‘Thirty Minutes to Live’ by Jennifer Lott

Damn, noble death by portal is slow.

Anita set her phone timer for thirty minutes and took a second to make sure her doom was on track.

The braided ring of alien metal under her bed clinked quietly as it rotated. It was already projecting a narrow beam of light to a spot in the middle of her carpet. The spot was slowly widening. Only a pencil would fit through at the moment, but soon it would be human-sized, opening onto a wondrous, horrible place.

The planet Glithera hadn’t always been horrible. When the portal finished expanding, she was going to make it right.

She walked out of her bedroom, leaving the door open, and faced her combined living room and kitchen.

Her basement suite wasn’t well-stocked for final wishes. She spread her most expensive chocolates across her kitchen counter. Five left. She could eat one every six minutes. She uncorked the wine meant to grow old and dusty. It wouldn’t age now. She’d need it to fill the minutes between chocolates.

She went to her coffee table and tapped a soft rock playlist on her laptop, letting vague sentiments dance in her ears. She switched on her smart TV, immediately hitting mute on the remote. No noise from those flashing faces. It was just the illusion of people she wanted in the corner of her eye. Silent people were comforting. Present but not painful.

She set her phone upright at the back of the kitchen counter. The countdown was set so the screen wouldn’t go dark. She wanted to see the end coming. Somehow, that felt better: an appointment, not an attack.

There was a knock on her front door.