UK

Jack Trump drank his coffee at the dockside café and looked out to London, New Year’s Eve, 1919. The mist was so thick everything appeared in segments; a snatch of a ferry boat departing, the cloth cap of a worker. A group of men stood gathered in the shadows and the only visible part of them was the bottle being lofted high into the air and tilted from one neck to the next. Rats scuttled by, too quick to be seen, only detected by the sound of their claws against the cobbles.

Jedidiah Hawkins was one of the most evil men in the state of Alabama. He was a good for nothing cheat, whose business dealings were barely within the law. His wife, Ella May, always had bruises and cuts that she attributed to her clumsy ways, but the police knew better. They could not get her to file charges, for she seemed terrified of the consequences.

Bill Bisbee looked up from his coffee and smiled at the waitress. She looked at him questioningly, glanced down to his change and then back up to him. He shook his head and she edged away uncertainly, before turning round and walking back to the till. She probably thought he was a creep and she was probably right, but not on this occasion. He went on sipping his coffee and looking out of the window, not expecting a free refill anytime soon.

No-one believed it at first. You see something on the TV and all you think is how it looks just like the movies. The effects, the explosions, even the people screaming. I stood outside the local electric store and watched as every screen slowly started to show the same image and thought about a book I read once. The guy in it said, ‘if every front page is the same, the world is in trouble.’

Jonah sat on his porch looking out to the desert. It was beautiful, no matter what anyone else said. The way the sand burned under the sun, the blur and melt of the horizon; it was as precious to him as Julianna, the way it gave him peace most days. Somewhere close-by, he heard the deputy walking over at a pace, hell, almost running, to tell him what he already knew. He drew a long breath, smudged the cigarette out of life under his heel and waited.

Jim sat on the window sill looking down over the car park some two floors below. Sheets of newspaper and other rubbish blew about on the rising wind amidst the abandoned cars. He raised the tumbler of whiskey and took another sip, raising his eyes to the sunset.

"Bye," said Tansy. "Thank you for having me."
 
"Bye," said Susan, waving her off. Behind her she heard her mother grumble "It'd be nice if Tansy's people invited Susan back to their home occasionally."

But that they would never do. Tansy dreaded being away from the house for long. She knew that every minute out-of-doors she was in mortal danger. Danger of disintegration. She let herself in with her own key and switched on the re-integrator. Tubes buzzed with coloured fire and she closed her eyes, feeling the play of lights on her face.