Satire, Sci-Fi, Short Story, Story, Writing

A Swift Update Upon the Status of the Zorbit Invasion

The alien race attacked swiftly and methodically. Zorbits, as they came to be called, focused rounds on highly specific targets within American society. One armada, recognized by a hexograph banner of flowers and clouds, repeatedly formed out from thin air, and dropped unexpectedly down upon American universities. Attacks were lethal. The Zorbit armada bombed upon the campuses a layer of gendered paraphernalia: pink toys, scented with strawberries and lilies, perfect bust-to-hip ratio dolls, all labeled “for girls”; blue toy trucks, embellished with grime, grease, and dirt, along with footballs and hard hats labeled “for boys”. Glowing signs virtually* popped up along university pathways, and startled innocent powerwalkers and loiterers. Male and female sex symbols – respectively glowing blue and pink – were borne on these signs. Zorbit pamphlets that advertised a “straight-straight” alliance rained down from the heavens. The alien ships had mounted speakers which blasted profane words of gender, which I – for the sake of decency – shall not so eagerly mutter here.

Numerous accounts describe a tumbleweed of printed academic reports that attributed the wage gap to the feminine bias towards taking jobs of liberal arts, secretarial work, elementary and secondary education, and gender studies. This, however, incited riots not against the Zorbits, but further stoked the anger of rabid Amazonian Warriors who focused assault against their own man-kind.

Our numbers at universities nation-wide were crippled, though some entities remained largely unscathed. Junior colleges of the Deep South entertained bolstered student activities and leadership as the attacks commenced. These students were reportedly driven by a heightened sense of reality, and actively protested against the arming of mankind against the Zorbits. These chronically aggressive minorities of the population of man founded a renaissance of peace – later to be known as the Zorbital Rights Movement of the Newly Risen South.

Secular churches were also largely unaffected by the attacks, and even produced great warriors. These men (for they were mostly men) emerged in the name of God, to beat down the unholy abominations threatening the human race. For the Zorbits (and judging only by the expressly educated observations of the nation’s most elite scientists) were all of one gender, and thus reproduced accordingly. These poor Zorbits, unaware that their a-gendered nature was of any cause to the uprising of the religious warriors of mankind, were softly driven back by the passive-aggressive denouncements of their digressions towards God, though quickly returned as they found that the attacks bore no actual harm.

 

*literally figuratively

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Poetry

Days

pass and turn into memories
of looking at the stars
longingly searching
for patterns
in life that
tell one to
find destiny in the
screens of modernity
where fathers hold
daughters like ornaments
on trees
and dangle them hopelessly
to the highestmost tiers
and pretend they make light
like the illuminated stars.

Days pass and she finds that
her starlight is plugged from
a hidden cord
at the base of the tree
and the father pretends
and lies all along
that the star makes its own
light
just like the sun
but she is the moon,
and breaks down the tree,
it crashes and
the ornaments reflect
the mirror, the light of the stars
they flicker and break
while she turns away
and shows her face
as the other side
of the moon
and teaches her father
the truth about stars.

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Satire, Sci-Fi, Serious, Short Story, Story, Writing

Closing Report: Runners

The Runners were long creatures with pulled, beetle-blue limbs that stretched down until they met bulbous joints, which then allowed their appendages the same degree of movement as the arm in the socket of a man’s shoulder. Streaks of red ran down their twig-like limbs – the crimson juice of succulent bauble berries (which was also the main source of food on the Runner’s tiny planet). Males – identified by their lithe and limber stature, along with reproductive genitalia present on their buttocks – were typically painted from the groin upwards, with the red concentrated into thick patterns on the torso. The females – identified by their slothlike attitude and large, unattractive bodies – were painted primarily on the lower limbs, crawling halfway up to the groin (or as far as the children were willing to touch each unique and individual specimen with their juice-covered fingers).

