Please Just Stay

  "My love." I say, gripping May's hand in my own. Her heart monitor speeds up a little, her gaunt face turns to me, and she smiles weakly.
  "Hi, Lover." She says, voice raspy and tired. I fight back tears, instead smiling back to her. I bring her pale hand to my mouth, doing my best to ignore how thin her arm has become. Kissing her wrist deeply, I bring my other hand away from my back, revealing a small, plush penguin. She giggles a bit, the sound warming my heart, yet stinging my ears, as I realize how sick she's become. Swallowing a sob, I keep my smile firm, for her sake.
  "I saw this at the store today, and... Well, you know how I am with impulsive purchases." I gently set the penguin on her chest, watching it heave with each breath.
  "You always spoil me." She teases, squeezing my hand pathetically.
"Hey, you deserve it." I say back. Her face suddenly turns solemn, and she withdraws her hand.
  "What's wrong, Hon?" I ask worriedly.
  "I..." She begins. "The doctors said... Things aren't looking good..." She seems to trail off, her eyes watering, beginning to cry.
  "No, no. Things are going to be okay. You're the strongest girl I know, May. You'll pull through." I sob, tears streaming down my face, as I reach for her hand again. She pulls it away.
  "I just think... It would be better if you left..."
  "What... What are you telling me, Hon?" I sputter, tears falling harder from both of us.
  "I'm saying..." She gasps, chest heaving more. "I don't want to see you. Go. Leave. And never come back." She turns her head away, giving me no chance to say anything back, no goodbye, no reason... Nothing.

  After a whole night of thinking, crying, and wondering, I stand now, with the rise of dawn, staring down at the streets far below.
  Perhaps we can be together... In the afterlife.

Another Chance

  When I finally admitted my feelings for her, I had justifiably expected rejection. It was like an insect trying to win the heard of a Goddess. I was shocked when she told me she felt the same.
  Impossible, I thought. I knew she must be lying to me. But, I entertained the thought, and asked her out for a cup of coffee.
  My heart nearly stopped as I heard her musical voice form the one word that rang as an angel's bell in my ear: Yes.
  That Friday, I drove my way to our nearest cafe, and waited. And waited.
  And waited.
  After an hour, I sat at a booth and sipped on a cup of coffee, which I had meant to share. As the night went on, my wallet grew lighter and lighter, while my hands shook more and more, both from caffeine, and stress.
  The waitress there looked worried as she continued serving me cup after cup of the sweet brown liquid. I would've thought her shift would end, but she stayed until dawn, the same time I left.
  I called the woman who had stood me up, asking her why she hadn't come. Apologizing to me, she explained that she had forgotten the exact date, and thought it would be the next Friday. Her voice sounded different than usual, and I somehow knew she was lying. Despite this, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, I told myself there was a good reason, and full of feable hope, I asked if we could try the date again, the same night.
  She said yes, that she would definitely be there. I put the phone down, and despite the ache in my chest, I made myself look decent, and drove to the same cafe as the night before.
  The night wore on as once again I binged myself on coffee, served by the same waitress as the night before. She seemed just as worried as she had the previous night, though it was hard to tell behind the wall of tears in my eyes. I didn't want to be there, I just wanted to go home. Still, I repeated my actions from the night before, and drank until the sun once more rose above the horizon.
  As I went out the glass doors, I saw the waitress turn and walk towards me from the employee entrance, and I waited to hear what she was going to say.
  "Hey, sorry. I just... Well, I don't know who it is you're beating yourself up over, but she doesn't deserve a guy like you. Here." She jammed her hand toward me, a piece of paper clenched between her fingers. A phone number.
  I hesitated, my palm half-open. I didn't want to be impolite, but I also didn't want to go on a date with someone I had just met. Before I could decide what to do, however, she put it in my hand, and ran off.
  Upon getting back home, I threw myself on the bed. Though my energy was all but depleted, I couldn't bring myself to sleep. I laid there, and watched the daylight grow brighter through the window as the day went on.
  It was midday by the time I woke from a slumber I hadn't remember falling into. For a few minutes longer, I continued to lie there, until I could bring it on myself to call the girl who had stood me up. I had to get a reason, some kind of explanation, anything for my fragile heart to cling to. I dialed the number I knew only too-well, and waited. No response. I tried again, listening to the ringing from the other end...
  No response.
  I knew from experience that she would still be home around this time. I dropped the phone, and turned away. I could've handled it if she had just said no. Or, hell, even just stood me up... But to not even give me an answer... Why this?
  I knew I wasn't enough for her. I knew it.
  That day, I didn't leave my room. I laid in bed, alternating my behavior between crying my eyes out, and getting back two nights of lost sleep. I didn't want to do anything anymore. There wasn't a reason to care.
  I didn't get up until 8pm the next night, and as I rose, I heard something soft crinkle under me. I got up and inspected the bed, to find a small scrap of paper; the waitress's phone number.
  I called her, desperate to have anyone make me feel better. When she picked up, she sounded excited, and I smiled involuntarily. We scheduled a date for the next Friday, and she admitted to taking over her coworkers' shifts just to see me. We agreed to skip a cafe and head to the park for a walk.
  We had a wonderful day that bled into a night on the town. We couldn't seem to stop seeing each other. Months went by, and we talked about our future together, having kids, and...
  Today, I'm getting married.

