Search and Destroy by Sara Travis

Android SID: 94371101
Date: 07.08.2092
Broadcasting transmission – Ragnorak Intelligence Fields, Moscow

This is General Kingston speaking. The year is 2074, and this message is for all military personnel still active. The war continues. We have suffered great losses. But our hope remains intact. When you first enlisted to fight for our cause, I’m sure a great many of you imagined what it might be like here, at the frontline. I am sure the reality is somewhat different. But know this; your countries, your families, your makers – they are proud of you. 

Our enemies are strong. Resilient. Effective. They have struck our armies. Our homes. Our families. They are in the oceans, and the skies and in the very air we breathe. But we are stronger. We are more resilient, more effective. And we will not go down without a fight. 

To our able-bodied men, women, and androids, your orders are as follows. 

Re-group with your comrades north of the border. Seek out any signs of intelligence life, human or otherwise, and destroy it. Await further instructions.

I believe we are a better species for having fought this war. Someday, the rest of the world will see that, too.
This is General Kingston, signing off.

Day Eighteen

And today's prompt is...

Search and Destroy

Nuclear Family by James D. Irwin

We look out for each other in the shelters. We're not a traditional family, but those of us who survived have a saying: radioactive waste is thicker than blood.

Nuclear Family by Lesley Whyte

I shouldn't be sitting here. Night will fall soon and that's one of the rules - never stay out after dark. Not if you want to live 'til morning anyway. But I was sifting through the books, pulling out pages to burn on the fire if it gets cold enough that it's a choice between lighting a fire and freezing to death. It's headed that way. It's been getting colder for weeks.

Ma always used to laugh at the term "nuclear family." When people said we were a nuclear family - which meant two parents, two kids, usually a dog, too, though ours died when I was six and Ma said we couldn't get another one - she'd laugh and say "this family isn't nuclear, it's toxic." People would laugh but I didn't really get it. I was going through the library books and found a cover with that exact line written on it. I felt the tears welling up and bit them back, biting down hard enough on my tongue to draw blood. Being found was one thing. Being found in a sobbing heap on the floor was quite another.

I ripped the cover off that book but left the pages, tucking it back into its place on the shelf. I stashed the cover in my bag and started tearing up bibles instead. There was no religion anymore and they had a lot of fucking pages. There were no families either, but I left all the books with happy families on the cover well alone. Bibles it was.

Nuclear Family by Sara Travis

“If they’re thinking they can threaten us with bombs, they got another thing comin’.” says Daddy from the top of the table. His pie sits untouched to the side of his plate, maps and papers covering the surface. 

I force the remnants of the rabbit pie from my teeth with a toothpick and lean over to get a better look.
“So, what are we gonna do, Daddy?” 

Daddy smiles so wide I can see the teeth at the back of his mouth, sparkling, pearly whites.
“We’re gonna act first, dammit. We’re gonna drop a nuke on their ass.”

Mama drops her cutlery to her plate with a clatter.
“Boys, for the last time – I don’t like you talking war at the dinner table. Joey, eat your greens.”

Nuclear Family by Solomon Blaze

The Devil takes you Hand;

God takes your Soul.

‘Cause your down this hole,

All alone...

If a Crow flies straight,

Then where’s the road?

Because I’m tired,

Of all this pointless Rock n’ Roll.

It’s all about:

Heart

And Soul,

And Love

And Hate.

‘Be a Man and take the pain.’

So Everything else can stay the same...

Nuclear Family by Nick Trussler

‘Could you pass the potatoes please darling?’

My father asks, though the words come out muffled through his radiation suit.

I pass what I think are the potatoes but when you have three eyes, purple skin and no tongue everything looks and tastes the same. Sometimes it’s hard being part of a Nuclear family.

Day Seventeen

And today's prompt is...

Nuclear Family

The Fear by Solomon Blaze

Adec - with his blood red hair, aqua eyes and freckle strewn face - loved Aokigahara Forest at this time of year; the warmly humid, moist air; the clouds engulfing the entire path for hours on end; the majestic animals that stared at him with an apathetic curiosity.

Yes, with nothing more than a bag full of Rice Wine and dumplings; a sword swinging from his hip, perfectly aligned to his hands, life was good. The great mountains stretched up into the sky as if to touch the heavens; the water was always beyond crisp; the never ending and ever bustling plant and animal life brought an exhilaratingly, orchestral atmosphere to the whole place. Frogs croaking, Pandas yawning, Elk galloping through the trees; Adec reflects upon the beauty of his road and deems it fitting, that this place be one of the most famous suicide hotspots in the entire world.

The high pitched wail of pain sort of smashed that atmosphere.

The Fear by James D. Irwin

Danny joined a support group to confront his crippling phobia, but suffered a panic-induced heart attack as soon as the group leader spoke to him. 'Welcome to Hippopotomonstrosesquipedialophobia Anonymous' was the last phrase he ever heard.

