The Promise - a short story

The Promise (Fiction 101 Series)

Aaron blew out all one-hundred candles. The assisted living nurse cut his cake. He always liked his birthday. And this was the day he needed to fulfill a promise. The morning after his fiftieth birthday, his mom had called him and said, “Welcome to the second half of your life.” And that’s when he made the promise. Aaron had been an avid cyclist most of his life. His plan, ride his age every birthday. So, after his morning birthday party he snuck out of the facility and prepared his bicycle. Ten long hours later he finished. The next day, he died smiling. 

~

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith." - 2 Timothy 4:7

A Different Smile - a short story

On March 11, 2020 the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a global pandemic...

~

A Different Smile (Fiction 101 Series)

“Can you tell the difference?” The salesperson asked. He tapped his pad for the units to rotate.
“Not yet,” she looked them over from head to toe. “Biotech integrated?”
“Of course,” he assured her. “And with memory reset – if you’re ever inclined.”
“When?”

“Today, if you like!” His enthusiasm betrayed him. 
“You know I meant the time period.”
He checked his pad, “1920.”
“Ask them to smile,” she insisted.
Reluctantly, he accommodated her request. Each unit smiled.
“These three are the same. That one’s different,” she pointed.
He coughed and double-checked his pad, “My apologies. That’s our 2020 model.”
“Looks anxious.”

Tears of War - a short story

Tears of War (Fiction 101 Series)

The generals exhausted all options – on all sides. All the options exhausted nearly every resource. No bullets. No bombs. Depleted crops. Limited energy. Clean water, more valuable than gold. Until one day a scientist came across a unique discovery. After the last fallout, a specific compound mutated. The tears of children could be used to regenerate crops – even purify water. However, one side-effect placed the children in a conundrum. The tears could be weaponized by inflicting extreme passivity, and the opposition would just lie down and die. Eventually, the children learned how to only cry tears for peace, and not war. 

~

To the day when there will be no more tears!

Singularity - a short story

 Singularity (Fiction 101 Series)

The crew was halfway through the blackhole. Streaks of light swirled and flashed past them like their memories of home. The gravity sheers were real when they first approached the event horizon. But they had to protect each other and protect the mission – at all costs. Their last radio transmission to Earth was filled with a singular focus – their respective families, who wouldn’t receive it within their lifetime. But the message wasn’t for them – it was for their descendants. How many generations was unknown. How many other descendants was unknown. But the message was clear, “Protect the crew. At all costs.”

(See the other side, the other story by clicking here.)

Singularity, Dark Manifestation - a short story

Singularity, Dark Manifestation (Fiction 101 Series)

The solo occupant was halfway through the blackhole. Streaks of light swirled and flashed past him like the deceased crew across his fading memory. The mutiny was real when they first approached the event horizon. He had to save the ship, save the mission – at all costs. His last radio transmission to Earth was filled with a singular focus – his daughter. She wouldn’t receive it within her lifetime, but the message wasn’t entirely for her – but her descendants. How many generations and other descendants was unknown. Just as his ship was breaking apart he reported, “Save the ship. At all costs.”

(See the other side, the other story by clicking here.)

Arrow of Time - a short story

Fiction 101 Series

Arrow of Time 

(Or The Results of Present-Indefinite When Attempting to Cheat Entropy)

Today, I sit behind the controls of my time machine. Not to travel to the past and correct a mistake, but to the future. Safely cloaked, I see the thousands of autonomous people oblivious to the horrors of the news flashing on the giant TSX Broadway screen of Times Square.

A decade past. Eventually five. Inside the ship, only one day. My goal, to reach the future Gene Roddenberry envisioned. However, when I disengage, I return to just one day after I had left.

 

And the only thing I gain, my present is redefined by the end of today. Or was.

 
~
 
Inspired by the Charles Yu novel, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, and inadvertently, by the previously written poem of the same title. 

 

The Unsolved Mystery - a short story

The Unsolved Mystery

With pen in hand, I reflected on past cases of Sherlock Holmes, which have to my fortune reached the public in print over the many years. But it was today that held a singular significance. The embers of his pipe had gone out as I saw my friend in a state like none other. Outbursts of frustration or revelation had been an outlet in the past, but it wasn’t in his nature to allow violence to pacify his anger. However, the corner of his desk suffered the most when he struck it with the poker.

He shouted, “Watson! It is not this case. But it is the reasoning, or the lack thereof, that has forced me to trod along in such a precarious manner.” He turned toward me, “Good doctor, is my brain that far gone?” He paused, then forced an answer, “I think not!” He stepped toward the window.

“My dear Holmes. Need I remind you, today you reached a significant birthday.”

“Please don’t,” he brooded. “Death is a mystery never to be solved.” He lifted his finger toward the heavens.

“I wasn’t speaking of your end.” I tried to relay some comfort.

“But age has a cruel way of reminding us of our pending exit. It is unavoidable.”

“Then tell me, why do you try?”

His wiry smile flashed his answer before he spoke, “If not my mind, then the rare superior intellect of the next generation may live on – if that is even possible.”

I simply replied, “But probable, Holmes.”

He lifted a curious brow in my direction and then toward the window as he gazed up and down Baker Street. And as if he could see through the flats across the street, he peered over the London skyline as if the future would never provide a mind that would contain his abilities.  “Can it? Is it possible to pass down what I hold?” He pointed at his head. “Perhaps, what I have learned. But knowledge is not a gift with which we are born.” He paused as his hand drifted to his chin. He then let out a loud guffaw and, in opposition to his previous outburst, he quietly returned his attention toward the inner workings of his flat, as he reignited his pipe and with a new illumination in his eyes on the case presented before him.

I returned to my comprehensive writing for all posterity – to keep my friend alive. 

~

Also referenced in The Sherlock Holmes Society of London journal, The District Messenger, March 2026.

Born this day in 1854. Happy birthday to the greatest consulting detective to have ever lived!