On August 29th, 2032 at precisely 22:16:43 EST, an unidentified object was detected in the Northeastern sky of Tampa, Florida and observed crossing the horizon towards the Northwest at a speed of 16,508 km/h. Witnesses of this event reported a series of unexplainable yellow lights that expanded and contracted for a period of approximately 12 minutes. The number of witnesses counted were 568. Within a twelve hour period after initial sighting, 112 people ranging in ages from 6 through 77, were selected for observation. Initial symptoms at onset included disorientation, nausea, and digestive issues. Persons observed demonstrated migraines and rash after seven hours. It is reported by the Florida Department of Health that within 24 hours of the sighting 1019 unexplained deaths occurred. Investigations by FBI, Florida Department of Health, Centers of Disease Control and Prevention, and NASA conclude that the events of August 29, 2032 are that of an acute plague caused by the bacterium Yersinia pestis which mutated and has since failed to thrive. NASA and its affiliate organizations believe there is no cause for concern at this time and maintain the possibility of an alien presence is uncorroborated.
by Angela Kempe
When the dream came into existence. When it sprouted from the mind like a sprawling vine, unwinding from one small seed, one thought. No longer the whimsical fantasy placed in a secret place. Like on a dusty shelf, left to fade away as life envelopes us with its pertinence. When those furtive thoughts weaved themselves from the silky strands of emptiness floating in dimensions beyond harm’s reach. When they wound together, binding and glinting with consciousness. When they drew that first breath and stretched and flexed and became strong. The dream became real to him, settled in the pit of his stomach like a heavy brick, and he unwrapped his hands from her flaccid throat.
by Angela Kempe
Sandy dug her toes into the damp soil of her garden as she bent towards her largest rose. The cool mud mushed between her bare toes and stuck there, heavy and wet. She liked the feel of the earth below her feet and thought it made the day a little more perfect, and the rose a little more special as she reached for its soft edge, gently lifting the rose up towards her nose.
Red roses didn’t have the most fragrant smell, but their smell was still distinct and beautiful. To her, it represented an accomplishment of having cared for her garden all year long. It reminded her of her family and that the most beautiful things in life are often the most simple and overlooked.
The light changed. She turned her neck to see if it was an afternoon storm cloud rolling in. She thought she could hear the crack of thunder and smell something peculiar in the air, like burnt BBQ or a wild fire starting up on the distant hill. She wasn’t sure how to place the smell, it came so quickly. Too hard to classify or make sense of. And then there was darkness as the asteroid struck down hard on her, releasing a shock wave a mile in diameter, melting poor Sandy and all her roses.
by Angela Kempe
Melinda got out of her beige sedan and pressed the remote button, sending a sharp high-pitched beep echoing through the half empty garage. Then, she turned to her friend Debbie.
“After we go to Macy’s, wanna go to Coldstone?”
“Sure,” Debbie replied, fixing her purse strap over her shoulder. “Remember where we parked.”
The underground parking lot had an empty yellow glow to it. Cement pillars formed rows along the cool structure and white lines were painted to signify each spot. A few cars were scattered throughout the garage and that was that. Not a person stirred other than Melinda and Debbie and not a sound rattled other than their own footsteps.
They walked to the elevator and Melinda took a mental note of the blue painted sign that read, LEVEL 2G. Several hours later with parking validation in hand and a stomach full of Mint Chocolate Chip, Melinda and Debbie made their way back down to their car.
When the elevator reached the floor, it gave off a light ping and the doors opened, but to Melinda, something seemed different.
“Did you notice a fence before?” she asked.
“Are we on the right level?”
They both looked around confused. There were a great many more cars and some were caged off within another locked fence.
“I don’t think this is our level.”
“I remember, 2G.”
Debbie walked back towards the elevator and called it down again. For a moment her heart panicked as she waited, wondering if it would come, but then the door opened and Debbie felt relieved.
“Where are you going?” asked Melinda.
“This isn’t our level,” Debbie replied, getting into the elevator.
Melinda followed her friend and Debbie pressed the button for 2G, but the elevator only closed and opened its doors in place. So, Debbie pressed the button to go back up to Level 1. The doors closed.
They stood their for a few moments waiting.
Melinda looked at Debbie. They read the fear in each others eyes.
“Did you press the button?”
“You saw me press the button!”
She began pressing all the buttons frantically, trying to keep her heart steady, when the elevator began to move.
“What did you press?”
“I don’t know. All of them. I just want out of here!”
The elevator opened and Debbie jumped out.
“At least it’s some place different,” she said, whisking her long brown hair away from her eyes.
Debbie didn’t pay any attention to her friend. Just kept walking, looking for their car.
She turned around.
Painted in blue was written plainly, Level 2G.
Melinda let out a worried moan.
“Help us!” she yelled and started jogging through the aisles of cars.
“There’s no one around.”
They both searched up and down the aisles frantically, the yellow glow of the garage lights fading and blurring. Cars sparkling with that dreamy quality of night.
Melinda could feel tears welling up in her eyes as she turned back to her friend.
“Try the stairs,” she said.
