Warm Welcome

“Pathway closed. Rift secure,” announced a warm voice, filling the air around two bewildered humans. Adult and child; woman and girl.

A different being approached. Human, only in appearance.

“Welcome,” it said, robes fluttering, “we trust your journey was painless?”

“Please help,” the woman held the girl close, “she’s-“

“Yes, we’ll take care of the child,” the being smiled.

Others came to collect her.

“No need for thanks,” the being motioned, “there’s much time.”

A chill ran through the woman before the warm voice gently eased it away.

“She’ll be healed soon,” the voice uttered, lulling her into inaction.

© 2021 Rebecca Glaessner


April 15, 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story that seeds generosity. Who is generous and why? Think of generosity as planting a future outcome. Go where the prompt leads!

Submissions now closed. Read the full collection here.

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Fireweed

My private aug showed ages beside every face in the room, but maintained each digitally overlaid, customisable appearance.

“Miss-“ the one hundred and forty-three earth-year old who didn’t look a day over twenty.

“Doctor,” I corrected.

Doubt flashed across all faces.

“Project Fireweed will be swift and precise,” I announced to the group, “replacing current programming with our new system. Individuals deserve privacy once more.”

Everyone sat up in outrage.

“A complete overhaul is insane-”

“Do you even know if it’ll work-”

I raised a hand for silence.

“Can anyone see my age?” I asked.

None could.

© 2018-2021 Rebecca Glaessner


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Selfish Devotion

Fist clenched, Warrick scribbled signatures across paperwork. His wife, face pale, breathed hard on a hoverbed. She looked worse with each day.
Labouring took a greater toll.

She screamed before the relieved laughter and a nurse placed their child in her arms.
Warrick relinquished the papers and nodded.
The nurse reclaimed the newborn.
His wife turned her head to him, eyes trained on their child, “Warrick? What’ve you done?”
Men guided the hoverbed to a cryo-chamber.
She screamed, “No! I want my baby!”
Warrick steeled himself, muttering, “should’ve had the treatments.” He left the child. “I’ll find a cure.”

© 2015-2021 Rebecca Glaessner


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Unproductive Progression

The future had come. Endless chambers of cold lights and pre-fabricated possessions created a norm no one felt part of.
One small council of a great metallic city met.
“Daily accidents again,” reported a hard eyed man, “sicknesses, absences.”
“Lines can’t continue this way,” said a stiff lady, “we’ll hear from higher up soon.”
“No one’ll be excepted,” said a shaken, elderly male.
A young girl took a breath, “what if we asked people? Found out what they need? What’ll help them be happy?”
The council members fell back in their chairs; it can’t be that easy. . .can it?

© 2015-2021 Rebecca Glaessner


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