Remember me telling you about Felis Sarcasticus, my story that cheekily tried to break Clarkesworld's rules, but still get published?
Well, Wyldblood left the door open for it if I trimmed it to a 1500-word flash and, slightly starved but in no way dishevelled, it slunk in through the crack and you can find it here, probably licking its genitals because it can.
I failed to mention that not only was this a go at seeing how many of Neil Clarke's directives I could rail against, but I tried to make the task even harder for myself by basing Wilson on Bernard Manning. For those of you who don't know, Manning was the apotheosis of the racist, sexist 1970s comic. If you have a Manning VHS you'll probably hide it behind the kiddie porn when the vicar visits.
Of course, trust the Australian Andromeda Spaceways Magazine to complain, not only about the implausibility of a story set in space with a cat (Alien? I said, ALIEN??!) but that the cat wasn't sarcastic enough. Some people, eh?
2084. The world remains at war.
In the Eurasian desert, twenty-year old Adnan emerges from a coma with memories of a strictly ordered city of steel and glass, and a woman he loved.
The city is the Dome, and the woman... is Adnan's secret to keep.
Adnan learns what the Dome is, and what his role really was within it. He learns why everybody fears the Sickness more than the troopers. And he learns why he is the only one who can stop the war.
Persuaded to re-enter the Dome to implant a virus that will bring the war machine to its knees, the resistance think that Adnan is returning to free the many - but really he wants to free the one.
24 0s & a 2
Twenty-four slipstream stories. Frequently absurd, often minimifidian, occasionally heroic
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