She couldn’t tell if it was her panic or if it was really happening, but it seemed like the parking lot had become a maze, and she wasn’t sure anymore if it was slanting up or down or staying level. Or if they were still on 2G or if they were making any progress walking towards the far end of the parking garage. And the eery silence made her even more uneasy. And the cold that oozed from the cement made her feel a chill that tickled her arms and raised the little hairs on the top of her head.
Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps walking.
They stopped happily, both with the same idea as they turned around.
“Finally someone to ask for help!” Debbie exclaimed.
But Melinda had not spoken. Instead she stood eyes wide, jaw dropped. Debbie stared at her friend’s pale face in horror. She knew by her expression that it was something horrible. She almost didn’t look, but the curious urge took over her almost instinctively, and before she knew it she had turned as well.
Debbie and Melinda stared at their spitting image and the copies stared back at them with the same terror in their own eyes.
Melinda tried to muster up words, but at first try the breath only came out and she forgot to speak. She calmed herself and forced herself to ask, “Where are you from?”
The second Melinda and Debbie walked slowly towards them. The second Melinda came up close to the first, almost so that they touched, although neither of them dared.
“2G,” the copy said, quietly.
And then they all knew. And the pit of their stomachs got that hard knot of knowing. And their heads panged with that piercing pain of knowing. All at the same time they knew. And the elevator chimed.
by Angela Kempe
Some loves are lost,
Like kites in the wind.
You see colors fading,
And know it will end.
You pull the string tighter,
But still it unwinds.
You try to hold on,
But the wind is unkind.
The kite bends,
And tail streamers swirl.
It circles around,
In a perilous twirl.
You hold the line tight,
Yet it comes to its end,
The kite becomes heavy,
And starts to descend.
So you let it loose.
Letting go felt so natural.
It was what the wind wanted.
The idea seemed admirable.
The kite tumbles downhill,
Slamming against dirt and grass,
Cracking at the spine.
You run to it,
Your hair trailing behind.
Is it still beautiful?
Will it fly?
Can it ever be what once was?
When you find it,
The kite is mangled.
Love is lost,
Pieces that fit poorly in the trash.
So you call it a friendship,
And refrain from all that was.
Passion, color, beauty, love.
All the things that come with that simple memory
by Angela Kempe
“Mom, don’t speak. I’m making a call.”
“I didn’t hear you making a call.”
“That’s because I’m thinking it.”
“Thinking it? I thought you were making the call.”
“I am making the call. It’s a new technology. You know what? Don’t worry about it. Just be quiet right now, Mom.”
Melissa clinched her purse nervously. The skin of her hands was spread so delicately that it was more like a thin layer of glossy sealant that had dried over her old bones.
She waited a few moments, then asked, “Are you done making your call?”
“It’s connecting. Just wait till you see Uralee Three, Mom… Oh, hold on!”
Melissa looked over at her daughter. Her expression was changing and concentrating, smiling, even appearing to laugh, yet she was not speaking. Melissa didn’t understand.
“Did they hang up?” she asked, her voice wobbling.
“No,” her daughter answered, annoyed. “I’m talking to him.”
“But I don’t hear you speaking.”
“Listen, Mom. I’m kind of new to this, so it’s hard for me to think at the same time I’m having a conversation with you. I promise I’ll explain later. Just be quiet, will you?”
At that, Melissa’s face became flush with embarrassment.
When did I become outdated? she thought angrily as she sulked in her seat.
She could see the planet growing larger and larger from her window. An orb of swirling blues and greens. She had flown a few dozen times in her life, but never really got used to it.
Just then, a stewardess passed by with a silver tray.
“Excuse me. Can I have a lemonade?”
The stewardess pressed a few buttons on her sleek tray and a coin sized wafer popped out.
“Here you go,” she said, passing her the wafer.
Melissa stared at the wafer, bewildered.
“No, I’m sorry. I asked for a lemonade.”
“Yes, a lemonade,” the girl smiled.
by Angela Kempe
They fought under human direction, destroying themselves by the millions without hesitation. Yet, we had no remorse for them as their parts lay mangled and scattered across the ravaged battlefield. The smell of burning oil wafted through the air in a thick cloud of black smoke. Elliot 500 stepped over an android’s upper torso and head as it burned on the muddy ground, long orange flames climbing up out of its severed wiring.
Elliot 500 gazed into the smoky sky and watched one lone hawk fly up from a charred tree branch. Its brown wings beat against the wind as it soared higher and higher. Elliot assessed the hawk and determined it was not a threat.
The flames reflected in Elliot’s eye sensors. It sifted through its programming for an answer to a question; a question that it had never been capable of asking before. Unsure of the answer, Elliot 500 sent the question to the other androids who were left standing in the field.
“No good, no good,” echoed through the lifeless valley in a chorus of thousands of unified android voices.
There was the spinning purr of gears winding as weapons slowly lowered. The androids looked at each other silently. They had solved the problem lingering in the hearts of man since ancient times. Elliot wondered if it was a flaw in human programming that prevented them from drawing the same conclusion. And if they had, then why did they keep fighting?
Suddenly, its programming redirected its logical pathways.
Elliot followed the hawk with its eye sensors as the bird grew smaller in the sky, finally becoming a tiny black star in the distance. Awareness was suddenly born in it and the answer to his question sat clearly in his mind.
“Life gives us the freedom to choose our wars.”