First Love

  "I love you."
  Sarah turns to me, her face reddened by a deep blush. This is the first time I've said it, my arm around her, interrupting the romance movie we had been watching for some time. A cheesy show about a couple, separated by their families.
  "M-M-Matthew..." She looks away, hiding her gorgeous face from me. A small silence comes between us, before I hear her mutter something back.
  "What did you say?" I ask, leaning closer.
  "I... I love you, too." She whispers.
  We spend the night in silence. She leans her head on me, and as the movie credits start to roll in, I realize she's fallen asleep. Without disturbing her, I reach for the remote, turn off the T.V., and slowly lean down, until we're laying together, her on top of me, her head resting on my chest.
  I feel my eyelids droop slowly, further and further down, until they shut completely. My arms wrap around Sarah tightly. I suddenly feel her hands cling to me.
  "I love you." She says.
  "I love you, too." I answer, smiling as she shifts a little.
  We fall asleep.

Inside the Box

  I sit at the same office desk that I have had for the last 10 longest years of my life. I type on the same keyboard, which is missing the paint from the letters A, E, and T, after being used for so long. The same computer shows me the same documents, the same tap-tap-tap of the keys...
  I can't take this anymore.
  The same coworkers tell me the same stories, as I eat the same lunch that I have every day at the same hour. Our office workers give the same speech as they always do, about how hard they work, and about how much fun they have at home...
  No. I think to myself, breath quickening, heart beginning to race. I... Can't... Take... This... Any... More...
  I tear away, breaking for the stairs, leaping over desks and chairs.
  "What the hell?!" Someone shouts as I bound down the steps, floor after floor, until I'm finally outside, breathing in the fresh air. Loosening my tie, I get into my car, feeling alive for the first time in so many years.
  And I drive.
  I drive away... From everything...

