Urban Planning

In the sky, pale lights flicker under the cover of the clouds, scattered in sacred geometry. On the ground, they’re lined up in rows, following the grids of the city, the levels of the buildings. They’re part of the Design.

Earnest drives his taxi and tries not to see it. He tries not to see the way even the rain drops have a beat to them. He tries not to hear the way even the sirens come in patterns.

A woman hails him and he pulls over. She climbs into the back seat and smiles at him. Her eyes glow like nebulae.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

His grip tightens on the wheel.

“You need to drive,” she whispers. “They’ll be coming for you.”

And in a window, he sees a man with shadows for a face looking down at him.

---

Word Count: 148

This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Pamela S. Canepa for providing the prompt photo!

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Terrible Secrets

A man in a battered coat looked up at the building: nondescript blocks of reddish brown brickwork.

Inside were terrible things. Terrible secrets. They had tried to make him forget what he had learnt, what he had seen…

No. He pressed his hands to his forehead, feeling the scars under tangled brown hair. He would not forget.

He made his way to the side door. A piece of wire gleamed in his hand and he was in, stumbling against the wall.

He remembered steel and sparks. Pain, bright as the sun.

He remembered another sun. Air like velvet. Meadows of glass flowers, shattering in the wind.

“I had a name,” he whispered. “Why did you have to take that? Why did you take my name?”

Stumbling, he walked into the office. Someone screamed.

“Why did you take it?” he asked. “Why did you take it?”

There were no machines. No steel. No sparks. Just computers, cubicles, and people, backing away from him.

“This isn’t it.” His head whipped back and forth. “Where did it go?”

He was still shouting when the police dragged him away.

From the shadows, a man in a bowler hat watched, his smile a crescent moon.

---

Word Count: 200

For Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to John Robinson for the prompt photo.

What Nightmares Fear

Blackness filled the skies, a choking acidic haze. The ground quivered with each step the Thing took, the jumbled monstrosity of angles and shadows heaving its way across the town. Its tendrils snaked in every direction.

Wendy lay below the window, heart pounding, terrified but unable to look away.

“Almost too late,” a voice said – soft, ancient, whispering.

Wendy spun around. There was a man standing in her house, a straw hat on his head and his hand on the handle of a question mark umbrella.

“How–”

“How did I get in?” The man shook his head. “Not the most interesting of questions.”

Behind him, she could see the corner of a battered blue box.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Wendy,” she replied. “Wendy Marsh.”

“Stay here, Wendy Marsh.” He opened the door. “I’m going to have a word with our friend out there.”

“You can’t!” she squeaked. “It’ll kill you. Like everyone else. Turned them inside out.”

The man smiled, tipped his hat, and went out.

He stood before the thing, this tiny little man with his umbrella against a thing vast as the night.

And from where Wendy was watching, it looked like the monster was trembling.

---

Word Count: 199

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Thanks to A Mixed Bag for the photo prompt!

Party Above the Clouds

Laughter echoed through the dirigible. Wine corks popped, letting foam splash into thin glasses. The band played on and the party swayed with the music.

Anna pressed her nose up against the glass, looking at the ground far below, almost lost in the wreath of clouds. She remembered looking down before, when the cityscape had spread out in a mosaic. Bright lights had shimmered amongst mile-high skyscrapers. Other dirigibles had drifted in the wind, like floating lanterns burning bright. When the third moon had risen, everything had lit up in waves of blue.

There was no light below now, only a marbled darkness beneath the churning clouds. Lightning flashed and she could almost hear the crack of thunder through the soundproofed glass.

“A toast!” her father cried, her hair hanging in disarray, his tie undone.

He climbed onto a table, tapping his glass. The dancing stopped and the music slowed as every head turned to look at him.

“A toast to our home!” He raised his glass and the blue wine shifted like an ocean tide. “To Beovorn!”

“To Beovorn!” the others echoed.

Anna watched a cascading orange cloud, moving slowly towards them, reaching out with tendrils of fire.

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Word Count: 199

This is for Sunday Photo Fiction. Photo credit to A Mixed Bag.

Rock Paper Scissors, TEN! A Doctor Who Discussion

Welcome to LAS’s final Doctor Who Discussion of the series! Read on to find out what J.A. Prentice and Jaden C. Kilmer thought of the episode and the series as a whole.

There are SPOILERS ahead.

Doctor Who Discussion: The BBC Marketing Team Needs to be Fired

Welcome to the penultimate Doctor Who Discussion, as Jaden C. Kilmer and J.A. Prentice discuss the first part of the Series 10 finale, World Enough and Time. For our discussion of the poem from which the title comes, see our upcoming series J.A. Prentice talks about Elizabethan poetry while everyone else falls asleep.

Read on for almost as many SPOILERS as the BBC Marketing Team has already provided.

Doctor Who Discussion: Sometimes a God Turns Into a Seal and You Just Gotta Deal With It

Welcome to this week’s Doctor Who Discussion! Jaden C. Kilmer and J.A. Prentice discuss the latest episode The Eaters of Light, noteworthy for being written by a returning classic series writer, Rona Munro.

Read on for our thoughts and spoilers.