George Sandison
The gates were immense and swollen with rust. The lieutenant obliterated the locks and Dr Castella quickly retrieved the fragments, cooing in veneration.
Something moved in the mist ahead.
I nudged Strauss.
Weapons raised, we took point as we breached the gates of Heaven.
The moaning was reverence stitched to agony. I found the first on his knees. He cried, “Judgement is upon us! Have mercy, our fathers.”
I stopped too suddenly for Strauss, who knocked me off balance. Hadn’t he heard?
On my knees I tried to understand: Heaven had people in it. They thought we were gods.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: George Sandison was born in 1982 in Hertfordshire. He currently writes slipstream, fantasy and science fiction short stories, and is working on his second full-length novel. He lives in London and works in the publishing industry. His website can be found at www.GeorgeSandison.com.
The Power Of Imagination
Alisia Faust
I heard a rustling outside my window. A unicorn munched on my arugula.
“Lina!” Pesky child. She knew better. I poked my head in her room. Fairies fluttered from wall to wall, their shimmering wings beating a mile a minute.
“Lina.”
“What?”
“What did I say about making things with our imagination?”
She refused to meet my eyes.
“Lina!”
“It scares people. And then they call the police.”
“Exactly.”
“It was an accident!”
“Don’t let these fairies out of this room. You got that?”
Sighing, I left to get the rifle. We hadn’t even finished the steaks from last time.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alisia spends too much time with her head in the clouds. More of her work can be found on her blog at http://eurasianflavour.wordpress.com.
Survival
Iulian Ionescu
The boy cried, and his father held his hand, and they walked on.
“We’ll be okay,” his father told him.
The city ruins were visible, far behind the fifth crater. They passed the crater days later.
Still, the boy couldn’t stop weeping. “Where’s mommy?”
“She’ll come,” the father answered, his hand shaking.
As they finally entered the city, the boy squeezed his father’s empty glove. A black dog darted toward him. The boy grabbed a rock and threw it. Later that day, sitting by the fire of a still-burning bus carcass, the boy finally ate, and forgot.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Iulian Ionescu was born and raised in Bucharest, Romania, where he earned his Bachelor’s in Finance. He moved to the US during 2001, and became a CPA. He’s an aspiring sci/fi and fantasy writer and lives in New Jersey with his wife and son. He blogs at www.fantasyscroll.com and www.iulianionescu.com.
She Was Beautiful
Thabo Mandisa
The moment I saw her, the sun filled the sky and my heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines. She was beautiful, not by the world’s standards, by her own. She was beautiful for being comfortable in her skin. She was beautiful for her unique views on the world, the universe. She was beautiful for the way her waterfall of curls always seemed to glow, that awkward, unseemly smile. But what I found most beautiful about her was her feet. Well, mainly her toes. They fascinated me. All twenty-six of them.
After They Came
Shibon Clingman
She looks out the window of her prison cell, wondering what’s beyond those permanent dark clouds casting shadows on the city that used to be. She doesn’t know much, just enough to know everything is being replaced by the new ones, their machines. They’re not human. They can’t be, because they put people in here and do cruel things. Like humans are ants to them. They must be alien. She doesn’t know what they do, even what they look like. But she hears the nightly screams, and that moment, when the door opens, she realises she’s about to find out.
Cryptic Giant-Speak?
Claire Jones
As soon as a race of giants was discovered in a remote Cambodian cave, the international slave trade boomed. One out of every thousand kept one as a pet and had a natural urge to collect them all.
And, no, it wasn’t immoral. Why would it be? It was a Hollywood fad. Even my parents had one. We called ours Gonzo, by the way. He was blue.
One day, over tea, I had my first talk with the primitive. “Don’t you miss the cave?”
“Not really,” he said with his absolutely savage accent. “I’m not allowed to, am I? For no servant is greater than his master, and may I be struck down should I show any emotion at all. I am nothing. All I am is a pile of chains. I also love being pushed around every day like I’m a piece of shit.”
Then he rolled his eyes.
To this day I still don’t understand what he meant, but if any of you reading this do, please forward me a message at [email protected].
The Puppet
Erin Eveland
“See the tendon?”
“Gross.”
“It’s my puppet. I got to keep it warm.”
“You gonna knit it a sweater too?”
“No, just pump it with fresh blood.”
“How?”
“With a tube and veins.”
“It won’t talk.”
“The dead speak for themselves.”
“Where would you get the voice?”
“From the one who gives me the veins.”
“What are you doing with that tube?”
“Giving the puppet life.”
“Where you going with that needle?”
“You’ll soon see. The dead arise with the cry of life.”
“Aaaahhhhh…”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Erin Eveland is a Michigan author, writing in the realms of science fiction, horror, and dark fantasy. She has published short stories and recently finished her first novel.
The Kindness Of Robots
E.A. Fow
Sarah liked her house robot a little too much.
When the authorities sent him away for reprogramming and her to the Morality Center for cognitive reconditioning, she did not expect to see him again. However, after three days of interrogation and thought purification when she returned home, he was waiting for her. He did not recognize Sarah, and she was relieved; next time she would be surgically corrected and he would be recycled.
