at all. hermoine hated packing, as though showing the world she were organised were a diabolical false narritive.
 
she stared at him. 'why are you staring at me' he says
 
'im trying to find the words' she says, 'you deserve poetry and flowers and all i have for you are flowers that will soon wilt'
'you are very good and your heart is like no other' he says
'oh please im not a dog' she says internally
'oh please im not a cat' she says
 
'thank you' she says
'ur welcome my love' he says
'thank you, for making it not look easy, because it's not, it's not easy, but there is still hope. the magical thing' she says
'ur welcome my love' he says, 'to leave for worship and return to understanding is not the worst life. remember the little things, recognise the sky at sunset. don't get caught up in the thinking of it all. many times, to think is a curse and oh dear hath somebody cast a spell on you. relax and let life pass you by as a spontaneous 
adventure. give in to the chaos'
she smiled.
'just let the chaos, be chaos. let the sun be the sun and grant the moon every right to be the moon. let the chaos be unpredictable and selfish and ugly and kind and confusing. let it be both innocent and guilty. let it be the parts of us we don't understand. feed the monster and don't look to reason' he says
 
FEED THE MONSTER
","August 12, 2023 03:51","[[{'Joe Malgeri': 'Wow, that was superb, some really unique & excellent ideas. Good story, Savannah.', 'time': '17:58 Aug 16, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",axa9hg,Masters of the Universe,Mary Stanley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/axa9hg/,/short-story/axa9hg/,Dialogue,0,['Fiction'],4 likes,"
Has this ever happened to you? You’re going about your humdrum day, nothing special — and all of a sudden, it’s like the channel changes. No, not changes. More like it becomes clear in a way you hadn’t noticed before was out of focus.The first time this happens to me, I’m in high school. Hollywood, Florida. Probably 11th grade. I’m sitting in my high-school lunch room. I’m by myself on a plastic chair against the wall; I don’t know why I’m not at the table with my friends. I can see them now, laughing with a kid I don’t recognize. I do remember he’s wearing a Blue Öyster Cult t-shirt. Kids start getting up, throwing out their bags and cans and wrappers, wandering off to fifth period. For whatever reason, I’m not feeling rushed.And then it’s like at the eye doctor’s, when they ask which is better. Click, one; click, two? Click, normal lunchroom on an average day with the usual people; click, all that same stuff seen through the eyes of what I would describe as a calm, beneficent, generous god. I am flooded with love, understanding, kindness. Pure contentment. A cozy soul-satisfaction you never get in the normal course. I am aware I am experiencing it. I realize it’s amazing. And know it’s weird. I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of space cadet. I’m a regular 16-year-old, B-student. Not popular, not a loser. And no, I did not consume any intoxicants that day.The second time, upstate New York. I am capping off a college freshman year of self-loathing. It’s that nowheresville time between finals and leaving for summer; roommate’s already packed up and vamoosed. But here I am, sprawled on my stripped mattress in the attic room of a long-dead rich person’s house turned dorm. I’m re-reading an ancient paperback edition of “The Sirens of Titan.” My sprained ankle throbs, wrapped in an Ace bandage that barely covers the purple-green bruising.And then, click. Everything is good. You are good. Deep softness and forgiveness as I look out the window, the tree tops swaying in the delicious breeze. A small black bird lands on the sill outside the window screen, flits off with a chirp, and I’m all, wow. And something along the lines of — I am wiser than I know. I can handle anything that comes. I will be fine.I don’t remember how the feeling ends. Either time. Is it sudden, or a slow fade? I have no idea where I went after, what came next. Ordinary days that otherwise would’ve faded to nothing.I’ve never talked about these trapped-in-amber moments before. But as I’m talking to you now, I realize my eye-doctor analogy is kind of perfect. Like when I’m nine and put on my first-ever pair of glasses. We’re in the red Camaro — my mom driving me home from the optometrist — and it’s like, “Holy crap. This is how the world is supposed to look.” Cars all shiny and clean. Letters so sharp and crisp you can read every sign. So this is what the world is like — and I had no idea the whole time!Does this sound stupid? Like silly navel gazing? Probably. But then there is this other time.Two or three years out of college. Early 90s. It’s a swampy Tuesday night. I open the thick wooden door of O’Connors, a couple blocks from my Queens apartment, and breathe in decades of cigarettes, beer, and wet mop. The AC stuck in the wall may or may not be functioning, and the jukebox blares “La Isla Bonita.” It’s a tad brighter than usual. Maybe they changed out a couple dead lightbulbs? A few older guys at the bar glance to the door, look me up and down, and go back to their drinks and conversations. As I walk in, I catch a glimpse of the TV behind bar. Some Roswell bullshit’s back in the news. Opposite the bar, my friends hunch towards each other over a booth table, deep into their own discussion. Long-neck Rolling Rocks and vodka tonics sweat onto the formica.Click.Maybe this is heaven. I float to the booth, boundless love for my friends washing over me. I squeeze in. Deb must be fresh from one of her SDS meetings, going on about social constructs, how “it’s incumbent on the powerful to cede power to the powerless.”“But who’s the arbiter keeping track of it all?” asks Joan. “You’re gonna trust the government?”I listen for a while, contained and expansive like the patient mother of bickering children.The sweaty backs of my thighs slide against the vinyl as I get up. “Anyone want a drink?” I drop off drinks at the table, and carry my own beer to the jukebox, now playing George Michael (“I gotta have faith, faith, faith”). I feel someone approach as I browse the CDs.“You go ahead,” I say. “I haven’t decided.” He’s about my height, five-foot-nine, with straight black hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Black t-shirt. He pushes the turn-the-CD-page button. “And how are you tonight, my dear?” he asks, not looking at me. I detect an accent. Irish, I think.“Doing great. You?” “As good as you, I’d imagine,” he says, uncreasing a bill, feeding it into the slot and punching in some tunes.Now he looks at me, with a sideways smile. His eyes are an intense yellow, like a cat’s. Beautiful with that dark hair.“We’re not alone,” he says with a conspiratorial smile, looking up to the TV and then back to me. I watch as he walks behind the bar, opens the trap door and disappears down to where they keep the ice and extra booze.That Friday after work, I walk from the subway to my basement apartment. (I’m renting from an old Greek couple in Long Island City, or Astoria, depending on who’s drawing the map.) But I don’t go home, and instead turn the corner onto Broadway. I don’t make it a habit to go to bars by myself. But it’s hot, and I have no plans, and — real reason — I have been thinking about this Irish dude and what he said.The same crew of old men talk quietly at the bar, jukebox off, and, lucky me, Irish Dude is tending bar. It feels weird and sad to sit alone at the bar so I stand at the far end, where it’s empty, and lean my elbows on the ultra-varnished wood. I feel awkward. Heart beating fast.He comes over, puts down a worn Budweiser coaster. “Hello, darlin’. What’ll you have?” I make a show of scanning the shelves of bottles, like I’m trying to decide, avoiding those yellow eyes. “Um, gin and tonic please. With lime.”He mixes the drink, squeezes in a slice of lime, and sets it on the coaster. A second later, he puts down a saucer with more lime. “You must be a mind reader,” I say with a laugh. “I was going to ask for extra.”He tilts up his chin, winks. He goes off to chat with the guys down the bar.I must be parched. Within three minutes, I’ve sucked up the whole drink through the little red straw. I tip up the glass to get an ice cube. He reappears. “Another?”I spit the cube back into the class. “Sure. Thanks.”The alcohol has calmed my heart a little. It doesn’t feel so weird/sad to sit on a stool, and so I do. He sets down a fresh drink, and leans over the bar. “So Leah, where’d you get those lovely green eyes?”I smile. “How’d you know my name?”“Heard your friends callin’ you that.”“Wow. Observant. What’s your name?”“Kieran.” “Kieran from Ireland. Are you a legal alien?”“You going to check my papers?” That flirty wink. Those eyes. Yowza.But I had a question for Kieran. “Remember when you said you knew how I felt?” I asked. “The other night. When you said ‘as good as you.’ What did you mean?”“You remember everything people tell you, do you?”Oh god. He must think I’m so lame. Storing his every word, like a squirrel worrying over its acorns. I couldn’t think of what to say.“I read people,” he says. “You seem very sure of yourself.”“That I am, Miss Leah.” He lowers his voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”“You can.”“I’ve been with you, Leah. Whether you knew it or not. The whole time. I guided you to live here.” He gestures to the door with a wrist-flick. “To get a job in New York. To come to this bar, to meet me here now.”Is this guy creepy, or kidding?I opt for light-hearted flirtation. “Who knew the Irish were so romantic?” I’m curling one of the straws into a tight snail’s coil.“Come downstairs,” he says. “I want to show you something.”He beckons me behind the bar, and pulls up the trap door. I glance at the regulars, but they aren’t paying us any attention.“Ladies first,” Kieran says. He follows me and shuts the door over him.It’s cool down here, despite the heat up in the real world. The smell of damp basement is mixed with heating oil and maltiness from the spent kegs. A couple bare lightbulbs dangle from the ceiling, but you can’t see into the corners. At least until your eyes adjust.“Come here,” he says.He wraps me in his arms. The rational part of my brain flashes scenes from the true crime books I’ve been devouring. But what I’m feeling is, this is just so delicious. I never noticed how comfortable it is to hold a man my exact height; it feels like coming home. He smells clean — I imagine a tidy stack of laundered black t-shirts.“Now we’re alone,” I say. He smiles, kisses me lightly on the lips. I let him kiss me more.His mouth feels golden and liquid, and as the kiss deepens, that gold liquid spreads into my mouth, up into my brain, down my spine, through my torso and limbs, and pours out of my fingers and toes. Electric pleasure engulfs me, even the space around me. And this the weird thing — it’s not sexual. It’s a thousand times deeper and more powerful. I pull away to look at him.I’m holding the boy in the Blue Öyster Cult t-shirt. I stagger back.“What did you give me? What did you put in my drink?”Kieran is himself again, tucks his hair back behind his left ear. He smiles. That little sideways smile. “You’re okay,” he says, all calm quiet now.Before I could process any of this, Kieran is gone again. A little black bird, head cocked, looks up at me from the ground. Then a baby in a striped onesie is just lying there looking around. Now it’s a fat bullfrog (the kind my brother and I used to save from drowning in the pool). And then my sixth grade math teacher, Miss Kass. It comes faster now. A old stringy-haired Yorkshire terrier, a middle-aged man in a seersucker suit, one of the bar guys from upstairs. More quickly. Strangers, and some who look familiar but I don’t have time to place them. They just keep changing, faster and faster. A young man with a brown backpack, a little girl licking a strawberry ice cream cone. More animals. A tawny moth struggling in a spider’s web, a capuchin monkey, a rat. A brown speckled sparrow flying off, one of its feathers drifting to the ground.And then there he is again, calm Kieran.I have to go home right now. He’s given me some crazy hallucinogen, and I, completely freaked, need to get the fuck out of here. Now. I turn to run up the stairs. “Those were just a few of your guides,” he says. I freeze, my back to him, holding the banister, foot on the first step. “You’ve encountered them at one point or another. You won’t remember most.”The small hairs stand up on the back of my neck.“This is your crossroads,” he tells me. “You can be of us, with us, throughout all space and all time. Knowing all and understanding all. Your little moments? Those were just the merest of glimpses, the flimsiest of suggestions, of the wonder and vastness and completeness and lovingness of it all.”I turn to look at him, not letting go of the bannister.“Or, you can go back to your life and grope about as best you can. Soon enough you will die like the rest of them, and that will be the end of what is known as you. What do you want, Leah?”EpilogueFreddy is frantic. He will be late for his job interview, this one arranged by his dad. He slept in (again) and now the goddamn subway is frickin’ stalled at West Fourth. Passengers exhale loudly, shake their heads. “Thank you for your patience,” loudspeaker says. Read the room, lady.Five minutes, ten minutes, thirteen minutes. Freddy does the calculation, and bolts. If I run, he thinks, I can just make it. He’s almost up to the street when his eyes come level with those of a homeless woman. She sits against the chain link fence of the basketball court. A straight line runs from his eyes to hers, a line that remains unbroken as he climbs all the way to street level. Her eyes are green, so bright it’s like she’s lit from the inside. Maybe it’s just the contrast with her filthy face. She could be 50 or 70, hard to tell. Not a smart move, he knows, looking into strangers’ eyes. Especially crazy homeless people talking to themselves. Frickin’ Bill De Blasio.He makes out some of her jabbering as he gets closer. “… a magic little black bird… it’s all so beautiful… limes! … oh no, we’re certainly not alone.” Her laugh is joyful.He averts his eyes, stepping around her splayed legs, and notices that she’s placed a curled up red cocktail straw on the dirty bandage around her ankle. Freddy turns right, and now he’s jogging up Sixth Avenue, his backpack bouncing like a happy baby. He can’t help but smile. Maybe it’s the spring air, the trees showing off their new leaves. Maybe it’s endorphins from running (he’d never before achieved that mythical runner’s high), but Freddy feels so frickin’ good. Dodging cars, delivery bikes, men and women holding coffee cups and staring into their phones. He feels love for them all. For this morning, for this city. Even for the ratty pigeons pecking the sidewalk, and that old guy with the walker blocking his path, and the teenagers smoking weed in the doorway, and the white-haired lady bending to up her little dog’s turd. Unbounded goodness and love.And no matter what happens with this job interview, he thinks, I’m going to be fine. Just fine. 
","August 11, 2023 19:18",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",a2qj4s,Mission to Planet Earth,Jim Holley,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/a2qj4s/,/short-story/a2qj4s/,Dialogue,0,['Science Fiction'],4 likes,"
 
                                 Mission to Planet Earth by Jim Holley
 
 
    Freda was yelling in excitement. 
    “This is unbelievable. I picked up a “ping” from a distant world. 
    “Badar”, she exclaimed as she reached out to her commander”,” I believe I can isolate the “ping and can determine where the sound is emanating from, but it may take a little time on finding it’s source”
 
    The spaceship’s crew had boarded and take off had already safely taken place. There were so many missions, searching in near and sometimes distant worlds.. But these searches were just wild dreams and ever from an actual contact. There was millions of other worlds to explore but now, this one feels like the real thing. The space ship had roared safely into space from their planet Trozo.
 
    A crew of six, they were veterans of so many missions which were search and finds, but they never amounted to be of anything substantial.    Now, the several space travelers had boarded their saucer shaped spacecraft for this epic journey to another world. But this was different They have long since conquered space travel and had set out on other missions to other worlds seeking life but with no success.
 
  Trozo  was a friendly world and having hope that somewhere, and always believing,  they would  find another world that supports life in which they could live in peace and harmony together.
 
    The spaceships crew were veterans of many other space flights.
 The commander, Badar, a highly decorated astronaut who had many missions under him as a senior commander in chief. Among all his current crew, he was well respected.
    Then there was Freda who had charge of the translator, which she thought was the most important job of all, and that being the manager of the translator.
     The translator was an ingenious device developed by the scientist of Trozo, which could interpret and convert anything and everything into an understandable format for all to understand.
    Gorga was the assistant commander who would be in charge of the spacecraft if something were to happen to Badar and if something went wrong.
    Telva was the ships mechanic.
    Lenza had no specific function but he was familiar with all of the spaceships operating procedures, and could be called upon to assist others in the crew where ever he was needed.
 
    The spaceship itself was round shaped and roomy, and was tall enough inside that the space travelers could move about easily. It had 9 portholes that circumvented the entire spacecraft so the space travelers could observe in all directions around the saucer shaped vehicle while traveling. When the saucer like spacecraft had taken off, it filled the crew with excitement.
 
 
   Bada, the saucers commander, had slowed the spacecraft down as they neared the blue like worlds moon and he steered  the spacecraft around from the dark side of this blue planets  moon.   “It had been a long journey but quickly and using mach speed from their home, time passed quickly.. They had developed using a grid system of travel so they could travel nearly the speed of light.
 
