An Upset Stomach Leads to Disaster - Flash Fiction

ABSTRACT (Flash Fiction): A short story about people, planes, and stomach aches.

He had made it to the security gate with only twenty minutes to go before his flight took off. He waited anxiously in line with the myriad other passengers trying to get past the TSA checks. Time seemed to pass in slow motion, as the mass of women, men, and children filed one by one through the checkpoint. He looked at his watch and thought, "I still have time." He took a photo of his wife and their three boys out of his shirt pocket and whispered, "I'll be home soon."

As he waited in line, tiny beads of sweat began to form along his brow; he quickly wiped them away. He reminded himself that he still had time. In response, his stomach began to rumble-voicing its anger over its last meal. He instinctively rubbed at his stomach area in a fruitless effort to calm his intestines.
A few minutes after he entered the line, he made it to one of the three TSA guards acting as gate keepers. He quickly handed the bored looking young man his license and plane ticket. The youth briefly scanned the items, initialed the boarding pass, and waved him on. He smiled his thanks and moved to the next checkpoint thinking, "One down, one to go; I'm almost home." His stomach pains became more pronounced. He told himself, "No time to worry about that now."

He quickly removed shoes, tie, and suit coat and posited them in a container to be scanned. He took the family photo out of his pocket, kissed it, and put it in another box. He quickly looked at his watch--10 minutes remaining to the last boarding call--and then placed it in the same container along with his billfold, loose change, a pocket chemistry book, and a smartphone. He checked his pockets to make sure he didn't have anything else hidden away and stepped into the body scanning machine. He had begun to sweat profusely now and the stomach pains were becoming much worse, as was the grumbling. He and his possessions passed through the scanner without a hitch.

One of the security guards, a middle-aged man with a kindly face, asked him if he was okay. He replied, "I'm fine. It's probably just a cold."

He checked his watch and thought, "Five minutes to last boarding. I can make it!" He quickly donned his suit coat, put his tie and other items in his pockets, and ran as fast as he could. After dodging around several fellow travelers, with apologies to each one, he finally came to his flight area. Sweat poured down his face and appeared on his hands and (unseen) under his arms. The dash had apparently aggravated the contents in his stomach, and tendrils of white hot pain were shooting through his intestines. To his ears, the rumbling in his stomach now sounded like the roars of a great beast, though a quick look around indicated that no one else seemed to notice.

When he gave the ticket to the boarding attendant, she took one quick look at it and then stared at him for a second before asking, "Dr. Houston, are you okay?"

He replied, "I am fine. I just have an upset stomach; it's nothing to worry about. I'll be home soon." Smiling, he took out his family photo and showed it to her.

She said, "Aww, the kids look so cute. Okay Dr. Houston--if there is anything we can do for you on this flight, let us know. Luckily, the plane will only be in the air for about 25 minutes. So, you will be home shortly."

He thanked her and walked down the runway and into the airplane.

Airplane - Microsoft Office

Five days later, an excited anchorwoman cut into the regularly scheduled programming on one of the major television channels and said, "We have a breaking update on the cause of the crash last Friday which killed all 95 passengers on a McDonnell Douglas DC9-50, flying from Washington D.C. to Philadelphia. It appears that a Ph.D. chemist by the name of Arnef Houston is the person responsible for bringing down the plane.

Details are sketchy, but a source with the FBI says that the agency found a suicide note in Dr. Houston's apartment claiming responsibility for the disaster. The agent states that Dr. Houston was angry at the court system for not convicting a drunk driver of manslaughter in the deaths of his wife and children three years ago. He felt that it would be fitting revenge to destroy a plane with connections to two of the most important U.S. cities before going to 'heaven' to be with his family. He also thought that his act would bring attention to what he believed was a corrupt and inefficient court system.

The source also states that, in his suicide note, Dr. Houston claimed to have ingested explosive materials. They were wrapped in a chemical gel that would react to the acidic juices in his stomach and eventually ignite the explosive materials. The agent says at this time the FBI is not sure what materials were used or how they worked together to create the explosion. He said the agency is very worried that other terrorists could use this technique, and that it would be nearly impossible for the TSA to stop this type of threat. The FBI member requested to remain anonymous, as he is not authorized to discuss the investigation.

We will keep you posted as we learn more details about this tragic event."

#flashfiction #fiction #shortstory #planes #mystery #horror #flyers

The Spotted Hand Disease - Flash Fiction

 ABSTRACT (Flash Fiction): Two villagers are returning home from a trip to the market. They discuss many things, including the sighting of a new disease.

