Two Dystopian Tales: It's The End of the World & We Don't Feel Fine

No prizes for guessing what the theme is of today's two pieces of flash fiction, from Andrew Kozma and George Nikolopoulos. There again, I've been suffering from a vile flu bug all week, so I'm in a particulate dyspeptic frame of mind. Wonder what happened to Joe's other eyeball?


Clear Skies, No Rain
by Andrew Kozma

I was eating Joe with a friend. It was morning and already the sun was beating down upon us like a bowling ball. Soon, we’d have to go inside. We didn’t want to be cooked like poor old Joe.
    
“Poor old Joe,” Mick said.
  
 I was out of patience. “Joe never helped another person in his entire life less there wasn’t some gain for him. He’d sold his daughters to meat farmers and ate his sons one by one. He didn’t ask for mercy and he didn’t give none. He’d have been a mean son of a bitch, if there were any dogs left around.”
    
“Well,” Mick said, then shrugged. He took another bite of Joe. “Well, he was mean, there’s no denying. He was also poor and old, there’s no denying. And there’s no denying poor old Joe is as stringy as a bit of worn leather.”
  
 Joe was all gristle. Out of respect for the dead, no matter how much they were despised while living, we cooked everything but the head. And Joe’s head was staring at us. His expression was hard to read, probably because Mick stole an eyeball when I wasn’t looking, but it was either utter disbelief or God-hewn judgment.
    
Or tacit approval.
    
Damn Mick.
    
Mick sat across from me, his limbs all in plain sight. He chose to look at the cave where we were holing up until we finished off Joe. Beyond Mick, I had a perfect view of what the Earth had become. As barren of life as a bar of soap. All the animals and plants gone, except us.
    
Mick and I were friends. Once we finished with Joe, we could never be friends again.


* Andrew Kozma is from Houston, Texas, and his fiction has appeared in Drabblecast, Daily Science Fiction, Interzone, Albedo One, and Grievous Angel.


The Mirror in the Bathroom
by George Nikolopoulos

Officer Jake Delonghi muttered angrily to himself, as he was shaving. "Another end-of-world prophecy; a mysterious invasion is happening today and everyone's going to die. It's in the Potatonic Manuscripts or something. What's worse, the idiots in the Department believe it. We're working double shifts tonight. Is this pathetic or what?"

Looking at the mirror, he saw himself smiling, though he most certainly wasn't. Perplexed, he put the razor down. His reflection held it up.

"They're right about the invasion," he heard his reflection say. "In fact, we’re actually invading you right now." Then he reached out of the mirror and cut Jake’s throat.


* George Nikolopoulos is a short story writer from Greece. His latest publication credits include Unsung Stories, Galaxy's Edge, and, of course, the Grievous Angel.