Daily science fiction disaster k electric jobs 2015


You’ve got to hold to your priorities, Michelle Fletcher. That’s what you tell yourself as you scrub and scrub and scrub at the crusted black grit in your one saucepan. You’ve got to remember what’s important. Your nails are short and bare of polish, ragged and splitting where they clutch the rusty steel-wool pad, and the skin of your hands is red and rough and raw. You have to hope the constant ache in your joints is just from the never-ending effort of staying alive, and not the beginnings of arthritis. There are no decent doctors here.

You’ve only yourself to blame, ‘Chelle. You got distracted again, got thinking about what you would have done with a nice salmon filet back in the Heron Point house, and let the rice burn in the pan. Oh, you managed to save most of it, and gave the least-burned bits to Tom and Janie, but the part you kept for yourself tasted of charcoal and shame. A fitting punishment for letting your mind wander. You have to stay on your toes if you’re going to keep your family alive on a pitiful half-cup of rice per person per day.

We broadcasted the radio and TV programs, our messages of welcome we thought would show humanity’s kind depths, our documentaries of triumph, the math that was our most complicated, and pointed them towards the stars. But Lucha Libre leaked out and so did MTV. The stories we thought showed our dignity only showed how much we were willing to sweep under the rug to mythologize our humanity. So the Sloths came–to put us out of our misery.

We call them Sloths because it looks like they’re barely moving, just giant blobs of flesh, but the truth is they’re moving so fast we can’t see it–a million legs all over their bodies so quick the human eye can’t catch them, mouths so nimble they spout entire treatises before we’ve even registered a hum. In the first days, someone caught the Sloths on camera, put it on Youtube in slo-mo so we could see how wrong our name for the creatures was, names the news stations themselves had given us. Then the stations were wiped out. Then we lost access to the web.

Never start with the weather. But what if the weather is the whole story? Solar weather to start with, but also the weather as I write this? Wind rattles the windows. It whistles, moans, and whispers like sheets sliding on sand. Rain taps its fingernails against the glass. Electricity went out hours ago. I find matches in the drawer by the stove, but it takes a while to locate the candles stored in a box with the Christmas decorations behind the suitcases and winter coats. Good thing the phone has a flashlight built in, as long as its battery holds out. No phone signal though. Turning off Wi-Fi and Bluetooth to save energy. It’s funny how useless a building feels without power. Wind stole the house’s voice. Family is away visiting back east. No kids. No fans. No refrigerator. No television.

Although, to tell the truth, I don’t miss continuous disaster coverage. Magnetic storms. Coronal mass ejection (a CME). That’s what they said before the lights went out, but they said the event would be just a few hours, and it shouldn’t affect cars! I don’t think the authorities know what’s going on.