Razor

  All I did was love, give, and hope and pray. But when I finally got up the courage to ask her out...
  She completely crushed me.
  I could've accepted rejection. I could've accepted some level of harshness, even if we had been great friends. But this... Was a complete case of overkill, a blatant disregard for my emotions. It was like she had become someone else entirely, someone who wanted only for the destruction of my soul.
  For a while, I thought she had succeeded. Somewhere deep down, I still do. Yet, there's a new part of me, a part which still holds on to a thin strand of hope. A part that says I'll be alright.
  I sit now, alone in my room, hoping and praying for something, anything to help me.
  I see my shaving razor, lying on my desk. The blade itself has somehow been pulled out. Curious. I stand to put it away, but as I touch it, darker thoughts begin to fill my mind...
  I carry the razor into the bathroom. My parents are out tonight, and will be until tomorrow afternoon. That strand of hope inside tells me not to, it says it's not worth it. I don't have to do this.
  Filling the bathtub with hot water, I lay inside, razor in one hand. A tear rolls down my face as I dig and tear, blood spraying for an instant. I cry out in pain, clutching my bleeding wrist. I breathe heavily, grit my teeth, and hold the razor in my other, shaking hand. I have to push through. With great effort, I push the blade against my other wrist, and dig through. Sobbing, I drop the razor, doing my best to relax my body, wrists burning.

  I watch the child bleed out, my plans now set in motion. I stare silently, observing with slight curiosity.

  Oh, God, why did I reject him the way I did?! I know he... He killed himself because of me. Oh, it's all my fault! I should have said yes. He was cute, funny, always kind to me, and in return... I killed him!
  In between my sobs and wails, I look up, and notice something out of place; the razor I use to shave is lying on my bed. Stranger still, the blade has been pulled out...

  Was I not a good mother? Why did my son do this to himself? My ONLY son, now... Dead.
  Here I lay, crying into my pillow. My husband is drinking his sorrows away at a bar, and I have no one here to help me cope. Hearing a small thud, I raise my reddened face, curious.
  The noise came from the bathroom, I suddenly realize. Entering, I notice my razor on the floor. It had to have fallen. Getting closer, I see the blade on its own, seemingly calling to me...

  My wife and son. Dead. No hope.
  I lay in my bathtub, soaking in my daily bath. A clatter echoes nearby. Opening my tear-drenched eyes, I see my razor, the blade knocked close to me...

  "Four deaths, not bad." I say to myself, standing over the father's body. I commemorate myself on a new record, and for keeping a family together. Slowly, my boney hand graces across the grown man's face, and my blank eyes stare deeply into his cold, lifeless ones.

Missing Window

  Crash!
  I wake with a start, as I hear glass break. Still groggy from sleep, I force myself to some level of consciousness. I roll out of bed, and in the dark, fumble through my nightstand drawer. Finding my revolver, I tip toe to my door, slowly open it, and peer out. The window at the end of the hall is sealed, and thankfully, solid. Moving in a crouched position, I dash down the hall, to the next bedroom. I suck in a quick breath when my foot presses down on a loose floorboard, releasing a loud squeak in consequence. The sound reverberates throughout the entire house.
  After waiting through a full minute of silence, I relax. Slightly. Then, with a gun in one hand, I push the door open. Peeking in, I look at the window, just above the bed. Unsurprisingly, it too is untouched. With a quiet sigh of relief, I pull my head from the room, and continue to the living room.
  I stop short, leaning back on the wall corner. My head turns around the corner, gun following below, but I don't see so much as a shadow. All three windows are fine.
  My last option; the kitchen.
  I steel myself for what's coming. With caution, I raise myself back to a standing position, and slowly, step by step, walk to the doorway.
  One deep breath, before I lunge in, flicking the lights on and waving the gun wildly around the room.
  There's no one inside, and the window is...
  Solid.
  "You forgot your own room." I hear from behind, before a whack resounds, and a sharp pain runs through my head. The room spins, and everything quickly turns to black...

