We crackle and crunch through the forest, tracking gore through the red and silver leaves of this wretched forest so far from home: the centaur, the nyanga, Oberon, and me. And Tchakalaktsa, of course. My love. My life. Skink of my heart. Or what’s left of her…in spirit, in the glass vial that bounces comfortingly […]

Onyankopɔn is a woman. And a man. And everything above and in-between. Akuba says Onyankopɔn kissed the tips of His fingers on the sixth day, and sculpted these bodies as worldly vessels for our…

My ghost is trapped in this bedchamber, much as I was in life. It had been my sanctuary, filled with sumptuous fabrics and exotic decor. In death, I understand the lie. We have all been trapped, dragonflies caught in golden amber. Just as my daughter will be, someday, by someone.

What she did? What she did?! My dear sister, she was a child. Nora didn’t do anything, nor did your despised Lady Lobar, nor did any of the women you’ve so eagerly watched executed. This cruelty is so foreign to the sympathetic character I know you to have. Well. If you won’t have mercy for these girls, at least be horrified for the crimes they’ve endured and do whatever necessary to assure you never suffer the same fate.

The Pull of the Herd By: Suzan Palumbo My doeskin calls to me from under the woollen blankets in the cedar chest at the foot of our bed. Diya murmurs beside me, eases back to sleep. I cling to her, try to calm the panic welling in my chest by inhaling her cardamom scent. The […]

Two Hands, Wrapped in Gold – PART TWO by S. B. Divya Walter and his small gang visited as promised. Taking my mother’s advice, I told them I had failed. They delivered a beating, which I accepted while curled into a ball on the ground beside my mother, my hands tucked into my armpits to […]

An android mother writes a letter to her daughter . . .

In the same world as Everfair, a brutal king plagued by visions of the Black people he slaughtered in Congo attempts to destroy the spirits haunting him using an inventor's powerful but unproven machine...

Homes for the Holidays by Heather Shaw & Tim Pratt   I stood on the slumlord’s doorstep and took a deep breath — one of the last I would take in this body, which had served me well despite being treated badly. It’s not the body I was born with — I don’t think I […]

A comatose patient undergoes an experimental procedure that uses favorite childhood stories to pull the patient back into consciousness—but the experiment doesn't go quite as planned...

A Brazilian freelance journalist confronts the grim reality her past choices created when she covers a community of people living in a landfill and what they must do to survive...

For nine straight miles, the hot-rolled steel rails cut a path through the woods, a metal chain thrown into soft mud. Discarded, rotting railroad ties littered the tracksides, the stench of creosot…

The aquarium is different every time I die. Exhibits reshuffling like a deck of cards. The blood loss, though, that’s reliable.

Addie Bell was six years old when she first held colored drawing pencils between her uncoordinated fingers and made marks on a crumbling map of the old, flooded tunnels beneath the city.

At first she thought the white cloud floating across the blue sky had an interesting shape, almost like the face of a man.

Niemi misses the whales.

Author: Don Nigroni Yesterday on Christmas Day, I was at my filthy rich, albeit eccentric, uncle’s house. And that’s when and where everything went awry. After dinner, he took me aside to his library to enjoy a cigar and a tawny port. “We know our current materialistic paradigm is pure garbage, yet we still cling […]

There were more than a few of the planks that could become chairs, but Lucas passed them by. None of them were suitable for the likes of Lord Adelard. The vampire wished to appear powerful. There was only one kind of wood in the cellar that fit that description. He squeezed back, back, back, into the furthest reaches, where once mice and rats might have made a home, back before the rats and mice had found themselves in stewpots and on skewers.

Author: Aubrey Williams The cheap hotel room was draughty, the shadows ink in the recesses. Each sheet of green William Morris wallpaper was peeling in at least three places. For all the dinginess, though, it was a room, and I needed one. By a feeble light I’d tried to work, but the sound of the […]

Author: Majoki They stared right through me. It used to bother me. Now, it’s essential. I uncoupled the mag-links while Symplex’s security personnel looked past me. I didn’t fit their profiles, didn’t merit a glance. That’s what it is to be me. I live by a pair of simple rules. The fact that they come […]

If I had only learned to drive, or better yet, refused to visit my parents in their apocalyptic bunker, we’d be happily at home, cuddled on the couch in front of the Criterion collection.

Alessia frowned at the central circuit board of the Astral Dancer. Paw prints. Again. She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Mr Tumnus, I have told you a thousand times, you can’t go into the engine. I don’…

You are a baseball fan, sitting in the centerfield seats eating an overpriced hot dog. You are wearing a baseball cap, but not a batting helmet, of course. (Why would that be an issue? Hmm…

Before she died, Ethel gave Julie a stapled packet of parchment paper, plump and noisy with seeds.

27. Parsifal confessed to me that she has never dreamed of Valis. Not once. In her youth, she learned of the city in a book: a philosophical dialogue where a poet, a knight, a musician, and a madman argue about the nature of reality while awaiting the arrival of a fifth person. Near the end, the madman recounts the story of Valis, which the others think is nonsense. Parsifal disagreed, and the city quickly became an obsession (she herself used the word 'obsession'). She said all this while pacing back and forth, refusing to look me in the face until the end.

Author: Hillary Lyon The lights on the console rapidly blinked in sequence. What that sequence was, Jackie couldn’t tell. It was all random nonsense to him. His finger hovered over the reboot button. If he hit restart, he’d have to work up a report, and explain his actions to the captain. But if he didn’t […]

1926 Washington, D.C. Shaw District   “There’s a man on the front stoop.” The words spilled from her in a much more mundane way than Judy had expected, considering how her neck was fluttering with her excited pulse. Alvin looked up from the new Langston Hughes poetry collection he was reading under the lamp in […]