"One Small Step"
Image by spectaclephoto
HERE on hitRECord
"One Small Step"
Image by spectaclephoto
HERE on hitRECord
PHASERLAND has contributed an awesome remix of MadisenMusic’s song “Science Fiction" - let’s remix it further into a song that’s got a beginning, middle and end.
AUDIO PRODUCERS & REMIXERS: Remix PHASERLAND’S “SCIENCE FICTION” STEMS into an edit that has a significant beginning, middle and end. You’ll also want to download and work off of MADISENMUSIC’S ORIGINAL STEMS so you can try and integrate RichieMillenium’s vocal sample into your mix.
MUSICIANS: Contribute additional Instruments to this track based on the direction PHASERLAND has taken with his mix.
MadisenMusic has contributed a wonderfully odd Tiny Tune called “Science Fiction” - let’s remix the Audio Stems and make visuals for it.
AUDIO REMIXERS: Remix THESE “SCIENCE FICTION” AUDIO STEMS into a :30-:40 mix.
VIDEO EDITORS: Cut footage together into a :30-:40 Short Film for the song.
ANIMATORS: Animate visuals into a :30-:40 Short Film for the song.
ILLUSTRATORS: Illustrate visuals for the song.
SCI-FI ANIMATORS & VISUAL ARTISTS: Animate & Illustrate THESE OUTER SPACE VISUALS for our collab “The Edge of Space” w/ writer/director Ryan Coogler. Please refer to THIS REFERENCE CUT for picture. CONTRIBUTE HERE
Come work w/ us!
VISUAL ARTISTS OF ALL KINDS: Create and REmix pop art, collage-like images on THIS VISUAL REQUEST LIST by Monday 10/7 for our trashy Short Film “Destination T.R.A.S.H.” written by Sebastian Gutierrez and starring Carla Gugino & myself. For a picture reference, WATCH HERE. CONTRIBUTE HERE
Come work w/ us!
CALLING ALL VISUAL ARTISTS, ILLUSTRATORS, & GRAPHIC DESIGNERS!
We’re making a trashy sci-fi B-move for our episode RE: Trash, written by Sebastian Gutierrez and starring Carla Gugino & myself. Let’s get visuals of all kinds on this - pulpy, collage-like pop art - to fill this world.
VISUAL ARTISTS OF ALL KINDS: Create and REmix images on THIS VISUAL REQUEST LIST for this trashy Short Film.
NOTE: Please refer to THIS VIDEO for a picture reference.
ADDITIONAL NOTE: Please contribute your visuals to the collaboration by Monday, October 7th!
CALLING ALL VOICE OVER ARTISTS, ILLUSTRATORS, & ANIMATORS!
We’ve identified a fantastic piece of comedic writing from thatsnotveryravenofyou & we’re gonna make it into the Cold Open for our RE: Money episode. CONTRIBUTE HERE
VOICE OVER ARTISTS: Perform the Voice of either RION or HELIX from THIS SCRIPT.
ILLUSTRATORS: Draw the characters of Rion and Helix, as well as the Futuristic Living Room setting.
ANIMATORS: Animate the contributions of the collab into a Short Film.
Thanks again <3
CALLING ALL WRITERS!
We’re gonna make a Science-Fiction Short Film that’s about time and/or space being finite.
Here’s how you can contribute:
WRITERS: Write a dialogue-driven story about explorers who have traveled to the edge of Space.
Tiny Story REmix by sinnamin
I am thinking of donating my body to science fiction.
If you’re looking for honey don’t search the trees, the bees’ve been dead for centuries and the trees are thick with ghosts.
I couldn’t tell you why ghosts gather at the trees, or how someone who’s never tasted honey in their life can feel a longing for it deep in the gullies of their mouth. But avoid trees like the liver-colored funk curdled on dry river beds, like the blue-lighted fortresses of city gangs, like the odd tearings and pulsings of your own heart that probably mean radiation but might mean something else.