Arren walked alongside the old mare, as she pulled a dilapidated cart--containing foodstuffs, salt, and unfinished wool--down the overgrown dirt road. His elderly friend, Berten, stood on the other side of the cart and used reins to guide the horse along the trail.

Except for a couple of prosperous farmers, the villagers in Arren's small town of Right Hand were poor. They eked out a living from the earth and from their skill with the loom. Every fortnight, Berten and Arren would take the finished cloth to market in the provincial town of Ergaster. They would return with some needed materials for the village along with raw wool for the weavers.

Arren, who was 13, had been accompanying Berten on these journeys for four years now. The youth usually looked forward to these trips, as they allowed him to escape-for one day anyway-from the backbreaking toil that came with living in a poor farming community. However, today he was preoccupied with worry. Arren had heard that thieves were stalking the road for the first time in living memory, but that was not the source of his concern.

Turning in the old man's direction, Aaron said, "Berten, do you worry about catching the spotted hand disease?"

Berten replied, "Nah boy, we haven't been to Ergaster in over two months for a reason. The spotted hand disease has passed. The clothiers we spoke to said as much. The last victim died almost a week ago. Did you see anyone that looked like he was daydreaming, or that had spots on his face and hands?"
The youth said," No, but I'm still worried Berten. Jergus the tailor said that half the children and a quarter of the adults died. The disease hasn't hit Right Hand yet, but…"

Wagon - Microsoft Office

Arren was about to say more, but the old mare started off the road. He instinctively grabbed the cart to keep it steady while Berten pulled on the horse's guide rope to get her back onto the trail. Once Berten was satisfied that he had the animal under control, the old man said, "Enough Arren, leave it alone!" The spotted hand disease has run its course. Besides, that malady is the least of our worries. This year's crop looks to be poor. Worse, all the deaths in Ergaster have decreased the demand for our finished wool products. We will be hard put to keep villagers from starving this winter. Hell, an old man like me is unlikely to survive!"
Arren replied, "Berten, you are only around 60 summers, right?"

The old man laughed, but his eyes carried a mixture of anger and sadness: "Ah, to be young and naïve. I forget exactly how old I am, but it doesn't matter. How many people in our village make it to 60? One out of 100? Some of the wealthy folk may live past 60, but few of us poor farmers ever see that age. I have to deal with a hundred little aches and pains that come from old injuries. You've seen me in the field boy; I can barely manage to do a day's work anymore. No, my time is near."

Arren looked shocked, "Don't say that Berten! You're as healthy as ever!"

Berten did not reply immediately. The mare had slowed down considerably and was again veering off the trail. Berten busied himself with slapping her side while pulling on her guide rope to get her moving in the right direction again. He then responded, "Nah, I'm about done, and none too soon I say. My life is full of pain, both physical and emotional. As you know, my wife and children are all dead. I miss them. And I no longer derive any joy from things like the feel of the wind in my hair or the sound of the birds in the trees. My days are filled with toil and sorrow. I'll be glad when it's over.

But I won't let it end just yet! I have an obligation to the village, and to your late father, to make sure that our weaving trade remains strong long after I am gone. I would as soon be confined to the Four Hells before I let anything happen to the…"

Berten was interrupted by the mare, who stumbled. He slapped her side in frustration with one hand while pulling on the reins with the other. "Stupid, old horse! Boy, you'll carry on with these trips when I'm gone. Ask Yarrow or one of the other villagers to help you. Any of them would be willing to lend you a hand. At least you'll be able to head to town with a new horse. Two more trips and we'll have enough money to buy a nice, young horse to replace this old mare. Just two more trips…"

Neither of the men noticed the dark spots that had formed along the mare's flanks and around her face.

-- Anthony Hopper

#disease #fiction #flashfiction #shortstory #story #fantasy

An Ironic Discovery In Space - Flash Fiction

Abstract (Flash Fiction): Two astronauts and their sentient ship make an important discovery that could change humankind's fate.

James shouted into his com-link, "Allan, have you been able to fix any of the systems yet?"

He was not cheered by Allan's response, "Sir, I'm not sure I can fix any of the damaged components. I will do what I can. I still haven't found whatever blew through the ship's hull."

James said, "We can find it later! Our most important concern right now is the FTL drive. We need to get that fixed if possible. Barring that, we need to find a way to activate the quantum entanglement communications system. Otherwise, we could spend eternity in this stupid solar system!

