The Tunnels

Title	The Tunnel
Genre	Sci-Fi
Warnings	None
Rating	PG
Words	724
The Tunnel came from a combination of random stimuli, including the short film More, a rereading of Fahrenheit 451 and a healthy dose of nihilism.

* * *

The underbrush left a pleasant sting against her skin. Full of brambles and webs and thousands of nameless insects, the thicket engulfed her in oxygenated protection. Faceless hunters crawled from the tunnel, their spotlights pale and weak compared to the sun.

Her respirator lay in the gravel near the tunnel. The metallic hounds circled it and considered the taunting challenge. In a sea of oxygen, the mask continued to breath, to filter, to alert the hounds to its owner’s transgression.

She crawled through the brush without fear. Here, above the tunnels, the hounds couldn’t track her respiratory signature. No matter how much noise she made, they couldn’t find her. She knew this. The mechanized beasts that hunted her were her father’s “other children.” They were the babies he had nurtured for years under harsh fluorescent lights.

The sound of the hounds’ motorized limbs came as long-forgotten memories. As a child, the colony had hailed her father’s research. The hunter hounds would guard the colony against the insane mobs that remained on the surface and the unbalanced residents that tried to disrupt the peace. Each person’s individual respiratory signature could be programmed into the hound’s memory. No parent would ever need to worry about their child losing their way in the tunnels, and no child would ever fear their parent wandering into the darkness alone.

Her grandmother fought the program for years, to the point that it drove her mad and she activated a prototype’s guardian system. Her father had hung his head and listened to the words of the medics - dementia, Alzheimer’s, psychotic episode - as they incinerated her eerily still body. It wasn’t until her father died, and the project was turned over to her cousin, that the people understood the horrible repercussions.

The cousin and his power-hungry nephew seized control of the colony. The respiratory signatures of any dissenting member were transmitted to the hunters’ guardian systems. In those first few weeks, the incinerators ran day and night, until any remaining dissenters closed their mouth and learned to accept their new rulers. Her cousin ordered teachers to stop telling the truth of the underground colonies, and an entire generation of children grew up believing humans were underground creatures.

It was that afternoon, when her son came home repeating the nonsense from his class, that she decided she couldn’t be silent any more. Her father created the mechanized monsters. It was her duty to stop them.

She had her son gather his friends in their small, dusty apartment and showed them her grandmother’s albums. Images of golden fields and foamy surfs, of children climbing trees and high-rises reaching the sky. She gave a picture to each child and told them to get their parents.

Within an hour, the colony was on lock-down. The children were taken to a secured room, the pictures confiscated and the parents assembled. Her cousin assured her that the infraction would be forgiven. The group of guards, flanked by hunter hounds, told her differently.

The sound of the motors was so distant it was barely a whisper, but it reminded her that she’d left it all behind. As she pushed the branches out of her path, she knew she was a coward. Her grandmother stayed until the very end and tried to use her death to change the future. Her father dedicated his life to work he was sure would benefit his child and grandchildren. She was nothing like them. She did enough to cause trouble and left without making her stand.

She stumbled into a vast sea of green. Behind her, the sun set in waves of red and purple and orange. She lay in the soft grass and, for the first time, watched clouds move across the sky. All her grandmother’s stories and pictures could never prepare her for the simple beauty of the moon’s journey through the night.

She didn’t sleep all night. When the colors of the sunrise splashed against the endless sky and the birds began their day again, she realized she’d made it. She was alive. The hounds were miles away, probably standing over her respirator waiting for her to come back. Her family was going about their day, not mentioning her name or even thinking of her. She was alive, but so very alone.

She prayed for the hounds to come.

The Burst

Title	The Burst
Genre	War
Warnings	None
Rating	G
Words	438
This was one of those fics that just happens. It’s the intro to a much longer piece, that will be released in bits and pieces.

* * *

Researchers have told us that it takes approximately one third of a second to react to visual stimuli.

In that one third of a second, the world can become extremely still. You haven’t reacted yet, at least not consciously, but your brain is already sending out distress signals. Your breathing quickens and your heart pounds to deliver oxygen and adrenaline to all corners of your body. Even before you know what you’re seeing, your body has gone into a full blown panic.

And then you scream.

It isn’t until a second or two after you scream that you realize you’ve turned away, and that your scream wasn’t anything but the most primitive warning. You’re begging your fellow humans to turn to you to find the cause of your distress. You’re begging them not to look at whatever it is that lies in the other direction.

As your cry comes to an end, you pant for breath. Your child tugs at your wrist and asks simply What’s wrong? They don’t know, can’t know, what is coming in just seconds. You remain silent, hoping the mystery will keep people looking towards you. No, not towards you. Just anywhere but where they had been looking. You can’t yell Don’t look. Human nature would only dictate that they would do just that.

There you stand, dozens, maybe hundreds, of confused, annoyed eyes fixated on your panting, desperate form. Your skin crawls under their stare, but you can’t move. If you do, the spell will be broken.

Finally, as you unconsciously tense your muscles and pull your child closer to your body, your conscious mind processes the scene you took in. The barely perceptible shaking of the earth, the slight plume of smoke, the roar of engines miles away.

The world erupts in a blast of yellow and white. You squeeze your eyes shut, worried that, even with your back turned, the explosion will leave you blind. There are gasps and cries from the crowd as people hunch over and cover their heads. Seconds later, the shock wave rolls through, throwing dust, dirt and debris wildly through the air.

You fall to your knees and clutch your child to your chest. She’s screaming, like everyone else, as the world flies quickly by. Even so very far away from the blast, you feel as if you’re in the wake of a tornado.

As soon as the storm comes, it has passed, and the world is calm again. You can’t bear to turn, to see the settling destruction that lays on the horizon. With weary arms, you lift your child, and you begin to walk.

Easier

Title	Easier
Genre	Angst
Warnings	None
Rating	G
Words	100
This was written as a response for the Week 32 prompt on Gather's "100 Word Stories" community. The prompt was White Lies.

* * *

As their lips parted, she breathed a gentle sigh of relief. He had been away for so long that she’d begun to wonder if he’d return. His letters from the Western battles had done little more than tell her that he, at the time of writing, was alive.

I’ve missed you so…”

“Hush. I came to say goodbye.”

Her shock must have been obvious. “But… but you just…”

“I’ve fallen in love with someone else. I’m sorry.”

She stared after him as he walked away, too engulfed in her grief to notice his fresh blood on the newly fallen snow.