J. Otis Haas
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Space Case
Achievements (25)
Stories (122)
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The Lord of the Flies as a Young Man
Bartleby Lawrence Zebub, age 10, was gobsmacked by the audacious, infantile ignorance of the science fair organizers. As the small-minded, weak-willed, mouth-breathing, ignoramus judges passed out top prizes to three baking soda-powered volcanos, Bart gripped his participation certificate tightly enough to send creases shooting through the paper. Full of rage, he boggled at the lack of foresight among the so-called adults, whose disregard of his groundbreaking work evidenced an inability to recognize genius even as it towered over the brainless efforts of blathering children. He found comfort by telling himself that their acknowledgment and accolades amounted to little more than the hooting and clapping of chimpanzees.
By J. Otis Haasabout a year ago in Fiction
Merciful Wanderer and the Distraction of Being a Dinosaur . Runner-up in Overboard Challenge.
After the critical tipping point ensuring humanity’s extinction was reached, but before those generations unfortunate enough to bear witness to the end of the world realized it, the hospital ship Merciful Wanderer was launched. Its original five year mission had been to supply medical aid along the coast of the shrinking African continent. However, as sea levels rose rapidly, the state-of-the-art vessel's purpose changed from one of support to one of survival.
By J. Otis Haasabout a year ago in Fiction
They Take From Us As We Sleep . Top Story - July 2024.
“THEY TAKE FROM US AS WE SLEEP” had been sprayed on the overpass a year ago. The context of the words was not completely understood by anyone who drove under the statement, but a clear sense of agreement was felt by many of those who saw the vandal’s work. No one could say surely what had been lost over the last few or many years, but most would argue that some aspects of the world, once taken for granted, were now gone.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
A Celebration in Cosgrove
In a dusty town square nestled among the western mountains of the former Divided States of America, a low table is set and spread with a meal larger than any of the assembled locals have ever seen. A sacrifice is being made and a child approaches the platters of rat filet with wild leeks, stunted corn dripping with dog butter, and grainy porridge swimming with berries. As the child sits at the small chair, a nearby elder grips a carving knife in anticipation.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
Jack and the Rabid Dog
Jack’s cinema vérité point of view zooms down long concrete hallways with vaulted ceilings. He races down a corridor, approaching a closed vault door guarded on either side by an armed soldier. As Jack passses between them, the older of the two turns and looks directly at him, sending shivers of terror through whatever form this is, but he passes, without resistance, through the door without any sort of alarm being sounded.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Horror
Cape Town, South Africa (2015)
At one point in my life I was friendly with the tiger cult from that popular documentary series, you know the one. Drinking Twisted Teas with them one night, the conversation turned to Africa. “It feels like home,” I was told by a member who goes every year to do conservation work with cheetahs. He alluded to the idea that there is something about the African landscape or even the resonance of the earth itself there that speaks to some deeply buried instinctual memory within the human psyche which recognizes the birthplace of the species. At the time I was unsure of the veracity of these claims, but some years later I would find out the truth for myself.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Wander
Just Another New York Minute
Your feet are tired from walking so far already today, and you’re looking forward to freshening up with a hot, sudsy shower before meeting up later with friends you haven’t seen in a while. The automated subway announcer’s chipper voice has made it known that your stop is next, less than a minute away and your body tenses as you prepare to prepare to rise without disturbing the sleeping woman in scrubs to the left of you. Her deep respirations speak of exhaustion and you will do your best to obey that unspoken rule of New York City, “Infringe on no other, or at least try not to.”
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