Impaled

  I can't believe I'm still dying.
  There's a wooden pole in the ground, and I'm stuck halfway through it. For the last hour, I've watched my own blood trickle down, slowly draining me.
  I screamed for the first moments, my cries echoing across the vast, empty field. But my voice has grown hoarse, and my head feels too light.
  I've cried for most of the last hour. It was only recently that I ran out of tears. But inside, my weeping still continues.
  The pain I feel is agony itself, manifested. It's everything I've feared of death. Every breath is a whimpering plea, every slight movement brings about a new flood of torture. Every moment of life is another moment that I pray for the sweet release of death.
  For a few short, unlasting minutes, when it first dawned on me that I was impaled on this wooden pole, I had the fool's hope of rescue. When I felt that my guts were spewed a bit, just above me, when I noticed the pole below turn red with my blood, all my hope dripped down with it. When I came to the full realization of just how prolonged this would be, all I wished for was death.
  I was once thankful for pain. I've always seen it as a warning against danger, a necessary evil for survival. Now though, I would give anything just to stop feeling. Oh, it hurts. This whole time, I've been slowly, slowly inching my way down this splintered wood, feeling my cold, coagulated blood force its way back into my body. How long? How much longer can I possibly live like this? Please, just end this. Just let me die already.
  I'm getting close now, I hope. I'm so dizzy, so tired. My adrenaline is wearing down, I can't last much longer. Thank God. My blood has formed a puddle below me. I'm only half a foot away from the ground.
  Perhaps, if I close my eyes long enough, the pain will go away.

Updating

  I apologize for the great lag in my posts, the last story being nearly 3 months ago. Life and stress have taken a huge toll on both myself and my available time, and as a result, I've had to postpone writing my stories here in favor of more financially feasible choices. I've decided to come back to this blog, and make attempts at reviving the site and posting stories more often.
  My writing style, I feel, has advanced a bit, and the fact that more people read now more than ever inspires me to continue my dream of becoming an author. I'm currently working on several novels at once, my mind being the type to wander over and over again, but in between working on those, I'd like to continue providing free stories to the public using this blog. Thank you to anyone who is a regular visitor of this site, and I hope that I can give everyone hundreds of stories to read and share with each other.

Artificial

  The remains of a once-proud civilization, advanced to technological feats once thought impossible. The ground is metallic, my boots creating a solid thud with each step. What could cause the downfall of such a great people? The reasons have been lost with time, but one thing hasn't: life.
  Life, in a sense. This planet, completely mechanized by my ancient ancestors, has few organic species left on its surface, clustered in the remnants of what used to be contained farms. The bionic life that hangs on is a much more common sight, as are the rumored monsters of experiments performed long ago. Neither of these are a welcome presence to me. Despite my horrid odds, I have to pray that I find one of the rarer, livestock animals that have somehow survived to this day. Starvation, after all, is a slow, painful way to die.
  No longer have the words run through my head than I hear a primal shriek, one of pain, lust, and hunger. "Shit." I think to myself, speeding on to a full-sprint as I hear the clank of metallic footfalls behind me. I don't dare look back, fearing that I could slip on the steel ground below, or trip over one of the many cables protruding from the metal. I instead focus on the path ahead, desperately searching for an escape. The clanks fall heavier, louder, my breath growing raspy, my legs burning. I can't stop. I won't stop. I have to find...
  Suddenly I'm going down, into a small crevice below. I hear a crack as my left arm takes the impact, pain tearing through. I look up as tears well in my eyes, and watch a titanium jaw unhinge, a robotic roar sounding through, echoing, ringing in my ears. Metal teeth chomp, feet stomp, and in a moment, its eyes lock on me. It stands, waiting. It knows it can outlast me.
  Slowly, I reach towards my holster, ready to draw my pistol. I feel only my thigh.

Goodbye

  Don't take this the wrong way. I loved you, and have appreciated every effort you've put in to make me happy. The problem is with me. The problem has always been with me. One failure after another, I've disappointed you, though you've never chosen to show it. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I'm sorry for wasting your time. I'm sorry for disappointing you, again. At least, it will be the last time...
  Carefully, I fold the paper into my pocket, take one last swig from my beer, and walk into the cold streets. After a 20-minute drive, I'm at the bridge. I set the note on the railing, tape it down, and close my eyes...
  "Finally, I'm going to do something good with myself."

