Excellent Doomsday averted? Harvest by Terry Reilly Sunday, Monday, Doomsday... writing prompt entry Artwork by the mr pic tic at FanArtReview.com

Xorn could remember when his planet was hospitable, nurturing, peaceful. Only just. He was one of the oldest surviving Vellans. The microchip embedded in his hippocampus told him he had been created 253 years ago. A product of his father's semen and an unidentified ovum from the dwindling egg bank. Of course, like so much of their advanced technology, the scanner no longer functioned reliably. The women of Vella had been eradicated many years ago by a lethal gynovirus which even the knowledgeable and resourceful Vellan scientists could not contain. Eggs had been harvested in abundance from those of child-bearing age who lived long enough to contribute to the future of their race. Without females, and circumscribed by a limited number of preserved ova, Vella was doomed. That acknowledged certainty had contributed to accelerating the demise of the planet. Males, starved of sex, and aware of inevitable extinction, became increasingly aggressive, confrontational and acquisitive. "Live for the present, for there is no tomorrow" was the slogan of the most popular political movement, tacitly encouraging despairing Vellans to fight, cheat, steal, exploit the disabled and disadvantaged, seek temporary oblivion through excessive use of mind-altering chemicals and ravage the vital resources which previous generations had husbanded so carefully and conscientiously. Xorn wept salty tears each evening as he knelt and prayed to the Creator. He implored his God to find forgiveness in His heart for the multitudinous sins of the Vellan men. He particularly beseeched protection and deliverance for his twin grandsons, Locan and Rik, the apples of his eye. They had been created from the last remaining ovum in the egg bank. His son, who provided the semen, had been slaughtered by a rival male resenting Loric's privileged access to that prized resource. In recent days the old man's hopes had received a welcome boost. He believed his prayers had been answered. He had begun to receive "mind messages". That's what he called them. His communicant called himself "The Saviour". This ethereal being told Xorn he would descend upon Vella in the very near future and rescue twenty healthy, responsible young males. They would be the only men to outlive the dying planet and would mate with females of the Saviour's choosing, initiating a new hybrid species preserving the genetic lineage of Vella. Xorn would know Deliverance was nigh when he saw the fiery chariot in the Vellan sky. * This was Deliverance Day. Last meaningful landmark before Doomsday. Xorn had marshalled forty-three of the healthiest, most emotionally well-balanced Vellan males. They were standing in an extended line on the volcanic plain, gazing at the vermilion sky. The alien ship, trailing livid plumes, descended steadily through the thin Vellan atmosphere. Locan and Rik, standing shoulder to shoulder, watched in awe as the vessel settled into the purple dust and the engines shut down. The landing party, three tall humanoid creatures in ivory robes, exited the craft and approached the excited hopefuls. "This is the start of our new lives" said Rik, squeezing his brother's hand. "Maybe" was the cautious reply. The leader of the three visitors - " the Saviour?" - strode along the line, pointing to individual Vellans then moving on. The other two took turns escorting the ecstatic chosen back to the alien spacecraft. The Saviour paused in front of Locan. Looked him up and down. Then nodded. As he was led to the ship Locan shouted over his shoulder: "See you on board, brother." The Saviour afforded Rik no more than a cursory glance, moving swiftly on. Locan's brother sank to his knees, wailing and beating the ground. * The selection was complete. Rik watched the access hatch on the spacecraft slowly start to close. Refusing to accept his fate, Rik sprinted towards the ship and launched himself through the narrowing gap just before it clanged shut. Lying silently on the metal floor he watched in horror as the aliens celebrated another successful "harvest". "They are all good meaty specimens" bellowed the Saviour. "But this one", grasping Locan's buttocks in each bony hand "will make me a special feast." Overwhelmed, impotent, betrayed by his grandfather's naivety, Rik screamed obscenities and waited to be overpowered by the alien guards. Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction story up to 700 words that involves a doomsday scenario. Anything goes, but the end of the world, or its perception, must be a driving force in your story.

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