Category: Uncategorized

Leave Them Be – Thomas Wood

A clock hung as guardian above the locked steel door. Each ticking second was a sledgehammer, shattering the darkened silence, slamming against the concrete slabs of the enclosure. He rolled in his bunk toward the wall, away from the contraption at the far end of the room. The metal frame groaned; each sight and sound a reminder of his plight.

21-306 slept furthest from the door, in the bottom bunk. An honor he earned through longevity and nothing more. As more experienced men lost their way, he moved away from the cold steel, and the clock, one bunk at a time.

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Pilgrimage of the Black Shepherd – Jack Barry

The dew had settled on the grass. Fog, dense, is the pressed cheek of the sky flush against the earth. The heavy water in the air fills the lungs. There are shapes in the mist, the great swelling figures cast shadows as they are born from the water, traverse the dewdrop grass, and dissolve again into the primordial mass. Lying still for a long time, lakes form on the skin, a film that thins and deepens over the rolling dips and hills of the body. The water presses down heavy, it becomes harder to lift yourself.

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Laborotics – Degen Hill

Electricity coursed through the concrete bunker that housed Unit 11, bringing the 30 androids to life. Green lights atop each mechanical worker flickered on while their gears clicked, unlocking them from their charge stations. 

C-17 clenched his black mechanical hand into a fist and then slowly flexed each of his five, tri-jointed metal fingers until they were fully extended, repeating the process twice on each hand. He stepped out from his charging station and turned to see the other bots going through their own morning ritual, understanding that it was moments like these that helped them maintain their sanity.

What day is it today? More importantly, what year is it? Does it even matter?

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The Junkyard King – John Tarrant

A shimmering red bubble surrounded The Junkyard King, a foot-tall midget in a diaper. He stood on a tower of smashed cars and space cruisers. Black hair covered his chest. A small flask lay at his feet and he clutched a fat cigar and blew clouds of smoke. In the other hand he held a bright red wand. His head snapped toward the timer two minutes away from zero.

I squeezed the cell’s metal bars, trying to stop my naked body from shaking. I glared at the announcers—two small figures enclosed in protective glass high above the battlefield. I hated them for how lightly they took this.

“Looks like the King is getting impatient,” Paul Dice, one of the announcers, said. His voice boomed through loudspeakers set up around the arena.

“He is ready for the Battle to begin,” the other announcer, a woldrak named Dobarh, said in a deep and guttural voice.

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Cleopatra’s Needle – Tom Howard

She ignored the New Cairo mayor sitting across from her until he spoke.

“We are honored by your presence so soon after your last visit to the Western Lands, Your Highness.”

Cleopatra, the forty-seventh pharaoh of that name, turned her attention from the gray skyscrapers outside the limousine window. The Royal Scribe sat beside her, his tablet on his knee. Natura, her niece and the Royal Handmaid, appeared deep in thought, but Cleopatra knew she, like the others, listened for an explanation of the unexpected trip. The Guard Captain, Rekeen, did not look at her. Of all her confidants, only he knew her true purpose visiting these chilly lands.

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The Tunnel Merchants – Steve Carr

Staring at the flitling, Koona Mau winced as the light from it burned through the thin white tissue that covered his large eyeballs. He had his elongated yellow fingers wrapped around the bubble she was encased in, grasping it lovingly. His loud sighs of contentment echoed in his burrow. He laid back on his bed of pigeon feathers and put the paws at the end of his stubby, spindly legs up on a plastic inflated seahorse practically covered in duct tape to seal the leaks and gazed at her dreamily.

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Wait on Eight – Al Onia

It took me a week of early mornings to determine the mother wave wasn’t six. Not on planet Qu’aean. Fifth world from an otherwise undistinguished F-star. Huntington Beach, Earth, six. Qu’aean surf zone, eight. At least, my empirical evidence indicated every eighth wave was larger. High tide progressed into my afternoon shifts with the delegation, delaying further experimentation.

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Holed Up – Sierra July

I press my hand to the pit wall, feel it purr like it wants me bumbling half-blind in its gut. But I want out.

“Why we down here, papa?”

“You think I got answers, you’re loopy, Star. One day your mama and me was living happy, next we’re tossed from home, you plopped out right along with us, just a squirming little thing in our arms. Could be ‘cause we didn’t approve the law. Could be ‘cause our strung-up laundry didn’t shine bright enough. Who knows?”

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