The children tumble into the church basement, pushing, dodging, and shouting. Good boys and girls, but wild with pent-up feral energy. Deacon Grumpus pauses at the top of the stairs. He understands the cacophony and approves. Good old-fashioned childish exuberance. So human, organically human, as it should be. Exactly what the Divine Order of Cellular Humans teaches its followers.
Continue reading “Sunday School by Marco Etheridge”
When an Antarctic scientist uncovered an alien space ship while digging for a latrine, he sent for the best crypto-biologists, archaeologists and astronomers to come to the Antarctic base. After the local Antarctic scientists were assembled, they entered the ship which had unrecognizable instruments and made weird sounds like those of a Theremin. They quickly discovered something encased in ice, which they hauled off to their camp.
Continue reading “Brave (not nude or new) Newt World by Doug Hawley”
How do I prove humanity isn’t a computer virus? Xander Neurix wonders. He’s getting desperate. Is desperate.
As his wife rubs his shoulders, he bounces his son on his knee. “You’re so tense,” Astra says.
Xander quiets his leg to concentrate on his wife’s massage. “Things at the Chamber are … complicated.” Xander hates to keep something so important from Astra, but is unsure how to tell her about the alarming situation unfolding.
Zaden kicks his heels against his father’s thighs. “More turbulence.” Xander begins bouncing his leg again.
“I need a break.” Astra shakes her hands. “You’re practically living at the Chamber. I thought Helix was requiring less and less from you and your team? We hardly see you.”
Continue reading “Helix by David Henson”
Ida hates the sunset. She also has a profound dislike for the ocean, Greece, Italian villas, and all 30,000 islands of the Pacific Ocean. But every morning she wakes up to one of them, rotating views out her window: a nightmare cycle of 5 star resort views. Sometimes she thinks she is already dead, stuck in a penitentiary of hell’s ennui where every day is more passive then the last.
Continue reading “After Dark by Nico Gurdjian”
I do not recognise the face of the man who sits across from me at my dining table. Like a patchwork quilt, his skin is stitched together with different shades of white, pink, and brown. He does not blink; one glassy grey eye gazes listlessly at nowhere, while the other stares directly at me as it flits and shutters like an old-fashioned camera lens.
Continue reading “After the Robot Wars by Kim Morrissy”
The woman at the door stared at the children. She was pregnant. Seven months low to the ground with what she knew to be a boy. She ran a hand up and down her stomach. It had snowed overnight, and it was snowing still.
The boy and the girl were sixteen or seventeen. Maybe younger. Neither was dressed for the weather. Blue jeans and black t-shirts. Black sneakers.
“They want to come in,” she said.
“Who did they say they were, again?”
The woman looked through the glass eyehole, past the strange children. A white horizon absent direction. There were no tracks in the snow. It was windy, and the wind pushed and pulled the fallen snow. Still, it would have been nice to see tracks.
Continue reading “The Other One by Richard Leise”
Marku 3 was a planet with a sun in eternal eclipse.
I landed there just over a week ago, careful to make camp within a small clearing in a forest full of pale, leafless trees. It was midday. It was brisk. There was a calming eeriness about the way the dim orange sunlight painted everything in shadows.
On that first night a group of the planet’s natives came to the camps’ perimeter and watched me in wonder. They were primitive with skinny inverted legs, bulbous heads covered in wire-like hairs, and a single eye embedded within the center.
They communicated amongst themselves with clicking noises made by tapping two bone plates on the inside of their knees together.
One came as an emissary, approaching within feet of me. As it stepped within the harsh glow of a floodlight behind me it suddenly froze.
It’s single eye dilated. Every hair was out like spikes.
It started with a low rumble in its chest. A soft frequency vibrated inside me, growing stronger by the second.
It was warm.
It was mesmerizing.
A dopamine rush flooded my system. Nothing else existed but ecstasy.
Continue reading “Step 13 by Joe Jablonski”
“16 years? Seriously, 16 years? You’re killing me!”
Why do they always yell? I didn’t know this guy, but I knew his story. He was in over his head. That’s how it was with most clockers. Give ‘em a second, they’ll take a year, right? Okay, I know that’s not original, but it’s still true.
“Not yet,” I countered. “Unless you keep borrowing more than you can pay back. And it’s 16 years and 47 days, plus a few hours. How do you want to do this?”
Continue reading “Borrowed Time by Rob O’Keefe”
I am standing on the beach. The sand under my feet feels like soot. An uncanny, organic look emerges from the bowing, rusting skeletons of the sea-view skyscrapers. He is gone, like his father, into the ominous, omnipotent water.
Continue reading “Disconsolate Chimeras by Jie Wang”
Bob the same backwards and forwards existed. In every universe in an upholstered mustard colored armchair watching the Eagles who were no goddamn good and why did they ever let that guy Michael Vick be their quarterback? In the Farrago quadrant, 34th century, he was known as the constant and studied in advanced quantum mechanics classes, but was unknown to lesser beings in our 21st.
Continue reading “The Eternal Bob by Lewis Braham”
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