Greetings Friends! This is a short story contest featuring the Flight of MH370. It's a bit of fun, for both experienced and minnow authors. Let's not forget the key word here, FUN.
I accept this challenge proposed by @v4vapid a few days ago. He's got an interesting channel and his articles are engaging. So, why not give this contest a pop? Always did enjoy meself a bit of literary Anarchy.
Below I submit the following piece. 1000 words
Enjoy!
FLIGHT OF THE WRONG CHORDS
Mark and Isabella - lead scientists on a technology venture - had just boarded Malaysian Flight MH370. Earlier in the day, they reached mutual terms regarding the sale aquisition of an invention to a private energy firm. Financial funding reached its target and they managed to engineer a working teleportation device.
“Bella, you mind if I get window seat?”
“Yea, no worries. I prefer aisle anyway.”
They sat down, buckled up, ordered a bottle of champagne and before you know it Mark and Isabella were in the air, toasting to their future. After a few giddy laughs were exchanged, Mark became a little more serious.
“So, I made replicas of the Worm.” He reached into his bag and placed two black cubes the size of coffee mugs on the forward tray-table.
“My Word!” sputtered Isabella in sudden surprise. “I knew you were up to something, but I would’ve never guessed you engineered clones!”
“Yup. I ain't about to allow Mr. Rockafella hold the only Drive in existence, not until all agreements are signed. We need to get at least 40% of the company including CEO benefits.” Mark took a gleeful sip of his champagne and winked at his old friend.
“Yes. I agree. Although, I must protest against building two more cubes. Surely one is more than enough? They're unstable. But in saying that, you might be right about, putting all our eggs in one basket.” she smiled apologetically.
They clinked their glasses and popped open another bottle of the good stuff.
Professors in the field of particle physics and cymatic research, Isabella and Mark had invented a teleportation MotherBox. It tunes into a unique frequency of sound and energy from the dark matter spectrum. The resulting focus of inter-dimensional fluctuation is projected in two places at once, warping space-time between them. A wormhole.
“I’ve another confession to make, hope you understand. The last code of your algorithm, I changed it. I made the new entry point wider, bigger. Now, an entire football field can enter the wormhole gate!” Mark was excited, but feeling guilty as he knew what he did was contrary to professional ethics.
“WHAT! Are you serious!? This is madness we’ve never tested such a large yield of energy from the dark dimension. What if more Bees die?”
“I knew you’d say that. So, I also added an extra line of code for the time displacement software. It'll be fine. You need to calm down and trust me!” Mark was testy, he thought Isabella suspected him unskilled of such detailed programming.
The alcohol was also starting to kick in, scientists have a despairingly low tolerance to alcohol. Especially particle physicists.
Isabella was furious! She already knew the monumental danger this presented. Without proper testing in a simulation, the resulting damage from a particle pulse wave could very well cause space-time to fold onto itself. Like a frosted donut hole with no friends.
“You stubborn, sanctimonious, imbecile! We caused enough damage ignoring a simulation the first time around. More than a million bees died within a 300 mile radius, because we played the wrong fucking chord! Any further testing is to be engaged on the ISS, not earth. I will NOT allow another disaster to happen!”
In haste, she lunged for the cubes and accidentally knocked the bottle of champagne with her elbow, splashing both cubes in a golden shower of bubbles and Hugh Hefner. They began to blink and levitate above the table… a bright blue glow was emanating, before bursting out in an ocean of sporadic colours!
“YOU FOOL! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Mark yelled out in panic.
He snatched for the cubes but was repelled by an invisible quantum field, which in turn nudged one of the cubes into contact with the other. They fused together and became a singularity. The mysterious object began to strobe rapidly and the entire first-class cabin was showered in infinite blue particles, pockmarked around a sea of red plasma. It was beautiful.
The plane turned in the opposite direction, wobbling aggressively from the magnetic fields being released by the object, which was now a glowing Orb. Loud, deafening, booms of deep-bass pulsed from the central core. They were unbearable! Ultimately, the passengers blacked out from the screaming audible.
Then time stood still. Perfectly. Only the blue particles and red plasma were flowing in the aether, aimlessly like a dead fog. There was another loud Boom, and the plane had become two. A colossal surge of energy entering our dimension from the dark matter realm had manifested a cosmic twin. Like a cell, the plane divided. Two cubes, two planes.
All of a sudden a flash of green light explodes and a massive portal appears, swallowing both planes and sending them tumbling down the rabbit hole into the distant past. To another time and place.
In the silent passenger cabin, Mark was coming around, waking up from the earlier incident. He was confused, head pounding and his ears hurt. They were bleeding. He looked over at Isabella, she was still unconscious, ears also bleeding. The orb was gone…
Mark squinted out the window, the view from the plane was somewhat familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. A scent of fresh lemons lingered in the air and he had the taste of metal in his mouth. Mark looked out the window again, there was a tower building fast approaching in the distance, it was on fire.
“Good Lord!” he whispered. “This can’t be?! Its impossible…” Mark began to sweat as he reached for his smartphone. Isabella finally woke up, the other passengers and cabin crew were still unconscious.
“Mark, what’s going on? What happened?” Isabella fixed her glasses and peered out the window, “Are those… are those the… the Twin…” she was gasping for the right words, “Are we in New York?!”
He stared at her with empty eyes, tears swelling up.
“Yes. I'm so sorry… You were right... please, forgive me... you were right.”
A looming shadow blanketed the plane from above as it headed straight for the second tower, the champagne spilled for the last time. Mark showed Isabella his phone, the date was on display. Sept 11 2001.
END
If you're interested in more SciFi original short story content please follow us: PulpWorx
DISCLAIMER: Motion Graphic GIFs created by our art department. Which is basically me on my iPad, a double espresso, a phat blunt and me pineapple pen. Images sourced from the public interwebs.