Justin’s Comments (group member since Mar 13, 2016)

Justin’s comments from the Science Fiction Microstory Contest group.

Oh sure, drop in out of the blue, win the monthly challenge. Mic drop. LOL! :) Congrats Chris!

Thanks Tom for the review, I really appreciate your feedback!

Under our reciprocity rule, do we all have to write reviews of Tom's story?

That seems like orbital overkill if we all do.

Looking for some guidance here.

A great crop of stories this month. The most in a while! Nice work everyone!

Why?

Leftenant Austin Malcolm, United Nations Special Operations, stared into the swirling gray gloom of a torrential downpour. Rain streaked across the canopy glass in fierce rivulets that morphed and merged as the dropship made its rapid descent to the designated landing zone. The small craft was buffeted by heavy turbulence, but the Leftenant paid it no heed, choosing instead to read the most current SITREP that appeared holographically from the armor on his left forearm.
“Sixty seconds to touchdown,” crackled through his headset.
“Acknowledged,” he replied curtly.
Malcolm double-checked his sidearm, shouldered his assault rifle and prepared to debouch through the ship’s portside egress hatch. His backpack and comsat gear ran close to eighty pounds, but most of the weight was borne by Malcolm’s armor.
Tugging on his helmet, he ensured the visor mirror factor was set to maximum so no one could see his eyes.
It was just better that way.
More…intimidating.
The Jolly Roger painted on both sides added to the effect.
A thud indicated they were dirtside, the hatch opened, and Leftenant Austin Malcom strode out into the rain as if he were Ares himself. He watched briefly as the dropship rocketed skyward and disappeared, then moved forward resolutely to the line of misery and suffering slowly making its way along a muddy road towards their final destination.
The thick mud clung to his armor, trying to drag him down, but Malcolm’s augmented strength and armor made short work of it, and in a few moments he was marching parallel to the line of refugees.
“Who’s in charge here?!” he demanded through his helmet speakers.
Those closest to him shied away, stumbling and slipping in the rutted mire.
“I said who’s in charge?!”
His heads-up display rapidly scanned the multitude of faces passing before him: men, women, children, the aged and infirm – all showed green on his targeting reticle.
A threat warning chirped in his ear, there, to his left, a soldier was running towards him, waving and yelling something in the pidgin English that passed for a common language on this backwater hellhole. His targeting reticle turned red while threat data scrolled on the left side of his helmet visor.
To a casual observer, the whole encounter would have looked ridiculous. A diminutive soldier in soaking wet fatigues and loose helmet yelling and gesticulating at the massive UN special operator – as if he were in charge.
“You no be here! Go away! Go back! We follow law! You go or I shoot!”
Malcolm took one menacing, heavy-thudding step towards the soldier, noting that at least another three were also making their way towards them.
No matter.
They were no threat to him, and he had every right under UN law to observe this forced relocation of the vanquished populace.
Yeah, losing in war was a real bitch, but there were rules and he was here as a UN special operator to make sure they were followed.
“You go now!” demanded the jibbering soldier, who dared to slam his rifle butt into the abdomen of Malcolm’s armor. The soldier could not see it, but the Leftenant cracked a tight smile before planting an armored and enhanced punch to the soldier’s sternum.
Shrieking in pain, the smaller man flew backwards ten meters towards his comrades, landing in the mud as a crumpled heap.
Malcolm pulled his sidearm, its red tracking laser visible in the rain, and pointed it at the other three soldiers.
“Anyone else want to try something funny?”
The river of humanity continued flowing unabated to his right, step after muddy step, towards the distant glow of floodlights. There was no hope there, only brutality, torture and ultimately – death.
A whole population was about to be erased from history, and he was here as the sole UN representative from Earth to record it.
Not stop it.
Not intervene nor intercede.
An impotent power.
It was an unpleasant truth that he was only here to enforce the law, which as it stood now, permitted the eradication of the victor’s enemies.
Collecting their fallen comrade, the other three soldiers turned to harassing and beating the sodden shapes trying desperately to stay on their own feet in the churning morass.
Occasionally one of the trio would look over his shoulder to see what Malcom’s response would be.
The Leftenant holstered his sidearm and stood unmoving, impassive, but ever recording.
Lighting flashed.
Thunder rumbled.
Men cried and children stumbled as the wheel of history ground them into the dirt forever.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2023
Reviews/critiques welcome

So great to have many friendly faces back! I've been on jury duty since July 24! We just rendered a verdict: $5.5 million to the plaintiff for damages. Nothing like having a person's future in your hands. Very intense, covered a lot of ground medically, etc. I ended up being the presiding juror. It took us 2.5 hours to deliberate. I wanted to make sure we had a unanimous decision. A great experience, but it pulled me out of work just before my busiest week at Boeing. Anyway, maybe I should get a story in! Jot, so sorry the work has not panned out yet! Keep swinging!

Oh man, I'm sorry to hear that Jot. Keep swinging! You are a highly talented programmer, so it's just a matter of finding that right fit. It WILL happen!

