What are Ozlandish Writings?

From July 2010 to December 2014 we ran OZLAND PICTURE STORIES as described below. Sadly though the number of writers reduced over the years and we decided to call it a day. We leave these as a record of the good times we had.

Are "You" ready to challenge your writing skills? Then participate in our OZLAND Picture Stories writing series at The Ozland Art Gallery.

Each month a new picture will be picked, from our OZLAND Artist of the Month collection, with different themes. Your goal is to write a 500-1000 word... poem... essay... or story about the picture picked. This is a chance for you to challenge your writing skills each month. Story can be written in ANY genre... sci fi... romance... ghost... fantasy... fiction... non-fiction... biography... mystery... historical... whatever your writing genre... feel free to experiment. Send your writing inworld to Sven Pertelson as a notecard to have it included on the web site. We meet at the The Ozland Art Gallery each Wednesday at Noon and 6pm SLT to read the latest submissions on voice. More Information

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

The Apocalypse from Space - by lillian Morpork

The attack came, unseen, unexpected. Thousands of drones hidden behind the moon struck, and all communications satellites failed, the space station disintegrated and the settlements on the moon and Mars died in flames. We saw the flares from earth. We had no communications left but line of sight, here on earth. Then the drones flooded down and within twenty four hours, billions were dead and the last of the power grid was gone.

It took almost a year of hiding, digging more tunnels taking chances to gather food, clothing, books, everything and anything that we thought we’d need for however long it took to beat those cretins. Now, at last, thanks to the Big Brain guys and gals, we can fight back.

I was safe enough, as long as I wasn’t silhouetted against the sky. The new Chameleon cloth “Cammy” suits reflected back every search method - radar, infrared, heat seeking or whatever. The suits covered us completely, and the material was even proof against the poison mist the drones spread. It was a contact poison, so if any touched your skin, you were dead - horribly.

I stood high among the rubble over the entrance of the tunnel that had been the subway near Davisville Station. I scanned sky and land to the south, watching for drones, and for a light at ground level. With the whole world dark, even a small spark would be noticeable, and that is what I was watching for. Professor Andrews, one of the think tank boys, had come up with a new lighting system. Another brain boy had invented a portable version, and it was being tested today.

The enclave near the Queen’s Quay were going to place one groundside, and we would watch what happened. Sure enough, there it was, a faint gleam of light near the ruins of the Air Canada Centre. And, as expected, what looked like bolts of lightning speared down, and the light was gone. So were most of the ruins around it.

I blinked my eyes to change the lenses to infrared, and continued to watch. Shortly, I saw them, heading this way. “Six, coming this way from the tower,” I barely whispered, and gave the co-ordinates. I watched and waited, until I heard a soft “Got ‘em” in response.

We were fortunate that so many who had sheltered in this section of the subway system were big brain types. The aliens were picking us off like helpless infants. After the first surprise attack, there had been several thousand sheltering here. Many insisted on trying to reach home, but it was soon apparent that any movement, vehicular or pedestrian, would die from the lightning-like bolts, or the poison contact mist. Until the lads and lasses in the brain trust were able to create a tight barrier to close us in, the poison floated down. In the first three weeks, upwards of 250 thousand succumbed.

My musings were cut short by the soft “pssst psst” of the ground to air weapons, and I watched as, one after the other, the enemy drones came apart. These weapons were a gift from a brain trust in Russia. It was three or four months before we could contact anyone we couldn’t physically reach through the tunnels. Then several people came to tell the leaders that they seemed to be in touch with others, not just in Toronto, but in the rest of North America, the U.K., Europe, South America and Asia. They were tested and it was true. Telepaths had appeared in almost every enclave on earth. Now the Espers kept the survivors in touch, and new inventions and methods of fighting were passed along as quickly as when we had the world wide web, and telephones.

One of our brain boys had taken the basic idea of the DAD and improved on it. DAD being Distance Atomic Disintegrator. Nothing nuclear, just a ray of some sort that caused the atoms in any material in its path to lose cohesion.  Don’t ask me how it works, I’m no science geek. I just know it does - and that makes me very happy.

A whisper came to my ears. “Got the Mother in sight,” I heard. “Bringing Big Daddy to bear.” “Ok,” I responded, and blinked again. Now I could see clearly, right through the cloud cover. I scanned, and yes, up there in line with Mars, what seemed to be a small dark object. “Waiting,” the same voice whispered. “Coming straight at us, fast!” Yes, I could see that it was growing rapidly. Two minutes later I heard Big Daddy speak, sounding like a dragon sighing. The Mother ship came apart just like the drones had.

Loud cheers from below nearly deafened me - except that I was yelling just as loudly. I blinked back to infrared in time to see more of the lightning bolts streaking down, out around the airport. And, just as quickly, those drones fell apart. Finally, we had weapons that could reach the big Mothers. And they couldn’t find them, the rays made no trail to trace.

It would take time, but one day, earth would be ours again, free and safe. And maybe, other aliens would think twice about attacking us. Rebuilding would be a long job, but this had made us into a united whole, no more national or religious fighting. With the Big Brain lads and lasses to help with healing and renewing the land, and espers to keep everyone open and honest, we could do it!

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