Future Imperfect

By Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing, Doug Ward and 6 more

Who says that the future is always bright? The prospect of better things yet to come is most certainly an attractive thought, one that propels scientific, creative, and social advancement. It is an endeavor that drives humanity forward. But the future is vague and difficult to predict. Not everything turns out the way it is expected. In fact, it is oftentimes not always for the better. In this collection of futuristic tales, the highs and lows of humanity’s struggle to break the boundaries of what is possible are explored. You decide whether or not the sacrifices were worth it in the end. After all, the future is always bright, isn’t it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassidy Raine Wolters
• Release date: Nov 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005290252

Book preview

Future Imperfect

Short Stories By

Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing, Doug Ward, Jerry Clark, B.C. Richards, Leonard Herrington, Scott Lee, April Ward, Mark R. Hospodar Jr.

Copyright 2020

Cassidy Raine Wolters, Jon Flushing, Doug Ward, Jerry Clark, B.C. Richards, Leonard Herrington, Scott Lee, April Ward, Mark R. Hospodar Jr.

Smashwords Edition

Introduction

Who says that the future is always bright? The prospect of better things yet to come is most certainly an attractive thought, one that propels scientific, creative, and social advancement. It is an endeavor that drives humanity forward. But the future is vague and difficult to predict. Not everything turns out the way it is expected. In fact, it is oftentimes not always for the better. In this collection of futuristic tales, the highs and lows of humanity’s struggle to break the boundaries of what is possible are explored. You decide whether or not the sacrifices were worth it in the end. After all, the future is always bright, isn’t it?

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imaginations or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Other fine books by these authors include:

Tales from the Grimacing Goblin

The Forging of the Ring

Tome of Terror

Table of Contents

It’s All Bunk Doug Ward

LORELAI Mark R. Hospodar Jr.

A Better World Cassidy Raine Wolters

Peace At Last Jon Flushing, Leonard Herrington, B.C. Richards

The Fall of Vasha April Ward

The Dark Tower Cassidy Raine Wolters

Not my Fault (An Idiots tale) Scott Lee

The Awakening Jerry Clark

Unseen World April Ward

Watching, Waiting Cassidy Raine Wolters

Want Some Candy? By Doug Ward

Brides & Grooms Cassidy Raine Wolters

About the Authors

Let the stories begin.

It’s All Bunk

Doug Ward

The Fayette County Fair was so picturesque. The sounds of people screaming, as rickety rides twirled them about, added to the excitement of the hawkers calling out for suckers to try their shifty games. I do not know why I loved to visit the fair year after year, but it drew me every time.

As I walked up the midway, I noticed a hand-painted sign. It’s faded, peeling paint announced Veritas the Witch. I should have walked right on past, but for some reason, I stepped to the fore.

An old woman sat in the booth selling spells and curses. Another sign, sitting on the worn wood of the counter, said she would guess your occupation correctly or you would win a prize. I watched as she looked deeply at the hands of a young man who had accepted her challenge.

Veritas manipulated his meaty paw, turning it over and tracing the lines with her boney, pointer finger.

We have a coal miner, she announced.

The man lowered his head and retreated from her booth in defeat.

The skeptic in me goaded me forward and I looked into her aged, gray eyes and whispered, Good guess. Probably ninety percent of these men are coal miners. You could most likely see the black residue under his nails. It’s all bunk.

An unbeliever! she announced to everyone who was nearby.

A realist, I corrected, as a small group gathered close.

And what would it take to make you see the truth Mr. De Murral? she asked in a loud voice.

Great, she knew my name. I’m a well-known, local scientist who has spoken out against the paranormal. I had been in the paper and even published a book on the subject. She had to know me from one of those.

Good guess, I conceded. The crowd was eating it up. Trying to think of a magic feat she could perform, I immediately remembered playing Dungeons and Dragons when I was young. Summon a demon, I declared.

The crowd gasped at my words, but the old crone did not hesitate. That’s a very dangerous request, she said while scratching her pointy chin with her long nails. I can’t endanger the crowd. Meet me in my tent and I’ll prove my legitimacy.

The people behind me voiced their disappointment at not being included as I accepted her challenge.

Her tent was very macabre, the outside being painted with imagery associated with her dark arts. Inside, it was even more bazaar. Glass jars and bottles held all sorts of strange and disturbing artifacts. It reminded me of scenes from all of the old spooky movies I had seen in my youth.

Nice place, I joked as I moved through the dark, dreary interior. Can I have the name of your decorator?

I can assure you that it’s all quite real, she mumbled as she sat at a small, round table in its center. Come and join me.

I slowly moved forward across various rugs bearing ornate designs. I recognized many pagan symbols adorning each before sitting in the chair she had indicated. It was all part of the show, I assured myself as I wiggled on my seat.

What, no crystal ball? I asked, uncertain of what to expect next.

This is a summoning, she chided. There’s no need for such instruments in this instance.

Listen Veritas, we don’t have to go on with this charade, I explained. I’ll let you off the hook. I won't even publish anything about tonight.

She stared at me with a growing toothy grin. As she scratched her long, pointed nose, I thought she was considering my proposal.