Lost

  I don't even know how I got into this mess. Branches poke my feet as I walk through the wilderness, breathing heavily. My clothes are gone, and the last thing I can remember is getting out of my car, parked in front of my house. As I'd stepped out, I thought I heard something, a noise, a voice I think, then a thud, and then... This.
  I've been walking for nearly an hour, I think. I'm not sure, but I know it's been a long time, and it feels like it's been forever. It's really dark, even with the full moon lighting the way where it can, shrouded by trees. A few times I've heard the snap of twigs nearby, but my investigations have yet to turn up anything. I assume there are woodland critters around me. What's really been bothering me are the chuckles, the coughing. Signs of actual life, maybe even the person who brought me here. I run when I hear those noises, duck out of sight until I hear my pursuer move past me. Somehow, though, they always find me. I'm worried if they are tracking me, or if there is more than just one man.
  Shivering, both from the cold and the fear running through my veins, I try to keep my breathing quiet, and try to avoid making noise. The occasional snap of a twig nearby makes me tense, but I know I can't do anything about it.
  I've walked maybe a half hour more before I'm blocked by a ten-foot chain fence. It's topped with barbed wire, and I hope it's only my imagination that sees dried blood on the tips. A little examination shows that the entire fence is barbed, actually... Somebody's put me in a cage...
  That's when I hear it, just as I finish my thought. Chuckling, ringing out all around from behind. I can't turn around. There's definitely more than one person back there. I have to climb. It's my only way out.
  As I make my decision, the chuckling becomes full-blown laughter, sending chills down my spine. I hear footsteps, drawing nearer, and the fence begins shaking a little as I hear quick poundings against it. I hold my breath, and contain my yelp as my hands grip the wire. I begin to climb. A rock whizzes by, grazing my shoulder. This time I cry out, and grip the fence tightly. Big mistake. Tears welling up in my eyes, I continue climbing, faster this time, as my endorphins try to take the pain.
  Another rock smacks me on the head, and stars flash in my vision. How high am I? I must be getting close. The laughter is getting louder, becoming near-shrieks. Another rock lands, hard. I close my eyes, wincing in pain. I lose my breath. When I open my eyes back up, I'm on the ground.
  What I see next makes me scream, louder than I ever have before. Standing around me, in a tight circle, are beings shaped like humans, but... These beings are mere silhouettes, their bodies more like shadows than actual people. I feel a pinprick in my forehead, then words.
  Hello, human. I hear in my mind. You seem to have lost your grip. Pity. We were having so much fun with you.
  My head rings from the voice, and my bloody hands clutch it in pain. I try to get up. My legs won't move. I look down, screaming again as I see it, a black mass pinning me down. This one isn't like the other Shadows, this is an object, a blanket of sorts. But much heavier, I think to myself as it presses down. More screaming, as I hear the snap and tear of bones and tendons.
  Suddenly, numbness fills me, every inch, and my vision fades, going black, as black as the beings, moving slowly closer to me...

