Short Time


In 27.6 hours, Suzanne Sawyer will cease to exist. 

With little tolerance for error and a desire for immediate results, she relentlessly pushes her scientific research team forward with one goal in mind: miniaturizing organic matter. Though they resent her treatment of them, they know they’re on the verge of a breakthrough. While preparing for their latest test, a computer malfunction traps Suzanne inside the reduction chamber. Her team tries to power down the system and unlock the door, but they are seconds too late. After a blinding flash of light, Suzanne is knocked unconscious. 

She wakes up in the familiar surroundings of the lab, angered by the team’s failure which cost her a few inches of her height. As time passes, her desk chair rises higher and her clothes grow looser. The exposure is still taking effect, and calculations confirm that she’s shrinking at an alarming rate of two and a half inches per hour. Her team must quickly develop a method to stop and reverse the process—and save Suzanne’s life—before time runs out. As the lab and its occupants loom larger, she investigates the mishap only to discover that it wasn’t an accident. 

Someone wanted her to disappear.

About the Author

Author Name : Syrus Durham

     Syrus Durham first started writing short stories and keeping track of them in high school, churning out a short story every few weeks. They were only a few pages long and handwritten in pencil on unlined notepads, but everyone starts somewhere! Even back then, he wrote about weird or fantastic events happening to normal people. Over time, he wrote longer and longer stories until he was finally able to sustain a novel-length plot. He enjoys reading science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary fiction stories--as long as the plot, themes, and characters are compelling.


Book Of The Day

Latest Poem

Where are your bones, I wonder?

Your dust, your last breath?

I see you queued with your mates

In your final military assembly:

            Bates next to Beasley

            Gillum next to Green

            And so on.

It is a moment captured forever in brass letters,

The year scuffed and barely legible.

How does a hero sleep?  Do you dream of past valor?

Or soft shoulders and tender kisses lost forever?

This once hallowed ground is swathed in weeds,

Cannons and missiles rusted and impotent,

The fence sagging with age.

People pass by, but nobody sees.

Even the names have become ghosts.

John W. Bebout  2018

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