 
    The view  was getting more clear as they came around from the dark side of this blue worlds moon. It was difficult to observe, as the new worlds atmosphere was hiding it from view. It had much space dust surrounding it and it appeared not to visable.
 
 
 
   “There it is”: Badar  yelled over to his crew”, his voice trembling with excitement but with authority as the spaceship’s commander. 
   Though his looks belied his years, command was still in the tone of his voice.  He had rose through the ranks and had become a leader. His voice commanded authority.    Although the craft was now on autopilot, his hands were still firmly holding onto the spacecraft controls as his excitement grew also.
 
 
 
     Badar was an average and young looking human like alien and with blueish eyes and forward ears so when he looked at you, he always seemed to be listening.
      “We are seeing a world for the first time and picking up voices on the translator that their planet’s inhabitants are calling their world Earth.
    “And were now only 97 million miles from this peaceful and blue looking world..” :” 
 
    “Now slowing down and at this speed, we should be closing in on their goal within 3 days” Badar commented
    “How exciting” exclaimed Freda, the spacecrafts translator.
“But our instruments tell us we were here in this area before”.
    Yes, it does. It seems like we were her before
    She was the one who picked up the beep that was sent by the someone. A signal that someone from the bluish looking world was trying to make contact. 
    Now It was time to establish contact. Slowing down after travelling at warp speed,, the spacecraft should reach their destination in a matter of days.
 
 
    Telnar, the ships 2nd in command, kept his eyes on the gauges, double checking Badar’s calculations. Although it was Badar’s command, he was trained and ready to take command if needed.
    They departed from their planet Trozo> to their destination, which was in a cluster of stars and worlds, approximately 2 light years away from their world.. It was similar to Trozo’s atmosphere, which also had a light bluish glow which someday they hoped, would welcome other spacecraft from outside their beloved world. Trozo was a peaceful world where everyone loved and respected each other, which it is why they had a problem after containing their excitement as they picked up more voices from this world.
 
    The crew peered out the evenly spaced 6 portholes in the spaceships body. It would be wonderful to converse with friendly beings from this world and to learn about their planet and its inhabitants.
    Freda was first to sense something was wrong. She didn’t understand how and why there were so many different languages and that they must have trouble communicating with each other. Unlike our world Trozo, we all spoke in one language.
 
 
    The blue planet was getting closer.
    The spaceship was closing in on target. The bluish looking world was now, a mere 93million miles away.
     As the spaceship leveled off, more and more languages were sorted out by the translator machine. It appears that each language was that of a  separate people. And they were constantly not agreeing with each
 other.
 
    As the translator computer received messages, it was able to read and interpret them. It seems like the bluish world is a warlike planet, with everyone arguing with each other. And it appears that wars were a part of this world’s culture, going back in time, for the present and for the foreseeable future.
 
 
    Badar, the spaceship’s commander, was hearing all this through his tied in translator. He was going to have to make the final decision. Shall we make contact?
    Now, these beings are threatening each other with nuclear war This is horrible. 
    The blue planet,, it seems has man different countries. There are the big powers and the smaller ones. 
    The Russians are threatening the United States and the Chinese are threating the United States and arguing with Russia. And the small countries are aligning themselves with the bigger ones. We checked with individuals as in the so called United States and other countries., Their leaders are  and bickering with each other. Seems like nobody can along.
 
   “We have to make a decision on what to do” Bader said, his voice commanding. “We will vote on it. 
  “I vote we go home, and let the earthlings solve their problems or  destroy each other” voiced Telnar, the ships co- commander., 
  “But maybe  they can resolve their problems.” Said Ze
    Badar, on hearing how the comments all went, turned the space ship around and set a course back to Trozo, their own friendly planet. \\\\ 
    Protera, the ships mechanic was silent through all this but not any longer. “Leave them to destroy each other” he stated. “As much as we would like to help,. It is not our problem”. 
  “We have some more information on the” Freda said, her voice tailing off……She  interjected. “it  seems like the blue world’s inhabitants have ventured into space and are threatening each other to shoot down the opposing countries satellites.”
    A lone voice came from the back of the spacecraft. It was Karla, the ships nurse. “ I say leave them be. From our translator device interpretation,” “they have been fighting since their recorded history”.
    “I do not believe the blue world can be saved.” “It is a sad commentary is that the blue planets inhabitants cannot get along’”.
    Karla maybe right. “These beings will never have peace. And we don’t want their hatefulness to contaminate us”. 
“Let’s go home” they all said in unison..
OK, but I know now, we are not alone.
","August 11, 2023 20:40",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",pnh7pu,Planetarium,Ela Hawthorne,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pnh7pu/,/short-story/pnh7pu/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Suspense', 'Friendship']",4 likes,"
“Amy, I swear to God, if you don’t slow down…”, Julia huffs out, too tired and scared to finish her threat. She struggles to push herself up onto the crumbling windowpane, her arms giving out each time she attempts the small jump. It occurs to Julia that her own body might be telling her this is probably something she should not be doing. Ultimately, the fear of being alone is even stronger, and she clambers through the cobweb-filled entrance, falling to her knees. 
 
“Ow,” Julia mutters to herself. Sitting on the dirty ground, Julia cups a hand around her scraped knee. She can hear her heart beating in her ears, and feel it pounding in her injured joint. 
 
The only thing pulling Julia’s mind away from the fear of tetanus is the unnerving silence since her graceful and totally-legal entrance into the abandoned building. Amy hadn’t shut up once tonight since enacting her “brilliant and spontaneous” break-in plan. In fact, Amy rarely shut up during any moment of any day. But she was especially talkative given her recent expedition to drag Julia along to the deserted museum. 
 
The room is dark, but Julia’s eyes adjust to the stream of light coming from her place of entry. She takes note of the vines slowly growing over the mural of a bear and its cub. Julia vaguely recognizes the painting underneath the growing plants, recalling a picture she and Amy once took in this very spot during a 5th grade field trip. 
 
“Amy!”, Julia calls out, sounding just as panicked as she feels. Julia slowly stands and grabs the wall she just entered from, clinging to it like a portal back home. She gives Amy approximately two seconds to respond before calling her name out again, and again. She contemplates leaping back through the window and booking it to their dorm room only a short fifteen-minute walk away. But she reasons with her fear, knowing she can’t leave her best friend of thirteen years stranded in an abandoned, probably- haunted, museum. 
 
With a deep sigh, Julia slowly steps away from her place of safety and towards the opposite wall. She does her best to ignore the pain shooting down her leg and pulls gently at the leaves covering the painted directions next to the baby bear. Julia makes an educated decision of which direction her friend would run off to. 
 
Moonlight disappears behind Julia as she makes her way through the animal-themed hallway. Most of the exhibit is vacant besides the occasional empty display box scattered on the floor. “Amy,” Julia strangles out in a hushed and annoyed tone. The eyes of the creatures stare down at her, following her every step through the dark corridors. The only thing keeping Julia sane is the familiarity of her surroundings, and the feeling of adrenaline shooting down her spine. She doesn’t need to tear down any more vines to find her way to the double doors that read “Planetarium.” 
 
The door is ajar, propped open with a piece of wood with an unknown origin. “Amy,” she whispers, quieter than any time before. She slowly pushes the door open, the large solid frame squeaks on its hinges. The sound makes Julia cringe, but she continues to push the door open to the point where she can slide through the opening.
 
The planetarium seems to have changed the least since her time here many years ago. A giant white screen casts a reflective light down on the bulbous theater below. The blue cushion seats are tattered and dust-covered. One single seat in the center of the room is reclined to its furthest position. In it sits Amy, staring straight above into the infinite nothingness. She doesn’t even turn her head at Julia as her footsteps echo across the cavernous dome. 
 
Slipping through the aisle of empty chairs, Julia approaches cautiously. It isn’t until she is standing directly above the lean figure of her friend, does she notice that her eyes are closed shut and tears are streaming down her face. Julia reaches out and wipes a tear falling down Amy’s face. Amy’s eyes shoot open, and she jumps up in her seat. 
 
She sits up straighter in her chair and looks around. Her confused gaze locks on Julia. “Julia?”
 
Julia’s own concern allows her to temporarily set aside her frustration. “What’s wrong? You’ve been crying…,” Julia whispers as she slowly sits down in the seat next to Amy. 
 
Silently, Amy reaches up to touch her own cheek. She swipes it across the wet skin and holds it in front of her eyes. She plays with the water between her thumb and forefingers, looking at it with an unreadable gaze. The longer Amy stares, the more uneasy Julia feels. 
 
“Amy?”, Julia questions delicately. “What happened? One second you were asking me to follow you through the window, and the next… you were gone. You really freaked me out.”
 
The trance seems to subside and Amy’s head snaps towards Julia. “Oh god. I’m really sorry Julia. I think I just got a little excited once I made it inside. It’s been so long since we were last here.” She rushes through her sentence a million miles a minute. “And you know how much this place meant to me and my dad. And I uh… just got overwhelmed, I guess.” 
 
Julia knows the words to be true, but she can’t help but sense something troublesome in Amy’s narrative. “Hey, it’s okay. You know I get it.” Julia reaches over and grabs Amy’s hands. They are surprisingly warm given the coolness of the air, and Amy’s general disposition to run like a small freezer.  “Plus, it gave me the chance to live out all of my wildest, haunted dreams. An actual spooky adventure!” She intertwines their fingers and sets her sights to the display above. 
 
Amy stays quiet, presumably still in her own head. Julia rubs her thumb along the back of Amy’s hand. They stay silent for a few minutes; the sound of their breathing is the only noise filling the space. 
 
“I wish we had something to project on the screen,” Julia thinks out loud. 
 
Amy gently removes her intertwined hand away to reach into her backpack, ravaging through the contents dramatically. 
 
“You mean like…this?!” She pulls out a small device, covered in glow-in-the-dark moon and star stickers. She grins cheek to cheek, proudly thrusting the machine into the air. 
 
“Is that… our old space projector?” Julia laughs in disbelief. 
 
Amy just smirks and turns on the switch. The top lights up and starts to rotate in her hand. The light is incredibly bright in the dark space; it takes a minute for Julia’s eyes to stop burning and adjust to the sight above her. Faintly, a few stars glimmer above them. The image only covers a tiny portion of the giant screen, and the projector is so old that the light barely penetrates the ceiling. 
 
“How in the world does that thing still work!?”
 
“I may have made a few adjustments to it… and by that I mean took apart the entire device and basically created a new one.”
 
“Glad to see that engineering degree is really coming in handy,” Julia giggles. 
 
“I am a genius and you love it.”
 
“You are ridiculous and I love it.”
 
With a small smile, Amy reaches her hand back out to hold Julia’s cold fingers. She grips her tightly. “I told you it would be worth it.”
 
Julia rolls her eyes, hating to admit that Amy was always right. They really do have the best times alone together. Julia readjusts her sights to the fictitious sky above. She zones into the miniature star-cladden void. The warmth of Amy’s hand assuages any fears she once had. As Julia’s eyes become heavy, the solar systems collide into a mess of orbs. The celestial lights dance behind her eyelids as she drifts to sleep. 
 
It feels like only seconds have passed when Julia awakens. Disoriented, she squints and tries to locate the dim spheres on the ceiling. No constellations come into focus. Julia searches for the hand next to her. When no warmth is found, Julia shoots up in her seat to look at the empty space beside her. 
 
Sitting up slowly from her chair, Julia feels something shake against her foot. The projector rolls back and forth on the ground against Julia’s worn shoe. The whirring of the device and Julia’s increasing heart rate are the only noises in the quiet room. Hesitantly, Julia bends over to pick up Amy’s creation. 
 
Once again, Julia is alone. However, it feels different this time- less like a thrilling, bold adventure and more like an uneasy, eerie loneliness.
 
Standing up, Julia grips the projector tightly, the light shining brightly from one end. One measured degree at a time, Julia rotates in a circle, highlighting a small section of the room with a flurry of nebulas. It isn’t until Julia has turned 180 degrees that she illuminates the figure standing at the back of the room. 
 
Julia should feel relieved to see her missing friend standing amongst the casted stars. However, the sight of Amy makes Julia’s heart race even more. Amy is stoic, not an inch of movement coming from her body or face. Her eyes are cast up straight above, her neck tilted to a strangely animalistic angle.
 
“Amy?”, Julia manages to croak out. 
 
With every step closer, the cosmic shapes enlarge across Amy’s still frame. But Amy’s trance stays fixated on the partition above. 
 
“Amy…”, Julia whispers gently, reaching out to anxiously touch her friend’s arm. Upon contact, Julia gasps at the burning heat of Amy’s skin. 
 
Instead of jumping out of her hypnotic state, Amy shifts her gaze slowly to Julia. Her eyes are as big as saucers. Julia cannot pinpoint what it is, but the eyes staring back at her are unfamiliar. 
 
Before Julia can question Amy’s behavior or her own sanity, Amy raises a single finger to her mouth. Her finger lingers against her slightly parted lips for a few seconds. Then, with the same finger, Amy lifts her arm and points towards the sky above. Her eyes follow the finger, casting her gaze to the skies once again. 
 
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Julia dreadfully cranks her neck upwards, following Amy’s finger. The white ceiling above seems to churn and undulate in a foreign manner. Julia might have thought it was the handheld projector if it wasn’t for the fact that the light from the device was still cast solely on her spaced-out companion. 
 
The screen above starts to glow, as if a larger projector is casting an image onto the ceiling. The light becomes brighter and more intense in nature. The light grows to a brightness that Julia can no longer stand; she squeezes her eyes shut as tight as possible. 
 
And just as quickly as it starts, the light fades away behind her eyelids. When Julia hesitantly restores her sight, the whiteness overhead has been replaced with the dark night sky. Stars and distant planets shimmer above their heads. A light, cold breeze whips against Julia’s face. Her breathing moves in and out of her lungs shallowly and quickly. 
 
Julia lowers her gaze back to the room. She jumps in place when her friend is no longer at her side, but now face-to-face with her. Amy’s gaze is unreadable as she stares at Julia. Their eyes lock and Julia feels the whirring of the projector stop dead in her hands; the light flickers to nothing. 
 
A beat of silence. And then the sound of the projector is replaced by a humming noise above their heads. Julia can’t muster the courage to shift her gaze. Her eyes beg Amy to wake up from her trance. 
 
Instead, Amy cranks her neck towards the sky. Julia watches Amy’s face closely. Shadows shift across her delicate, impassive features. A light reflects in Amy’s irises, growing in size as it moves closer to them both. Amy takes a deep, shuddering breath. Her monotone voice finally speaks. 
 
