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The Shadow Collector - Uncanny Magazine
The Shadow Collector - Uncanny Magazine
For Cindy Pon In the garden where girls grew from flowers, their days washed in the distant trills of the queen’s wooden flute, a gardener toiled. His name was Rajesh, and in his spare time, he collected shadows. Shadows of nectar–loving hummingbirds, shadows of laughing fathers, shadows of hawks who preyed on squirrels. Rajesh had …
·uncannymagazine.com·
The Shadow Collector - Uncanny Magazine
Just Another Future Song - Uncanny Magazine
Just Another Future Song - Uncanny Magazine
As they pulled him out of the oxygen tent, he asked for the latest party. “Oh, Mr. Jones,” one of the nurses said, amused. “We wouldn’t forget that.” The nurses, women in gray smocks with pale faces, moved in and out of view, murmuring in conspiratorial voices. Something important had happened. Something that he should …
·uncannymagazine.com·
Just Another Future Song - Uncanny Magazine
Love Will Tear Us Apart - Uncanny Magazine
Love Will Tear Us Apart - Uncanny Magazine
1. I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor Think of it like the best macaroni and cheese you’ve ever had. No neon yellow Velveeta and bread crumbs. I’m talking gourmet cheddar, the expensive stuff from Vermont that crackles as it melts into that crust on top. Imagine if right before you were about …
·uncannymagazine.com·
Love Will Tear Us Apart - Uncanny Magazine
The Artificial Bees - Uncanny Magazine
The Artificial Bees - Uncanny Magazine
Randall lowered one foot on to the surface of green fibers. The organic matter yielded under her weight but seemed to support her. She dared to put a second foot on to the strange, graminoid material—just as Archive came back with a response. “A lawn,” it told her. “Proceed with operation.” Randall prowled across the …
·uncannymagazine.com·
The Artificial Bees - Uncanny Magazine
I Seen the Devil - Uncanny Magazine
I Seen the Devil - Uncanny Magazine
I don’t claim that this story is true, and I don’t care if you believe it. It happened in 1973, when I was ten years old. It’s impossible to verify. But I’m still going to tell it to you. On this particular hot summer night, I ran through the swamp behind the trailer park as …
·uncannymagazine.com·
I Seen the Devil - Uncanny Magazine
Wooden Feathers - Uncanny Magazine
Wooden Feathers - Uncanny Magazine
The carving was going badly. Sarah examined the duck decoy before her and sighed. The bill was shaped entirely wrong. It was supposed to be a mallard, but she hadn’t taken enough off before she began shaping and now the bill was half again as long as it should be. I’ll flare the bill and …
·uncannymagazine.com·
Wooden Feathers - Uncanny Magazine
And the Balance in Blood - Uncanny Magazine
And the Balance in Blood - Uncanny Magazine
Sister Scholastique rolled onto her back. She pulled her hard, sawdust–stuffed pillow over her head and reflected on the sure and certain hope for peace and for virtue rewarded in the next world. She had determined that there was little enough of either in this one. The monastery dogs had been barking for half an …
·uncannymagazine.com·
And the Balance in Blood - Uncanny Magazine
Interlingua - Uncanny Magazine
Interlingua - Uncanny Magazine
I was monitoring Cherie Peng’s pulse, breathing, her sweaty palms, all of it, when the Sarissa interrupted me. “This proposal of yours,” the Sarissa said. She—the Sarissa insisted on the animate feminine instead of the inanimate sentient pronoun like most of us ships—sent me the document reference so I knew which proposal she was talking …
·uncannymagazine.com·
Interlingua - Uncanny Magazine
A Call to Arms for Deceased Authors' Rights - Uncanny Magazine
A Call to Arms for Deceased Authors' Rights - Uncanny Magazine
I Prelude An author dies. Then the newly discovered texts surface. They’re drafts, notes, sometimes entire manuscripts. They appear in the clutter on a desk, or in the publisher’s computer, or among newspapers and dead spiders in a summer cottage chest. Sometimes they spill forth as if from a horn of plenty (see: Tolkien). Sometimes …
·uncannymagazine.com·
A Call to Arms for Deceased Authors' Rights - Uncanny Magazine
The Spy Who Never Grew Up - Uncanny Magazine
The Spy Who Never Grew Up - Uncanny Magazine
There is a magic shore where children used to beach their coracles every night. The children have stopped coming now, and their little boats are tipped over on the sides, like the abandoned shells of nuts eaten long ago. The dark sea rushes up to the pale beach and just touches the crafts, making them …
·uncannymagazine.com·
The Spy Who Never Grew Up - Uncanny Magazine