Fiction
It might seem a cop-out to declare that passion and relationships play a big part in the stories selected for this issue’s fiction, for all great stories include such as a prerequisite sub-theme at least. A good look at the selection, however, will reveal why these shorts stood out: an assassin’s inopportune unrequited love; [...]
Fiction
On the Edge of the World by André le Roux
He sat in a restroom stall on the lower tier of the stadium complex, staring at an aluminum-plated door and gray tiled floor. Fluorescent lights flickered alien and erratic above him. He shivered, even though it wasn’t cold.
Fiction
The Better to Hold Her by Sealey Andrews
The attic is alive with boneless bodies in motion. Living bobbins, no bigger than buttons, pushing fine threads of silver from their middles. Watching it is enigmatic, imagining the clacking of that many feet on the ground, but not really hearing it. Stick-pin feet are silent even en masse.
Fiction
The Shroomtown Files by Anne E. Johnson
Nicknaming the place Shroomtown was in bad taste. I knew that. But sometimes our work is so harrowing that I need a little black humor to get me through the day. That and my voice recorder. After every gig I sit somewhere quiet and tell the story of what I’ve just been through. It’s illegal, feeding this audio into the cloud. Instant jail time or worse if my bosses find out. Still, it’s worth it for the sanity it brings me.
Fiction
Frightened Children by Priya Sridhar
One winter my dad went to London to meet with an old friend, Avery Knuth. They had a snowball fight in Hyde Park. Papa said rain and snow fell together on that day, so that he had shivered and winced. I have never seen snow falling or heard it pierce a frozen sidewalk. They were supposed to be friends: affable, kidding, beer-buddies.
Fiction
Awake by I. K. Paterson-Harkness
I punch at the yellow button with my thumb, trying to stop the bus. A siren is shrieking, coming from a speaker beside my head. I shout at the driver. “What the hell's going on?” The driver's posture doesn't change. I look behind me at the back seats. I'm the only one in here.
Fiction
To Remember the Good TImes by Michelle Ann King
From its reception building, you'd think Meadowside Lodge was a hotel rather than a storage facility - the walls are painted sunshine yellow, the chairs are plush and comfortable, and there are always fresh flowers on the desk. It's those little extras that make Meadowside stand out from the usual cryo-sheds. That, and the fact they never complain about how often you want to thaw someone out.
Fiction
Shavi peered over the edge of the garrison rooftop. A quick scan of the dark courtyard below revealed the guards standing exactly where her information had indicated they would be. She eased back down, careful not to make any sudden movements that would attract notice. They might not be able to reach her on the roof with their halberds, but archers could be summoned with a single shout.
Poetry
Song from the Islands of Sirenum Scopuli by Brittany Warman
The sun shone too brightly on the day he took you. We remember the scream of the wheels of his chariot, the color of the sky, the bite of wildflower thorns.
Flash
Stranger in the Room than Out by Roger Leatherwood
Strangers walked through corridors of her thoughts.
Flash
Crystal's head pounded as she unscrewed the bottom of the vacuum and ripped open the plastic packet that held the replacement belt with trembling fingers.
Flash
The boy tensed beneath his grip, but he didn’t run. He didn’t shout or scream. He only stiffened his shoulders as they walked.
Poetry
Lament for Hyacinth by R. Christophe Ryber
In Arcadia, I came across your flower today. It was pale and sprinkled crimson, like your lips the last time I kissed you.
Poetry
The Soloist By Jonel Abellanosa
The wailing voice he freed from his Stradivarius Slicing their composure like stem, the bow Seesawing on strings fiddling roots of longing.