When does tomorrow begin?
Officially it is after midnight but we all know the day isn't over then. The way I figure it, the day isn't over until the sky begins to lighten. I'm not talking about dawn but, rather, the ever so faint lessening of the coal blackness turning into an inky-blueness that marks an unstoppable increase in brightness towards dawn. If you wait until the sun rises, it'll all be over.
They said I had until tomorrow.
This is the first in a series of short stories that have been pinging around my head for a while. Eventually I want to make them into an anthology, but first I have to get better at writing. :)
Criticism is welcome. Thank you.
Drumbeats pound through the air, resonating in bone and mind. A steady beat echoes off the wall, thump thumping. The beat starts in the bones, working its way with careful steps to the stomach and below.
This was written as a result of seeing the call for submissions put out by Subterranean Magazine. (In fact, Mr. John Scalzi was the editor of that particular issue.) The idea was to take a standard science-fiction cliche (or Popular Mechanics' 'In The Future, Man Will... [have flying cars, personal robot butlers, etc.] trope) and make it interesting.
This is what I came up with. I think it's interesting; it certainly was different from what I usually write. I was aiming for a kind of Heinlein's Heyday feel, though I'm not sure if I managed to get _that_ across.