Science Fiction Microstory Contest discussion
Congrats to Thaddeus Howze, three-time Champion of the Science Fiction Microstory Contest
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As a caregiver for my wife and son, my days are sometimes all too full of responsibilities.
I am trying to take my writing career to the next level by submitting to "professional magazines" with more frequency.
Thank you for giving me a forum to practice my craft.

You should be sending stuff to the pro magazines definitely, yes! And so should several others who've been in this group at some time. One should keep in mind, too, the example of the "Beatnik" writers who, standing with one another in the late 1950s-early 1960s, got themselves, each and severally, known as "the Beat writers" and, crassly put, made it big.
Flash Fiction by Thaddeus Howze
"Why do you get to wear the Human suit?" Barrel stopped to lick himself in an inappropriate place. Felt so good. "Don't pretend you can't hear me. I know you're on hold." The delicious children across the street squealed in mock joy. Not yet. Barrel felt his suit begin salivating as it responded to his psychological state.
"Because I am the mission commander and I take priority. That dog suit is technically all you need for this mission. Now be quiet. Someone is answering."
Psinometric connection established. Incoming encapsulated message. A blue light came on over the toaster. “We’ve been trying to reach you in regards to your Human Suit’s extended warranty, you may qualify for free repairs. Press 1 to talk to our exchange and repair staff.”
Barrel barked, his commentary more strident than normally appropriate over an open line. "You tell Command, I want the upgrade I was promised. This arrangement has caused nothing but scandal on this world."
A commanding voice complete with sneer, came back after a moment. "Do tell, Number Two, what promises were made before you went on this illustrious espionage mission to a backwater type one planet? Were you hoping to rule the world by the end of a Terran month? Or perhaps should we have inserted you into the presidency, past dozens of security systems, code phrases and constant surveillance?"
Barrel shifted quietly, looking away from the blue light. Terrel spoke up, hoping to shift the conversation. "Command, we have infiltrated the water management system for this small town. I am posing as a regional inspector. Their record-keeping is easy enough to bypass. My credentials withstand scrutiny, but Barrel is correct in one way."
"What would that be?"
"It would have been easier if the Human suit you sent had been a male with a male identity."
"What difference would that have made? Anatomically speaking they are almost identical."
Terrel and Barrel exchanged glances. It may have been a while since anyone at command had worn an infiltration suit. It was not like the primitive suits of the past, all mechanized and probably quite uncomfortable. Probably pinched in all the wrong places.
Today's Human suit is state of the art. Terrel braced fishing for the right way to say something awkward. "Command. We request a second Human suit and identity. In this society, as a woman with a dog, moving into a neighborhood without the requisite husband or male companion has elicited unwanted attention."
"Absolutely not. We will not spend another unit on that planet. How many of them are there? Five billion? Barely worth the effort of one of our suits. That dog unit will have to do. You are an espionage specialist. Manipulate your cover until you get what you want. You have one hundred years. Not one second longer." The light over the toaster flickered and went out. Toast popped up seconds later.
"Does this mean I have to spend one hundred years as a dog?" Barrel scratched behind his ear vigorously.
"No, not all the time. You can stretch out in the house as long as the windows are shut. If we aren't meeting anyone important, I will even let you wear the suit. You just can't talk to anyone who knows us. You are a terrible conversationalist."
Terrel stepped into the Human suit as it surrounded her into its interface. As the mind adjusted, the human which once lived within the suit went back into a state of waking terror. Replaced by the synaptic seed, remapped with the paraflesh, all that she was had been replaced.
A quirk of the software allowed her to continue to exist. This wasn't supposed to happen. Her days were spent watching an alien intelligence plan a social revolution ending in women wearing pants, controlling stock markets and undermining the current path of civilization. The Utopia it talked about seemed quite nice all things considering.
Her life seemed more dreamlike everyday. On those days when she was herself, when she remembered where she was, she resumed screaming wordlessly into the void, as her body and the alien pretending to be a dog, went for a nice afternoon walk and fomented revolution with the bridge club in the park.
Terrel laughed, and finished her floral and fruity wine. She thought to herself, drowning out the strange background yowl she heard from time to time. It's a good fit. In a couple of generations, with a few upgrades, they will be perfect exploration vehicles.