January 2025 -- 75 Word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO BREN G!

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Appeal from Humanity



“I see no basis for appeal.”

“But my planet is uninhabitable! I can’t go back…”

“Do not take it personally. Sanctuary is granted to species, not individuals.”

“I am the only one left of my species! Isn’t that the purpose of Sanctuary?”

“Sanctuary protects eligible species from extinction, your species is not eligible.”

“I did nothing, can’t I request a waiver?”

“For causing planetary extinction? No, that is an absolute bar.”
 
The Predicament of Immortality

He’d quite enjoyed his current host but it was ageing now and the authorities were getting suspicious - again. Time for a change.

From the bench he sampled each passing stranger. Of course, there were constraints - must be alone, prosperous looking, probably retired and with no disabilities.

He ‘pinged’ an approaching female - single, no family, few friends and lives alone. Perfect.

Female? Needs must. He rose and, as dusk approached, followed her into the park.
 

The Handless Maiden.
Her father bargained with the devil, he gave him her hands.
She fled to the woods and met a king, they fell in love.
They had a child and all was well, then war broke out.

Her mother in law schemed to be rid of her whilst her husband was gone.

She ran to the woods, her one safe place, the fairy had watched and restored her hands.

Her husband returned, they reunited once more.
 

Chosen​

The General turned back from the viewing platform and the vast, verdant cavern beneath.

“Well?”

“They have established a flourishing and safe community within Sanctuary. We’ve even had the first birth. Our background research was faultless.”

“Amazing, they still believe themselves to be the chosen few. The ones to ensure humanity survives what’s coming.”

“In many respects, General, they will. What we learn here will be indispensable.”

“Agree, begin the experiment. Hit the apocalypse button.”
 
My Forever Home

Why choose a house when my pond is ever changing?

The amphitheatre of the Mendips benevolently watches over it:

They see golden-eyed, olive tench stirring up an effervescence of detritus as they forage through corms at the base of redwood waterlilies; witness the kingfisher, a metallic thread of cobalt stitching the far bank.

They see the green waters which refuse to give up their dead.

Why haunt a house when a pond is more beautiful?
 
Everyman

It took ages for the monks to answer the panicked knocking.
Finally a small hatch opened. “Yes?”
“Lemme in! Quick! Death is near!!”
“Death? What joke is this? There is no escaping death. Here or anywhere.”
“I don’t wanna die!”
The monk scoffed. “Try hiding in a maze.” The hatch closed.
A maze? By happenstance there was one nearby, fronted by a curiously hooded figure. “VISIT OUR TIMELESS REFUGE. FREE ENTRY!
“Great, thanks!… Wai…”
 
Darkness stirring

The day’s draining away, its last dregs spiralling down with the setting sun.

Meantime the old gods stir in their stygian depths, preparing another onslaught of their potent weapons, guilt, shame and doubt, all three cunningly designed to pierce, wound and disturb humanity’s soft underbelly as it readies itself for bed.

Fortunately I have my own defensive ring of light, of self-protection.

I open an anthology…. Who will I read tonight?… Ah! Philip K. Dick…..
 
A Rebels Yell

Sanctuary is a lair told to the masses to keep them in line, while the higher ups, the ones who run the joint prosper and get fat off the hard work of hard working peons.

Those who try to leave sanctuary are never seen again, no search party, no funeral, just forgotten, families forced to move on without closure, they say sanctuary is Utopia. They always lie.

If you've find this audio-graph, They know, RUN!.
 
The Last Wizard

Althos is court torturer.

And hates it. For in truth, he’s a pacifist (most unwizardly!)

Challenged by the evil Skunkpool (the penultimate wizard), to a duel to the death, Althos prevailed - only to be caught by his dying opponent’s final spell; to forever do the sadistic emperors bidding. Unfortunately, spells can only be undone by their maker.

In spare moments, he opens portals, searching for a one-way haven.

Not for himself.

For the Emperor.
 

Is Nowhere Safe?


There’s no escape. They'll keep looking.
My death didn’t stop them.
Now I ‘wander’, purposefully aimlessly. That’s difficult. My essence still exists, but what makes that possible is inevitably logical.
I’m a pseudorandom me.
I’m hosted on an abandoned geostationary satellite. Little trace of my arrival exists, but they don’t need much.
And they look everywhere.
* * * * *​
When they arrive here, this copy of me won’t exist. But I’ll be everywhere else.
As usual.

 
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