Degeneration

by John Xero

“When are we?”

“Do you mean where?” She knew word choice could be difficult. “Or what time is it?”

He grabbed her shoulders. “What year?”

“Now, now.” Her heart raced, her exterior remained calm; his mind was not his own. “It’s 2019, December.”

He let go. “Twenty... nineteen? No...” He began to tremble. “It’s too early.”

“Early?”

His eyes went glassy with tears. “The drugs don’t exist yet. Time travel, see, taxes the brain; temporal drag wreaks havoc, degenerative, ongoing.”

“Of course,” she nodded. His past was unknown, a mystery patient, but they all guessed sci-fi nerd, before the dementia.



Author bio: Over the past year and a half (ish) John Xero has had a daughter (adventurous, bright, contrary), changed careers (to care work, with dementia) and taken up aquascaping (soon to include fish)... He wonders why he struggles to find time for his old (but still real) passions, of writing and reading...
Occasional twittering: twitter.com/xeroverse
Blog (in desperate need of new content): xeroverse.com
Instagram (surprisingly active): instagram.com/johnxero

Degeneration is part of 101 Fiction issue 25.

Bookwyrm

by John Xero

Oscar walks the high library walls, reassured by the strike of his armoured feet on strong stone. Forty feet below, the undulating treetops shift like the seas of his homeland and his heart aches.

A susurration breaks his reminiscence: the whisper of pages in the wind – wing beats. He looks up.

Her hide is leather-bound, gold-edged. Her hundred tails are ribbons of rainbow silk. Her eyes reflect his inner self and her voice is a thousand voices.

“Give/return/surrender me/I/my eggs/children/books.”

Oscar braces himself and raises his flickering torch, meagre fire against the mighty bookwyrm.



Author bio: All stories are eggs that hatch in your soft wet brain space; the strongest, the fittest, dig deep and live there a while. John Xero lays a lot of little eggs, but one day... one day, he dreams of bigger things.

The nest: xeroverse.com
The tweets: @xeroverse

Bookwyrm is part of 101 Fiction issue 24.

Forest

by John Xero

He woke in darkness, the only sound a dry whisper as of a gentle breeze disturbing dead leaves. He had the impression of slim trunks surrounding him, stretching upwards, he could only assume into a night sky though he saw no stars, no moon. The trees, if they were, stretched in every direction; for further than he could imagine, he felt sure.

Words wound through the whisper. “You read the black book. You were warned.”

He remembered the librarian – so thin he looked ill – and the warning. But what choice had he, than to seek the book that ate souls?



Author bio: All good books steal a little of your soul, don’t they? But they give back so much. John Xero’s forest is full of life and very distracting, with too many interesting-looking paths to wander down.

The librarian: @xeroverse
The library: xeroverse.com
The bestiary: instagram.com/johnxero

Forest is part of 101 Fiction issue 24.

Alone

by John Xero

My love is dead, while I hurtle through space in my tin can made for one, eking out rations in defiant futility. All that remains of her is an unflattering photo, pinned to my console, blurred through a filter of tears.

I watched the asteroid pass. The computer was right and I was intentionally wrong, an entire mission flawed by mistrust of the machine. The failure all mine; the final check, the final flight corrections made, by me, to save my own life.

Earth impact was four hours ago.

My love is dead.

I killed her.

I killed them all.



Author bio: John Xero writes tiny specks of distant light, bright enough to inspire ideas of other worlds and numerous enough to fill his hard drive with galaxies.
Stardust: twitter.com/xeroverse
Visible light: instagram.com/johnxero
Universe: xeroverse.com

Alone is part of 101 Fiction issue 23.

Afterlife

by John Xero

Languid sunlight oozed like honey through stained glass panels, coating the hallway, preserving lives in amber.

An oak-mounted barometer, fascinating, useless. A grandfather clock, pendulum still swinging when all other life had ceased. A painting: old troubled skies over a churning sea, one small vessel, two indistinct figures aboard.

Arthur imagined his grandparents still in the kitchen, pottering around, preparing tea and biscuits.

Saltwater spray kissed him. Wild currents dragged him under.

Cold drenched him, stole his breath. Weathered hands anchored him, pulled him from the convulsing sea, held him close as his grandparents’ voices wrapped him like a blanket.



