Future Fiction is a new series of short fiction stories contributed by Serious Wonder readers and members. This week member Susan Moore submits a short fiction story based on some Future Art by artist Gary Tonge.
Today is a good day once again. The towns and cities atop the mushroom towers are free of their contagion barriers. Pink clouds are providing a reassuring warm glow of protection and the air creatures are playing around the edges of the mushroom towers. I feel blessed.
An alarm sounds ……………………………
Panic, air creatures fleeing, we have relaxed too long.
[easyazon-image align=”left” asin=”1118024338″ locale=”us” height=”160″ src=”http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51b6k5e70IL._SL160_.jpg” width=”127″]From around the rock formations and the roadside the Eylldah begin to emerge from their caves. We have little time to put the protection protocol in place before the onslaught. They move so quickly. Their long, lithe sandy coloured bodies have no problem navigating the razor sharp, arid terrain.
Years have passed with no signs of a foray by the Eylldah. Stupidly we all assumed some sort of mass fatality had befallen them …….. how wrong we were. The beam line, our only means of escape, is now out of the question – we need to leave our towers to access it, a move that would be lethal.
The rosy hue of the clouds has faded to an ominous dark purple, in this sombre light we are easily seen due to our luminous bodies; droves of Eylldah are hastening towards the towers. The contagion shields are slowly closing but we all fear it will be too late. Those of us that can, run and hide, not that they will fare any better. Their glow will just be intensified by grouping together. Others are transfixed by the approaching hoards, some are on the floor wailing in abject terror, and the children … oh the precious children. We really hoped they would be spared this horrific spectacle.
Now we can hear the Eylldah. They make a sound which resembles sobbing, a sound which amplifies our dread, a sound to curdle our bodily fluids, a sound to drive us mad. The shields are still closing, but we know for sure now that they will not close before the Eylldah arrive. We block our ears to try to shut out the terrible sobbing sound which is growing louder with each passing minute. We shield our eyes so as not to remain transfixed by the horrendous approach and… the children … oh the precious children.
Now they are upon us.
[easyazon-image align=”left” asin=”0470572574″ locale=”us” height=”160″ src=”http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51Ic-5NcOEL._SL160_.jpg” width=”128″]We hear the gentle popping sound as their suckers attach and detach to and from the shiny surface of the mushroom towers. The smooth surface is more difficult for them to traverse. The mushroom tower is covered with them and their sobbing noises increase as they approach the shield opening. The noise is all pervading and we can no longer resist. We gaze at the children one last time before the massacre begins.
We have assembled under the shield, just as countless generations have before us, resigned to our fate and the terror of the day – like moths to flame the Eylldah came and we devoured them, every one and in our frenzy…
The children…oh, the precious children …gone.
Love our content? Join the Serious Wonder Community. It’s free, and we have lots of incentives for readers and contributors!