Happy Birthday!

      Little Billy hated Halloween. He was born on Halloween, and the kids never wanted to celebrate, because they’d rather Trick or Treat. And his mother thought it was okay to take him Trick or Treating, instead of buying him a cake! And this Halloween was no better… She bought him some lame Skeleton costume, with a boring, plastic skull mask that pulled over the face with a rubber band, and a black leotard. All the other 5th graders were going as Star-Lord from “Guardians of the Galaxy.” Halloween sucks!
        “Billy! Put your costume on and meet me at the front door!” shouted Mom from the other room.
        “Whatever!” he shouted back.
       Billy turned to grab the Skeleton costume off his bed, but it wasn’t there. He knew he had left it there. Where could it be? He checked under the bed… three times, then his closet, and even the bathroom. He called out for Mom, but she didn’t answer. Suddenly, all the lights in the house went dead. He called again for Mom, and still nothing. Billy hated the dark, so he held his breathe and ran to Mom’s room to investigate. Mom was gone, but the Skeleton mask was there. Sitting on her bed pillow, staring at him. Billy wanted to cry, but he was too scared. Then he heard footsteps behind him. It was the rest of the costume coming to get him! He lunged toward Mom’s bedroom window, and tried desperately to open it, but the child-proof lock was on. The footsteps got closer, and Billy squealed, trying with all his might to open the lock. He couldn’t breath. He just wanted Mommy!
       “Sweetie. Stop it, its’ me!” Mom said softly.
       “Mommy,” sighed Billy. He was so happy to hear her voice.
       Before he could turn around, and leap into his mother’s arms, he saw a boney hand grab his shoulder.
       THE END

~~Story and Photo by Ian Russell

They’re Watching. They’re Watching.

        Not sure why I’m writing this. It’s not like anyone will ever read it. We could all be dead tomorrow if the Poachers change their minds.
        It was a warm day in October. Typical for Los Angeles, but then clouds started to form. They looked like those creepy caricatures guys draw on Venice beach. I was in high school during 3rd period gym class. The noise was the scariest, like a cackling thunder. Suddenly I couldn’t breath, no one could. The ships exhaust choked our atmosphere, but it cleared quickly. My friend, Bobby, tried to Google it on his phone… He typed “Aliens,” and ten links popped up instantly. They had struck around the world instantaneously.
        They took out a few cities: D.C., Berlin, Hong Kong. Los Angeles was left intact. I guess the Poachers liked watching television as much we did. I forgot who started the name “Poachers,” might have been the Daily Show? Which brings me to my next point. They didn’t wipe us out, or enslave us, really. They just left us “as is.” Except, randomly, Bobby, and his family were killed. It didn’t seem fair. Not like Bobby was gonna start the uprising, or anything. Oh, and they’ve been mining our soil for Silica. Why? The A.U., or Adjunct United, the new world government, didn’t tell us much. They claimed they didn’t know, since the Poachers had made their demands, and flew out of here just as quickly. Only leaving behind their osmosis machine for the Silica.
       “Do it, or else.” That was all they told us in the American sector. Three years later, and things just kind of keep going. People on TV still make jokes, so I guess there’s still hope. The A.U. promised we would all be relocated if the topsoil is left completely useless. Either way, the people of Planet Earth seem calm. I’m just not sure myself, but Dad tells me “it will work itself out in the end.”
       Anyways, writing my journal helps me. And maybe after I’m dead, there could be a revolution, and people will find my writing and be inspired. Hopefully they read English. Until then, I write, pen and paper, for myself, because they say, “They’re watching.”

~~Story and Photo by Ian Russell

Fond Memories

        

        People never questioned why Papa Ryan was always tending to a pile of dirt. Every Wednesday and Saturday you could see him out there, bent over like a crooked “L,” laying seed, and curiously very little water. Mama said it was better people thought he was a failed farmer.
        Fond Farm was small in the county, but we had a big legacy of keeping our hometown pure. Outsiders, usually city folk, would drive through, trying to ruin what eight generations of my family had built here. Papa Ryan always said “I expected little out of life, but Life expected a lot out of me. And I would not disappoint!” He is the smartest man I know. I love him. And I can’t wait till I get older, so I can do the grown up work. Till then, I’ll help Papa hide these bones. I can’t wait for supper.

~~Story and Photo by Ian Russell

Superman vs. The Zombie Apocalypse

        

        Today, I killed a man. The only human survivor I’ve found in three months. He was bit on the neck, and begging for mercy. There is no mercy. I’ve failed humanity, because I could not save them from the outbreak. Six months ago, I returned from a scouting mission on planet Clandut, and found myself orphan to my adopted race, yet to reach their potential.
        I’ve used my supervision to see all that binds the Universe, from quarks to the electromagnetic pull, but I couldn’t see this coming. Now I find myself decimating zombie hordes with a wink, using my ever so popular heat vision. Staying on Earth, I find myself forgetting what my father had taught me about “being human.” Still, I can’t leave, because Lois is alive. I’m not sure where, but I can hear calling for me…

Superman will return soon to fight more zombies.

~~Story by Ian Russell

Creatures of the Night

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. The light flickers under the bathroom door.

It’s pacing, probably angry to be trapped in our cluttered bathroom. Maybe it was tricked by the 80’s forest green walls when it broke through the window screen. I know I was upset when I first saw that room.

Scratch. Scratch. I brandish my electric toothbrush. Cinnamint froth splashes everywhere. I was on step three of my nightly dental ritual when I felt him…it…bounce off my shoulder. We both screamed and then burst apart like a soul and its mortal coil parting. Now, we…me and him…it…sit on opposite sides of this narrow, wooden door.

Scratch. Why won’t it just leave? Go out the way it came. A small claw slides under the door. Tiny nails scrabble along the rug, as if looking for a pencil it lately dropped. I know this because I do it many times a day. I catch myself reaching out to touch the velvety digits. His other claw yanks my beloved toothbrush under the door.

“Hey!” I yell, but he…it…can’t hear me over the whirring toothbrush. What the hell? Is he brushing his little teeth in there? Or worse? The toothbrush clicks off and I strain to hear him in the silence. I hunker down on all fours and peek under the door. I can’t see him or my toothbrush. Setting my fingernail against the door, I…

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

~~ Photo and Story by Kelly Anelons

You can follow her on twitter @kellyanelons