Thy Will be Done

Levi looked out from his bedroom window. He watched the other kids race down the street on their bikes to the dirt lot at the end of the road. It caused him a pang of jealousy and resentment.
“Levi!” his mother called. “Why don’t you go outside?”
“Aw Mom, I don’t wanna…” he weakly rebutted, looking down at his well-worn and well-patched jeans.
“Go outside!” his mother ordered.
Levi slammed the door before his mother could admonish otherwise, and ran down the street.
He arrived to a game of baseball already underway. A few kids in the outfield waved and he waved back, but no one extended him an offer to join either team. Sitting down on an overturned crate, he spied an old mason jar in the dirt. Dumping it out, he headed into the woods with the idea to capture something that maybe he could keep as a pet.
A clap of thunder startled him and he looked up for any sign of rain but saw none. Another crashing boom emanated directly in front of him, and he felt a wave of heat wash over him. The friendly sounds of the baseball game died quickly away. Levi paid it little heed and moved towards what looked like small flames coming out of the ground.
“Whoa…” he uttered, observing a shallow, smoking furrow in forest floor. It was then he noticed a bug unlike any he had ever seen. Silverish in color, it struggled along in the leaves and other forest detritus.
“Well look at you little guy!” Levi squealed with delight at his new prize. He scooped it up and gently placed it in the mason jar. He turned and ran back to the dirt lot. In his excitement, Levi missed the silver disk half embedded in the dirt not too far from where he captured the bug.
***
“Wow Levi, your new pet is so cool!” exclaimed Amelia Smith.
Levi felt a swell of pride. Now he finally had something the other kids were jealous of.
“What kind of bug is it?” asked Trevor Jones. “I’ve never seen a bug like that. Besides, bugs are supposed to have six legs and this one only has four.”
“Well, he got hurt in the forest,” replied Levi defensively. Trevor had the nicest bike in the neighborhood, and did not like how the poor kid’s bug was getting all the attention. Especially Amelia’s.
“Can I hold him?” asked Amelia sweetly. “Puh-leaze…”
“Okay, but be careful with him.”
“I will silly.”
Levi gently placed the bug into Amelia’s open hand. Immediately a small beam of white light emanated from its upper right leg, causing Amelia to shriek in pain.
“It stung me!” she howled, nearly dropping the bug.
Levi quickly grabbed the mason jar and shook the bug into it.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was a stinging bug?” asked Amelia, who was on the verge of tears.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know!” protested Levi.
Trevor and the other kids began to back away from Levi.
“Wait!” cried Levi. “Please don’t go! He won’t sting again, I promise.”
“Now see what you did? Make them come back!”
The bug stood up and adjusted some small antennae on its head that Levi had not noticed before. He felt a strange tingle at the base of his neck. It was then he noticed the other kids were standing stock still, as if frozen by some mysterious force.
No matter, he now felt an overwhelming compulsion to take the bug back to where he found it. Levi could not move fast enough to satisfy the searing compulsion that urged him back to the forest.
There! A silver disk with strange markings.
Levi quickly deposited the bug and it ran inside.
Suddenly one side of the disk began to glow and Levi felt a mental prodding to pick it up and hurl it into the sky. This he did, flinging it with all his might. The disk rocketed skyward with a screech that made Levi cover his ears.
Then all was silent.
“Hey Levi, what are ya’ doin’?”
It was Amelia, with the other kids in tow.
“I…don’t know. Uh, I’m hungry. Want some lunch?”
“That’d be great,” said Amelia, blushing.
Frustrated, Trevor dug his toe into the dirt and found a small piece of silver metal, which he picked up and turned over in his hand.
It had strange markings he could not read.
In English, they were: USAF 442nd Psychological Warfare Squadron.

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2023
Reviews/critiques welcome

Good luck with the interview Jot, I'm sure you'll crush it!!

Great stories so far everyone, very well done!

Tom, thanks for all of the thoughtful reviews you've written over the years. I really appreciate them and you!

Both great stories gentlemen! Nicely done!!

Tom wrote: "A very unusual and moving story, Justin. The pain sank deep. Good use of metaphor - the turn of history's wheel?

A timeless vision of what is immortal in humanity and what is temporary. Societies ..."

Thanks Tom! It was fun to write this one!

Revolution Revolution

Andreaus Stent stood before the magistrate’s dais, hands clasped firmly behind his back. With the crash of a gavel his fate was sealed with no recourse. Guards immediately grabbed his arms and placed restraints upon his wrists. Stent went limp, forcing the two officers to drag him from the court room. No sense making it any easier for them. They had already discredited his writings and reputation. Now, they sought to silence him forever. He was stripped, shaved from head to toe, given the barest of loincloths, then led to the glass cylinder from which he would watch the passage of time. Waking-stasis they called it, but it was more like the ninth circle of Hell from Dante’s Inferno – where condemned souls, frozen into ice, were completely unable to move or speak and contorted into grotesque shapes as a part of their punishment. Supposedly the process was nearly instantaneous and pain free, but since no one had been released from deep freeze to tell the tale, it could not truly be verified.

