Short Fiction

Deleting Eve by Jessica Holzhausen

My client bought model T17 in April 2027 as a – I quote – ‘customizable sex toy with programmable character traits mimicking the behaviour of a real woman’. Mimicking – that is the code word here! Mimicking! The sex robot the prosecution likes to refer to as ‘Eve’ has never ever been a real woman. T17 was an advanced tool that might have looked like a human, acted like one, but only because its programmers and my client’s own adjustments embedded that into its code. Mimicking! My client did not commit murder, he deleted a computer programme he himself created according to standards set by T17’s original programmers. He deleted a computer programme from his own device. My client therefore pleads ‘not guilty’.

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Short Fiction

The Roquethford Problem by Zachary Hart

Attempt #53:

Our unit arrives at the Roquethford base at approximately 14:09:73, Standard Universal Time. Upon approaching a distance of 43 meters from the outer wall, Hive Designate “Samuel Peckingforth” emerged from the automobile and began to approach on foot, hands up, palms facing forward. He gave a standard Earth greeting while offering a friendly facial expression. 43 microseconds later, a loud bang shot out from the base wall. Designate “Samuel Peckingforth” fell to the ground, now no longer functional. Chlorophyll leaked from Designate “Samuel Peckingforth’s” cranium, indicating breakage via one of Roquethford’s firearms. Upon observing this, Hive members “Sally Brown” and “Charles Devingauh” stayed in the automobile to avoid further loss of Hive members. Firearm bursts continued sounding for the next minute, cracks appearing in the glass of the windshield, indicating Roquethford was continuing his barrage. Upon private discussion, designates “Sally Brown” and “Charles Devingauh” reached conclusion Roquethford would not waste too much further ammunition. After some time, bursts ceased to sound, indicating ceasefire. Designate “Sally Brown”, concluding that Roquethford may react better to female presence, volunteered to speak to Roquethford. Following is complete and accurate transcription of conversation, as can be seen in memory file #3476-JK3:

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All Stories, Literally Reruns

Literally Reruns – Crouching Feline, Hidden Lobster by Nik Eveleigh.

Leila has brought out a story from way back in the very early days when we were just putting our toes in the water. It’s been a while since Nik submitted anything – perhaps this Rerun will give him the push he needs to get back into the short fiction saddle:

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All Stories, Fantasy, Short Fiction

The Family in the Hot Air Balloon by Dave Henson

Still half asleep, I look to see if I need to fill the bird feeders before going to work and am shocked at the sight of a huge hot air balloon in the backyard. I get dressed, hurry outside and find a man, woman, boy, and girl in the basket.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

1932 by D C Diamondopolous

Pa decided to join the Bonus Expeditionary Force. After dropping Ma and the youngsters off at Uncle Vernon’s, he let me ride the rails with him from our home in Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, all the way to the Washington Freight Yard.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Buying My Mam Some Smack by Reynard Laverna. 

Human Alarm Clock

‘Could you just leave me alone for an hour please? I need some sleep before school.’ I say and I close the bolt on my door. I jump into bed fully clothed. Know I won’t get any sleep and she won’t leave but I pull the blanket over my face regardless.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Heisenberg and the Sapguile: A Feeble Fable of the Fantasmagorical by Renfield Stoker-Belle (Leila Allison)

Behold Awesomenicity to the Nth: Miss Renfield Stoker-Belle

An awesomemost author should enter the page after she’s been introduced by a statement similar in purpose to the music heralding a professional wrestler. Instead of approaching the page accompanied by a noise in the key of Lowest Common Denominator, however, the awesomemost author should materialize beneath a hella descriptive bold font header, like that shown above. From here on out please consider what stands atop this opening paragraph as my calling card. I put a lot of energy into the creation of my identifying verbal riff, which shall ever more precede whatever addle-minded gibberish Ms. Allison has to offer under the Feeble Fable flag. Although I have forbidden Allison to feed me any more lines in which peculiar twists of “awesome” are featured, the ban does not extend to the awesomenistic literature I produce.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Southern Comfort by David Lohrey

Why do Southerners romanticize dreck? They positively gush over everything in sight, including the weeds covering the telephone poles along the highway. Kudzu, an invasive weed, is treated like gorse. Southerners are proud of it, like everything else. Kudzu is nothing to be proud of, but Peter Taylor is. Light in August is something to get excited about. Tennessee Williams knew a thing or two, but is he invited to the Liberty Bowl? What of Eudora Welty?

Guess again.

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All Stories, Horror, Short Fiction

Phillip’s Recipe for Lamb Stew by Max T. Beckman

The end of the world wasn’t so bad. It began with an argument between some self-important people who had a bit too much responsibility. It escalated. The end of the world was loud and hot and bright. Most people dried almost instantly to a pink Himilyan salt, their crystals scattered to the wind. Some took longer, their skin blackened like the crust of a wood fired pizza. Still, some survived, parts of their limbs and flesh melted like a mild gruyere cheese. No, all this was not so bad. It was the lack of good food.

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