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.
Teacher is an old-fashioned bug with a blue carapace and eyes like two domes of gold beads. She is very pretty and smells like follow, but when she flutters her wings you better look smart or you’ll…
by Mary Gigi Constantino (Tagalog version: Ang Huling Paglikas) Dawn was colder than usual and the scent of rain was in the air. Marga burrowed into her corner of the jeepney and pulled the hoodie …
Beneath Ceaseless Skies - To Balance the Weight of Khalem by R.B. Lemberg
He lifts the onion to the lantern’s lone light, and in it, I suddenly see: the goldwork towers and walls of the Old City; the broken bridge, jagged after a recent bombing yet still shining; rows of humble houses etched in ebullient metal; the curve and sway of the historical museum. I reach out my hand, and he drops the city into it. It feels warm in my palm.
Beneath Ceaseless Skies - The Tyrant’s Heir’s Tale by Carrie Vaughn
“We found something,” Matias began. He had rehearsed what he would say and was determined now to watch their expressions. To see if this was a revelation for them—or if they already knew. “We’re expanding the palace kitchens, putting in a new hearth and tables. The builders knocked out a wall—turns out it was a closet that had been sealed up. In the closet was a body.”
Beneath Ceaseless Skies - The Tale of the Scout and the Pachydormu by Gregory Norman Bossert
The Poet Laureate was fetched from his retirement in a lighthouse on the far shore of the Founder Mer to compose a song of eighty-six interlocked stanzas like steps on a stairway spiraling down into a cool dim quiet. But on the forty-seventh stanza of its recitation, the Governor squinted into the space over the Poet's shoulder and said, "listen, any deeper and we shall hear the words those beasts sing as they pass" and demanded that the previous stanzas be read in reverse; "back to the surface," he said.
Author: Majoki When the founders of Providence made planetfall, they had but one credo to establish their new civilization on the uninhabited world: Blind ignorance is unfortunate. Willful ignorance is shameful. Manufactured ignorance is unforgivable. Two hundred forty-one local years later, when the invading conquerors of Providence divvied up the planet, they wondered why the […]
Author: Antonio DIsi Yesterday, I turned forty, without even realizing it. My life has become an endless sequence of days and nights, of bicycle deliveries, all dictated by an unrelenting app. Every morning, I wake up not knowing what the day holds. The only clue is my smartphone, incessantly vibrating, announcing new orders to deliver. […]
The Mote in Bird’s Eye; or, Note Attached to a Frozen Corpse Retrieved from Deep Space - Lightspeed Magazine
Dear Aunt Harriet, If you’re reading this note it means you survived. That’s wonderful news: I always loved you the most. The notes I sent out with Aunt Anita and the cousins are friendly letters, I promise, us being kin and all, and I surely hope they survive too. But I’m happiest about you.
While learning the ropes from a crafty Jazz Age bank robber, a young stowaway discovers their authentic self, a hidden gift, and that there are no straight lines when you run the fox roads...
Beneath Ceaseless Skies - Bruised-Eye Dusk by Jonathan Louis Duckworth
Rugg was ready to turn back and try to make Ganvill when a bright dot of light appeared through the churning murk of the storm: a campfire. Never trust a light too bright in a dark hole, the speaking goes, but then he smelled roasting meat. And then he heard the flute. A sweet, sad little song, a flutter of music. Bone flutes had a tone distinct from those carved of wood or reed; lonelier, somehow. A sweet breath of music sighing out to the wild.
A Magical Correspondence, to the Tune of Heartstrings - Uncanny Magazine
I To learn the craft of witches, one must cultivate the pillars of magical living: curiosity, attentiveness, and perseverance. Those who are curious desire to understand the mysteries of the world; those who are attentive observe and apply their focus to achieving that understanding; those who persevere embrace the challenges inherent in the unending pursuit […]
The country was at just over ten thousand deaths the morning that the door appeared. On Kosmo’s phone NPR was interviewing a doctor with a nasal voice about the need for social distancing, while Kosmo himself collected empty cans from around his home office. They were everywhere. Walls of recyclable cans dominated his room. Just […]
How to Raise a Kraken in Your Bathtub - Uncanny Magazine
“Ambition!” Trevor emphasized, rapping knuckles hard on the wood table. “That is what makes the great men!” He took a satisfied swallow from his mug. Across from him, Barnaby put down the daily he’d been reading and sipped from his own beer. Pulling out a handkerchief to dab froth from his lips, he scratched thoughtfully […]
We’ve travelled for weeks to find something like this—not the planet, but its ring, swirling iridescent with icy blues and silver. A bounty of water.
Escape Pod 936: Old People’s Folly (Part 2 of 2)
Continued from Part 1) Kite was still curled into a bundle of blankets in front of the stove when Setti woke. The old woman sniffed, torn between surprise and annoyance. She’d have figured him for a…
Escape Pod 935: Old People’s Folly (Part 1 of 2)
Setti knew the woman for a ghost the moment she appeared. It was the pink hair that gave her away, short and spiky. Real people didn’t have hair like that. Also, you couldn’t see the scratchmarks on…
The Ordinary Woman and the Unquiet Emperor - Reactor
On International Women’s Day, several of the best writers in SF/F today reveal new stories inspired by the phrase “Nevertheless, she persisted”, raising their voice in response to a phrase originally meant to silence. The stories publish on Tor.com all throughout the day of March 8th. They are collected here. The Ordinary Woman and the Read More »
The Somnambulant by Sam W. Pisciotta  The moon sits plump within a windowpane as if plucked from the sky and framed for safekeeping. Bound by forces beyond our control, the moon and I share a yearning to pull free. I touch my finger on the icy glass and dream of leaving this place. But […]
Punk Voyager was built by punks. They made it from beer cans, razors, safety pins, and a surfboard some D-bag had left on the beach. Also plutonium. Where did they get plutonium? Around. f*** you.
Five Answers to Questions You Probably Have - Uncanny Magazine
Answer 1: Your mother was right. I get pissed off upset too easily, and I can’t be trusted with money. I can make a lot of excuses but the clearest answer is she’s always been right about our fights everything. She thinks your best chances are by her raising you with her folks. The mines aren’t […]
The seven siblings sit in a place beyond the boundaries of space and time, where everything is made of stories. Even them. Especially them. People are made of stories too, but only the versions of their stories that they tell themselves. Curated, limited, incomplete. Many of the stories people tell themselves are lies layered on partially-perceived things to give their lives structure and meaning. The siblings that sit beyond sit true, for they are made of all the stories that were, that are, that are to come.
Flight by Charlie Sorrenson  Now They are coming out of the woods when Mateo grabs one of Maggie’s wings and tugs, hard. This has long been his way of getting her attention and she has always let him do it, wanting to be a good mother, reminding herself that this is a phase, that […]
Author: Bill Cox Sirens sound behind him and it feels like the walls are closing in. Always running as fast as he can down the street, but his legs are tiring already despite the adrenalin surging through his body. A small lane leads off into darkness and if he can’t run then hiding is the […]
Author: Elizabeth Hoyle “There don’t need to be multiple universes for me to fall in love with you over and over again,” Michael said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “One lifetime must be enough, though there is no such thing as too much time with you. I’ve seen you as a daughter, […]
At age nineteen, Robot Girl had dropped out of the most prestigious university in the country, had no objectives in life, and was now stuck pet sitting for the lovely lesbian couple at her old church.