“We’re not alone.”
","August 11, 2023 21:36",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",nehvxg,Moon Child,Joshua Senat,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/nehvxg/,/short-story/nehvxg/,Dialogue,0,"['Contemporary', 'Urban Fantasy', 'Fiction']",4 likes,"
My day started off simple enough. I was at home without much to do. The last couple days had been colder than it’s been in a while. Much too cold for a mid-summer day. I’d spent most of the day writing, or well, trying to write. After staring at the blank page for what seemed like eternity, I could feel my brain turning to mush. I needed a break.I looked at my phone, hoping to kill some time swiping through my apps. I had deleted all the fun ones in hope that I’d be less distracted. Instead, the boredom made me the most unfocused I’d ever been. It felt like even a drop of dopamine would turn me into a junkie.
	Just as I was just about to put down my phone, dissatisfied with the entertainment that it provided, something caught my eye. It was the moon phase tracker I’d downloaded for no reason in particular. Don’t get me wrong, I thought the moon was alright, but I wasn’t one of those “praise the moon” kinda people. Even now, I wouldn’t say I praise the moon. I just thought it was pretty.
	The moon on my screen was completely white. I wasn’t a meteorologist by trade or anything, but that signified a full moon to me. I hopped on google just to make sure, typing “next full moon” into the search bar. Sure enough, an article read “August 1st Super Moon''. Tonight was indeed August 1st. My tracker hadn’t failed me yet! Thoughts of wolves and spirits filled my mind and suddenly I had an idea. I would finally get up from my boring desk and get my thoughts moving during the full moon. That would surely spur some creativity! With newfound motivation, and my desperation to fill up my blank page, I spent the rest of the evening planning where I’d go to get the best view. In the end I found my destination. Sky’s Edge. It was a hill only a 30 minute walk from my house. Just far enough from the middle of town that I could enjoy some alone time, but just close enough I could bail home if anything popped off. It was perfect.
	I packed my backpack with the essentials before heading out. Phone, keys, wallet. I made sure to bring along a notebook and pen just in case inspiration struck.
	“Bye, Kenji, be a good boy now,” I crooned, patting my little Shih-Tzu on the head and giving him a quick peck on the forehead. He responded by licking my lips.
	“Gah!” I yelled while recoiling, “you stupid dog, always gotta ruin the moment.” He stared at me, blinking slowly and cocking his head. I let out a sigh of defeat. He was good. Way too good.
	With that, I walked out into the dark, starry night with a youthful confidence uncommon of me. The energy from the moon was already in full effect.
	The night air was cool and light. Everything was clear, especially the sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight. It was the type of night where magic was real and miracles happened. Anything was possible during a Super Moon.
	After about 15 minutes of walking, after the last of the cars driving by and people taking their dogs out for a night stroll, I finally got a good view of the moon. It shone bright, but not brilliantly; more like a quiet genius, radiating its calm beauty from atop the trees.
	I pulled out my phone camera, hoping to capture even a fraction of what my eyes were experiencing, only to be utterly disappointed. What I saw on my phone screen wasn’t even close to the reality of what was actually out there in the sky.
	“What’s the point in getting an expensive ass Iphone if the camera sucks,” I muttered, shoving my phone back into my pocket and regretting my financial investments. I guess just seeing it would have to be enough for now.
	I continued on with the walk, the moon hiding behind the trees once more. Soon enough, I was at the base of Sky’s Edge. Only another 10 minutes to the top. Going up a hill at night along a dark unpaved trail was about as terrifying as you’d imagine it to be. Every rustle of leaves set my hair on end and every snap of a twig plunged my heart right into my heart. I told myself that I couldn’t be afraid on the night of a Super Moon. I reminded myself that there was nothing out there, that it was just me out there, all alone in the middle of the trees on the night where the most people are sent to the ER. For some reason, it didn’t seem to calm me down.
	Just as I was contemplating turning around and booking it back down the hill, I got a glimpse of a clearing, the moonlight showing the path to what I hoped would be my creative revitalization. I picked up the pace a bit, impatient to get out of the dark. A brisk walk soon became a light jog then to a spirited sprint as I broke through the leaves into the moonlit clearing. I looked around me, noting the rocks I could use as a makeshift desk and chair. Fireflies blinked and danced around me, not at all concerned with my abrupt intrusion.
	“Well, I guess I’m not completely alone,” I whispered, chuckling softly to myself. The wind blew softly, filling my nose with the sweet aromas of nature. It amazed me that just a few moments before, I had been shaking in my boots, closing off my reality to the wonderful sensations all around me. Fear had taken the beauty around me and corrupted it, but while the fear was gone, I managed to take in the ethereal atmosphere of my surroundings. And that was all before I had even seen the moon.
	I turned around, facing the divine satellite. From atop the hill, the moon had nearly doubled in size. It filled up the entire sky, holding nothing back this time. It was much different from the timid elegance I had experienced before. Now the moon stared back at me as if saying, “Look at me in all my greatness! Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?” I had no words in response. It had left me speechless.
	Then the sky began to fall, or at least that’s what it looked like. The already massive moon grew ever bigger, the stars in the sky becoming brighter. In reality, the sky was not falling. I was rising.
 
","August 12, 2023 01:17",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",7xv1v4,Lycanthrope,Anthony Beska,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/7xv1v4/,/short-story/7xv1v4/,Dialogue,0,"['American', 'Fiction', 'Friendship']",4 likes,"
Lycanthrope
“In local news, the alleged Wolf-Man of Cedarview Hills struck again last night. The bodies of thirty-two and thirty-three-year-olds Marcus Vuxh and his fiancé Daria Clees were discovered this morning at the break of dawn by a passerby…”
The anchorwoman’s live crime-scene reporting went mute at the press of a button.
“And I found the Wolf-Man.”
Jackson boasted confidently to his best friend and number one critic, Wayne, from his computer chair.
The former of the two crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.
“Suuuuure, Jaxy. You and you alone FOUND the Wolf-Man. Not any of the other hack monster hunters it drew here, or the police, some kid shmuck found him.”
Wayne mocked, raising a finger at each item he listed off. His snark garnered a scowl in response.
“Dude, fuck off.”
“Hey, YOU INVITED ME OVER.”
He’d coyly remind Jax with yet another lazy shrug, sitting on his bed, and folding a leg over the other.
“Which begs the question why?”
He added.
“Because I need backup confronting the Wolf-Man?”
Silence. Wayne stares at his friend for a moment.
“Pft…”
Wayne throws his head back and bursts out laughing.
“So instead of calling the police, who have a literal hotline for this kinda shit, you call my scrawny ass?”
Another silence as embarrassment radiated off of Jackson. He looked down at his jeans and sighed.
“No one else answered and…I’m blocked from calling the hotline.”
He murmured.
Wayne sighed.
“Fine, I’ll help. I’ll go to this ONE spot with you. And when this winds up being a nothing burger you drop all this furry shit. Capishe?”
Jax’s face lit up as he sat upright.
“Thanks, Wayne. I-”
Wayne cut Jax off with a sharp ‘Ah!’ coupled with a finger wag.
“When. This. Doesn’t. Work. Out. You. Stop.”
He spoke slowly as though reprimanding a child. Even got the stern parent scowl too for good measure.
Jax groaned.
“Fine, MOM.”
Wayne smirked.
“Good. Now let’s go. We’re taking my car so I can ditch your ass wherever you take me.”
Jax laughed awkwardly. But Wayne’s smirk lead him to believe his friend wasn’t kidding…
The boys piled into the 2010 Honda.
“O-kaaaaay, where to?”
Wayne asked, pulling his phone out to punch in their coordinates in his GPS.
“According to my calcu-”
“Spit it out, nerd.”
Silence for a moment as Jax festers. He shoots a glare Wayne’s way before sighing.
“Craine’s Pointe. The old  industrial plants.”
Wayne sighed as he punched it in.
“For fuck’s sake, that’s like an hour and a half one way. You owe me gas money for this shit too.”
Wayne grumbled in discontent.
“When we’re rich from the reward money offered up I’ll buy you a new car, dude.”
Jax reassured.
Wayne smirked.
“Suuuuuure you will.”
And they’re off! As they drive the sun slowly but surely recedes down behind the sky. A cool orangish yellow hangs overhead as the sun sets for the day. Wayne begins to speed up as night draws closer. Jax took notice.
“Smart idea. Get there before the moon comes out tonight.”
Wayne nodded worriedly.
“Do you have any clue who this guy is? Or what he looks like?”
“I…no, not really.”
Jax murmured.
“Soooo we’re just gonna fuck around by some supply plants at night hoping to find some random stranger and that some other violent stranger doesn’t find us OR mistake one of us for the Wolf-Man?”
Jax frowned.
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds really fucking stupid.”
Wayne rolled his eyes as they entered the more industrial part of the town.
“There’s not a lot of people around. I figured more of your monster hunter pals would be here?”
Jax shook his head.
“Nah, a lotta people are thinking he’s by Acid Lake. So they’re on the other side of town.”
“Here’s to hoping they’re right then.”
Jax frowned.
“Why? You scaaaaaared?”
He’d mock Wayne, who glared.
“I can still ditch your nuts ass here and go.”
Jax put his hands up defensively.
“Fine, fine. Let’s go.”
Wayne parks his car a few yards from a security booth and popped his trunk to grab a tire iron for self-defense. Maybe Jax was right about the Wolf-Man? Even if he wasn’t, his concerns over creeps being around garnered a need to protect himself.  Neither boy could notice a security guard at the post. So, they crept up closer on foot. The booth was vacant, so limboing underneath the bar was easy enough. The plant had closed maybe a few hours ago, but there still seemed to be signs of life. Doors were left open accompanied by distant footsteps.
“I…I don’t think we’re alone here.”
Jax murmured.
“Wasn’t that the point of coming here?”
Wayne asked.
“Besides, it’s probably just a security guard or something.”
He continued as they delved deeper into the plant. The moon, for now, hid behind the clouds. They’d be dealing with the man side of the Wolf-Man for now. The boys slinked about the plant as though they owned the place, coming up short at almost every turn. Offices? Nothing. Breakroom? No one. Their luck would take a turn at the shipping yard. Normally the yard is abuzz with trucks dropping off and picking up goods, forklifts on and offloading everything, and union men clamoring about. 
The wide open yard was seemingly taken up all by one person, One, singular, imposing presence. A male’s form, lanky and sickly, sat against one of the massive metal doors. His clothes are viciously disheveled. Torn about akin to rags. He sat slumped over, hiding his head in his hands. His exhausted gaze drifted to them and ebbed to horror.
“No!”
His voice boomed with horror: a commanding tone, a stark juxtaposition to his shoddy appearance.
“Both of you need to get out of here, NOW!”
He commanded. Or was he begging?
Wayne didn’t seem to need much convincing. He began to stagger backward before booking it through the door they came in while Jax took hesitant steps forward.
“We’re…I’m here to help…”
“Help? Help?!”
The man laughed hopelessly, shaking his head in disdain.
“Not even God could help me now, kid…”
The clouds above parted, allowing the moon to peak down on them. The man’s body suddenly tensed before lurching as though he were about to heave. Jax’s eyes widened in horror as his suspicions turned out to be true. The Wolf-Man of Cedarview Hills is here, right in front of him. As the man gives way to the wolf via a repulsive metamorphosis, Jax follows after Wayne with a massive delay. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t make it out alive. After the startling shift, the wolf gave chase, dashing after Jax on all fours. The beast’s speed was unrivaled by the boy. He managed to bite at the back of Jax’s leg, sending him sprawling down to the ground. Jax howled in agony, begging for help and mercy fruitlessly. The wolf claws dug into his chest, killing him instantly before feasting on the corpse.
Jax’s cries echoed through the abandoned plant, permeating the sounds of Wayne’s wheezing and his heart throbbing in his ears as he ran. He’d cleared the booth outside before he heard the wolf gaining on him. 
He shrieked in horror, turning around and nailing the wolf across the snout with the tire iron. With a satisfying sound, it collided, denting the makeshift weapon and draining blood from the wolf’s nose. Wayne kept running, making it to his car. The wolf clawed and scratched at the car door as the vehicle roared to life. Wayne put his car in reverse and booked it backward, making the wolf leap backward. As Wayne shifted to drive, the wolf lunged straight for the windshield. Wayne shrieked and swerved to dodge only to wrap around a tree instead. Mangled metal and glass covered him. His head hit the steering wheel hard, and he could barely breathe in the airbag. He was trapped in a twisted metal coffin. Wayne sobbed softly to himself. His cries were unheard and short-lived. The Wolf-Man’s claws wrapped around his skull, drawing blood and squeezing, snuffing his life out and adding two more bodies to its body count.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
","August 12, 2023 01:37","[[{'Joe Malgeri': 'Great story, Anthony, right up my alley. As soon as I saw ""Lycanthrope,"" I was attracted. I love the old Wolfman movies, & Maria Ouspenskaya is my favorite actress.', 'time': '15:50 Aug 17, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",bsdvz8,With Whom Alone?,Leland Mesford,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bsdvz8/,/short-story/bsdvz8/,Dialogue,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
A hundred flat plasma television screens spotlighted a hundred awestruck simple seekers of knowledge in the midst of a black universe containing their home, a blue globe. Another thousand flat plasma screens flashed on, and tuned into the drive of devoted generations to come. A million flat plasmas illuminated our minds and gave quest to our lives. A trillion, and trillion more, one message all our minds took in: They were coming. We were no longer alone.It all started on the day of the ribbon cutting ceremony for the largest telescope satellite ever put into orbit. The satellite's inauguration was broadcast on international TV. When the broadcast cut to the first image from the satellite, there was an unidentified object moving through space. The host of the ceremony, an unassuming astronomer, proclaimed it the first UFO captured in the view of the telescope. The intention of his statement was that it was, as of yet, unidentified. Then, the satellite crew focused the satellite's powerful telescope onto the object and zoomed in.The image was live on television screens all over the globe. The host of the ceremony gasped, and his eyes never returned to the camera. The image on the screen had frozen him. He said only, ""We're not alone."" And nothing more. The broadcast continued as silent as a photo. For over thirty minutes, as viewers tuned their friends and family in, the viewership grew. It would, by far, surpass the viewership of any combined three of the most viewed television broadcasts in history.It was on screens everywhere, a sleek silver hull curving quickly from a point to form a wide and short disklike front to a massively larger body. The details depicted by the satellite were incredibly precise. The ship's body glossed the light of the trillion stars between us and it. The telescope depicted, as though the ship were within reach, how the material its body was formed from came together in seems, one panel joined to another to form a grid of squares covering its entirety. Its length, nose to tail, was lined with row upon row of black ovals. They were horizontal, thousands of them, twice as wide as they were tall. People stared at their televisions, not knowing what to think. Then the image on the screen grew as the satellite crew focused the telescope closer. The image moved in the screen, from center to the left. Then the satellite crew zoomed again. The ship filled the screen. The image shifted to the right. Then, the satellite crew made a final calculation. They focused on a spot, and zoomed in until one of the black ovals occupied most of the screen. There seemed to be movement in the oval. It only seemed so for a moment. Perhaps it had been the slight shadow of a passing star. For the next several seconds, upon further inspection, the oval seemed still.The satellite crew adjusted the visible wavelength of the telescope, and the hull material which framed the oval was no longer visible as silver. It had become as black as the space it traveled through. The black oval, upon one final adjustment of the telescope's visible wavelength, became transparent. Within the ship, could be seen a creature. The world, Earth, watched as it moved. It had long matted hair covering its entirety. It was brown in color, but nearing a chromatic grey. It moved over a background as though it were standing atop a pool of shadows. It seemed to have two legs and two arms, but its arms were like long trunks coming from out of hairy shoulders. The arms didn't seem to move on their own. They just dragged through the pool of shadows where the creature's legs walked. Its legs were not incredibly short, but they had two joints each, and when the creature walked, its body remained low to the ground.The angle of the creature's direction changed. When it did, the people of Earth saw, on its head, a hairless face. Like ours, its face had two eyes over a nose which was above a clearly defined mouth. Only, the face was as if it were hewn by a child from chromatic grey playdough. The features were rough and sloppy and lacked close attentiveness to symmetry.The creature's image forever changed all of society on planet Earth. In one week's time, word had spread. Not one on Earth hadn't heard. We were not alone. Not anymore. The world had seen the face of an alien being for the first time. It wasn't pretend, we really were not alone. They calculated the craft's velocity and course, its distance from us, and then they knew. They were certain in fact. The alien seen in the broadcast was headed to Earth.It was determined that, at its current course and velocity, the craft would reach Earth in thirty years, two months, and roughly six days. The words, ""We're not alone,"" rang through the combined thoughts of Earth's citizens.Wind whipped a paper flyer into the traffic flooding a big city street, and a mother dragged the little figure in the fur coat beside her by its tiny hand, ushered the wavy-haired ear muff clad girl off the windy sidewalk, into the entrance of a department store full of sterile air and clothing racks set on floors that glossed with ceiling light. Outside, the little girl had run to keep up with her mother's pull. Once inside, though, she outdistanced her mother in her excitement to get to the girl's section, where she simply needed to feel the soft cozy knit of each sweater in her hands. ""We're not alone."" She said, in a near trot, as she passed by each store clerk. ""We're not alone,"" again and again, as she bobbed her head with the earnest intention that had been instilled in her.The world knew, and would never forget. We were not alone.On dark winter nights, small children would curl up in bed with their mommies and daddies, kiss each of them good night, then before any could close their eyes to welcome sleep, say, ""We're not alone.""Employees rushed down corridors, through halls, around bollards, and over gravel pits as they raced to the time clock. Two minutes, one, ""click,"" the simple machine would sound with each employee's punch. Then, like an infectious program, a modest ""We're not alone,"" would spread through their numbers. Two's, ten's, hundred's, thousand's, million's, trillion's of people would exchange the phrase, ""We're not alone."" Again and again, meeting one another's brevity of the implication.The news was most impactful at school. Each day, students would stand behind their desks and pledge themselves, loudly and in unison, to mathematics and sciences, and study long hours in classrooms. Then, again, in their homes. Throughout the day, from morning to night, they would study and repeat to one another the phrase: ""We're not alone,"" again and again.Throughout the years.The decades.The globe rang with one common thought: ""We're not alone.""The phrase never, however, became normal to us. As the ship's journey through space progressed, and especially so in the later years, the fervency and the frequency with which the phrase was used increased with each passing moment. Each passing minute, hour, day, month, year, and decade brought the ship closer, and the phrase never for an instant grew less important. Just the opposite, in fact.As the arrival drew near, planet Earth became ready. There was no indication from the ship that it had intentions of any particular kind. So the people of Earth prepared for anything and everything, all at once.The eight largest nations on Earth experienced a galactic revolution. Each one's peoples had come together to contribute their lives and their nations' resources, in order to build massive ships that matched the size of the one that was on a course to meet them. Their behemoth vessels sat perched on Earth's solar system's ancient outer rings. There, their ships and their crews waited.A thousand smaller nations had, just as ambitiously, built a thousand smaller ships. Those too waited, floating in the silent stillness of space.The years became months, and the months became weeks, and the weeks became days. The alien ship drew near.The thousand-eight ships of Earth sat, prepared for battle and prepared for peace. They, however, seemed to have sat unnoticed as the alien ship passed them by.That too they had prepared for. In the year that the alien ship passed them by, the thousand-eight ships of Earth, in orchestrated unison, gave pursuit. Their formation was impressive. It was uniform and symmetric. It was so, down to the very millimeter. It was a maneuver of perfection.To the untrained eye, it was flawless. To those who knew better, those who would lure and capture, it was flawed.From a large building on the planet Earth, a thousand-eight galactic commanders, in joint-cooperation, commanded their space vessels. What better command center? A place where the commanders of all nations could coordinate their ships as one fleet, a truly central command.It was so, until the ships had traveled for a mere five years. Communication became slow from such a distance. Visual images took weeks to traverse so far, audio took days. Such was distance.Communication from one ship to another hadn't been considered. It had been a terrible and unfortunate detriment to their design.It was through the command center on Earth that the few remaining vessels of Earth's great fleet received the audio message: ""We're not alone! We're not alone!"", which had originated from their neighboring ships. A week later, images came to Earth, images of ships being destroyed by lightning quick fighter ships which had emerged from the alien ship. It was evident from the video, that the fighter ships had been commanded from a central location onboard the alien mother ship. It was also perceived in the video, that had Earth's vessels been able to communicate one to another, their defeat would have been preventable.In the final image received by Earth's people, a captain was apprehended at his own ship's helm. As the alien foot soldiers subdued him, he fell backward onto his ship's deck and screamed up into a camera, ""WE'RE NOT ALONE!""The End
","August 11, 2023 01:18","[[{'Michał Przywara': ""That's an interesting idea! A lot of meeting-aliens stories are sudden, where they suddenly appear on/around Earth, but here the humans have decades of advance notice - a bit like waiting for a roller coaster to start.\n\nIt's curious, as the whole concept of meeting them becomes almost a religion, one that grabs the whole planet. Doesn't quite turn out the way anyone hoped though. They came neither in peace nor in war, they simply came and went - and we couldn't stand being ignored.\n\nMaybe that's the worst thing - not hatred, not love, but am..."", 'time': '18:11 Aug 20, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Leland Mesford': ""Yeah, not your typical turn of events. That's for sure. You never know what to expect from aliens."", 'time': '00:38 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Leland Mesford': ""Yeah, not your typical turn of events. That's for sure. You never know what to expect from aliens."", 'time': '00:38 Aug 24, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",5m3ug5,Saturday,Katie Myers,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/5m3ug5/,/short-story/5m3ug5/,Dialogue,0,['Suspense'],4 likes,"
Susan preferred to complete her daily errands just after sunrise, before the hustle and bustle of the day begins. The coffee maker had just finished dripping as she padded quietly downstairs, just enough for one cup as usual. Her favorite mug and spoon had been laid out the night before, waiting for her two pumps of hazelnut flavoring and a splash of milk. Susan thrived on routines. 
 