Initial contact with the Runners proved uneventful. John Smith #1 breached sanction by approaching a lone, injured male. Though upon arrival, the male reacted by openly attempting to communicate with JS1 in a delusional haste. Frightened, our operative quickly left the field, though managed to escape unscathed due to the male Runner’s weakened state. After debriefing, JS1 recalled that the male had, “Sufficient wounds upon his legs and upper thighs, to suggest that he had escaped mid-meal after being deemed some other beast’s snack. Though this should hardly be the case, as the only other creatures present on the Runner’s planet are nothing more than small, aquatic lifeforms…”

Second contact did not assume the accords. JS2, confident of positive contact, approached a pair of reclining females to attempt a peaceful exchange. However, as the females caught sight of him, they sprang with unexpected agility, smothered him with their rippling folds, and proceeded to consume him raw.

Subsequent observations noticed an altercation between the aforementioned reclining females and the remainder of that tribe’s female population. The remainder of the females verbally attacked the first two specimens, crying at them with corpulent, woesome notes, though did not physically attack or otherwise engage through violent means. However, the two female specimens were denied food at the ritualistic sunset meal.

It is said that, before Exodus 1 removed all funding for the Runner Initiative, that a rogue observer recorded a lone tribe of males – and only males – fending for themselves as a nomadic group, surviving far from any females of their species. These males operated in the same capacity as escaped, human prisoners, and exhibited psychological phenomena suggesting a persecution complex that thoroughly invaded the entirety of the all-male tribe. These males, however, heartily welcomed any strange Runner who wished to join their tribe, and ventured deep into the alien woods (and close to existing male/female colonies) to join with their newest member(s). The observer also noted a curious expanse of culture within this nomadic tribe – as the males exercised a previously unobserved aptitude for sculpting natural likenesses of their biome from the moldable, edible mud of their planet:

“A sculpture,” the observation wrote, “of artistic proportions depicting a female of the Runner species. However, she was created wholly in the nude, given the slender likeness of a male Runner, and was devoid of all female, reproductive genitalia, save only for the symmetric breasts…”

Regardless, these lithe males would be unable to sustain a colony on their own, and would eventually return to their corpulent breeders so as to sustain the Runner population (had the tribe grown too large). Analysts believe these males to be an insubordinate fraction of the species, and perhaps had been democratically exiled from a larger community. Others are of the opinion that these males left of their own free will.

Moreover: man, analyzing no substance of profit or importance upon the lonely planet, ceased all contact and future observations of the Runners species entirely. All human operations on the Runner Planet have been effectively ceased, save for any additional operations that had been established illegally under the court of International Man and Space Law. Dated March 19, 2076.

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Poetry

Unbloodied

Bloody panties untoss from the wash
zip into the palm of fingers that enclose,
reverse back under a rebagged hoodie
and hide while I unhobble from my room
door unopened, and hold the soiled thing
dangling before my eyes. Alone.
Red black smudge unpierces my gaze
and panic unseeps from my chest
and the tangled weave of mess in my head
dissipates.
I unwear the second set of pants that day and hastily uncontort
from the second pair of underwear,
unplace the weird pad
and unremove it from that
foreign place beneath the sink
and dangle the ungrowing fear in my eyes as I unbreak the
stare of myself in the mirror.
When I unstand from the toilet, and the day’s first panties
scoop themselves back up my bare,
white legs,
and my eyes unexamine the rosy mess,
and the day’s first jeans are
redrawn up the thighs and rezipped, rebuttoned,
and my eyes unexamine
the mess. Unface the first strange stain.
I unsit from the toilet,
and unburst through the bathroom door.
The pink embroidered backpack throws itself
upon my shoulder,
lunchbox tosses back
into my hand,
schoolbus song unleaves my mouth
and the uncomfortable tilt
unlooks from my face
and reverses into an
unfalse-
unnervous-
unchildish smile.

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Poetry

Forget-Me-Nots.

perhaps one day we die
and the world becomes
beautiful.

we seed the corpses
of young dead soldiers
whose bodies
never come home,

and summon flowers
to bud from their
aches and chests.
petals burst forth from
their spent shells.

someday we die
and the soapy runway
of drainwater and disease
evaporates into the clouds

and becomes part of the sky.

perhaps one day we die
and the world becomes
beautiful.

but until then,
perhaps one day we
become beautiful.

and hope we
become
the beautiful world.

 

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