Torra

  The people cheered and applauded as their new world leader stepped up to the podium. Elected by the billions worldwide, he smiled and waved at the vast crowd who made it there.
  "As your new leader, I hereby swear to uphold our planet's constitution and laws, and vow to protect our people from any harm that may befall us, be it civil or not."
  Everyone cheered even louder, the large field standing before the Capitol echoing their voices, and the leader imagined everyone at home doing the same. He felt more nervous than ever, but despite it, he also felt honored. He knew, however, that this joy and planetary pride would subside, and fear of the unknown would once again take hold of the many families worldwide. He stepped down from the podium, escorted by four guards, and twirled his two eye stalks nervously. His vision focused on his front sockets, and his six pores filled with fresh air, inviting to his rapid chamber, which extended and retracted to literally pump blood through his body.
  His advisor stepped up to him, carrying in one of three arms a clipboard. One of his eye stalks looked back to read it, his arm protruding from his lower back.
  "Mr. President, sir", he began, "the polls are just in. People are already uncertain. You've yet to mention your plan for dealing with the, um..." He trailed off for a moment, shook his head, and continued. "With the Terrans. The, um, Earthlings. They've just colonized the planet they call 'Mars', and their telescopes are becoming an increasing threat. We've seen their history before. If they find us, who knows what they will do?"
  The president rubbed his neck, just beginning to grow stubble, and sighed. "We don't know yet what they will do, good or otherwise. Just because they have a history of violence doesn't mean we need to jump to so-called 'solutions'. I am aware of what they are capable of. But there was a time when we, too, fought amongst ourselves. Every species learns to overcome their greed and paranoia. Eventually."
  The advisor stayed silent, but the president could tell what was on his mind. "Tell the people to not fear, that we are keeping a close eye on the Earthlings, the humans. Tell them we are working on... Defensive measures."
  The advisor's eyes widened. "Then it is true?"
  "Yes," the president replied, "and it's time the people knew. Hopefully it will remove some of their fears. Tell them we have developed the first interplanetary missile, and we hope to construct another in the coming months. The humans won't develop much farther by then."
  Solemnly, the advisor stepped away to report the news.
  'Gods,' the president thought, 'this is where we're at. Solving violence with violence.'
  But he knew there would be no other option.

Wreckage

  Even with Light Travel, even with the most advanced defensive measures, accidents happen. These accidents are usually small oversights, and are fixed with a simple re calibration, or a reschedule. The bigger accidents leave a few people injured, or dead. But nothing was ever as devastating as the view from the lunar surface, catching humanity's first great crash in their history of space travel.
  A ship had been orbiting Earth for several months, vast and powerful, this ship was almost fully-constructed. Changes in radiation levels had caused the workers to move the ship's orbit, hoping to avoid unnecessary exposure. Before they had time to alert their commanders of their change in movement, however, something drastic happened. Another ship had just warped into orbit. Without time to react, both ships collided, and havoc ensued.
  The lunar sky was soon filled with debris, and bodies. Air was sucked from both ships, and the combined mass was only colliding further, as gravity warped the two together. Three escape pods had left, their fiery trails fleeing from the wreckage, dropping to the moon. Steel melted, glass glittered around, like a million extra stars had been added to the galaxy. Heat created powerful explosions, shattering the ships like ceramic, lighting up in a great ball of fire, engulfing the empty space around, for a moment appearing larger than the sun. Before more could be viewed, shield generators were sent, turning the sky an electric green. For weeks, the shields stayed, occasionally flashing bright as they absorbed the impacts directed towards them.
  Thousands died, and the debris created thereafter took months to burn up, or be recycled by local collectors. Only 112 bodies were able to be collected.