Author bio: John Xero believes all sorts of worlds and possibilities lie a simple sidestep away, if only you learn to step between the warp and weft of reality. After all, what are pictures if not windows, or perhaps doorways?
Thumbnails: twitter.com/xeroverse
Portraits: instagram.com/johnxero
Landscapes: xeroverse.com

Afterlife is part of 101 Fiction issue 23.

Cartomancer

by John Xero

Tears of night bled from his emerald eyes, dripping into a copper chalice, a pooling void. He dipped his archaeopteryx feather quill and began to draw.

The pale leather he worked on was stained and yellowed as his teeth. His voice was the long death of mountains groaning as ice and wind scour and devour them. His words were slow, like drips of drying blood.

“Time is just as measurable as distance, as contoured as any landscape. Demonstrably not linear: this skin is from my grandfather, killed before my father was even conceived. Yet here I am, still, mapping eternity.”



Author bio: John Xero thinks all stories are maps of sorts, and maps are just a different way of telling a story. He’s been writing for twenty years, exploring new storyscapes and finding ways to capture them for others to travel.
Napkin maps: xeroverse
World maps: xeroverse.com
Biographical maps: instagram.com/johnxero

Cartomancer is part of 101 Fiction issue 22.

Pyrate

by John Xero

The captain’s coat was like wet tar, thick and heavy with a mean dark shine; his tricorne too. His face was shadow, but his eyes... his eyes were embers, red and dangerous.

Javier could not keep the tremor from his voice. “Thissus the Mappe, yer fearsomeness, to Cap’n Webb’s treasure.”

Crooked hook-nailed fingers curled like talons around the yellowing scroll and tossed it to the nearby brazier. Greedy flames devoured the old paper.

Javier grabbed for his cutlass, faltered.

The captain’s gaze burnt brighter. “What the fire consumes it knows forever, and the Pyrate needs no map but the flames.”



Author bio: Stare into a fire long enough and you realise it knows everything, if only you could understand what it was trying to say. John Xero feels that way about the world.
Flaming shots: @xeroverse
Around the camp fire: xeroverse.com
Afterimages: instagram.com/johnxero

Pyrate is part of 101 Fiction issue 22.

Outside

by John Xero

Greg woke to a touch on his shoulder, a voice in his ear.

“Something’s scratching at the window.”

Gentle illumination bloomed, responding to his movement. The clock showed his two hours’ sleep.

“Elliot,” he groaned. “No.”

“Please, Greg. Something’s outside, trying to get in.”

Greg hauled himself up, his brain dragging, still catching up on two weeks of long shifts and short sleeps. He went to the porthole, stared out into deep space, saw only the silent shine of distant stars.

“Nothing, always nothing.”

Reflections shifted in the porthole. Greg turned, but the bed, the room, was empty, always empty.



Author bio: John Xero thinks all stories are the ghosts of things that have gone before; it’s the author’s job and skill to breathe new life into these echoes of old tales.
Old stories: xeroverse.com (and maybe some new stories, one day...)
Disembodied voices: twitter.com/xeroverse

Outside is part of 101 Fiction issue 21.

Raging

by John Xero

Tree branches tore like claws into Lillian’s flesh as the storm roared around her. She fled with arms across her face, protection from the frenzied wind-whipped forest. Darkness overwhelmed her mind, deeper than the overcast night. Blind panic shifted from a phrase to visceral manifestation.

Boughs creaked and tree limbs cracked and she could not tell what was storm and what was Brian. What had been Brian, before moonlight sliced through clouds and soft skin exuded sleek black fur, slender flesh warped and bulked, and sweet handsome features distended into slavering jaws and hateful beady eyes. Before Brian became bear.



Author bio: Once in a while, when the moon is high and the inspiration bright, John Xero becomes a writer; by glow of screen and patter of keyboard, he creates. One day he will work out how to make the transformation permanent.
Flash: xeroverse.com
Muttering: @xeroverse

Raging is part of 101 Fiction issue 20.

Tinderwolf

by John Xero

“I’ve never used Tinder before.”

“Me neither,” she lied.

“My sister convinced me. Silly. Happy I did, though.” He smiled at her, awkward.

She smiled back. “I know what you mean.”

She did know. He was happy they’d met. It was wonderful, because she was beautiful and his love life was saved.

Idiot.

She brought him back to her den, bade the cubs at the window hide and wait with a single yellow-eyed glare. In the hallway she kissed him, tasted him, felt her jaw shifting in anticipation, felt a sharpness at her breast.

