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Super Short Story #1 Experiments in Exceeding Light Speed

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 Welcome to the first of what I hope will be several super short stories. I write these sometimes between clients while I'm working online or sometimes when I'm just relaxing. I know reading short stories isn't everyone's cup of tea (I'm looking at you, Carrie) so I figured I'd include the disclaimer that this IS a short story.   On the bright side it's just about a page long. It's Science Fiction, for those of you who need a warning. And it's the first decent thing I think I've written in two years. This is first draft + 1 read through/revision of the horrible mistakes.   Quantum Experiments in Exceeding Light Speed The stars are long gone but we still see their glow. A dull and empty shroud at night. Not much at all next to the brightness of our sun. Those of us who flew away - I guess that's all of us now - when we did the stars left, leaving only a hazy handful of light. I remember thinking it was like a cataract over t...
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So, Night Vale fans...

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  I'm nearly ashamed to admit this but I wrote fan fiction. Well, sort of.  It's a fan poem for Night Vale and I don't really even like poetry. So when considered in the context of part of what I think Welcome to Night Vale is about, I decided poetry was clearly the way to go.   It pretty much fits with my sci fi theme that's been going on in this neglected corner known as my journal.   Anyway, this little clip of the Night Vale twitter is also the title. Woot for poetic license.   When I woke up the radio was on. Such a small fact. With such long strides reality had folded to keep up with the speed. My dog sniffed my hand. Such a sweet feeling. And yet I knew there would be no glorious afternoons at the dog park. Outside I hear a crackle A  not quite small sound. And I hope it's a deer, who despite being terrible, deceitful, and vile also know math, telepathy, ti...
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Why Carlos Never Seemed to Know Cecil Talked About Him All the Time On Air

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Why the Scientist Never Turned On His Radio : Welcome to Night Vale Headcannon Sometimes, he thinks he should call in. He could, he knows, he could call and call and hang up each time knowing that the person, the man, on the other line would never know it was him. Caller ID doesn't work here, nothing seems to work here except your ability to call. And even that was weird. Sometimes when he picked up the phone instead of a dial tone there was a breathy voice on the other end asking him questions that were not easily answered. Or remembered. So he doesn't use the phone. He doesn't want to annoy anyone either and most of all he doesn't want to be asked those strange dark questions that he's never quite sure he didn't answer. He knew he could hear the other man's voice, after all. His job was on the radio. He'd gone and seen him there after all. He wished Cecil wasn't on the radio. The radiation levels on his mic had been alarm...
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