That morning began the same as all others: her gentle alarm humming it’s normal tune at 6 am on the dot, a quick shower, and down stairs to listen to the news and drink her cup of coffee. She’ll be out the door by 7 am sharp and not a minute later. Today she thought she might take her coffee and listen to her radio outside on her porch to watch the summer sun rise over the horizon. 
 
The ocean was calmer than usual this morning, almost completely still. There was no breeze, which made the air feel thick and heavy, even at this time of morning. Susan settled herself under her porch fan and brought her solar radio up to the top of the small table beside her rocking chair. As she fiddled with the antenna, she noticed the butterfly bush at the foot of her stairs rustle. “Good morning, Cat,” she called. She turned the dial and was met with a loud flash of angry high pitched static. Cat hissed. “Hush,” she admonished, “I’m trying to catch the signal.”
It was unusual that a windless day was making the signal so difficult to catch, and Susan did not like the tenseness that was building in her shoulders because of it. 
 
“Ah, there we go,” she muttered and brought Cat up to her lap as voices came through the radio detailing the day’s weather, tides, and fish catches. “I would like to get some more shrimp for this week, don’t you think?” She said as she was stroking Cat’s back. He purred in agreement. As the news cycle made its way back around to the beginning, Susan gently took Cat off her lap and began to turn the radio off as the signal cracked and all of a sudden a voice came through screaming “THEY’RE COMING. THEY’RE COMING. THEY’RE COMING.” Startled, Susan knocked her cup of coffee over, the mug shattering as it hit the ground. She felt her shoulders lock as her spine sent tingles down her arms. She wrung her hands to soothe herself. “Nothing I can’t fix! I’ll just go clean it up,” she said to herself. 
 
A neighbor walked by with his dog and waved, and as Susan looked up, she noticed he was mouthing something she couldn’t quite make out. She shook her head and went inside to grab a towel and clean up her mess before she left for the day. 
 
Back inside, Susan was wiping her hands on a dish towel by the sink and practicing her deep breathing to help loosen her shoulders from earlier today. “It didn’t mean anything, probably just someone in their basement messing around.” She told herself. A loud bang on the window shook her out of her trance and she whipped around to look out of the window over her kitchen sink, noticing the streaks of bright red blood streaking her window. 
 
She grabbed her car keys and purse and went outside. She has tasks to complete, afterall. “This will not stop me,” she uttered as she locked her door. Cautiously she walked around to the side of her house where her kitchen window is and saw the bird, its neck broken from the force of hitting the window. She made a mental note to pick up a shovel on her outing today so she could dispose of it. 
 
“They’re coming, I had one do that to my window yesterday,” her neighbor said behind her. Susan turned around slowly, her hands in tight fists at her sides in order to hide her fear. 
 
“Do you have a shovel I can borrow, Mitch? I’d like to dispose of it before Cat finds it,” Susan asked, ignoring what he said entirely. Nothing will stop my day, she told herself. She unclentched her fists slowly and wiped them on her shorts. 
 
“They’re coming,” Mitch responded, “Susan, they’re COMING.” His eyes widened and Susan stepped back, nearly stepping on the bird’s carcass. 
 
“I-I-I have to go, before the vacationers clear out the shelves,” Susan stuttered. She pushed her way around Mitch and got into her car. “Of course the vacationers are coming, Mitch, it’s the beach.” she said as she got into the car. “Idiot.” Her hands were shaking as she turned the key in the ignition. She backed out of the driveway and gripped the steering wheel tightly. She turned the radio on and found NPR’s Newsbreak and smiled. 
 
“Reports indicate that winds have ceased in other major cities including Washington DC, Spokane, Chicago and New York, increasing temperatures across the United States.” the radio said. 
 
“Well it’s the middle of summer, not totally unexpected for there to be a heat wave,” Susan said back to the radio. She rolled her eyes and continued listening. 
 
“Speaking with locals here in Washington, many are reporting finding bird carcasses scattered around their properties and on the sidewalks. Their necks are broken from force.” The leather of the steering wheel shifted and squeaked under the tightening grip of Susan’s hands. She shook her head, “Coincidence,” she uttered. 
 
As she pulled in to the grocery store, she motioned to turn the radio off just as the signal broke and through the screaming static she heard “THEY”RE COMING.” She pulled her hand back as if she had been shocked, she turned off the car and pushed the button turning off the radio. She grabbed a cart and headed inside, wiping the sweat from her brow that had formed almost immediately after stepping out of her car. 
 
Susan was relieved to hear the usual easy listening tunes playing overhead in the grocery store, and she made her way through the aisles to complete her weekly shop. As she made her way to the deli counter, she noticed that the employees were huddled around the radio and didn’t notice her immediately. She cleared her throat and said “Hello!” to get their attention. 
 
“Good morning, Susan,” called Ron, as he stepped away from the radio huddle and put on gloves. “Have you been listening to this stuff? Birds all over the place.. No wind.. Weird stuff, huh?” 
 
“Hi, Ron. You know I don’t listen to anything but the local weather reports,” she said, hoping her nerves weren’t coming through. “Can I have a pound of turkey please?” 
 
“Sure, you got it.” Ron said, turning back to the meat shaver. “How’s this?” he asks, holding up a piece of turkey. 
 
“Perfect, thanks.” Susan smiled. 
“Yeah, Jan and I counted this morning we had 3 birds dead around our house, can you believe that?” Ron said, making conversation. Susan swallowed and chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to talk about this, even though she too has a bird she has to get rid of back at her house. 
 
“I guess it means you’re just an expert glass cleaner, haha,” Susan answered. Change the subject, Susan. “Hey, do you know if you have shovels here?” She asks. 
 
“Oh yeah, over by the charcoal and outside needs.” Ron answers, handing her her pack of turkey. As Susan reached over the counter to take the pack, he whispers “They’re coming, Susan.” Susan grabbed her turkey and walked backwards. 
 
“No one but the renters are coming, Ron.” Susan said, gritting her teeth. She pushed her cart away quickly. 
 
“They’re coming!” she heard him call out after her. Susan walked immediately to the outdoor needs aisle and picked up a shovel and lighter fluid. 
 
“Got a bird problem too, huh?” a woman said next to her. Susan didn’t recognize her immediately. Must be from the other island, she thought to herself. The woman picked up a shovel. “They say that’s the first sign, you know. The wildlife always knows.” Don’t engage, Susan. Don’t do it. Susan smiled, “hmm.” she responded. “Excuse me,” Susan said, as she tried to navigate her cart around the woman. The woman grabbed the cart to stop her, and Susan tried to pull away to free it from her grasp. 
 
“They’re COMING, Susan! They’re coming!” the woman screamed. Susan finally pulled the shopping cart free, and ran down the aisle as the woman screamed after her, “You’ve been warned!” 
 
Susan turned into the next aisle and slowed down, and started her deep breathing practice again. Her hands were white and the tingling spread from her fingertips to her ears. “I have to finish, I have to go to the fish camp, I have to go home.” she repeated. As she continued to walk, she felt herself calming down. She gathered the final items she needed and made her way to the checkout counter. She started putting her items on the belt, hoping no one would feel the need to speak to her anymore. The teenager working the cash register didn’t bother to take out his headphones, much to Susan’s delight. She put the cart back in the vestibule and grabbed her items and walked quickly back to her car. 
 
She placed the shovel in the trunk of her car and put the bags of food in the passenger seat. As she made her way around to the driver side, she noticed a note underneath the windshield wiper, and as she looked at the other cars surrounding hers, they, too, had notes. She grabbed it, knowing what it would say before she looked. “They’re coming,” it read. Susan crumpled it immediately and left it on the ground. She got in her car and peeled out of the parking space, speeding towards the fish camp. 
 
She reflexively turned the radio on, only to be met with screaming static. She adjusted the frequencies but found the same on the AM stations and the FM stations. “Fine,” she said. “No radio anymore, that’s fine.” she assured herself. She felt the tingling sensation again, but this time it was behind her eyes. She clamped her eyes shut to calm herself. 
 
As she pulled into the fish camp, she noticed only one other car in the parking lot. “Perfect,” she said. “Early enough for the first catch.”
 
She walked in, and the chimes on the door alerted the fishmonger to her presence. He was listening to the radio. 
 
“Ugh, I had to turn mine off–just static!” Susan reported, she hoped calmly. “What does the catch look like today, Bill?” she asked. He hadn’t turned around yet. She heard muttering, and the sound of the cleaver coming down onto the chopping block. Susan winced. She could never be a butcher of any kind. 
 
“Bill? Fresh shrimp today?” Susan called again. She stood up on tip toes and craned her neck to see what he was preparing. 
 
It was a bird. “Damn things won’t stop flying into the windows.” she heard him say. “Gotta get rid of them before they come.” 
 
“Bill. Bill, no one’s coming. BILL.” Susan yelled as the cleaver came down once more. He turned around, wiping the knife on his apron which was already splattered with various fluids. 
 
“Bring your birds here, I’ll get rid of ‘em.” He said, plainly. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot, he was rubbing his face, not realizing he was wiping bird mess on his cheek. Susan closed her eyes and shook her head, she was not going to bring anything here thank you. She exhaled and smiled, “Thanks, but I think I'll just take a pound of shrimp.” she pointed to the shrimp sitting on ice behind the glass counter. Bill seemed to snap out of it, dropping the cleaver on the counter. He washed his hands, Thank God, Susan thought. 
 
He collected the shrimp and put them in a bag for her. The exchange was silent, until Susan was walking toward the door to leave and they both jumped as two more birds plowed into the glass door. 
 
“THEY’RE COMING!” Bill yelled. Susan looked back and shook her head as her had searched for the bar to push the door open. She stepped out, and made sure to avoid the bodies that had just fallen beside the door. She looked up and noticed the sky had changed. When she left this morning it was a clear, blue sky. No clouds, no breeze.  The air was still thick and heavy, but the sky had changed to a dark gray, but not because of clouds. It was as if the sun had been blocked by a larger object. 
 
“Storm’s coming, surely,” she said to herself. Putting the shrimp in the cooler in the back of her car, she reassured herself that she was done with her errands and could finally go home. Cat was waiting for her, after all. And she needed to dispose of the bird from earlier this morning before Cat found it. 
 
She turned on to her street and noticed everyone was outside, looking at the skies. Just park the car, get your things and go inside. Don’t worry about everyone else. She pulled into her driveway and shut her car off. She got out and collected the bag in the front passenger seat first, slamming the door shut. “Sorry,” she winced, to no one in particular. Nobody turned around. She made her way to the trunk and got the shovel and lighter fluid and took the shrimp out of the cooler. She closed the trunk door, slightly less aggressively this time and made her way up the stairs. 
 