The faintest stirrings of fear rose in the back of Stent’s mind, but he ruthlessly rooted it out of his thoughts. No! He said to himself. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him panic. Stepping calmly into the cylinder, he turned to face the med techs who would prepare his body to be flash frozen, but keep his eyes open and mind active – all to watch the world pass by for the next 200 years. Needles pierced his forearms, pumping him full of what was cynically called antifreeze. It prevented cell membranes from rupturing, or, as he heard the med techs joke, freezer burn. Already he began to feel sluggish and unable to move his extremities, sounds now seemed far away…mind detached…floating…but still very much alert. The other half of Stent’s glass cylinder slid quietly into place and he was rolled slowly away to take his place on The Wheel.

***
For a while, people gawked at Stent’s frozen form, hands outstretched as if warding off impending fate. Of course, any new addition to The Wheel always attracted the attention of passersby, but like most new things, the novelty soon wore off. Eventually, he barely warranted a cursory glance as his name and the crimes he committed were forgotten by the ignorant masses, despite the scrolling digital summary of his transgressions in thought, word and deed against the State. He was an anachronism from a bygone age and now nothing more than a curious anomaly to those on their way to work, school, and home. Anyone who might have sympathized with his cause was certainly not going to show it, and as the years passed by in rapid succession, were most likely dead.

***
Seasons flew by in predictable patterns, blurring before Stent’s open eyes. Flags changed color as governments rose and fell. Red, blue, black, then red once again. Clothing, technology, and architecture morphed and merged, innovated, stagnated, repeated. Time seemed to stretch on interminably. Days rolled into decades. Stent wanted to scream, to cry, to rage against this frozen hell without end. He watched as men in black fought and killed men in red. War machines screamed through the air and crawled along the ground, spewing fire and death. Buildings crumbled, civilians perished, yet The Wheel kept slowly turning, providing Stent a front row seat to the end of days in three-hundred and sixty-degrees of torture and terror. Then one day, multiple flashes of brilliant light and mushroom clouds erupted on the horizon and marched in rapid succession toward The Wheel – fortunately while Stent was on the opposite side and facing away from the blinding blasts. All went dark. The Wheel shuddered, ground to a halt, then vomited Stent out of his glass cylinder as emergency systems overrode judicial decree. He lay upon the charred ground, arms outstretched as if warding off impending fate, and slowly warmed by residual radioactive energies.

It seemed like another eternity before Stent found he could move his arms and legs. Coughing and gasping, his lungs revolted against the harsh air as he crawled, haltingly, in search of something to cover himself. He stood, balancing precariously on legs unaccustomed to locomotion. He heard people weeping and came upon a group who seemed without direction. They were startled by his pale appearance, but asked him, “What do we do now?” For the first time in over 200 years, Andreaus Stent smiled broadly, then said, “I have a few ideas.”

(750 words in story) Justin Sewall © 2023
Reviews/critiques welcome

Hi all, I’m sorry but I’ve been traveling. I’m currently sitting in the Detroit airport waiting for my flight (delayed two hours). First I flew to Chicago to visit my dad, who I haven’t seen face to face in four years. Then I popped over here to Detroit to visit my best friend who has been incarcerated for at least the next 20 years. So, a little busy. I hope to get a story up here shortly. I for one enjoy this group and the monthly prompt to force me to keep writing creatively. Honestly, I don’t have much time to write reviews or critiques, which I know I appreciate when someone reviews my work. I hope the group continues but understand if Jot feels it should sunset or merge with someone else’s group. I know I used to be more chatty and engaged here, but most of my free time is used to focus on my voiceover work. I enjoy reading everyone’s stories and seeing how different they are from each other. I hold all of you writers in high esteem and feel lucky to be part of your company!!

Thanks Paula!!!

Paula wrote: "Good work, Justin. Congratulations!"

Thanks Paula! Hope you are doing well!

Greg wrote: "Is there a missing n "or" in the list of themes? Or is it an "and"?

I was thinking about how to have an anti-hero observe an anomaly using some sort of anachronistic device. Probably Steampunk sci..."

Hi Greg, no missing words. I think your idea is on track.

Tom wrote: "My story's up.

I used a character I haven't used in a while:

Jean-Pierre Beaulieu , the Napoleonic soldier turned time-traveler. He first appeared in "Trial by Time" a story published in Carol F..."

Good story Tom, really liked it!

Tom wrote: "Justin wrote: "Thank you all so much! What a nice birthday week present!!"

Happy Birthday! (week)"

Thank you sir! It's certainly been busy, and not in a fun way!

Jot, the June challenge has been posted!

Jot, I have posted the June challenge!

This month’s theme: Anomaly, Anachronism, Anti-Hero
Required elements: Writer’s choice within the categories above!