James' com-link shut off automatically once the conversation ended. The officer pondered the situation. At least our air, artificial gravity, and food processors are still operable. He smirked as he noted that Betsy was also on-line. Betsy was the ship's artificial intelligence unit. At times, he almost thought she--no, it--was human. After almost eighteen months traveling through space on a government scout ship with no human companion save Allan, he sometimes wished Betsy were flesh and blood.

He called out to the ship's AI, "Betsy, how much food and water is left?"

A melodious voice rang out from seemingly everywhere within the ship, "The processors have enough material to create sixty days' worth of food, assuming you and Allan go on half rations. They can generate enough water to last you two for about the same length of time."

Betsy continued, "Captain, why do you keep asking that question. You already know the answer. Besides, you and Allan knew the risks when you signed up for the mission. You should take pride in the fact that, whatever happens, the many terabytes of information you two have collected will be saved indefinitely in my storage banks. Humankind will benefit immensely from this knowledge.

Was that an attempt at humor? He shook his head in bemusement and mumbled something like, "Thanks for reminding me Betsy."

Space Shuttle - Courtesy of Microsoft Office

James was taking a quick nap in his sleeping compartment when he was awakened to Allan's excited shouts coming out of the com-link, which was sitting on the stand next to his bed. Jumping up and putting the com-link into his ear, the captain asked, "What have you found?"

He could feel the excitement in Allan's voice as the other man replied, "I haven't been able to fix any of the damaged systems yet, but I did find the cause of our problems. I am bringing it up now!"

James could not get Allan to respond to his repeated queries of "What did you find?" This fact both worried and excited the ship's captain. He felt partly like a child waiting to unwrap a gift and partly like a desperate sailor on a doomed ship (only this one was floating through space and not in the water).

James met Allan on the scout ship's bridge and was shocked to see the man carrying a large, cone shaped object roughly two feet in diameter. Allan sat the object on a table and both men studied it intently.
James was astounded by what lay before him. He immediately dismissed the notion that the object was of natural origin. It had to have been crafted by some intelligent race. The object resembled an artillery shell, but he conceded it might be anything.

Both men took turns running their hands over the object and peering at it closely with the naked eye.
James was the first to speak, "This thing, whatever it is, feels like glass. It is perfectly smooth. I cannot find any markings on it, but I will bet my Ph.D.'s in chemistry and geology that it is not natural.

Allan responded, "Chief, this means that we are not alone in the universe! This is the first confirmation we have that aliens do exist--somewhere! Oddly, the object, whatever its purpose, doesn't weigh more than a few pounds. How did something that light manage to plow through several inches of nano-steel and embed itself deep in the ship's interior?"

James responded, "Any material, no matter how light, might achieve that result if it is traveling fast enough. What I can't believe is that the object managed to pierce the nano-steel and remain intact. That is absolutely amazing!"

Allan asked, "Are you going to run some tests on it?"

James responded, "You don't know how badly I want to…I don't think that the object poses any threat; however, I can't be sure. If I try to move it to the lab, for all I know, it might explode on me. No, we will leave it right here! We will have plenty of time to study the discovery when we get it back to Cerius or one of the other colonies-maybe even to Earth."

Betsy chimed in, "I am not sure you will be going anywhere. I show that both the quantum entanglement communications system and the FTL drive are still off-line. Further, my analyses indicate that we do not have the tools on board to fix them. Am I correct Allan?"

Allan grimaced and then almost shouted, "Betsy, sometimes…Yes, you are correct." Taking a more hopeful tone, he continued, "But they will come looking for us! We are overdue already. Cerius is only 9 light years away. A rescue ship can traverse that distance in less than 20 days."

Betsy responded, "That is true. However, we chose to take a different route than the one we were supposed to take. The Colonial Exploration Department may not think to look for us in this solar system--at least right away. I project you have a 31.4% chance of survival.

James was overcome by a mixture of fear and anger. He was afraid of dying of course. He also railed at fate. He and Allan had stumbled upon the greatest find ever. Yet they might never learn what humankind did with the information.

-- Anthony Hopper

#aliens, #sciencefiction #space #flash fiction #fiction #shortstory #AI #spaceshuttle #discovery

My Blog's Mission is Changing

Hi All,

I hope that all of you are having a wonderful Thursday night.  I just wanted to let you know that I will continue to post some of my initial, ad hoc thoughts and feelings to this blog.  However, I will also start posting material that I have hashed out, edited, and otherwise carefully constructed.  I might posit some of the freelance articles, which I wrote for Y!CN, to this blog.  Y!CN is shutting down soon, thereby forcing me to find a new home for these articles.

I hope that everyone has a happy weekend, and if you live in the U.S., enjoy the 4th of July celebrations.

Anthony Hopper