There were 4 more birds, this time on her front porch. She noticed Cat pacing back and forth from behind her glass door. A wave of nausea traveled up to her throat. She swallowed and turned around to see if anyone was watching. She fumbled for her house keys and turned the lock. “Cat,” she crouched to pet him. He arched his back to get away and tried to scratch her. She pulled her hand back in surprise. “Okay, fine. You can’t eat the birds, though. You’ll get sick.” Susan said as she stood up straight. She placed the shrimp and other food in her refrigerator and grabbed her gardening gloves and a trash bag. With the shovel in hand, she headed back outside to dispose of the carcasses. 
 
“Once I clean up the yard, we can get back to our book,” she said to herself. “Just get this done, and you’re all set.” She took a deep breath and pushed her front door open. She made sure to pull it closed behind her, she didn’t want the cat to sneak out this time. She closed her eyes and took some deep breaths to help keep the nausea at bay as she picked up the birds. Using the shovel, she placed them into the garbage bag quickly. Having picked up the birds on the porch, she walked down the stairs and headed around the side of the house. The sky had gotten darker, like night, even though it was only 9 am.  “It’s going to be a rough one, it seems.” she said to herself, about the impending storm. 
 
She reached the side of the house where she saw the first bird earlier this morning, and Susan crouched down to get a better look at it. As she began to pick it up with the shovel, she felt someone behind her. 
 
“Mitch, I found a shovel at the store, I’ve got it handled.” she said, sighing. She shoved the bird into her trash bag and tied it off. She stood up and turned around, nearly running into the man that was behind her. 
 
“Mitch, what are you doing?” she put her hands on his chest to push him back, but he wouldn’t move. “Mitch. Please move, I want to go inside now.” 
 
“It’s them, Susan. They’ve been throwing the birds. They’re already here.” Susan walked backwards to create space, dropping the bag by accident.
 
“Sometimes birds get confused, it happens,” she said, quickly. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or Mitch. It wasn’t working. Mitch grabbed her hand and tried to pull her to the street, where the others were. She tried to free herself from his grasp but she couldn’t. 
 
“Let GO.” she said, her voice cracking. “I just want to go inside, please let me go.” Mitch pulled her, as if being pulled by an invisible string that connected him to the street. She pulled her arm the other way, trying to break away. She noticed Cat had pushed the door open and was pacing the porch back and forth. “It’s okay, Cat!” she called behind her, “I’ll be right back!” she reached the street as Mitch placed her next to him. He had let go of her hand, and she rubbed her wrists to lessen the redness. She began to turn around and run back to her house, but was immediately dragged back by multiple people. 
 
“It’s no use- they’ve come for us.” the neighbors said. 
“Who? WHO?” Susan screamed. “There is no one here. We’re alone here, there’s a storm coming and I want to go inside.”
 
“Oh Susan, don’t you see? We’re not alone.” As Mitch turned his body to face the sky, Susan screamed as she saw a beam of light land on the main road in front of them. 
 
They had come. They were here. The residents of Oceanside were not alone. 
 
","August 11, 2023 14:58",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",rzvo1b,PLANET 451.23,Robert W,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rzvo1b/,/short-story/rzvo1b/,Dialogue,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Sad']",4 likes,"
The Commander was at his work station. There was a lot to do. With a sigh, he absorbed the contents of the report he had requested: 
“From the Institute for Space Exploration
To the Commander-in-Chief, Space Exploration.
Honoured Sir,
Planet 451.23
Our brief
You have directed us to investigate this planet, its constituents and life forms, to determine whether it might be profitable for our people to visit it in the name of peace and commerce.
Limitations on our investigation
The subject planet is surrounded by a protective shield.  Probes sent to discover more about the planet have simply burnt out on entry into its atmosphere. Larger vessels have been able to break through, but have then had negative results.  On one unfortunate occasion, of which we believe you are aware, sir, our engineers mistakenly sent a vessel of such size that it extinguished all the life forms on the planet. It took many millennia for the planet to be restored to the level where it could support any life-form.  Emissaries have initially reported success in finding a way round the shield, but have then vanished in circumstances which are still shrouded in mystery. On the other hand, whereas at one time we were able to access information about the planet only visually, we now have access to electronic communications emanating from the planet. These have increased our knowledge of the planet, but have only served to increase our incomprehension of the way of life of its principal life-forms. 
The physical characteristics of the planet 
The subject planet has a circumference of 49 million miles, and a surface area of 197 million square miles. 29% of the planet is land; the remainder is water.   The climate is humid and clearly capable of supporting life, and the flora and fauna, all of which over the years have appeared in abundance. Lately, however, there has been a most regrettable deterioration in the conditions for supporting life, brought about almost entirely by the behaviour of the Custodians (see below), who alone have the ability to control the planet in a constructive way, but frequently behave as a destructive force.
The life-forms 
There are no less than eleven life-forms on this planet. We propose to concentrate on the three most visibly numerous groups.  
1.    The Custodians These life-forms appear to play a disproportionately large part in the actions and preservation of the planet. The name we have given them derives from the key role they have taken upon themselves, although we do not consider that they fulfil that role with any degree of success. They have four protuberances from an oval body topped by a spherical object which appears to contain the sensory centre of the species. They typically stand on two of these protuberances save for the purposes of feeding, resting and procreating. They cannot live on or in water for an indefinite period of time, and have to remain at a steady temperature. Because of their activity, the temperature of the planet is rising each year, thus reducing the area of land on which they can live. Two of the protuberances appear to be for the purposes of self-propulsion, and two for other forms of activity, many of which appear directed to the destruction of other life-forms. Their population is currently 804 million, growing at a rate of 65 million each year. 
 
2.    Quadrupeds These life-forms are limited to living on land. In their natural environment, they dwell in areas different to the Custodians. They have four protuberances, and generally use all four both for self-propulsion, feeding and procreation, thus differing themselves from the Custodians. They and the Custodians appear not to be able to communicate effectively with each other. In those cases where communication appears to be possible, the Custodians appear to be surprised by this, and find it a cause for humour or entertainment. Some of the Quadrupeds are so small that it is impossible, from our limited observation platform, to detect the numbers, but we estimate that they number about 5.5 million. However, their population is decreasing by 68% each year, mainly because of the destructive tendencies of the Custodians, who kill them not only for food but for their own pleasure.  
 
3.    Aquatics These life-forms inhabit the water. They typically do not have any protuberances but are propelled by movements of their bodies, which assume a horizontal posture. Feeding is achieved by simply opening the aperture at one end of their bodies and allowing an inflow of water which apparently contains the nutrients that they need. Again, there appears to be no obvious means of communication between the Aquatics and the Custodians, who clearly believe that it is their right to use other life-forms for their own entertainment and for food, although not necessarily at the same time. Because of the depth of the water on the subject planet, we have been limited in our research, but believe that there are over 2 million Aquatics; however, their population is also decreasing by 68% each year, due to the destructive tendencies of the Custodians and the rise in the temperature of the planet which endangers not only their body structures but their natural habitats.
Mineral Resources
There are mineral resources on the planet which are capable of supporting all the life-forms that the planet contains. However, those resources are being consumed by the Custodians at a rate which, if maintained at its present level, will lead to the destruction of all life-systems. The prime instance is Carbon, an element which is capable of producing the heat that is needed in certain areas of the planet in order for Custodians to sustain the temperature that is required for their existence, for transportation, and, paradoxically, for maintaining the temperature of the planet as a whole. According to our investigators, if current rates of Carbon consumption are maintained, in eight years the temperature of the planet will start to increase to such an extent that the amount of the planet which is uninhabitable will start to increase beyond sustainable limits. The Custodians appear to be aware of what is happening, but seem incapable of any sort of agreement to resolve it. The Quadrupeds and Aquatics must clearly be conscious of the problem, because it is their way of life which is being most affected, but they cannot effectively communicate this to the Custodians, and are dependent on the Custodians to act on their behalf. All too frequently, this simply does not happen. 
The conduct of the life-forms
1.    The Custodians
The Custodians usually live in small groups, often led by an individual who is called the “King” or “President” and who usually appears to be an older member of the group. Different groups appear to have no consistent method of communication with each other. They emit noises which, in places only short distances from each other, are different and have different meanings, so that true communication is impossible. They are of different colours and markings, which result in the deepest possible suspicion of each other. Even Custodians in the same group find it impossible to co-exist peaceably.  They claim to be in general agreement that the unjustified killing or harming of another Custodian is incorrect, but all too often find that “justification” in ways which defy understanding. It seems to make no difference whether they come from the same or different parts of the planet. Millions of Custodians are destroyed every year simply because they have different colours or Belief-Systems (see below). Unimaginable cruelty has been inflicted on each other by Custodians who live in close proximity to each other but harbour an irrational hatred for each other. Worse still, every year they devise more and more horrifying and violent methods to kill or harm each other. Times when one of a Custodian’s upper protuberances is banged against the other can signal a wide degree of accord, although equally, such is the nature of Custodians throughout the planet, it can be a prelude to violence. There appears to be no way of predicting which way they will choose to go. Even where large numbers of Custodians are gathered together in apparent peace, they can start to emit strange sounds and behave in incomprehensible ways in a way which we believe is supposed to be a pleasurable reaction to what is going on in front of them, but which rapidly turns to aggression. We have done our best to ascertain the basis for this behaviour, but have concluded that it defies all logic.
2.    The Quadrupeds and Aquatics
     Quadrupeds have sophisticated hierarchies in which recognised leaders have precedence. Their position is often achieved by violence. Little is known of the society structures of the Aquatics.  What is clear is that each life-form appears incapable of living in peace and harmony with other members of the same group. The Quadrupeds and Aquatics use each other for food, but that appears to be accepted by them as part of what they call the Food Chain, whereas the Custodians destroy Quadrupeds and Aquatics not simply for food but for pleasure. 
Belief-Systems
Many Custodians across the planet have different Belief-Systems. Some revere invisible beings. Some revere objects. Some have no reverence for any being or object other than themselves.  Each group within a Belief-System characteristically exhibits the greatest possible hatred towards Custodians who have a different Belief-System. There appears to be no logical basis for this, as every Belief-System claims to support the concept of peaceful co-existence with all Custodians. Where there is disagreement, this can result in extreme violence in which one group appears to be determined to force its own Belief-System on another. This results in no degree of contentment for either group, but simply an increase in that violence. Those who speak out against that conduct are villified or all too often subjected themselves to extreme violence. Each Belief-System has rules which its proponents are required to obey, but all too frequently, the leaders of each group are guilty of the most extreme disobedience to the rules they espouse, and are rarely held to account for this. The Custodians apparently see no obstacle in their Belief-Systems to the destruction of the Quadrupeds and Aquatics. So far as we are able to ascertain, there is no structured Belief-System among the Quadrupeds and Aquatics
There is one unifying feature of all the conduct of the Custodians. Their motive of each is the acquisition of objects which denote a position of superiority to other Custodians. However, the more they have, the less pleasure they seem to exact from it, causing them to seek yet more pleasure and more wealth, in an ever-decreasing circle. In doing so, they pay no care or attention to the needs of other Custodians or, indeed, any other life-forms on the planet, and those who do are often derided as being of limited intelligence. 
Mitigating Factors
We would not want you, Honoured Sir, to consider that this planet has no redeeming features whatever. Many of the life-forms are of great outward beauty. To their credit, the Custodians treasure them and gather them together either for their own protection or for the purposes of a mutual affection which is heartening to see. Custodians are also capable of some degree of concord, and demonstrate this in different ways. “Music” appears to be a unifying factor, although we have found that appreciation of this differs among Custodians across a wide spectrum. Only in one or two isolated instances has opinion been unified; one particular King (see above) has clearly been revered for his leadership. “Laughter” appears to be another sound of unity which crosses all boundaries, although the conception as to what causes that laughter differs in different parts of the planet. However, it is generally agreed that, where there is laughter, there cannot be hatred. Sadly, the effects of this behaviour are short-lasting, and in no way detract from the general feeling of ill-will that pervades this planet. 
The outcome of this investigation 
It is regrettable, Honoured Sir, that this investigation was not instigated many years ago. This planet had great beauty, and the life-forms could have been trained to co-exist peaceably. However the increasingly unpleasant and aggressive impulses of the Custodians make this now an impossible task, and counter-indicate any peaceful attempt at social interaction with any emissary from our planet. We have come to the conclusion that our resources should be expended in areas where success is more likely to be achieved. 
Your humble servant, Zob Oglic II”
The Commander pulled in his tentacles to their fullest extent. He shut his eye. His elongated frame vibrated in frustration. Yet another failed attempt to find a planet outside their own which was worthy of his attention and that of the millions of Urkunastations over whom he ruled. He sighed at yet another disappointment. Some day, some day, perhaps, but not today.  But as he put his body into sleep mode, he was at least comforted by the thought: “We are not alone”.
 
 
 
","August 11, 2023 15:53",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",e513s8,Shadows of the Ouija,Madeline Honig,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/e513s8/,/short-story/e513s8/,Dialogue,0,['Horror'],4 likes,"
""Why are we doing this, again?"" Mia's voice trembled, her wide eyes fixed on her sister as they sat on the cold hardwood floor in their shared bedroom between the two beds with matching floral bedspreads.  In front of them sat a closet with mirrored doors.  
 
Ridley's lips curled into a mischievous smile. ""Because it's fun, and I found it in Grandma Johnson's attic. I want to know if it's real.  I want to see what the spirits have to say to us."" She glanced toward the Ouija board between them with an eager curiosity.
 
Mia eyed the wooden board skeptically. ""Grandma Johnson’s attic?  You mean the attic that has been collecting junk since the 1800s?” Mia recalled her mother saying that about the attic once and since then that is always how she thought about it.  “What were you doing up there?""  
 
""Yes, that attic.  I was looking for mittens.” Ridley said.
 
“Why would Grandma Johnson’s cat be in the attic?” Mia asked.
 
“Are you trying to put this off?  Come on, don't be such a scaredy-cat,"" Ridley taunted. She placed two fingers on the planchette that sat in the middle of the board, motioning for Mia to join. With hesitation, Mia added her fingers just like her sister, her touch light and cautious.  She had only seen boards like this in the movies.  And in the movies, something bad always happens. 
 
The alphabet on the Ouija board appeared as eerie gothic symbols.  The letters were bold and curvy with numbers and a simple “yes,” “no”, and the most worrisome to Mia was the letters, “Goodbye.”  What did these mean?  Was it that the spirit was done and wanted to leave?  Or does this mean the end of the participant’s lives?
 
The room was dimly lit by an array of candles, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Mia's gaze flickered toward the mirrored closet doors, but the reflected glimmers of the flames unsettled her, and she glanced away.
 
""Now what?"" Mia's voice wavered.  She knew this was a bad idea.  She didn’t know if ghosts were real, but she didn’t care to find out. 
 
""We ask for something,"" Ridley replied, her confidence masking her uncertainty. 
 
“Like for ice cream for breakfast?” Mia asked.
 
""No, not like ice cream for breakfast or anything like that. We're talking to spirits, not Grandma Johnson."" Ridley responded.
 
Mia's voice lowered. ""What about cousin Harper?""
 
""Cousin Harper?"" Ridley repeated, remembering. 
 
“You know.  The one who died.  When I was a baby,” Mia said with a whisper as if not to disturb the spirits that might be listening.
 
“Oh yes, you mean the one who had drowned in the river over by the old mill.  I was so young when she died, I nearly forgot about her.  How did you remember her?”
 
Mia shrugged, “I guess I have been fearful of swimming since you had told me that story.”  
 
Ridley thought back to the nearby community pool over the past summer.  Ridley would meet with her friends there where they would play games like Marco Polo and Sharks and Minos.  She had noticed then that her younger sister never joined the older kids like she commonly did.  Instead, Mia clung to their mother on the edge of the pool in silence.  Ridley figured Mia was being a baby and didn’t want to leave their mother’s side.  But now, Ridley understood it was less about their mother and more about Mia’s fear of water. 
 