“Silver.” He smiled at her, dangerous.



Author bio: John Xero wonders how age-old myths would take to the modern world and its rapid, occasionally monstrous, shifts in form. It seems sometimes the changes happen as often as the phases of the moon...
Notepads: beside the desk
Blog: xeroverse.com
Twitter: @xeroverse
Next thing: coming soon (probably)

Tinderwolf is part of 101 Fiction issue 20.

Pinned

by John Xero

“The other collection.”

Confusion furrowed Ian’s brow. He indicated the open draw with a sweep of his manicured hand. “This is the collection.”

It was magnificent. Butterflies from five continents shimmering in the bright, precise lighting. They could have been in motion, but for the pins driven through them, the regimented display like no cloud of flutter-bys had ever flown.

The viscount was unimpressed, a sword suddenly in his gloved hand.

Ian was pinned to the wall.

A hidden switch and another draw opened. Of iridescent wings and tiny limbs. Faeries at rest, but for the pins, driven through them.



Author bio: There’s always an ‘other collection,’ you just have to know how to blag/ bully/ buy your way in. John Xero has a few collections available for public perusal...
xeroverse.com
@xeroverse
Even a few floating around from way back when, like HddnTrcks
And the ‘other collection’? Well...

Pinned is part of 101 Fiction issue 19.

Knocking

by John Xero

“What is that noise?” Kindra growled.

Rika looked at the tiger, astonished. “You hear it?”

 “Who couldn’t?” Kindra thrashed his tail.

Dust drifted, glittering, from the ceiling of the cave with each resounding knock.

“I’ve heard it my whole life,” Rika whispered, “but now is the moment. Now.”

“You’re talking nonsense. The armies of man and their gunpowder roars have broken into the mounds of your kin. We must flee.”

“Go, Kindra. Any debt you owe me is paid. But this sound was pounding in my mind before mankind first tamed wild fire. Destiny or death, it must be answered.”



Author bio: John Xero has been set adrift, and seeks a new destiny. If it must be tigers and stars and wonder, then so be it, he will cope, somehow.
Places he should update more often: xeroverse.com @xeroverse

Knocking is part of 101 Fiction issue 19.

Imaginary

by John Xero

Jeremy stared at his father’s blood, spreading across the kitchen floor. It pooled around his socks, soaking into the thick cotton and touching his feet with unfamiliar warmth and intimacy.

One of the puncture wounds sputtered, as if running dry, then slurped and continued to flow.

“Samuel?” The child whimpered with a voice tiny as he was, in a kitchen a million times bigger than it used to be.

“Yes, Jeremy?” The unicorn nuzzled his friend’s face.

“You saved me.”

“Yes, Jeremy.”

But Samuel knew the real world was never so simple. The police did not believe in imaginary friends.



Author bio: John Xero believes that imagination is a powerful thing, a true friend will always be there for you, and reality is what you make it. Now he just needs to put that into practice and make an awesome reality...

@xeroverse
xeroverse.com

Imaginary is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.

Trial

by John Xero

“You broke sacred law, and in the most heinous way. You interacted with the real world, you killed an adult.”

The chamber filled with agitated snorting. Angry hoofs stomped the ground.

Samuel lifted his horn high, defiant. “I upheld something greater: the essence of our existence. I protected a child, my friend, from a horror far greater than the dark, a monster more real than any under the bed.”

“Irrelevant. We are imaginary friends, not part of reality. That is the One Law, now tarnished with death and stained with blood. You will be exiled, Samuel: an eternity in darkness.”



Author bio: John Xero believes in doing the right thing. It isn’t always easy, but you have to try, right? He likes to write too, and that isn’t always easy, but...

@xeroverse
xeroverse.com

Trial is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.

Debt

by John Xero

Bleak Wood rattled around him; dark branches scraped the night like fingernails, clutching at him as he forced his way deeper. Milky light splashed the trees, seeping from the white sceptre grasped in his right hand – the only illumination in that cursed place.

Reality was a fragile thing for Jeremy. Truth too. Product of childhood trauma, therapy and hypnotism, alcohol and drugs.

Watching his young son playing with an imaginary friend had brought piercing epiphany. Truth like lightning. A debt remembered.

Jeremy crashed into a clearing, saw the unicorn bound in black chains at its centre.

“Now I save you.”