Then she emitted a low cackle as she pointed at me and said, I’ve read many of your articles.

Oh, I moaned. I’m sorry if you didn’t find them to your liking.

They’ve brought much pain and anger to many of my sisters.

This was becoming uncomfortable. Here I was, about be confronted by one of the people I had spent so much time debunking. I should have never accepted her offer.

Once again, I’m sorry. But I was just informing the gullible public about the fraud your kind perpetuate.

Fraud! she hissed sharply. Those people you exposed aren’t my kind. They’re leeches who use our name for their own gains. They have no power.

Choosing my words carefully, I continued, And you are so different? Using a simple process of deduction to guess someone’s occupation. Telling a person what they want to hear and calling it their fortune.

Don’t associate me with those simpletons, she said waiving a skeletal hand dismissively.

Then why are you at a fair in a rundown booth. If you have such arcane powers, why not use them to your advantage. Conjure a big house and vast riches. Your very presence here proves that you have no powers.

It’s time I show you the truth, she said with fire in her eyes.

Beginning to rise I proclaimed, It’s time I was leaving.

So, you don’t want to know.

Her words held me. I was ready to leave, but for some reason, I held my ground.

Fine, I said, dropping back into my seat, summon me my demon.

As you wish, she cooed.

Immediately, the electric lights dimmed. Candles lit as if by themselves. Moans sounded all around as she began to chant.

Nice effects, I mumbled. You’re going to have to do better than that.

Veritas didn’t respond. She maintained her rhythmic chanting, increasing her cadence every second. I could feel the very air tingling with energy. I could not figure out how she was doing it. Lifting a corner of the table cloth, I checked for some mechanism producing the effects. There was nothing there.

That’s when all of my Dungeons and Dragons experiences came to mind. If you’re summoning a demon, where’s the pentagram to contain it?

As my last words left my lips, she suddenly brought her spell to its conclusion.

It’s woven into the rug under your chair.

LORELAI

Mark R. Hospodar Jr.

The throbbing in David’s head was relentless, like partygoers dancing the Charleston……except the band was playing well past after hours. At first, his vision was nothing more than a penumbra, but little by little the cloudiness in his eyes abated with each passing minute. His returning clarity made him aware of a cold wetness above his forehead and David realized that it was blood. A small pool of little droplets had accumulated in the sand beneath his face. Thousands of tiny whistles blared in his ears, throwing off his equilibrium as he tried to stand. David’s eyes had trouble focusing on anything for very long which only compounded the nausea building in his stomach. Nevertheless, he managed to shakily regain his footing by planting his feet in the soft sand.

The sound of fire crackling amidst electrical sparks caught David’s attention. He turned around and recognized the smoldering remains of his ship experiencing its final death throes. Despite the blazing inferno the name Odysseus was still visible alongside the hull in red paint. Soon enough, even that was reduced to blackened soot. A sharp pain arced through David’s head as if a railroad spike had burrowed itself into his brain as he tried to remember the sequence of events that brought him here. His mind refused to concentrate on anything long enough for him to come to grips with the situation. The agony was almost enough to render David unconscious, but he managed to steady himself in time before he lost his balance completely.

Lacking the mental faculties to formulate a viable plan David’s only course of action was to forge ahead. He needed to create some distance from the shattered husk of the Odysseus, which looked as if it might explode at any moment. The inferno raged unchecked and it was only a matter of time before the fuel tanks were breached. Mustering up his depleted strength David staggered forward like a drunk attempting to locate his car. Dust kicked up into the air marked his passing as he shambled his way over the rocky canyon. The blistering sun assaulted the back of his neck; sweat poured down his face and mixed with the trickling blood seeping down his forehead. He had no supplies to speak of, everything he had, or rather everything he thought he had, was burnt to a crisp.

David knew in the pit of his stomach that his odds for survival were dwindling rapidly. The heat was going to finish the job the crash had started. His legs wobbled with each successive step he took, indicating to his concussed brain that his legs were approaching their expiration date. Snapshot images of his daughter Sarah sporadically popped up in his mind before disappearing just as quickly. He was able to latch on to certain features, like her auburn hair or the freckles that were sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, but was unable to form a complete picture. The thought of dying without being able to remember what Sarah looked like hurt David more than his head wound. Tears welled up in his eyes and his throat clenched as he tried desperately to evoke a clear image of her, but to no avail. The booming drum rolls in his head would not allow it.

His body shuddered as if an earthquake had erupted inside him. Death’s door was now only a few blocks away and he knew it. He fell to his hands and knees and could only manage a slow, pitiful crawl. He found himself at the base of a small, rocky knoll. With his vision once again blackening David grasped the small stones peppered amongst the little hill and hauled his body over the top. He tumbled down the slope a few meters, the sharp rocks stabbing him in the elbows, knees, and back as he meekly tried to break his fall. When he finally came to a stop his body was spent. Not even the spirit was willing to continue the struggle. David, ever the pragmatist, bowed to the inevitable and accepted his sandy tomb. Once more, he tried to retain a coherent image of Sarah. Once more, he failed, glimpsing only a pair of dimples set in the corners of a strange, yet familiar face.