22nd century humans had moved beyond kindness, but robots were built to care. Max450 followed her around blank but eager to help. She could not let him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: E.A. Fow was born and raised in Hamilton, New Zealand but lives and writes in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has appeared in various online and print journals, including Penduline, Luna Station Quarterly, and Spellbound, and in anthologies from Imagination and Place, Fiction Attic, and Softskull Press. Stories and links can be found on her website, EAFow.com.
A Sweet Cup Of Water
Jacob C. Denton
“If ‘If’s’ and ‘buts’ was water and struts you’d have built a rocket and got off this moon by now,” my Father told the disgruntled colonist. “No more excuses; you drank your fill and now you can’t pay. Hand over, please.”
Sucking his teeth, the Colonist took off a glove, and presented the appendage palm down.
With barely a twitch Father drew a welding pen across the back of the proffered hand, searing the flesh from wrist bone to knuckle.
The colonist yelped and pulled away.
“If you want ice for that burn,” Father grinned, “it’s five dollar-credits a cube.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jacob C. Denton is a recent English graduate trying, under the pressures of the ‘real world’, to continue writing. He enjoys most types of writing but SF and slipstream retain a prominent position in his heart as much of his university career was spent studying their intricacies in one form or another. If you want to keep in touch with w
hat he is doing, his Twitter name is OlshanSphere and he has a blog of that title also.
Upgrade
Terence Kuch
Our new robot was only at version 7 when it arrived from the factory. Until we upgraded it, the other robots teased it constantly, called it “idiot” and “retard” and “gear-brain” (robots can be cruel!). Our version 7 almost shut down one day in despair; but the others didn’t care, just laughed in that harsh mechanical grating voice they have.
During the upgrade, of course, the new robot lost all memory of anything that had happened when it was a 7. So it didn’t understand the other 8’s when they still addressed it as “you idiot.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Terence Kuch’s speculative fiction has appeared in paying markets including Dark Fiction Spotlight, Arct, Fusion Fragment, Niteblade (Canada), Noctober, Polluto (U.K.), Roar & Thunder (Australia), Sybil’s Garage, etc. His work has been featured in anthologies from Pill Hill, House of Horror (U.K.), Static Movement, and other publishers. He is on the editorial teams of Fickle Muses and Z-composition e-zines, and is Fiction Editor of The Again (U.K.). His two commercially published novels are available at www.amazon.com/author/terencekuch. His popular “microfiction” blog, www.terencekuch.com, available for subscription on Amazon, has had more than 21,000 page views.
The Infinite Mouse
Kaitlyn Kochany
The mouse had been dead last night. This morning, it was alive.
Dr. Peters set his coffee down thoughtfully. The mouse, from inside its wire cage, sniffed his cup and scurried into a nest of wood shavings.
Dead, then alive. Interesting.
Peters had worked on the serum for months: inspiration, minor tweaks, then disappointment. But now! Here was the solution to death and disease, distilled into one vial. His vial.
The mouse squeaked. Peters, startled, shrieked as he dropped the vial. The serum splashed to the floor.
His solution was instantly contaminated. Peters howled.
The mouse, very much alive, blinked.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kaitlyn Kochany is a Toronto-based writer who has been published in print and online since 2009. She is currently working on a long story about a post-apocalyptic farm. Find her online at kaitlynkochany.com
The Birthday Present
Chris Redfern
“Is that really just for me?” I ask.
My father eyes me proudly as my mother replies. “Yes, dear. We thought it was about time you played with one for yourself.”
I look down at the castle with its perfect walls, and for the first time I see the people. “And it’s even got soldiers,” I cry in joy. “This is the best birthday present ever.”
“Well, go on then,” prompts my father.
With a bellow of fiery happiness, I tip my wings and swoop down from the heavens to burn all in my path.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Chris Redfern has only recently started writing flash fiction. He’s had several of his stories published online and also enjoys writing comic scripts. Follow his adventures at http://www.aatwatchtower.com/.
Miracle Ears
Marian Brooks
Uncle Charlie had the largest earlobes ever. They even flapped when he turned his head. His skin was wrinkly and grey, and his nose, long and pointed. As a five-year-old I thought he must have gotten some of his parts all mixed up with a baby elephant’s. I fantasized that he might be able to hear through concrete walls like Superman. One day, Uncle Charlie allowed me to examine the dark recesses of his inner ear. I discovered that he couldn’t hear a thing without these little plastic gizmos which he removed whenever Aunt Clara started to speak to him.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Recently retired, Marian Brooks has begun to write some short fiction. Her work has appeared in The Linnet’s Wings, 50 Word Stories, Word Riot, The Short Humour Site and others.
Leap Of Faith
Charity Tahmaseb
“Jump,” Muna says, “you can do it.”
The drop below is as deep as my fear. The air around Muna shimmers. I want to believe her as much as she believes in me.
I jump. My toe catches. I plummet.
Muna screams after me.