""Okay, Cousin Harper it is. Now close your eyes.” Mia said.  Then she changed her voice, dropping it a few octaves, “Cousin Harper, can you hear us?""
 
Silence hung heavy in the room as the girls waited for a response.
 
""Cousin Harper?"" Ridley tried again, her voice deeper and with more authority.
 
""This isn't working."" Mia withdrew her hands, unease creeping over her.
 
Suddenly, a deafening bang echoed through the room as the bedroom door slammed shut. Both girls jumped, Ridley's fingers instinctively lifting off the planchette. The candles were snuffed out, leaving only a faint glow from the single candle still burning beside the board.
 
""Something's not right,"" Mia whispered, her words tinged with fear.  “We are not alone here.” 
 
Ridley tried to suppress her anxiety, but unease gnawed at her. ""It's nothing, just the wind or something.""
 
Mia searched the room with darting eyes to the window above them.  It had been sealed shut by their mother who was desperately trying to keep the heat out earlier that morning.  Mia felt a chill in her spine.
 
The planchette glided across the board without help from the girls.
 
“What does it say?” Mia asked.
 
After it stopped moving Ridley responded, using effort to keep her voice steady, ""Bloody Mary.""
 
The planchette took one last jerky move landing on “Goodbye.”  Mia didn’t need to ask her older sister what that meant. 
 
Mia's gaze snapped to the mirrored closet, her breath catching.  A shiver ran up her spine as she pushed out the words, ""Look!""
 
Ridley's eyes followed, and dread clenched her heart as she saw the ghostly figure—an ancient vision with a nose like a talon, etched wrinkles, and an unsettling aura.
 
“Is that cousin Harper?” Mia asked with a shake in her voice.
 
“No,” Ridley's voice quivered. ""We should go.""
 
But as they made an attempt to stand, they heard an old but steady voice, “Boo.” 
 
Their screams pierced the room as the ghostly presence engulfed them, and their fear consumed them. The Ouija board, a gateway to an eerie world, had brought forth an inexplicable terror.  The girls sat, frozen in place unable to move.  Their terror was too much for either of them.
 
Mia and Ridley's fear had unleashed something beyond their own understanding, leaving them to the mercy of forces they could not control, and leaving them powerless to this unworldly creature. They experienced a fear unlike what most people fear in a lifetime.  All because they dared to summon the unknown from the depths of Grandma Johnson's attic.
 
","August 11, 2023 16:02",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",l85iy9,Living for Sunny,Jessie Palau,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l85iy9/,/short-story/l85iy9/,Dialogue,0,"['Teens & Young Adult', 'Drama']",4 likes,"
The potent stench of bile and vodka was enough to wake Sunny and I, two hours before our alarm. This is not something new for us though, frankly we prefer to wake up before Medusa does. This way we can bolt to our bus stop and escape her wrath or on some days her fraudulent hugs. You see, mother is schizophrenic and Bipolar and with the luck we have, and the cards we have been dealt, she is also an alcoholic. Not exactly a royal flush life.
               In my 16 years of life, the only insights I have into what a happy, normal home should be is through the books I read. Of course, only when time permits me to get lost in the magical words in each chapter. My time usually consists of grocery shopping, laundry, tutoring Sunny and working part time at Dairy Queen. The tips are decent, I make just enough a month to keep the light bill paid. All the same, I look forward to those idle moments where I can satisfy my quench of wishing I lived a different life. I look forward to the orgasmic reverie of living in a loving home, where days end with a hug from my parents and a full stomach. ”Jordan, the bus will be here in 15 minutes! Hurry up!”  Sunny shouts using her inside voice, to not wake up Medusa.
               I rush to throw on my oversized sweatshirt, dirty Fila Sneakers and pick up my knotty hair into a messy bun before heading out the door. Not Sunny though. Sunny will not show up to school looking less than perfect. Her chocolate wavy hair is always perfectly parted down the middle in either a ponytail or braid laced in ribbon. Her school uniform is always clean and well-tailored to her petite frame. Sunny shines, she always has. This is partially my fault, I spoil Sunny because in my eyes, I must put her first. Sunny is my sister, but I have always felt like she is my daughter. I know, it’s shitty for a 16-year-old to have to bear this type of responsibility. 
 SHIT. I forgot my DQ uniform shirt. “Hold up Sunny, I need to get my shirt out of the dryer.” The last time I left my uniform at home, I was forced to use one from the donation box my manager keeps in the walk-in fridge. My nipples were rock solid the entire shift and I smelled like frost bite chicken tenders. I refused to give up my shift knowing that I had 4 days left on the light bill extension. 
               I race through the door trying my best not to make too much noise. My keychains unfortunately did not get the memo. The dingle dangle of the keys was enough to wake her up.” Jordaaaannnnnn. What the hell is going on so early in the morning!”  I can hear it in Medusa’s voice that a few of her head serpents are tangled in a knot. “Nothing, the bus is almost here, sorry to wake you.” Rolling my eyes, I make my way to the dryer and pull my shirt out. Great, the stain is still visible. Fuck my life. I should have known this was going to happen after using dish soap and Colgate toothpaste as detergent. I turn around to bolt when I am greeted with a SLAP. “Why the fuck did you throw away my Titos last night, how dare you! I work for my money, and I can buy whatever I want with it!” Holding my cheek, I could feel the waterworks coming, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction, so I held it in. “Mother do not do this right now. The bus is almost- SLAP “ I received another back hand this time knocking off my glasses. “Do not talk back to me you little shit, the next time you empty out my bottle into the sink, you’re going to wish you hadn’t been born.” The worst part is that she doesn’t even know that I do wish that, daily.
               Walking away and just shutting my mouth has probably saved my life more times than I can count on both hands. I used to get mouthy and spar with her, both verbally and physically hoping that she could wake the F up. I used to have the hope that she would change, that she would get better. As I got older, I learned that having hope is a pavement to disappointment. Medusa had more bat-shit-crazy days than she did good days. On good days our mother cooked breakfast for us. When Sunny and I woke up to the smell of bacon and toast, we knew it was going to be a good day. These good days usually came with a hidden agenda of course, like meeting one of her new boyfriends at the park. But we didn’t care, we took complete advantage of these days and held on to them as tightly as we could. Despite the reasons behind mother being happy, I enjoyed her smile and her laughter on these days. She didn’t have the Vodka smell breaking through her pores, instead she smelled like Daisy by Marc Jacobs. I love that perfume. I guess holding on to the good memories is the only reason I have not waved the white flag and surrendered Sunny and I to child protective services. I can’t bear the thought of being separated from Sunny, CPS as of now is just not an option. Just two more years of this instability hell hole, at least that’s what I tell myself to push through. 
               Slamming the door behind me and rushing to the bus stop, I see Sunny sitting on her book bag. “Let me guess, we missed the bus again?” I yell over to Sunny with my voice trembling and heart racing. I can see the disappointment in Sunny’s eyes. This is all my fault, why did forget my damn shirt in the dryer?  I can feel the blood dripping from my nose, I turn to wipe it with the sleeve of my jacket in hopes that Sunny doesn’t notice. She holds my backpack gently and tugs on it twice to get my attention and turn around. “Jordan, we are not alone as long as we have each other.”  I smile, wipe my tears then hold her hand. She just saved me again.  “Come on, we can still make it before the bell rings if we power walk.”
","August 11, 2023 16:49",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",3kwphs,Operation: ENUD,Zach Buschman,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3kwphs/,/short-story/3kwphs/,Dialogue,0,"['Funny', 'Fiction', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
“We’re not alone.”“What?”I’m staring at the rain drops sliding down the outside of the passenger window, leaning my head against it. “Just something I have to say.”Jacoby, my best friend, looks over and squints at me in abject confusion for what becomes a tense, contemplative ten seconds, during which several possible explanations for why I just said what I said run through my head, though none are satisfactory. Suddenly, at the exact moment the first syllable of bullshit beginning what no doubt would have been an utterly useless response, the phrase “Hello, is there anybody out there?” from Pink Floyd’s ""Comfortably Numb"" blasts out of nowhere from the car speakers, saving me. The joint I keep on me in case Pink Floyd starts playing unexpectedly is lit. Hits and exhales and smoke rings and coughs are blown out in slow motion, in correspondence with the song’s vibe. The speaker’s volume comes down to a reasonable level during the second verse, which is odd since neither of us touched any of the radio’s controls and since the radio is currently turned off. Outside, chaos—in the skies and on land—reigns o’er all. “So you gonna tell me why you said ‘we’re not alone’ like it was something you just discovered that I wasn’t already aware of? Like it wasn’t the exact words the president used today to end his address to the nation? Like, are you just fucking with me orrrr…?” I stare straight forward as he trails off and inhale the joint deeply while considering this. “Well…” He vexes, eyebrows raised.“Well, um…” I begin, blowing smoke out and coughing while handing him the joint back, and I’m thinking: I hope a Led Zeppelin song plays after this.Gilmour’s Strat fades to silence and, all out of favors, my wish is not written.“Look I uh, sometimes I, um, forget what people know and what people don’t,” I say, lighting another joint as the confusion crescendos more intensely over Jacoby's face and thinking on my feet I quickly, for clarification, add: “You know, like in time.” Another pause. Jacoby’s jaw is dropped, dumbfounded. “Like where we are at in the overall timeline.” I continue, drawing an arc in the air with my palm. This clarifies absolutely nothing for him and he looks at me as one might look at a man eating a mouthfuls of rocks.“Maybe no more Pink Floyd joints for you.”I want to enlighten him as to why things aren’t making much sense but what exactly does he want me to say? That I know how this is gonna end? That none of this is real? That no one has freewill? I mean, I could tell him these things, tell him what I know, but then my ending probably will not be of the more peaceful variety. Several orange streaks trailing from what look to be giant balls of fire light up the night sky ahead of us. A few weeks ago I had a dream in which I was told everything. The narrator—who or whatever that is—explained it all to me and then basically gave me the same powers that the spice gives Paul in Dune. If you don’t know what I am referring to go watch the 2021 movie Dune: Part One and if you happen to be reading this in October 2023 or any time beyond watch Part Two after that. Normally if something is a book first I would recommend you read the book, very ironic given the knowledge I now posses, I know, but in this case the movie(s) is (are) better. But for the love of the narrator, do not watch the 1984 one by mistake. You should read that book though. And listen to that album (for track five only). Also that's not to say the Dune book is bad by any means, it’s well worth reading if you’re interested in seeing where George Lucas stole all his ideas from. And if you do like the first one, the sequel—Messiah—is much better. Anyway, I’m not sure where these thoughts are being typed out or if any of my opinions on books or movies or music will be relevant to whatever universe or realm they are now and have always been recorded in, but just in case they are, I’ll throw in one more: the Fight Club movie is way better than the book and the ending makes way more sense with the themes of the story. I just hope the movie made out of my novel is—“Aye, dude, are you fucking alright?” Jacoby, bewildered, snapping his fingers at me. “You were explaining this dream you had where some sort of narrator gave you powers like Paul from Dune? You were about to explain further what exactly that meant then you just stopped talking and stared off into space? Hello?”—He knocks his fist on the dashboard—“What the fuck is wrong with you? What powers do you think you were granted in this dream that are like Paul from Dune? And I’d like you to explain cause’ obviously shit has hit the fan and the only reason I’m in this car with you is because you somehow knew shit about me that only like two people have ever known, so I might be inclined to believe whatever you have to say, but I need to know what the fuck you are talking about right now. What the fuck is Dune? I don’t know Dune. What happened in the dream and what powers are you talking about?” This is not cool. The narrative is changing. I was told not to tell the details to anyone. Now I’m saying out loud what I think are thoughts without realizing it and Jacoby no longer seems to know who I am. His character is being rewritten. Memories are being erased. We saw Dune in theaters together two years ago. Whatever ungodly creatures I am set to heroically destroy (along with everything else) parked their ship in the location I was told they would two minutes from now. I am still unsure if I’m saying any of this out loud.“The spice in Dune basically, for certain people, allows them to see the fourth dimension,” I believe I’m explaining, “It allows them to see time like a river almost, like... imagine a river, on the left is the past, on the right is the future, the center is the present, only in Dune the right side sprawls out in all different directions, Paul can’t see the exact future, just ones that are realistic possibilities based off actions in the present.” I pause, glance back over at him. “You get what I’m saying?”“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. But there’s a problem. What you’re saying is fucking crazy, man. You’re telling me you can see the god damn future? That you had a dream where some guy who said he was 'the narrator' told you you could see the future, and… now you can? Similar to—let me get this straight—powers a character from a 1960’s sci-fi novel receives from inhaling a psychedelic powder called spice? Do I have that right?”“One key difference though.”“And what’s that?”“My river only goes one direction, on the right side. There are no other possibilities. Unless the narrator wants there to be.”Each man’s thoughts in this plane of existence is recorded to a certain degree is what god or what devil or what writer explained to me in my dream. In fact I was told the only thoughts that actually exist are the ones that can be discerned by other beings far into the future. These thoughts are the only things represented from this place, from this time, from me. But the voice warned they are always subject to change. Always at his discretion. He decides who shoots and who drives. Who lives and who dies. Who’s friends or enemies. Who’s heroes or villains. These aren’t things in my world left up to chance. These are things, according to the voice—the writer—that really come down to simply what makes the most sense based off the situation you’ve written yourself into so far.The situation Jacoby and I have been written into involves aliens. We were best friends and then we met by chance instead. I convinced him he was the only one who could help me save the universe through having intimate knowledge on his life that I couldn’t possibly have known. Now we are racing against time to get to the alien's ship which is of course wreaking havoc on major cities across the world. There will be blood, sweat, tears, action, sacrifices made, promises broken and kept, dialogue such as “Let’s give these alien bastards a taste of their own medicine” and “If Glorbashborg the head alien wants a fight then bywellgoshbygolly he’s bloody well going to get one” and “Unnamed main character, I’ve always loved you” and “In order to stop the aliens, you’ve just got to let go” and “JACOBY NOOOOOOOOOO” and “YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH” and “MY LEG, MY LEG” and “DO YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS LARRY?” and when the love interest is introduced “Drop Dead Legs” by Van Halen (track five from 1984, way cooler than “Hot for Teacher”) is played on the sound track followed by “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana as the high schoolers begin moshing the aliens to death and finally “Back in the Saddle” by Aerosmith as our hero, me, literally rides a nuclear missile through the air on a saddle while swinging a rodeo rope wildly above my head (this has never been done before) as I careen towards the alien HQ to put a stop to this once and for all but I know now thanks to my narrator that’s not my real ending my real ending is when the writer stops writing and you, dear reader, stop reading.
","August 11, 2023 17:49",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",yjokit,Elian,Gennadii Seliverstov,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yjokit/,/short-story/yjokit/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Mystery', 'Science Fiction']",3 likes,"
""I feel like we won't go on vacation again this year,"" the woman said, standing by the stove and promptly flipping the smoky piece of toast.
Her son, a little boy who appeared to be about nine years old, was poking his porridge with a spoon, nudging a piece of melting butter that glided across the sticky surface like a small edible ship.
""Let's not talk about that in the morning. Okay?"" the man in a white t-shirt with a telescope print said, grabbing his son's hand abruptly. ""Come on, stop that. Eat faster, or you'll be late for your first lesson today.""
""And when are we going to talk about it then?"" the woman persisted. ""When am I supposed to talk about it, if we only see you in the morning? And then you're busy. Busy around the clock, Eli.""
""Well, stop it,"" he said, uttering it as if it were both a threat and a plea.
""I don't want to stop,"" she said. ""Every time you find some way to justify everything, every time I have to stop. Meanwhile, Eli, our son's doctor prescribed sea air for him. We live in a desert, Eli...""
""Please, Uno, just stop,"" he said, slowly losing his composure, ""let me have breakfast in peace. I need to get to work soon.""
 
