SF Drabble #457 "Birdshot"

Eight years in the can between Proxima and Epsilon Eridani, eight years of nothing but maintenance and exercises and anxiolytics.

Before I left, they threw me a send-off party, but we all knew it was a wake: there's no coming back from something like this. Knowing it was one-way, that was a choice Ellie didn't get to make.

Less than a year, ten thousand ball bearings going ninety-three percent of c are going to rip into that planet, the one they took from us, and after them, this ship. Somewhere down there is Ellie's grave, but there's no helping that.

SF Drabble #456 "Forward"

I'm right where I'm supposed to be, at least I think I am. No one saw me appear, the alley was obscured by this big container, seems to be some sort of combination recycling bin and vending machine. Guy was holding his phone against it, gave me a sheepish look as I passed him, said, "Low battery."

Then a cop yelled at me for not following the lines. There's different-colored lines on the sidewalk. Oh, and the cop's a robot.

Lots of changes, and I don't know enough to get along. I need to find a way to catch up.

A Breaking Of The Circle

Daughter cautioned, "They have plans."

"Of course they have plans. We have our own. This is how it's done." Mother grinned, explained, "But we'll know their plans the very moment they do."


Mother continued stirring, watching the darkening color, feeling the thickening consistency, drinking in the developing smell, waiting for the parts to become the whole.

"I ask how. I mean no disrespect."

"We have eyes everywhere. In the town, in the wood, in barns and workshops, in their very houses." Mother tasted the end of the spoon. "There, it's ready."

"What if they have eyes as well?"

"They do. Of course, they do. That is also how it's done. Here, drink this." Mother lowered a cup into the brew, lifted it out full to the brim, and held it out to Daughter, who swallowed it in one draught, without question.

"What is it?"

"Poison. For the enemy's eyes."