Walk quickly and talk to yourself so you won’t get too lonely. Carry a gun and avoid anyone whose gun you can’t see because that means something worse. Slap mud over your cuts. Whistle not too loud. Sleep facing down, so that when you awake in the middle of the night you will not be confronted with the vast one-or-two-starred sky (skies at night make you almost remember your father’s face, you see). All those hours spent facedown will make your breasts ache like all creation, but what is the alternative?
Start each morning by counting your fingers and toes; you’d be surprised how easy it is to lose them and, not knowing, leave a few behind. When the air begins to crackle with frost don’t be afraid to laugh out loud— laugh at the sky, laugh at the cold, spin and spin until you are dizzy.
But even if you slip up and press your lips to sweet-looking puddles, even if you unwisely try to barter with a man who leaves you bloody-mouthed and stunned, do not go near the trees. Because as soon as your fingers meet that gray ancient skin the blood in your veins will become the blood of someone dead, the white pebbles scattered at your toes will begin to look like babies’ teeth and the air’ll turn something bitter. The needley tips of branches will twist into your hair and grab bits of you away, and soon enough ghost-babies’ fingers will be creeping up your thighs, calling you mother.
Keep walking towards the place you’re told the ocean is, not because anything waits for you there but because the ocean is something to see. Above all, make elaborate detours around any trees, holding their distant shadows just within your sight.
There is no honey in there anyways.
Text by Emma Conner
“Though she was small, she was extraordinarily strong. Strong enough to withstand all the evil within Pandora ’s Box. Strong enough to survive thereafter in a world plagued with evil and fear and doubt, thriving even within the darkest times imaginable.”
The voice was that of her mother, but the words were Michelle’s own, recited many times during David’s short life. Odd that she should be thinking of her mother now, she’d been dead for many years…
Michelle picked her way through the crowd gathered at the trading post. It was freezing, only just past dawn, but nobody had time to waste waiting for the day to warm up. Their survival depended upon their ability to trade for supplies. The stump of Michelle’s missing finger burned, reminding her of her purpose here. And that she must be careful.
She made a beeline for the stalls set up by the local traders. The crowd around her consisted of other locals hoping to find something they needed, and those like Michelle who were passing through on their way to destinations unknown. Possibly they were heading for one of the compounds dotted around the country, thinking they would find stability and safety behind those high walls. They would, in exchange for their souls.
Frowning, she slipped a hand into her rucksack to reassure herself that the batteries were still there (she’d been pick-pocketed in the past), before continuing her appraisal of the stall-holders. Ideally, Michelle was searching for someone who wouldn’t ask too many questions. She was familiar with that type of trader by now, but so far she appeared to be out of luck.
It wasn’t altogether surprising. Luck seemed to have a nasty habit of running out on her at the worst possible moment.
The stump on her left hand gave another sharp twang, as though irritated at Michelle for drifting off into self-pitying rumination.
“I know, I know,” she muttered, ducking her head to avoid attracting attention. An older woman passing by cast a curious glance her way and Michelle returned it with a thin smile before melting back into the crowd.
Michelle smoothed the bed covers gently, tucking in the corners while David watched. The ritual was soothing, one of the few “old-world” habits she had chosen to adopt from her parents.
“Warm enough for you?” she asked. David nodded, but Michelle still worried whether they would be enough to ward off the cold. What if this winter were exceptionally harsh, what then?
“Night, ‘um,” David murmured.
“Night,” she said, bemused. David usually requested a story before going to sleep, but not tonight. He’d gone straight off. Concerned, Michelle placed a hand lightly on David’s forehead. It was warm to the touch. He was coming down with something.
He stirred at the contact but did not wake up. She stepped out of his room, worrying again. Victor was sitting at the little table in the living room, but Michelle didn’t go to him to be soothed or even glance in his direction as she walked by.
As a child, Michelle had been full of questions about the old world. Her mother and father had answered few of them, the subject still being much too raw for discussion. It didn’t take her long to realise this, and she began looking for answers elsewhere, eventually managing to piece together a general narrative:
A horrible illness had swept over the world, killing a huge portion of the population. The rest were left to fend for themselves.
