A collection of speculative fiction short stories, mostly of the sci-fi genre from creative writing classes. If you're looking for something to test your critiquing skills, this is the book for you! Some of these are better than others, but were gre...
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I couldn't quite decide if the grey at the Center was a shade lighter or a shade darker than the grey walls at home. In one moment, while stepping into the light, I was convinced of the former, but then, as I stepped back into my shadow, I was almost certain of the latter. This thinking had continued from the beginning of our walk down this elongated hall, which was perforated by short panels of translucent ceiling. If it really was lighter, I'd be delighted, since I had yet to come across any place that was a whole shade lighter than ours. If it was darker, I would still be amused, but then it would be too much like the Grocery Farm, and that I already visited daily.
I would have been content to go on pondering the matter if Charity hadn't spoken up beside me, finally forcing me to respond.
"I suppose this place must look really strange to you."
"Not particularly," I answered.
"You could look at me when you speak, you know," Charity huffed.
I stared ahead. "That would be impractical. One should always look to where they are going, otherwise they will never move forward in the right direction."
From the corner of my eye, I could see Charity's nose scrunch. "That's human talk. You forget what you are sometimes."
"And you forget our place, Charity."
She was frequently absurd like that, with her demands. It was unfortunate that so much of her time at the Center hadn't changed her more. Perhaps it was because of her age, she was younger than myself. She was also plain, with her brown hair and light hazel eyes. It was why our humans, who named their several linked entities Lexicora, had been able to bring her to the Center before me. Her complexion was expected but not demanded. She was best used for Lottery.
"You're smiling," Charity teased, bumping my shoulder with her own.
I stopped walking so I could finally look at her. I made to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say about it. In the absence of words though, Charity always speaks.
"Are you blushing, Finch?" Charity accused, pushing her nose into my face before squealing. "You are too! Now you're acting more like the Hominid you are! Tell me, please, what he looks like after."
"You mean your curiosity hasn't already found that out from Lexicora?"
"Lexicora?" Charity laughed, "Our humans never talk like that no matter what I ask them. I refuse to speak to them; they talk so strangely. Besides, they could never tell me what he really looks like. They don't see like us."
"Well, you can assume that he is endangered, like me, to begin. It's the most logical."
Charity grabbed at a strand of my long blonde hair. "I suppose he'll have this then. And your eyes, too?"
I started walking again, turning away from her. "His will probably be blue."
It was a known fact that blondes were going extinct. With so much genetic coding being swapped, it wasn't dominant enough, and there were fewer and fewer clean matches. It was why Lexicora had taken longer to find one stud for me then three studs for Charity. My blonde hair was rare, but rarer still were my dark brown eyes. Brown eyes were uncommon for blondes, most had blue eyes because they were linked traits. Lexicora had been pleased with my birth 22 years ago, and, instead of playing the odds with a Lottery, she chose a Gamble. Humans found both sports equally amusing.
