Tag Archives: sci-fi

VACUOUS DOLL AND THE GRATUITY SHOW by Richard Godwin

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They come in looking around Little King’s, it’s a glance that says look at me. They pass by the mirrors, eyes for themselves only, feasting on the couples that hide in the recesses. They don’t see you, they don’t see me. They come to eat. They eat to come. The food is meat. The food is people, names, diaries, lunches, cock. I wait on them. Same crowd. They pass through the square restaurant, past the hunchbacked busboys Danny and David, looking like a pair of comic statues. I’ve served this crowd for months, they don’t even know my name. Not that who I am would be of interest to them. Little King’s used to be called Viande Exotique. Now we have Rupert running the show. Rotund snotty Rupert who needs a blow job more than anyone and will never get it. Not from this crowd. They sit there and talk. My customers.

There’s Bertha, married to Don. I call her The Snatch, he’s The Wallet. She’s mid- forties, overweight, good thighs, wears her skirts too high, shows her cleavage in La Senza, likes to wear her blouses unbuttoned to where you can make out the hint of a black lace, a neat line of the cup on her full tits. She wears too much makeup and yaks about shopping and sex. Don doesn’t hear her, they’re engaged in monologues, he boasts of the money he’s made and talks of his secretary in a lewd manner, thinking his wife doesn’t notice. He wears suits, grease stains on his shirt front, a smutty man heading towards old age with no inhibitions. He touches his phallus from time to time as he eyes passing women. I reckon he likes the company of women with a meretricious streak, makes a low bid and ups it until they let him slide it in. He’s more money than dick, a guy who lives for the moment when he can tell his buddies.

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The State of the Church of Bowie in 2525 by K. A. Laity

My beloved in Ziggy—transplendent be his name!—there are some troubling trends of late in our nation. Despite the ubiquity of our faith—it’s rare to see anyone not wearing a lightning bolt, admittedly, whether on a chain around their neck or in a discreet Continue reading The State of the Church of Bowie in 2525 by K. A. Laity

Dolbots in Cosplay By Clara Brown

Her skin is pale with a hint of blue, like a porcelain doll crafted by a mortician’s hand. Crystalline-like eyes sit in sockets too large for her pixie-like skull and when she brings the poison apple to her lips for dramatic effect, she looks human. But she’s not. She’s a Dolbot: G-43 model, the most realistic android in production. For me, they aren’t hard to spot. I build them for a living.

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Minral Cawt Defends The Glounce by Douglas J. Ogurek

“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.

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Perfect Love by Sonia Kilvington

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.

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Watch It All Go Fiery by Christopher Grant

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.

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Stealing Posies by KJ Hannah Greenberg

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