Author bio: John Xero loves a hero. But the hero’s journey is never easy; sad to say that’s part of the deal; it’s what makes their eventual triumph all the more glorious.
@xeroverse
xeroverse.com

Debt is part of 101 Fiction issue 18.

Red

by John Xero

Slowly, the crimson veil slips from my eyes. The world is obscured no longer. And yet the red remains: slick on my skin, drenching my clothes, dripping thickly from my hair. My knives are twin rubies catching the light wetly.

People approach, my people, stalking through fields that I have sown with a terrible crop, the earth heaped with corpses.

Their cries reach me.

“Hero,” they cheer. And, “Champion.”

But why, I want to say, and no, can you not see what horror I have wrought?

But I say nothing, and they bear me high, a stained and undeserving idol.



Author bio: John Xero believes in heroes, but he also believes in complicated; he believes the penumbra between hero and monster is vaster than either the light or the shadow. And complicated is interesting.
xeroverse.com
@xeroverse

Red is part of 101 Fiction issue 17.

Home

by John Xero

The moonlit mist whirled in ragged, agitated eddies as Elijah stumbled onwards, a single word tolling through his mind:

Home

A longing. An ache. An imperative.

He walked through a vast, dark ribcage of shattered buildings.

Home

Yellow light lanced from an opening door.

“Elijah! My God, man, you’re alive.”

“David.”

“It worked, Elijah. We’ve not seen the alien scum in days.”

“Home.”

“Home enough. God, you’re a bloody hero.”

Home enough for the last vestiges of humankind, Elijah remembered.

He remembered the aliens breaking him too, infecting him, and sending him home, a viral monster boiling beneath his skin.



Author bio: John Xero believes few words have as many connotations as ‘home.’ Home is past, present, and future. Home is comfort, pride, and belonging. Home is familiar stories, characters, and friends. Home is family.
xeroverse.com
@xeroverse

Home is part of 101 Fiction issue 17.

Lost

by John Xero

Angel fixed her makeup. Go big, go glitter. That’s what the punters liked, apparently. Stands out against the darkness. She glittered her cheeks, her belly, her breasts. Could use all the help she could get, standing out against the darkness. As if that wasn’t a lost cause.

Music thumped through the wall: pounding, raunchy. Lose yourself in the music. If you have anything of yourself left to lose.

Sweaty red skin appeared behind her. Delilah, fresh off the stage. The succubus plucked a feather from Angel’s stubby wings, laughing as Angel yelped.

“You’re up, half-breed.” Delilah spat. “Crowd’s hell tonight.”



Author bio: John Xero thinks imagination, like dreams, is just a series of doors. Follow the music, the lights, find the right door, the right key, and step through. Sometimes it’s a trap, more often an adventure.
Fairy lights: @xeroverse
Adventures: xeroverse.com
Music: King Demon

Lost is part of 101 Fiction issue 16.

Ascension

by John Xero

The angel roared, clawing its way up shifting reality gradients. Black soot streaked its feathers, legacy of some fierce inferno, soot so thick and heavy it could have been tar, weighing it down, piling on friction as it hauled itself across the void.

Impossible, colossal, winged. It traversed space in a way that had taken human science centuries to understand, to recognise, let alone utilise. The same way our ships dragged themselves between fiery suns; faster than light and rough as all hell.

When it arrived it was like a new star had birthed, so bright it was, so terrible.



Author bio: John Xero likes to believe all things might exist if we can imagine them, be they angels or faster-than-light travel, or both, why not?
He tweets occasionally: @xeroverse.
He writes (he should write more): xeroverse.com
He makes music, of sorts: King Demon

Ascension is part of 101 Fiction issue 16.

Feast

by John Xero

You hear that scrabbling scuttling clatter of claws below the floorboards? That scritching and scratching in the walls.

You hear that tip-tapping at night... a branch on a window pane... or a sharp finger on the inside, signalling to fiendish friends?

You have an infestation.

Dinky devils in your in-betweens.

Oh, they aren’t going to trick you, or taunt you, or tempt you.

They’re going to listen. To your secrets, your fears, your schemes and your shames. Anything to give them purchase, a lever to crack a sliver of your soul away. A tiny morsel of you, a feast for them.



Author bio: John Xero hungers... he needs a constant buffet of story, characters and imagery to fuel the imagination engine in his skull. Sometimes he wonders if it will ever be sated.
twitter.com/xeroverse

Feast is part of 101 Fiction issue 15.