Love
To Choose the Stars
“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say... It’s a good tagline, isn’t it? Especially if you’re making a horror film in the 20th century, let’s say.” Here, Professor Ojo displayed a still of the poster from Ridley Scott’s Alien. Each year she received fewer laughs. So much for cultural capital. She continued:
By Tristan Stone3 years ago in Fiction
Migration
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I suppose it stands to reason then that nobody can hear you sing, either. And there'd probably be nobody to pull me up on my German grammar, which would be nice. I wonder about yodelling. Surely that's the real test. If I stood on the outer hull of this ship, face to face with Satine, and yodelled, could she hear me? Seems hard to believe something that spans the Alps back on Earth couldn't travel an inch, even in space.
By John Gehman3 years ago in Fiction
Escape
“Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.” Ophelia said and leaned forward before adding in a low ominous voice, “But when a ship, like ours…” She let the words trail off as she made eye contact with several of the children in front of her.
By P. Chiperi3 years ago in Fiction
The Apex Associate
CHAPTER 1 Year 226 in transit “‘Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say…’” the commissioner reads aloud the electronic transcript from across the large red-cedar table. He huskily continues “‘guess we’re about to find out...prick’”. He’s parroting back my own words, intermittently staring into my soul for emphasis.
By Molly McPhee3 years ago in Fiction
The Incomplete Elements of Reign.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. I remember thinking this to myself the day it happened, laying upside down on my couch, in the dark living room of my apartment. With Bethoven blaring in my noise canceling headphones and rivers of tears streaming down my face. Staring into my existential void through eloquently transitioned images of space dancing across the tv screen ahead of me. But, that was then.
By Courtney Nichols3 years ago in Fiction
The Smell of Ozone
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. That's the advertising blurb for a sci-fi book I'm attempting to read. It's supposed to be a great book that someone is going to turn into a great movie. All I can say is good luck with that. The screenwriter better have a great imagination. I mean, the premise of the book is awesome, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired.
By Clifton Brown3 years ago in Fiction
PRICELE$$
The vibration of my phone woke me up. It stopped abruptly. It must've been a text. I rustled a bit, my hand slapping around frantically, but all I felt was my comforter. I was finally forced to lift my head off the pillow prematurely. I was instantly blinded by the sun, hadn't realized it was morning.
By Anthony Q Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
PRICELE$$
I posted up on the wall against the restroom entrance. You wouldn't know I was there unless you were looking. Anyone looking for dro knew where to find me. The only reason I was here now was to meet with a client. I looked down at my watch; I had been waiting for five minutes already.
By Anthony Q Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
PRICELE$$
"Selflessness," I said aloud as I sat up in the bed," or selfishness?" It was a continuous debate I had with myself anytime I had this reoccurring dream. Nobody held me down like she did. So why keep reliving the nightmare of leaving her? I shook my head clear, before slowly making my way to the edge of the bed. With a sigh, I reached for the first glass I could make out on my nightstand. It was roughly half empty. I reached for it deciding to calm my nerves and muster up the energy for the day before dragging my feet towards the shower.
By Anthony Q Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
PRICELE$$
Nothing...could be more compelling than this. What awaited on the other side of this door, had me petrified. I stared at the doorknob. Still finding it hard to bring myself to reach out. The brass was cool and slippery in my now clammy palm. Sweat beads growing from my pores until they rolled right off my skin. The trickling of the escaping sweat mimicking the movement of the air attempting to do the same through my trachea.
By Anthony Q Palmer3 years ago in Fiction