The boy was eating his porridge, diligently plunging the spoon into the bowl, tucking his head into his shoulders, and flinching from his father's loud voice.
""I promise you,"" Eli finally said, ""I promise that I'll take a 10-day vacation on my own dime as soon as this month is over. But this month I'm busy because it's the best time to listen to the cosmos.""
""You'd better have listened to your father, Eli, when he offered you to continue his business,"" Uno accidentally blurted out, freezing as she sensed that she had crossed acceptable boundaries.
Eli pushed his plate aside; he had enough patience not to throw it at her. He often had a bad temper in the mornings, and he thought she knew that better than anyone. He counted to ten and the sudden burst of anger that had flared up seemed less significant now. He counted to ten again before turning to his wife.
""My little star, I know that not everything goes as we dreamed before our wedding.""
""Nothing goes as planned,"" she interrupted, but immediately fell silent, seeing the way he looked at her.
""So, I'm saying that not everything goes smoothly, and it pains me. To know that I can't give my family what it deserves. At least the ability to take off and go to that damn ocean.""
 
She gazed at her husband attentively and felt a sense of guilt for what she had said. Uno was a wise and patient woman, but when it came to their son, she didn't always have the patience to stay silent. She knew Eli was a good husband and an excellent scientist, and that his project to study the distant cosmos for signs of intelligent life was the reason he turned away from his father's business, moved to the other end of the country, sacrificed his pride and principles, pounding the doors of the national scientific fund in an attempt to attract private investors. But when conversations like these arose, all that understanding magically disappeared, and she was ready to pounce on him.
""My project, Uno,"" the man continued, ""the work of my entire life, will soon bear fruit. You'll see. And when your little Eli proves to that stubborn scientific community that we're not alone in the universe, then everything will change. Oh, we'll truly live then, Uno! We'll live!""
The man abruptly stood up from the table, scooped up his son, who had just finished eating, under his arms, and started to race around the kitchen with him as if the boy were a pilot with a jetpack. The boy laughed, stretched his arms out to the sides, mimicking airplane wings, and made buzzing sounds through the big gap between his front teeth. Eventually, their improvised flight on another round ended near Uno; they nearly bumped into her when they came to a stop. Eli stood just a few centimeters away from his wife, breathing heavily, a smile still on his face, and he didn't take his tender and pleading gaze off Uno. Their little son alternated between looking at his father and his mother, expecting that, as it had happened before in similar situations, his parents would kiss each other and soon forget about the unpleasant conversation. But this time, Uno took a step back, watching as the smile faded from her husband's face, and she said dryly:
""We're alone, Eli. Your family is alone without you.""
 
The night sky in the bare and scorching desert always seemed to Eli as if it were tethered to the planet's surface by enormous invisible hooks, with stars so close and bright upon it.
In these late hours, when deep silence filled the surroundings, one could hear the heart muscle pumping blood through the vessels, like a second hand ticking away the course of life.
""And she's right,"" thought the scientist, sitting at the table cluttered with massive equipment. ""She's more adapted to life in this world than I am. After all, I do nothing but search for it - this life, while she lives it. Not somewhere on other planets, in other star systems, but here. Here and now.""
Giant radio telescopes, with their heads tilted skyward, gleamed against the backdrop of dark rocks and yellow sand. They were ready to obey any command he gave. The sand, once lifted by the gusty and scorching wind, akin to the Saharan sirocco, now sparkled in the moonlight on the metallic plates of their bodies.
""If they don't approve a new research grant by the end of the year, I'll have to turn to my father, and he's just waiting for the moment when I stumble.""
Eli loved his father and never understood at what point between them this foolish competition - who's better - had emerged. It never even crossed his mind to be the first, and even if hypothetically it did happen, he'd never boast about it to him.
""I've been staring at this section of the celestial atlas for too long,"" the man thought. ""I remember last time I wanted to change the azimuthal angle and use a different algorithm for calculations.""
 
Time after midnight always flowed slowly. The scientist managed to prepare and drink about five cups of coffee before a phone call forced him to divert his attention from diagrams and thoughts about an uninviting future.
The voice on the other end of the line was dry and irritable. From the first sounds, the man immediately guessed who was calling and regretted answering a few times.
""Elian,"" sounded through the speaker, ""Elian, don't pretend you can't hear me.""
There was a brief pause, which Eli interrupted with the words, ""Yes, Dad. I'm listening.""
""We spoke with your wife a couple of hours ago,"" his father began, ""we, meaning me and your mother, if you still remember her existence.""
""Please, don't start,"" the son replied with a tinge of sadness in his voice, feeling himself sink into the back of his chair.
""I'm not starting; I'm continuing,"" came the persistent response from the other side. ""Uno told me things haven't been going well between you lately.""
""Damn her, this woman,"" Eli cursed, ""found someone to call.""
""I'm still here, and I'm not deaf,"" his father commented disapprovingly. ""And I was the one who called her, not the other way around. I called because you...""
The man hesitated but soon continued, ""Because you haven't been able to dial your mother's number for six months and simply say 'hello,' ask her how she's doing, if she's well? Tell her how her grandson is doing. How he's already playing the musical instrument wonderfully. Have you ever put yourself in her shoes? Do you know what it's like for her?""
He seemed to intentionally avoid any mention of himself.
""I won't be surprised, Elian,"" his father said, as if concluding his monologue, ""if Uno takes your son and leaves you.""
Elian was on the verge of exploding, as he often did, which seemed to always be the cause of such swift and infrequent conversations. But at that moment, the second line rang.
Without explaining what was happening and leaving his father without the long-awaited justifications, the man accepted the new call and ended the current conversation.
 
""Redlam!"" exclaimed the scientist, ""you have no idea how glad I am to hear you, my friend!""
""What's with the sudden enthusiasm?"" the other end wondered, taken aback by this unexpected confession.
""Oh, yes,"" he began and was about to retell the entire conversation with his father, but then fell silent and only a few seconds later dismissively said, ""Never mind.""
""But everything is very important to me, Eli,"" Redlam said impatiently, adding, ""And if you're standing now, you better sit down.""
 
""Don't tease me, you son of a bitch,"" Eli chuckled, ""you always start with this long prelude instead of just getting to the point.""
""I want to,"" the voice continued, ""if it's really what I think. I'd like you to...""
""Yeah, are you kidding me?"" the interlocutor asked angrily.
""Just wait a moment!"" the man snapped back, ""I'm talking about the fact that I received a signal, Eli. And I'd like you to double-check it, and then we could announce this discovery together.""
But Eli seemed to have heard nothing more. The phrase ""received a signal"" worked on him like a hypnotic spell, paralyzing all muscle groups and exerting an oppressive influence on his nervous system.
""Redlam,"" the scientist tried to maintain his composure, ""what signal did you receive and from where?""
And then his friend, another quirky astrophysicist just like himself, told him everything, withholding not a single detail. He told him about the unusual sequence of prime numbers. How he demodulated it and obtained it from a short radio burst from a distant galaxy X. How his limbs trembled for the first few minutes, making it difficult for him to dial the correct number from the phone book. And how the sequences repeated, and the man cried over a sheet of paper, diligently jotting down the seemingly unnecessary repetition: 123455, 123455, 123455, 123455. Then came 54532. He lovingly traced each received digit, feeling his cheeks and chin grow wet. Then came a pause, and the radio telescopes, like the eyes of a newborn blinded by darkness, fruitlessly groped the sky. Finally, the continuation followed: 545315, which transformed back into the familiar 123455. And this combination repeated, just like the first time - four times, followed by the codenotion of the number 54532.
And Elian listened to the scientist, whose voice trembled in the telephone receiver, and he understood that this tremor was transmitted to him from a distance. Now he couldn't contain it within his own body, so he pressed the piece of black plastic harder against his ear and bit his lips.
Eli double-checked all the data at least three times. There was no doubt that the signal was of artificial origin and had come from deep space. Its source lay beyond the nebula, in a foreign galactic realm so distant that it nearly touched the edge of the visible universe. There, where dark matter could potentially exist, and where other laws of physics might apply.
To avoid the heavy hangover of a mistaken discovery, Eli immediately ruled out all sources of signals originating from his home planet. These could include amateur radio enthusiasts occasionally interfering with space listening, signals from satellites, microwave ovens, robotic vacuum cleaners, and so on.
He now had to decode the data provided by Redlam using mathematical methods and understand what was encoded in the message.
 
He returned home after three days, by which time a sour odor emanated from him, demanding a change of clothes and a bath.
""Are you okay?"" his wife asked, seeing how her husband forced himself to eat a small portion of porridge, just to have something other than coffee in his stomach.
""I'm fine,"" Eli replied, but his eyes made it clear that he wasn't in the same room with her at the moment, nor even on the same planet. Elian journeyed along the edge of the universe, mentally repeating the distant flight of the radio signal.
""Our son will have his first music exam soon,"" his wife said, and he seemed to emerge from the water, hearing only fragments of her sentences.
""The teacher says he has an innate talent and a very keen sense that allows him to...""
Again, Elian's head submerged beneath the surface of icy water, and his wife's voice turned into the buzz of insects, among which nothing could be distinguished.
""I think he takes after his grandfather,"" Uno said as they resurfaced, and Elian unconsciously nodded in agreement.
 
In the neighboring room, their son was playing a musical instrument. He played a simple melody very diligently, carefully coaxing sounds from the strings, which gently spread throughout the half-empty house.
""I don't know what we've found,"" the scientist suddenly spoke.
""What?"" Uno asked in surprise, even though she had heard perfectly well. His unexpected confession caught her off guard as she had been talking to him about their son's achievements.
""You didn't hear me?"" Elian looked sternly at his wife and raised his voice, asking, ""I said I don't know what we've found. We have prime numbers, their sequence, like a cipher, and a riddle concealed within them. But damn it, history provides so many examples where millennia were required for a simple answer.""
""Perhaps it's some kind of nursery rhyme,"" the woman suggested, which amused him. But it wasn't a kind laugh; it was the kind born from witnessing foolishness.
""We know that there's a message hidden in the numbers,"" Eli condescended, ""something like an image, a shape, or maybe the structure of DNA, a star system. Maybe it's coordinates or plain text, like, 'Hey, we're here! Hello, world!' That's our assumption. 'We,' meaning me and Redlam, try to match each number to some kind of symbol. But none of it has worked so far.""
The woman listened silently, understanding that in the moment of revelation, it wasn't the best time to offer any predictions or interject with her own guesses.
""We haven't received anything for the past 48 hours. The signal that might have been broadcasting to us idiots for decades could have been detected by us only at its very end. We managed to catch it right at the curtain, Uno.""
 
She could see his lips trembling, like those of a child who had been punished and had their favorite toy taken away. She wanted to hug him, but she hesitated to do so.
""We're late, Uno, and we don't even understand what we're late for.""
 
The door to the room opened, and a slender boy appeared on the threshold, just as thin as his peers. His dark, curly hair mischievously fell into his eyes, and his miniature nose twitched, pulling in transparent droplets of runny nose.
""I can't play the notes in the right sequence,"" the child admitted, and teardrops sparkled in his eyes.
And then, like a lightning bolt, an idea struck Elian, who rushed toward his son and lifted him high above his head. The boy, startled by the sudden movement, flinched and let out a squeal, echoed by Uno.
""You're my first discoverer!"" the man shouted, looking up at his son's smiling face. ""My little genius! Of course, why didn't I realize it sooner?""
Elian twirled the little wunderkind around the room, and Uno laughed through her tears, covering her face with her hand.
""Notes!"" Elian continued, his excitement uncontained, ""they encoded notes into each digit! And they gave us the signal frequency to understand the pitch and duration of these notes!""
Then the scientist seated the boy at the table, rushed to fetch an instrument, and ceremoniously presented it to the future maestro. He disappeared again, but this time the noise of his search emanated from the parents' bedroom. When he returned, he held a pen and a sheet of paper in his hands.
His wife watched him with a mixture of triumph and reverence. In those moments, he was everything to her: a genius, a deity, a prophet.
""Alright, let's assume,"" the scientist began, his speech quick, ""we have the digit 1, and it corresponds to...,"" he tapped his forehead with the pen cap, as if contemplating, and then continued, ""it must correspond to the sound of the note 'C'. If it's 'C', then the digit 2...""
He took a deep breath, the veins on his temples bulging with the effort he was putting into this.
""The digit 2 corresponds to the sound of the note 'D', and the digit 3 corresponds to the sound of the note 'E'.""
 
For half an hour, Elian hastily composed the melody of the first and then the second part of the message. With the finished piece in hand, he turned to his son.
""Play this for me. Please, my dear, play this song for Daddy,"" he requested.
The boy looked at his father's scribbles, wrinkled his nose, pressed the instrument against his shoulder, and nuzzled his cheek against the cool wooden body of the instrument. The vibrations of the strings produced a delicate melody that flowed through the room, sad and pure, like crystalline snowflakes.
 
