Bright Blessings

Clare looked from the still dripping axe on her night stand to the closed – sadly, unlocked - bedroom door. Trying not to be distracted by the pretty fan of blood spray on the ceiling, she fought to keep the excitement out of her voice. At least her mother still knocked. Let her suspect masturbation rather than … this. “Sweetie, can I come in?” “Er… not right now, mum. Kinda busy.” Which was a variation of the truth. “May I ask what with? This is a little urgent.” “My biology project…?” she ventured. Again, a version of the truth. Biology homework had been to study the human anatomy.   Her dissection, George, the school bully, lay in beautifully disjointed pieces on her duvet. She grabbed the axe, intending to throw it under the bed, lurching around in startled horror. “Dammit!” she exclaimed as the axe, swinging under her momentum, connected soundly into her mother’s torso. Mummy dearest seemed too shocked by the mess on the bed to scream or react. She dr...

Sam thrashed awake, but the grinding pain did not dissolve in the face of fluorescent brilliance. The claws tearing at his eyes resolved into his fingernails, shreds of bloodied bandage clinging, entangled. A door banged open followed by brisk tutting. Hands appeared in his pink-tinged vision adeptly wrapping fresh bandages into place, removing sight but not sensation. The howling screams continued in the depths of his brain and the urge to rip at his eyes was overwhelming. Even as his hands rose once more there was a sharp snick in his arm, fluid flowing, oblivion following. He didn’t feel the reassuring pat on his arm, the quiet words of Nurse Clarke; “Dr Arthur says it’ll be a couple more days before those can come off, hon. Patience now.” Sam slipped in and out of the next few days. He pain was constant, the urge to scratch his eyes so insistent they had to keep him fully sedated. When he tried to gouge in his sleep he woke to find his arms restrained, a nurse on ...

Nigel stared at his boss, naked terror in wringing hands and flaring eyes. “Do we tell them?” Professor Lingstrom flicked his eyes to the cameras blinking silently in the corners of the room. “They know.” “What about the people?” “The military will decide.” “Will they survive?” “I have no idea if any of us will.” They stared at the leaves in Petri dishes on the lab benches; leaves from across the globe, all telling the same story of extinction. **************************************** The first sinkhole had opened under New York, under the entirety of New York. It had taken 35 minutes for the metropolis to vanish into the depths. A few people survived; those on the outskirts who were able to run for safety. Many had watched husbands, children, and friends, incapable of resistance to the pull of the earth, sucked into the maw, unable to help or to look away.   Most were left deaf for days after, deadened by the sheer enormity of the sound of crack...