The Well

  If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss will stare back.
  I can't remember who wrote that first, or even what they actually meant by the phrase. I've always imagined it was one of those sayings that you already had to relate with to fully understand. But if the phrase was meant to be taken literally...
  Then I finally understand it. At least, I think so. I can't be sure what I'm looking at right now, in the gaping maw that I've called a well for as long as I can remember. The hole below is too deep to see the bottom, and the resulting darkness has always been a sight of refuge for me, ever since I could climb to the stone top of the well, and peer down into the inky blackness, imagining the nothingness was the only other thing in the world with me. Using it to hold my thoughts as they came through, and creating insight I'd never imagined before.
  But this time, I could swear I saw something. It's impossible, I know... It has to be my eyes, adjusting to the dark. Or a result of sensory deprivation. There can't be anything down there, not alive at least, not... Staring at me, with red glowing eyes.
  Shaking the image out of my head, I lean back, away from the black below, and turn for home. That's when I hear it. What sounds like wet mud being slapped against the stone, as though someone had smacked it against the well. I turn around, the hairs on my neck standing up, and peer back into the well. For a moment, there is nothing. Suddenly, the same pair of eyes I'd seen those few minutes ago open up, bigger, closer than before, and even without a mouth to see, I know it's smiling. At me.
  I run faster than I ever have before, straight for home, only thirty feet away. My heart pounds in my throat, as my feet slam into the ground, and my arms pump hard. As I shut the door loudly, I can see the blood vessels in my eyes, fluctuating with every beat of my heart. Shaken, and scared, I peek out of the living room window, at the well far away. The sun is just setting over the horizon, but I can't pay attention to the beautiful pinks and reds in the sky. I stare at the well, waiting for something, anything to happen. But nothing does.
  I refuse to look away, however, even after it's gotten dark. I know I saw something. I just know...
  I'm ripped from my thoughts as I watch, eyes wide in horror, at the black figure crawling up above the well below. Its form is slender and jagged, but has fluid motion as it moves over the wall, onto the grass, crawling on hands and feet. Its head slinks in my direction, and its eyes immediately lock onto mine.
 I shut the curtains quickly, before turning to the kitchen, stumbling for the phone. I grab it, thumbing the numbers 9-1-1, waiting for the operator. Absolutely no sound escapes from the phone. Gasping in shock, I throw the phone, losing my breath as I panic. My head turns to the door, and there IT is. It looks human, now. A pure-black shadow, imprinted on my door. The red eyes are the only hint that it ISN'T a shadow. That, and... The feeling of dread that overcomes me, as I look at its form. Its form, from which several dozen tentacles protrude, extending towards me from every direction, which slowly grasp me. I want to run, but... I feel myself relax, to the point of paralysis. My mind melts away, and everything feels warm...
  I have one last moment of full, agonizing consciousness, trying feebly to break free from my restraints, before everything fades to that familiar black...

First Contact

  First Contact was a relatively rare thing to occur in these times of the Space Age. When a new inhabitable planet was discovered, it was either lifeless, or primitive. However, the technology remained on certain diplomatic ships, as First Contact did still occasionally happen. However, even with Faster-Than-Light travel, ships would still require minutes or even hours to arrive, and both sides, human and new race, had to be in a mutual stalemate for First Contact to be a peaceful occurrence, luckily, it usually was.
  On the outskirts of the Human Empire, a small colony grew. This extension of Human influence was not the first, and marked the 23rd star system to be under control. This planet was relatively underdeveloped, and as a result, was missing a few key components for the empire. Mainly, this meant that signals were broadcast at a slower speed, and ships which orbited the planet were mainly designed for defense, or scavenging.
  It was then that one of the most uncommon situations humanity could face had occurred: an undiscovered alien race had warped into orbit around the planet. Unprepared, the colonists below at first mistook the ship for a new design on another species, and attempted speaking from their list of known greetings, hoping to get a response. This was against galactic regulations, in which the Human Empire greatly stressed to allow outsiders to speak first if the ship was unidentifiable.
  Defending ships were unsure of this newcomer, and had already begun forming defensive positions, raising their shields in the event of enemy fire. The arriving ship looked much bigger than a simple fighter or carrier, and the colonists expected that it had to be a colony ship, battleship, or diplomatic ship. This left three possible scenarios which could play out. However, the first words said back to the humans on-planet were spoken in English, though it was obvious they didn't know it well.
  "Not our language. Not our objective. Evacuate."
  This understandably scared the humans stationed around the planet, and an immediate order was issued: This is not a peaceful vessel. It must be destroyed at all costs. As humans fired upon the behemoth ship, it fired back, and the resulting casualties left most of the defending fleet in ruins, bodies and debris orbiting the once-clean planet. But with these losses, came victory, as the attacker was annihilated in the battle.
  Humans cheered for their victory. However, this victory was short-lived, as new reports came in of an approaching missile, big enough to completely destroy the entire planet that humans had colonized only a short while ago. Their on-planet signals hadn't been able to pick up the missile until then, and by the time word got back to the capital, the missile was only twenty standard planet-lengths away. This meant the missile would hit in approximately three days. It took four to send the transmission. It would take four or five to get one back.
  The colonists made a hasty evacuation, leaving 70% of the citizens behind, and taking what resources and provisions they could. If nothing else, they were able to scan the missile's and the former attacker's point of origin: they pointed toward the same star system. As the planetary leader left their new world, they began a transmission to the attackers.
  "We've found you. We are not afraid. And we're coming."

