Why, oh why, did the baby and the aliens have to come on the same night?
Joey crouched on the bathroom counter, heart racing. Purple light from the crocodile-shaped spaceship outside bathed the house in an eerie glow. Glass shattered in the kitchen. A scaled figure ripped open the refrigerator and hissed at its contents.
The sun is dying. The world is dying. But I am going to live.
I walk down Main Street one final time. The sky is orange, but the orange is not sky—thick smog clouds blocked it out long ago. Only a touch of color finds its way through.
I cannot remember a time
When the meteorite hits the earth my laptop battery is at ninety-four percent charge. Three hours, four minutes.
Now I’ll never finish my novel.
Obviously, radical seclusion has its pros and cons. No Internet, TV, or people are ideal conditions to focus, write, and conclude a magnum opus novel. Unless the world ends,
Kyle yelled as a tendril of vine lifted him off his feet, whirled him through the air, and deposited him in a breathless heap on the ground.
Gritting his teeth, he sprang back up and raised his axe. The vines drew back, their long cords moving like fingers, preparing for another assault.
Kurt fastened the Valor in Combat medal to the lapel of Sebastian’s uniform, its gold reflecting afternoon sunlight from the dorm window. “Good grief. Don’t you look all posh now?”
“Whatever,” Sebastian scoffed. “You should’ve gotten one, too.”
Kurt laughed and pointed out the ebon horns sprouting from his mop of pale hair.
Calen had been told by everyone he would defeat the Dark Lord Katar. Everyone said he was worthy, but now—especially now—he questioned it.
A blade flew at him and he twisted to one side, escaping with only a nick on his cheek. As Katar’s dark figure leapt over him, he extended his arm, defending himself with an intense bolt of golden lightning.
The oil rig’s platform shuddered and lurched into the air.
Matthew Finnburg the Third watched the earth fall away beneath them, then turned to his companion. “Xena, what is happening?”
Xena’s black eyes widened, then clenched shut as the platform picked up speed. Her slender arms quivered from her grip on the rail. “I couldn’t say, sir.”
Hearing anything over that wind’s howl is impossible. So maybe I’m not hearing anything. Maybe I’m imagining… something. I’m sure I’m not dreaming. Must check.
Cold floor. Even through my slipper socks, I shiver. As I tiptoe to the window, I keep a hand on the IV stand,
I reached for my kitten Cleo instead of my phone. Social media wasn’t a happy place right now, not with everything going on.
Balancing Cleo on my shoulder, I shuffled to the kitchen. There by the door lay a carefully folded piece of paper. Probably my Star-Trek-enthusiast neighbors.
My aunt and uncle will kill me when they find out I’ve left. The compound, they remind me daily, is the only place we’re safe.
I set out early, planning to be back before they realize their oldest niece is gone. It’s only eight miles to our house, and I’m in good shape.
“That guy’s getting angry.” Timothy pointed at the mountains in the distance as the ground shook beneath us.
We’d gotten out of school early after the quakes grew so strong, they knocked the books off the shelves.
“What guy?” I asked. Timothy was older and knew a lot of stuff,
I don’t realize we’re under attack until it’s too late.
I leave work, heading for my car. How much longer can I put up with the stress and dissatisfaction of this dead-end job? Why can’t I figure my life out? I’m so done with all this crap. My thoughts, like always, are an emotional jumble,
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