Flashes of Speculation

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  • Date: Wednesday, October 31, 2007 Time: 11:04 pm Category: Stories Discussion: 2 Comments

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GET UP.

Randall struggled to his feet, the scars on his back and legs stretching. New and old, they hurt when he had to move. The bugs pinched at him with sharp mandibles, prodding him through the doorway of the cave. He pulled the rags he wore around his shoulders. It was cold today.

MOVE. TIME TO PERFORM.

He stumbled down the path to the beach. To one side were the stands – filled with bugs. He thought of the roach hotels he used to have in his apartment. New York. The city was there when he left. Nothing was there when he came back. Only the bugs.

The bugs rustled their wings. Their voices were like a cricket’s chirp.

PERFORM FOR US. NOW.

Randall crept across the sand, head down. Only when he reached the half-buried statue did he look up. “Oh no! It finally happened!” He improvised a bit for the rustling audience, and they clicked their approval. Sometimes he used the lines from that old movie.

The bugs ate it up. They had huge appetites for entertainment, as well as everything else. Voracious consumers, people would say.

As if there were any people still around to say.

YOU ARE DONE. TIME TO REST.

Now he’d have time to sleep for at least a couple of hours. He crept back to his cave, and slowly lay down on the mat of weeds, pulling some over his legs to warm them. He dreamed of the first sunlight of the morning, illuminating Becky’s chestnut hair as she slept.

The pain woke him.

GET UP.
PERFORM.

Agnes Dee is a writer of speculative fiction.

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