In the scorching desert heat, a spirited delivery man ventures into the vast emptiness, unaware of the horrifying fate that awaits him. With his present cargo tightly secured, he had no inkling that within its confines lay a mystery too grisly to comprehend. And then, as the cargo is unveiled, a ghastly truth was revealed – a man-eating beast, more sinister than any nightmare, lurks behind those timber slates. The desert becomes an arena of terror, where life and death hang in the balance.
Left trapped in a bone-chilling dilemma, his every move determines his own survival. The stakes had never been higher, and the desert bares witness to a harrowing battle for survival, as the hunter becomes the hunted, and fear carves its path amidst the arid wasteland.
This horror sci-fi story is part one of the series, The Sell Outs, based on the short story.
Devious16 wondered why time existed…. if time existed at all.
He attached the power pack to the modified rotary assault rifle. He switched it on, pressed the trigger and the disk above the weapon hissed, spinning at two thousand and a half meters per second. He saw intense yellows and reds swirling across his blurred vision. He saw blues and greens turn to grey.
Book covers are an essential element in the marketing of a book. They need to capture the reader’s attention and convey the essence of the story. With the advancements in technology, designers have access to various tools to create eye-catching covers.
Here I am, facing the nadir of my existence, and I have the need to go to work. A specialist recommended I do so. I don’t think that the psychiatrist had any inkling of who I am, or how volatile I had become, but I take the advice. Learning to live again, and going back to work is the first step.
“The cat,” says a familiar voice. What cat? In the darkness, you are flying. You feel motion, yet you are sitting at a table, opposite a dirty, unshaven guy pointing a burning cigarette at you. I know this person. When an angry Bruce Harvey says, “Where’s my cat, fucker?” you conclude it’s a dream. The has-been movie star is interrogating you in a grimy, run-down room surrounded by four cracked, windowless walls, but the only question running through your head is… Why this actor? Harvey karate chops you across the back of your neck. It’s not the pain that wakes you, it’s the warm light bleeding in through your eyelids. The nightmare fades, fizzling away, back into your brain’s nether regions, dying alongside discarded aspirations and forgotten memories. Drool runs down the side of your mouth, but you are unable to move. Your face feels numb, due to your cheek pressed against the cold glass. The tinnitus in your ears stops, replaced by the hum of the ute’s engine, and the friction between tyre, road and air, enters your awareness. You open your eyes, just wide enough to squint, focusing on the golden countryside sweeping past outside. For a moment; reality is a blur. You attempt to shift your head and are relieved it moves with little pain. Your arm is cramped, and your neck feels broken, but you know this is temporary. The breaking dawn illuminates the narrow, unmarked road, winding around a chain of hills. A clump of trees obscures the misty valley beyond, sending intermittent shafts of copper light to warm your face. Once the trees go by, you marvel at the spectacle, at the amber clouds cruising along the horizon, at the auburn fields, smothered with whispers of mist, rolling up and down between chestnut-coloured forests.
This is how to time travel on the subway. Look at the platform and imagine it being the destination platform. Walk to where you imagine the exit location is, and get as close to it as possible. Then board your train carriage at that location. It is the walking that makes the difference. Three minutes can be saved or lost, whether or not you choose to walk or stay dormant.
I attempted this today but my whole time travel experience got foiled when I was forced to change carriage to avoid the smell of vomit, foot odour, and rolling water bottles. I lost half a minute of time travel.
Although I did experience another form of chrononautics. I sat next to a guy who looked familiar. I had to ask his name. Sure enough, it was a long-lost childhood friend. Dangerous personality, always making dreams seem achievable. Too bad he sounded like he’d never amounted to anything. I asked him why he broke off contact all those years ago. He tried to answer but really didn’t satisfy my question, not in any meaningful way. I was however surprised he invited me home. Can’t work him out.
Eventually, he admitted to me that he lead a wasted life and then tempted me to show him what I’d achieved, but I was uneasy with this. What next? Do I kill him? Do I show him what I’ve been doing for the past lifetime and a half? I backed away and treated him like the stranger he really was. What really made me uneasy was the fact I had the urge to show off.