The Fear by Sara Travis

“Smell it. Feel it. Touch it. Taste it. 

You know what that is? It’s fear. It hangs from the cobwebs on the walls. It loiters in the shadows in the corners. It’s in the rusty stains on the carpet, the blood spatter up the curtains, the putrid stench in the stale air. 

We don’t know what happened here. Not for sure. Some say he killed her. Chopped her up into little pieces and hid her in the pipes in the walls. Others say she fell asleep in the rocking chair next to the fire and went unnoticed for months and months and months. That when they eventually found her, she’d rotted to dust. Some say she didn’t die here at all – she just disappeared. All I know is this; there’s a chill in the rooms at Lewisham House. It’s not natural. I’ve seen things. Books that vanish from one room only to turn up in another. The creak from the rocking chair echoing round the house. Mirrors that fall from the walls. Plates smashed to bits on the kitchen floor. And writing … writing all over the skirting boards. I won’t lie to you, the place needs some work. But with the right touch, I think you could turn this into a lovely family home. Would you like to see the garden? It’s got a veranda to die for, and a gorgeous cherry blossom right at the far end. Plenty of room for a swing set or two! Shall we?”

The Fear by Lesley Whyte

It stalks through the house like a panther. It creeps over the walls, chilling them like a cave. It sneaks up the stairs, making not a sound.

In this house, this old house, the dark is a tangible thing. A constant presence. An endless nightmare.

It is coming.

It is not alone.

Day Sixteen

And today's prompt is...

The Fear

Wild One by Sara Travis

Don’t trust him, they said. He’ll hurt you. You’re too good for him. He’s a wild one, that one. You don’t know what you’ve let yourself in for. He’s dangerous.

The first time he hit me, I told myself it was one off. I’d goaded him into it, so it was my own fault, really. It stung like hell. He stared at his hand as though it had acted independently of him. And he apologised straight away, so I know he didn’t mean to. He just lost control.

The second time he hit me, I split my lip open. He apologised and apologised, and he held a cold towel to my face and he kissed my brow and he promised it wouldn’t happen again. And I believed him.

The third time he hit me, I’d burnt the dinner. And I mean, he’d worked a long shift, he was expecting a decent dinner, and I cocked it up. So that time it was definitely my fault. He didn’t say sorry, though. He just stormed out the flat, almost ripping the door from its hinges.

The fourth time he hit me, my head snapped back into the door frame, and I was knocked out cold. When I came to, the flat was trashed. The dinner table had been overturned. The stuffing ripped out of the sofa. Books torn from the shelves. Bryony from next door was hovering over me, so I told her I didn’t know what had happened. That maybe we’d been burgled.

The fifth time he hit me, he beat me to a pulp and I was in hospital for a week. He played the part of worried husband, didn’t stray from my side once. He told the police he’d found me like it at home, that we’d been burgled quite recently, maybe the two incidents were connected? I did as I was told and kept to the story, but I realised I was afraid of him now. And I didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

So the sixth time he hit me, I hit him back. I swiped at his face with my nails, I bit his arms as he held me down, I spat in his eye as his sweaty face loomed over me. And when it was over, when I’d straightened my dress and cleaned myself up, I drove a kitchen knife into his chest. And I don’t regret it one bit.

Wild One by James D. Irwin

I moved into the flat about three years ago. The landlord had warned me that I would be sharing with another tenant, and the he was ‘a bit of a wild one.’ I was grateful for the warning, but I assured him that I had probably had worse in my university Halls.

However, to call my new room-mate ‘a bit of a wild one’ proved to be something of an understatement. To my great surprise I found myself living with the famed feral child of the Utomugo River. He had been discovered living amongst panthers or cougars or something in the early 1990s. He had been brought back to Britain to be civilised and properly cared for. Of course he was a little older now, but it was unmistakably him. He wore only a loin cloth, and a soiled but fashionable t-shirt.

I extended my hand in friendly introduction. The feral child (I never did learn his name) sniffed my palm nervously, whimpered, and then urinated in the far corner of the lounge. This was apparently something of a favourite pastime for him.

Whilst he had been taught to walk upright, and could grasp and enjoy basic cable television, he was in all other areas distinctly feline in attitude and manner. In many ways he was the worst chap I ever roomed with. He was a messy eater, completely uneducated, and prone to defecating on the furniture. Of course you couldn't say anything because it was the way he’d been brought up. He was also incredibly poor company on the social scene--- unable to hold neither conversation, nor his drink.

But somehow I can still only look back fondly at my life with ‘the wild one.’ We were clearly both two very different people, but in time we developed something that was a vague approximation of a friendship. In my first few months at the flat he would try to eat me an average of twelve times a week. By the time I came to leave that was down to about three times a month.

I don’t know if he was sad to see me go, but as I was leaving he brought me a freshly dead bird and dropped it at my feet.