And that was all Michelle knew. It was enough.
“Batteries!?” The young trader’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung open, displaying a mouth lacking in all but three very rotten teeth, despite his youth.
“That’s what I said,” Michelle replied coolly, as though she traded in them all the time. She was well aware of the attention the young trader’s exclamation had attracted, that she was now under the kind of scrutiny she could do without. In the spotlight, as her mother would have said. Whatever a “spotlight” was.
The trader eyed her for a long moment, but more with curiosity than suspicion, Michelle thought.
“Les’ see ‘um!” He was practically hopping up and down on the spot now. A murmur went through the onlookers.
Michelle obligingly dug the batteries out of her rucksack and showed them to him, careful to keep them out of snatching range should he or anyone else decide to take them and run. That had happened before too.
She also made sure to keep the fingers of her left hand curled in. She had stuffed a small wooden peg inside her glove to replace the missing digit, and although she had whittled the top of the peg into a reasonably rounded shape, Michelle still worried someone would notice that it didn’t look quite right. He may be young but this boy would know the mark of a fugitive when he saw it. Thankfully, the trader was far too awed by the prospect of being able to get his hands on real working batteries to notice any irregularities.
Awed or not though, he was no fool. “You sure they still work?” He asked mildly.
“Positive,” Michelle said.
“Then you won’t mind if I test ‘um,” he replied, eyes glinting shrewdly.
Michelle kept smiling. “As long as you do it where I can see you.”
David’s condition had deteriorated with devastating swiftness. Michelle was no stranger to despair, but this was something else entirely. Her son was the one constant remaining in her life. He was a reminder of why her parents had kept fighting after the world as they knew it fell apart. Many had given up and taken their own lives, unable to adapt to their new circumstances. But Michelle’s mother and father had chosen the much more difficult path of adapting and, ultimately, surviving.
For the sake of their daughter. And all who would come after her.
Her son could not, must not, die.
Illness was common amongst the children in the winter, and an unlucky few would not make it. This was nothing new, yet Michelle had refused to accept that David could be one of the unlucky.
It was unfathomable.
She waited until she was well clear of the trading post before settling down to sort through her spoils: food and water, of course, and a small can filled with paraffin. These things would ensure her survival for a little while longer.
Satisfied, she rested. Watched the mist her breath made swirl in the air and curl away, free and clear. Freedom. There was a thing to be cherished while it lasted. But the light eventually began to fade, and Michelle knew it was time to get going if she wanted to find a suitable place to set up camp for the night. She hoisted her rucksack onto her shoulder once more and started walking across the barren, frozen land.
A low insect hum emanated from the ditch just off the side of the road. Accompanying the sound was the familiar stench of rotting flesh.
Michelle detoured from her search for shelter to take a quick look while there was still enough light left. The animals had been at the corpse, and what was left made gender hard to identify. She thought it was the remains of a human male, but there was just no way to know for sure.
That wasn’t the information she was interested in anyway. What she wanted to know was how this person had died. A robbery, dogs, illness…? If it were dogs, that presented a problem.
She stepped back onto the road and soon left the body far behind her.
They came upon her just before dawn. Michelle had pitched her tent beside a frozen lake deep within a wood, but not so deep that the dogs couldn’t track her scent. It was their baying that woke her from a fitful sleep and, ironically, provided her with the precious few minutes she needed to make good her escape.
Snatching up her rucksack, Michelle fled the tent without a backward glance. Everything vital was already in the bag in case of such an eventuality, but she was furious at having to leave the tent behind – she would not survive long without it. Not in the middle of winter. Who knew how long it would be before she found another trading post, let alone someone who might have a tent to trade for?
They hammered ceaselessly at the door. Michelle shut her eyes in a feeble attempt to block out the noise. Over in the corner of the room lay David’s body, partially concealed by the blankets he had only a few weeks ago been happily tucked up into. There was no time for a burial. She had never felt so helpless.
Michelle did not fear the punishment that awaited her for what she had done. What terrified her was the life that lay beyond today.
Her life without David.