The thing is, I didn’t particularly care whether she was lying to me or telling me the truth, since most of what I’d told her had been dug up from some murky hinterland somewhere on the outskirts of honesty, but whatever I did I had to get my hands that guitar.
“These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” – Mark 7: 6
Minral Cawt stood at the Warfare Sanctum entry and kissed the roolstone embedded in his dance staff. He needed to convince lead decorator Particula Slough, a noted fan of his dancing, to stop using glounce skin secretions for warrior face paint. Cawt petted his own glounce Tegrit, put the bird on his shoulder, and then entered the Sanctum.
Explanatory Summary of Supplementary Notes for Independent Inquiry on Report 2/XD71H: Deaths: Cause/ Failure of Experiment. Date 26/10/33
Ombudsman Investigator: Professor. D. Clarke, Department of Social Stability.
Watch it all go fiery, pieces dropping out of the sky. Ten seconds ago, it was a jet. Nine seconds ago, I happened. Now the jet’s all explodey and shit raining down all over the countryside. Fuck ‘em. They’ve been bombing us for years, decades. Who gives a shit if I just took $300 million out of play? They’ll have two more flying overhead in an hour. I’ll be ready. Fiery is my job.
The only thing worse than a thug is a copycat thug.
The media learned little about the Czech who had labored alongside of me, riveting fins and hammering launch lugs. The youngest of her siblings lived too many terrible suns and cruel moons away to broadcast her death. The rest of her beloveds, likewise, seemed entirely disinterested in her: having fallen from the scaffolding surrounding a rocket’s nose, uninterred body, or subsequently doubled share in the proceeds from that space-going vessel’s future payload. Continue reading Stealing Posies by KJ Hannah Greenberg
My little sister had a music box. She kept her scraps of plastic jewelry in it, a ceramic ballerina in a tulle tutu popped every time she pulled back the lid. Then there was the noise. Scrappy, too much like metal grinding together, a classical ballad of some kind but played too fast and too shrill, a techno Beethoven. Continue reading Trill by E.M. Fitch
‘It is a truth universally acknowledged,’ said Philly Bailey, crushing his lager can, ‘That all Jane Austen needed was a bloody good shag.’
As she adjusted her white linen cap and carefully smoothed out the Continue reading Spectral Warning by Sonia Kilvington
Other people’s success always made M. drink way too much. Weaving slightly as he walked across the hard wood floor, he felt each of the three dirty martinis he’d gulped within the hour of arriving at his friend David’s book party. The restaurant was already crowded, and a few folks stood outside in the spring coolness smoking cigarettes and chatting. Years ago, the rowdy bar where he unsteadily stood was he and David’s former hangout spot the Saloon, a place where once the crew of beauty queen waitresses who worked there were required to wear roller skates. M. often journeyed to the restaurant on 64th and Broadway from his Harlem hood to meet dates for Sunday brunch. Continue reading Killer Heels by Michael A. Gonzales