My fingers claw the air until I notice others falling with me. We dart, join hands, whirl. Air kisses have meaning here. It’s heaven, except for all the sobs that soak us from above.
I want to tell Muna: It’s not your fault. I was never good at jumping.
But now I can fly.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Charity Tahmaseb has slung corn on the cob for Green Giant and jumped out of airplanes (but not at the same time). She’s worn both Girl Scout and Army green. These days, she writes young adult fiction and works as a technical writer. Her novel, The Geek Girl’s Guide to Cheerleading (written with co-author Darcy Vance), was a YALSA 2012 Popular Paperback pick. She blogs (occasionally) at: http://writingwrongs.wordpress.com/.
Moss On Mars
Mathias Jansson
They’d found something unusual on Mars, in a stone. Realising the moss they’d examined was some sort of new organism, they celebrated with the knowledge that they were onto the discovery of a lifetime.
But when they woke up the next morning, the ship interior was covered in green. And their skin was, too.
It was the moss.
The moss was spreading.
It didn’t kill them, but they knew they could never return to Earth. So they decided to colonise Mars, as with their discovery the planet changed. It was no more barren.
Mars was becoming green.
Everything was.
Green.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Mathias Jansson is a Swedish art critic and poet. He has been published in magazines as The Horror Zine Magazine, Dark Eclipse, Schlock, The Sirens Call and The Poetry Box. He has also contributed to several anthologies from Horrified Press and James Ward Kirk Fiction as Suffer Eternal anthology Volume 1-3, Hell Whore Anthology Volume 1-3, Barnyard Horror and Serial Killers Tres Tria. Website: http://mathiasjansson72.blogspot.se/.
Payback
Jane Percival
“Mum, come see. The stupid washing machine’s jammed again,” Kim yelled.
“I’m coming - don’t kick it,” I called. “You know it’s ancient.”
Sighing, I set the dough aside, wiped my floury hands on my apron and went out to the washhouse to investigate.
It was quiet.
Grandma’s washing machine gleamed malevolently in a shaft of sunlight. Kim was leaning against it, standing near to a shallow puddle of water. A frayed electrical cord, hissing with sparks, was passing through the puddle. I got a fright, then remembered Grandma’s warning.
“Beware the washing machine. It has a life of its own.”
I’d always thought it was just her dementia talking.
“Be nice to the washing machine, else it’ll wreak revenge one of these days.”
I pulled Kim away from the puddle and apologised to the washing machine. Duly, the cord stopped its hissing.
“Are you okay?” Kim gave me a look like I was mad.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jane Percival lives in New Zealand, about 80 km from
Auckland. She has always written for herself, but hasn’t sought to have anything published. She enjoys the challenge of writing a drabble.
How The End Of The World Really Happened…The Second Time
David Nell
“Ooh, what does this thingy do?” Hercules said. “Will you teach me?”
“In one year’s time, when you’re thirty-seven.”
“But, Dad, you keep saying so.”
“Yes, because you’ll muck everything up and then–”
“Why’s that red button blinking?” Hercules pointed.
“Hm? Must be a message.”
“Can I press it first?”
Zeus slapped his son’s eager hand, but in the process slammed a hip against one of the other many buttons. He paused, realising the sun had just gone out.
Hercules stared at his father and winced.
; “Oops,” said Zeus, shrugging.
Keep Running From The Aliens, Man!
Antonio Honda
The man in the cloak stops to ponder. It’s like the aliens have been chasing him forever, as if he is a product of endlessly-looping code.
But the aliens are on him. He has to move.
“Actually, no,” he says. “It’s you. You’re causing this.”
If he doesn’t move right now, he’ll surely be had for alien lunch.
“I’m not some fictional character you can abuse to your heart’s content. I’m a human being, damn you. I have rights. Also, there’s no such thing as bloody aliens.”
And that’s when the aliens get him and the story finally ends.
It’s All In The Lure
Jason Lairamore
Glen liked hope. That’s why he bought lottery tickets. They helped with his faith. Faith meant believing in things you couldn’t see. He believed like that.
He built a cage first, on faith, with wire mesh.
Next he raised chickens, fed them ground-up lottery tickets.
Then he stole gold and added it to the tickets. Hope and gold were the best lures.
The chickens laid their eggs, their golden eggs.
He had a cage. He had lures. Next he set traps.
And he caught one. A leprechaun.
“What will it be?” the wee creature asked.
Glen had lots of hope.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jason Lairamore is a writer of science fiction, fantasy, and horror who lives in Oklahoma with his beautiful wife and their three monstrously marvelous children. He is a published finalist of the 2012 SQ Mag annual contest and the winner of the 2013 Planetary Stories flash fiction contest. His work is both featured and forthcoming in Third Flatiron publications, The Blue Shift magazine, Postscripts to Darkness, Carnage: After the End Vol. 2, Kerlak Publishing, Emby Press, Great Escapes, Mad Scientist Journal, and Pantheon magazine, to name but a few. You can find out more about Jason at http://www.facebook.com/#!/jason.lairamore.
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