Elian listened to it, tears streaming down his cheeks. When they went to bed, he clung to his wife's body with the intensity of a newborn, burying his cold nose in the curve of her armpit.
""This is their final requiem,"" the man said with difficulty, ""a funeral song in the name of the demise of their entire civilization. It's like a cry for help, meant only to reveal themselves, not to save.""
","August 11, 2023 17:52","[[{'Gennadii Seliverstov': 'Elian gazed at the beautiful face of his wife, hair tucked behind her ear. He gently freed a strand of hair caught in the corner of her lips and tenderly kissed the spot.\n""It\'s like rejoicing over a newborn child whose heart suddenly stops beating,"" he continued, and for the first time in many years, he repeated the vow of love he had composed for his wife long ago.\nShe held him even closer, stroking the uneven terrain of his head, her three fingers sinking into his thick hair. The scientist savored each touch and responded with kisses.\n\n""Ju...', 'time': '17:53 Aug 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",im7kva,THE STREET SIDE,Debbie Curtin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/im7kva/,/short-story/im7kva/,Dialogue,0,"['Adventure', 'Suspense', 'Thriller']",3 likes,"
Dale Street was the name. Taking down lowlifes was his game. Today was no different. Dale was always aware of the back alley ways and who came and went. What was moved, what stayed. Faces were the symbols of the neighborhood. It was part of the bigger picture and the real reason he was a trash man. He had kept a low profile when this assignment had him move into a small neighborhood near to the questionable area on the radar. No one knew any more about him other than what he presented when he would, say, step outside and venture over to get his mail, put out the trash or maybe have a random chat with a neighbor. His manner was casual and friendly, no more, no less. He did not have a significant other with him and no one pried into his personal business. His story, when asked, was that he worked as a computer geek from home for a made-up company. He would venture out to locations across the country on occasion to meet up with clients. This was not true but he needed to maintain a middle of the road image. So far, so good, until today. He never shared the Dumpster Digs side as this was no one's business to know. 
Street was just your average Joe when he headed out this morning to his other day job, albeit with a different face for the crowd. Thankfully, today was to be the day Dale would be getting the call as to his next assignment. It has been four long years where he has been shoveling shit, literally, for a business where he took out the waste that people left in the dumpsters behind the fancy restaurants on the Golden Coral boardwalk in Soho. The business owners wanted nothing to do with who, what, or why landed in their behind the scenes or back stage areas. Their glitzy glamour show was only visible out front for the hoity-toity to linger and grace the center stage of each establishment. The stuff found out back was beyond garbage and Dale encouraged the scavengers picking through to just take their time. This usually happened a good hour before his daily duty for Dumpster Digs began. His purpose was to focus on the vibe he felt with people, things, vehicles, etc. going on in the area. Scrounging was sad but a part of life for many people. One guy who he saw more often than not, always showed up at the crack of dawn. The reason seemed obvious. First dibs and best pickings was the way it was for each and everyone. Whatever your version of those top prizes were, was, what it was. Maybe there were gourmet leftover scraps of food, a bottle tossed with remains of dregs of fine scotch, and a family of rats to bargain for it all. Beyond all that, the two of them had a friendly vibe going and when each spied one another somewhere along the way, each doing their own thing, they just rubbed fingers together. It was 'I got this', you first, then, 'me'. It was friendly and Dale opted to be the better person to help out. 
Back in his neighborhood disguise, Street was putting together the latest intel of a notorious drug cartel that was using a local shop to get their products into delivery crates. These were then packed up, sealed, and put aboard a freight truck, destination unknown. It seems that they had a system where the long hauler only had an address to get to where another driver would be waiting with a clue to the next point of contact. This rouse was thought out with extreme perfection with those who had their 'A' GAME. Street needed to coordinate the target spot with his TRACE app. He figured every angle of this 'game' hacking into their intel using his government codes. A ship was due to arrive in the nearby port with an estimated time frame close to midnight. Extreme chaos happening like a new action video game, was taking over Dale's mind. This is when he decided to pause for a moment and looked out the window. There were a few neighbors he noticed laughing and having a good time just talking away. One held a beer and cheered to the others. For some odd reason, they looked to Dale's house, motioned with subtilty and seemed to talk amongst themselves. An occasional chin nod seemed to keep the conversation quiet with fingers pointing in his direction. This guy was not who he appeared to be as he played the good neighbor. The moment passed and the guy waved them to his place and they did not hesitate to follow. The evening was winding down and Street sat back with a hand to his forehead. Then he swore out loud, got up, strode to the fridge, and grabbed a tall pale ale. With a creak, he shoved the screen door open and sat on his front step. Who cares? I need a moment. This agenda was becoming more consuming of his life and Street started to question all of it. Not the game itself, as he called it, but how it was sapping his every day life. Was this all that he lived for or was it more of something expected of him? 
He took a heavy swig and Stellar was soon in his thoughts as she often was lately. He could never forget her smile, passion and zest for life. She had been gone or purposely disappeared now for over a year from their last gig. It proved to be a major take down within the drug market that the two worked together deeply undercover to fight the good fight in many ways. They were part of the same intel team. On occasion the two would be paired up as a couple when necessary in whatever game was do to unfold. They would be sent on an 'errand' and end up on the chosen location. There they would engage in the local scene by blending in, but working to feel the heat. One day Stellar met Dale at a prearranged dinner party. It was a fund-raiser for the local Boys & Girls Club. The two could relate with this need as they grew up with being the kids in this type of group. The invited guest list were ones on the top shelf in the community. How Stellar and Dale made it to the list, was only through someone who knew someone. This would be their last time together. There was more happening at this particular event behind the scenes. It was bigger than the fancy unique appetizer assortment, gourmet farm-fresh dinner, and specialty dessert ensemble combined. They were on it. 
It was the best time ever in a long time to relax for a split second or two for Stellar and Dale. While enjoying an after-dinner cocktail in the gazebo, the two noticed that the kitchen was changing their staff. When and why this was happening was what they expected as it signaled more of the behind the curtain event changing up. This was deliberate and there seemed to be a stern added demeanor from management. It was timely noted as the clock was ticking. Dale briefly interrupted the moment and offered a hand to his lovely co-worker. ""Hey, Stellar. You needed to find the powder room, right? The bidding event starts in five minutes."" Dale looked at his date, winked, and gave her the 'I know you can do this' look. She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek with an added message, ""We're not alone."" Her subtle look said it all. She was working her own angle. What she knew was beyond his level as that was her strong suit. He knew when to give her space to find the game winning puzzle piece. 
As soon as Stellar disappeared from view, Dale was approached by two men in suits. They were the security staff of the event and the organizers had a few questions. ""We need you to follow us."" They were vague in the request as it seemed that the organizers of The Boys & Girls Club fundraiser wanted his personal information; why he was there, who he came with, where his tickets were acquired. Basically, name, rank and serial number. This was not good. They left the keynote main event area and proceeded upstairs to another suite. Dale put on his game face as they headed down the hallway. In the distance there was a janitor cleaning the area. He recognized him immediately as it was his buddy from the back alley Dumpster Digs moments. A cautious glance by this guy, added to Street's determination to play this out to the max. But it registered intensely when the janitor, with purpose, subtly rubbed his fingers together. It was, 'I got this'. Immediately, Dale knew there was a security layer to this person and gestured discretely back. The suits had no clue. 
Where was Stellar? He knew to look for the message she would casually send in a random location. But now, there was a change in the matrix that he needed to adjust and play the victim. He threw top names at them to push the right cards. It worked for a minute until someone appeared out of the shadows. ""Well, well. Look who it is."" It was one of his neighbors, the one who raised a beer one late afternoon and everyone followed him to his place. What was going on? This guy grinned like the creepy Jack Nicholson in one of his many cleverly made up movie characters. 
A new game was on. Bring it.
 
 
 
 
","August 11, 2023 23:56",[]
prompt_0026,"Write a story that includes someone saying, “We’re not alone.”",0cbxzq,Into the Unknown,Miller George,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/0cbxzq/,/short-story/0cbxzq/,Dialogue,0,['Science Fiction'],3 likes,"
Another day is almost over. Rosita doesn't know how many of those she has left as she sits in her rocking chair on her porch. She loves watching the sunsets from her porch. Unfortunately, since she lost her eyesight last winter she couldn’t even see those. Nevertheless, she found solace in rocking on her chair feeling the last few sun kisses on her face. Thankfully, she can still feel them. She hears Canela sigh loudly next to her. “Don’t be sad preciosa . I am still here. You can sense it I know.” The dog rubs her face against Rosita’s knee and then rests her big muzzle on it waiting to be petted. “You have been doing this every day this week. You know as pretty as you are, I am sure heaven will be prettier. I will wait for you there I promise.” Canela takes her muzzle away lies down on the porch and sighs loudly. Rosita smiles. “You did not like that huh? It is depressing I know. Poor girl, you have to spend your days with me. Don’t worry, Alma will take care of you.”“It’s a quiet day today huh girl.” As if on cue, suddenly, a large murder of crows flies over the house followed by an even larger flock of birds. Canela perks up immediately and starts barking. “Calm down Canela, it’s just some birds flying.” Way too many damn birds, she thought. But Canela does not stop barking. She is now on full alert staring at the big field across the porch. “Okay now settle down Canela, they are gone. Jeeze what’s the matter with you ?” The dog, however, does not stop. She is getting louder. A second later, the dog leaps from the porch to the yard and takes off while Rosita yells at her to stop to come back. Rosita could tell from all the barking that Canela was running farther and farther away from her. Then all of a sudden she stops barking as if she ran into a wall of silence. Rosita gets up from her chair and tries to listen intently but strangely everything is in complete silence. She walks two steps forward with her little cane still while calling Canela but the silence continues. A faint whimper stops her in her tracks. Desperate and now definitely scared she screams for Canela as loud as she can. In her desperation, Rosita takes another step unintentionally and loses her balance off the stairs of her porch. Out of mercy, her brain decides to give her a break and she becomes unconscious immediately. Canela never returns. Alma knew she shouldn’t have picked up tonight’s shift. She hated working with Dr. West. He is always pompous, and condescending and slept with half of the nurses on 20 East, the top floor where she works, despite him being married with two children. She couldn’t see what anyone saw in him. He is only nice to the nurses he flirts with and a jerk full-time to everyone else. To top it off, Jessica, let two IVs run dry which means she now has to do that on top of everything else. Now, there is yelling and screaming in the hallway. A middle eastern man was screaming at Nicole, the nurse tech, who was now standing next to Alma in tears. Alma calls security and walks furiously towards the Middle Easter who starts yelling as soon as he sees her to which she snaps back:“Sir, either you calm down or security is coming to escort you out.”“Do not tell me to calm down. My mother was supposed to go home two hours ago and we are still waiting. So instead of telling me to calm down, go do your job.” He yells back while pointing his finger. “Okay, I am not dealing with this.” She turns around as security guards are coming. She looks at them and shakes her head. “We got your back Alma.” One of them says. She walks back to the station and looks at the chart for room 607. Sure enough, there has been an order for discharge issued almost three hours ago. God damn it, Jessica, she thinks. She orders two new IVs and walks to the room to discharge the patient when the electricity goes out. Now what, she mutters to herself. She stands in darkness for a few seconds before the emergency generators kick in. She goes back to the station and by the time she is back, there is already a notification that there was a major problem at the hospital. Messages were already sent to the emergency managers on-site along with the Chief Operating Officer.“Another day in paradise.” Remarks Trisha, another nurse and former lover of Dr. West“You got that right.” Responds Alma without looking. “This place is going down I swear. It’s not even storming out and we can’t have some damn electricity,” remarks Trisha. I didn’t hear you complaining when the doctor was on top of you. Thinks Alma but does not say anything. “Are you okay?” Asks TrishaI will be better if you leave me the fuck alone. Is what she wanted to say but she tells her she is tired. Trisha takes the hint and finally stops talking and for a couple of minutes it is quiet except for the sound of tapping on the keyboard by both nurses. Then, a sound of sonic booms begins. From the top floor of the hospital, the thunderous booms are extremely loud and deafening. Not too soon after, explosions start. They are distant but close enough to be heard. “What in the fu. . . .” Trisha is cut off by a massive explosion from a plane that crashes into the northern part of the building. There is something insane going on and no one knows what is happening. Chaos follows. People, both patients and their families begin running while screaming. Some nurses try to stop them but it is futile. Sirens are going off outside as explosions continue. Alma runs to the windows at the end of the hallway and what she sees terrifies her. It is a scene from the end of Days. Buildings are on fire near and far with smoke and fire in every direction. TVs in rooms and hallways begin displaying the Emergency Broadcast System directing people to stay indoors and avoid the outdoors. Fuck that, Alma thinks as she heads to the stairs when she sees Dr. West running to the door. He looks at her and tells her to stay back with the patients. Without a moment of hesitation, she tells him “Go fuck yourself you hypocritical fuck” and turns towards the stairs running. Stunned, he stays there for a second before someone pushes him over to get to the door. The whole way down the world seems to be shaking, there are sounds of glass breaking, emergency lights flickering and people trampling over each other. Alma, stops several times to help people up and holds onto their hands while going down the stairs. Once she gets to the parking lot she realizes she doesn't have her car keys. Shit shit shit shit. How is she going to get to her grandma? She looks at all the cars taking off and starts knocking on some windows to take her along but no one stops. She keeps running next to the cars hoping that someone would help but again nothing, A minute later, she is thankful that no one did. As the cars are driving, a giant wave of blue laser-like light comes down from the sky and crushes every vehicle driving as if they are soda cans. Alma and several other people gasp and scream. What the hell was that? Oddly, cars that are parked are unharmed. Alma spots a bicycle inside of a pick up truck parked. She runs toward it before anyone sees it and picks it up and starts peddling. For the rest of her arduous biking trip, these waves continue everywhere around Alma. There is so much destruction in such a short period. As far as she can see there are no more passenger planes or army jets. Alma tries to process what was going on. This could not be a terrorist attack or another country. This has to be out of this earth. The thought is terrifying. She has to get to her grandmother as soon as she can. While she is thankful that her grandma is not close to the city, the pedaling is taking a toll on her legs. As she gets closer, she becomes more worried about her grandma. There are houses abandoned with open doors, bags, and luggage on roads and driveways as she passes by. She starts pedaling even harder than before. When she finally arrives home her heart sinks as she notices her grandmother lying on the ground not moving. Alma jumps off the bicycle and runs towards her grandmother. She feels her breathing still and immediately starts crying in relief. A few seconds later, her grandmother regained consciousness. “Why are you crying mijita? And why are you home so early? You barely left.” Rosita asks why still lying on the floor. “What happened Abue? How did you fall? Are you okay?” Alma responds with her own set of questions while helping her grandmother up. Rosita is about to respond when she suddenly remembers.“Canela! She ran away! I think something happened to her. She was barking and barking and then took off. I tried to call her back but she never returned. Please, please Alma go check if she is okay.” “Oh Abue, you don’t know. . .” “ I don’t know what ?! Is Canela okay?” “ Oh, I don’t know Abue. I haven’t seen her. I hope she is okay. Maybe she saw something that scared her.” She tries to reassure her grandmother but she is not able to sound convincing. “ Abue .. . Do you still have the key to Tio’s house?” She asks as she goes through the pantry frantically trying to pick up every can, and every packaged item they have.“ What? Why? Alma … we need to find Canela. What’s the matter with you? And what are you doing in the kitchen?”Then another wave hits. This one is not so far away and Alma could hear the cacophony of destruction mixed with screams. “What was that? Alma…. What is going on?”“Abue…. there is just a lot going on right now and we need to get out of here.” “Out of here? Why? I’m not leaving my home, especially without Canela.”“Grandma! We are not alone. Okay? There is some type of Alien shit going on and people are dying. Lots and lots of people are dying. So, por favor ayudame.” “A.. Aliens?” Rosita makesthe sign of the cross. “Dios Mio! De que hablas mija? No no no . . Voy a misa y creo en dios, pero no to these . . . these aliens.” “Well that’s too bad grandma. Aliens don’t care if you go to church or what you believe in. They are here and they are killing everyone.”“No creo. . . This is not God’s plan.”“GOD’s plan? My dad left my mom before I was born. My mother died giving birth to me. I had medical issues my entire childhood but forget all that. I just saw people getting crushed in their cars like sardines, and planes falling from the skies and you are telling me about God’s plan? There is no plan and there is no God. Now do you still have the key to Tio’s house?” Fifteen minutes later, they are both walking down the street surrounded by darkness. Alma is carrying a duffel bag with food and everything she thought they needed. She isn’t really paying attention to the destruction they are walking through, or the fact that the ground and the grass was slowly turning into this dark metal, or the terrified eyes behind windows that show up every now and then. She is engulfed in guilt by what she told her grandmother. The world is ending and she managed to make her grandmother cry. Rosita is right next to her walking in tears. She feels devastated for Canela but mostly for those terrible things Alma said to her. She wonders long she has been holding that inside of her. Rosita knows that’s not how she raised Alma. They went to church every Sunday, celebrated all the holidays from dia de la Virgen de Guadalupe to Epiphania. Rosita isn’t really worried about these aliens. She is spending her last few days on Earth anyways. She wanted to stay in her house, feel the sun on her face, smell her roses and not hide in a bunker. But, she didn’t want to be selfish and keep Alma from saving herself. Is it really saving yourself if you are hiding under ground? She wonders. It doesn’t matter. She is going to take care of her to her last breath.In the far distance, the dark skies suddenly radiate by thousands of circular lights, A booming sound shakes the ground beneath them. Alma looks around. They are not too far from her uncle’s house. She tells her grandma that they need to move quickly. Out of the corner of her eye, the light of hundreds of missiles lights up the sky even more as they target the alien circles of lights. It seems the military is still putting up a fight. Sadly, the missiles are swallowed by some type of a halo and disappear into the abyss of darkness as if they never existed. Less than a second later, another wave demolishes that whole area. Through the light of annihilation, Alma gasps as she observes the transformation of everything around her. Earth is turning into a dark, fallen, and desolate planet in front of her very eyes. Their chance of survival is obsolete. Humans are clearly outmatched. Alma lets out a tear which opens the gate to a waterfall. Rosita grasps her hand. “There is no hope, Abue” “Mija, believe in God or don’t, that’s your thing. I can’t tell you what to believe in. You know the doctors told my mother I was not going to live past five years old. Then they told me I won’t have babies. I’m seventy-eight and I had two beautiful children and three amazing grandchildren. You say no hope. Pero, with Dio, nada es impossible! He has ropes, bridges, tunnels, and ladders for whatever hole we dug ourselves in. Inside all of us there is unbelievable power. We just have to believe. Your abue knows. Now take me to this bunker.” Before Alma could protest, Rosita grabs her hand and pulls her. Alma wipes the tears and follows her grandmother to the unknown that lies ahead. 
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