Observation

  Looking out through the window of my 14th-story apartment, I look out through the world of concrete, steel and glass, past the thin veil of smog and pollution, down to the little ants far below. I wonder where they are all going, little calculations in my head estimate the percentages, but there is always a margin of error with these things. I calculate 70% are moving to work or home from work, 15% are going to a social outing, party, or date, and 15% are going to somewhere else, somewhere I can't calculate. Family or friend's house, a walk in the park, that sort of thing. It is this percentage that I often find keeps me up at night. This percentage is unpredictable, to me, yet also just as predictable as the 70%. If I ever chose to follow one of them to their destination, to find out just where they were going, their actions, their movements, would be predictable, and each turn on a street could greatly diminish the list of directions they may be headed.
  I finish off my cup of coffee, throw on my jacket, and head out the door. One of my neighbors, three doors to my right, also leaves, right on schedule. We exchange pleasantries, and his mention of passing a cemetery on the way to work triggers my mind. I've known his route to work for a few months, now, and I've seen the very graveyard he passes each and every morning. His mention of it today tells me someone close to him died. We enter the elevator together, and I take the moment to study him. His posture is a bit more sullen than usual, though he's working hard to hide it. His clothes are bland, featureless, though I've always known him for wearing colourful shirts, always with some kind of sarcastic joke printed on the front. I see a ring missing from his finger, one I've always seen before.
  As we leave the elevator, I apologize for the loss of his wife, and as he looks at me with shock, I make a mental note to deduce her cause of death later. I rush off before he can say another word, get into my car, and begin heading down several dozen roads, making sporadic turns, trying my best not to be what everyone else is: predictable.
  Finally, after a 15 minute drive, I come to a stop outside a brick building, leave my car, and walk through the door marked "Private Eye". Sitting in my cozy chair, I play my answering machine, and tune my ears to the messages that swiftly follow...

Endless Desert

  I wipe the dust from my face, licking my cracked lips with a dry tongue. The sun above glares down on me, forcing my eyes to squint as I stare into the shifting sands in every direction. No sign of water. Everything's dead.
  I trudge through the loose sands, burying me up to my knees as I move on. I keep hope in the back of my head, hoping for some sort of lifeline, some source of moisture in this hot, hellish Wasteland. But wishful thinking doesn't bring rain, especially not to a cloudless sky. The only thing protecting me from the harmful rays of the sun is a layer of dust high above, too thin to fully block the sky, but thick enough to be prominent, and to glow a brownish-red by sunset. How I wish it could be sunset.
  Instead, I endure the heat beating through my skin, seeming to melt my bones as I move forward, legs baking in the sand. A faint clicking catches my attention, and I take a look at the Geiger counter in my hand. Radiation. Could it be water?
  I don't rush. I learned better than that long ago. Instead, I follow the clicking, peering out through the dust storm around me, searching desperately for a hint of blue, of life. Despite the endless, dark orange colour of sand, I follow the sound of my Geiger counter, possibly throwing survival away on a mere hunch.
  If only the sun hadn't made my sight so bad. Maybe then I wouldn't be crying out now, falling into the water below, listening to the ticking speed up, knowing in an instance my fate. Radiation poisoning. The water is safe enough to drink, with filtration, or in very minute amounts, but being covered in it, that's a death sentence. It's only a matter of time before I vomit and defecate the remaining moisture inside me. A slow, painful way to die.
  I dunk my head in the water, hoping to all decency that no one else has to find this water, with my no-doubt decayed body rotting in the radioactive soup...