Ray Dragon’s writing career had fallen hard after his first book, Loving Them Madly, in which Ray detailed the gruesome murder investigation of three young women near the Oberlin College campus with a vivid imagination; now, he was running dry. He wrote a series of travel articles for This Our World, in which he only traveled with a mouse and Google, but the magazine failed before he got a check.
Continue reading “Out There by Ed N. White”
The first message on Elana’s iCom pulsed red as she stepped out of harassment training. This job gave her no time to breathe. When she’d signed on, they’d told her the cadence would be intense, like drinking water from an Old World firehose. Ironic, for obvious reasons. Just the thought of filtered droplets made her throat hum. Given the time, given her title as Head of Human Resources and Logistics, making jokes about water wasn’t ever in good taste.
It was her tenth day.
Continue reading “Human Resources by Salena Casha”
The forest held its breath, and so did Amelia, as she crouched in its undergrowth, heart hammering and a lump rising in her throat. She silently swore off the next fiery ache that coiled in her thighs. She listened for the delicate puff of air that would bring the spores, echoing across the pines and oaks as they descended in a curtain of death that would fell the living, leaving in their wake only the eerie, absolute silence of death.
Continue reading “Scarcity by R.W. Owen”
Asatta fussed over her warmth-membrane and scanned the flat horizon of the little planet, searching for a spark of orange light. Blue wisps of ice and dust curled about the skyline. Anjett was late returning. Soon she would have to enter the dwelling and close it off, leaving him to the intractable cold of the planet’s night.
Continue reading “Warmth by J.H. Siegal”
They say that telepathy is a gift.
But it was not a gift when I was designed as a tool—a gene-twisted thing, a tool made of meat. My gaunt, pale, body was designed by the norms for one purpose—reading the thoughts of other norms. I was made to be a psychic burglar, built to uncover the secrets that a norm hides in the lies or silences of their porous mind.
Continue reading “The Mirrors of His Eyes, the Thirst of His Soul by David Newkirk”
The Lunar Landings—a lofty achievement for mankind. Today, 3 billion miles from Earth, two hundred years later, I’m passing Pluto. But only in the company of a doomed ghost ship named the Achilles. All fuel reserves and chances of returning home vanished with my crew.
Continue reading “Final Transmission by Savannah Oldham”
They want some blood, so it’s time to tell Benji, my seventy-year-old grandson. His wrinkles came earlier than his father’s, yet he’s trim with little gray hair. He sits in the frayed recliner his father jumped on as a toddler. I hand him a cup, and he caresses my hand.
Continue reading “Last Call for Grams by Barry Yedvobnick”
Ashley Lefey had seven outfits, a different colour for each day of the week. She’d developed the system whilst interning at Facebook, inspired by Mark Zuckerberg’s famous elimination of small unnecessary decisions. Unlike Zuckerberg, her wardrobe routine didn’t condemn her to a life of monastic grey t-shirts.
Continue reading “Fortune’s Gambit by Ed Dearnley”
The world ends soundlessly and mid-confession.
First, there is only darkness. Because sight fails, scents strip my room into view. Charred electricity and ingrained grease. Then melting plastic and flammable plaster. Then Victoria’s Secret body mist and snot-kissed posters.
Continue reading “Solar Storm by Veera Laitinen”
They only had time to perfect the robot dog, and the robot car, and the robot bank teller, which still eyed people like me with suspicion. And the robot mail carriers, whose knee socks would not stay up. And the robot Walmart greeters, whose human accents weren’t much better than the old GPS bots that put the emphasis on the wrong syllable (“Take a left onto ML … K-Junior Boulevard”). And the robot armed-agents-of-the-state, which, it’s weird, actually did resemble pigs. Before the outside air became unbreathable, they never got around to perfecting the robot house cleaner. That left them no choice but to save people like me, laborers who more and more had gotten used to things not working in our favor.
Continue reading “Bunker Cleaning Lady by Franny French”
