Posts Tagged ‘SF’
by R.W.W. Greene
A lot of people cheered when our space plane docked with the Sam Walton but I wasn’t in the mood. The ride up was terrible. First I felt squashed, then I felt like I was falling, then I just wanted to puke. The flight attendant had handed out anti-nausea gum before we took off, but people were throwing up all around me. A couple of rows back, someone missed the barf bag and vomit bubbles floated by my head. The attendant captured it with a net. Gross. |
Issue 19 (Mar 2012) |
by Nick Wood
We are amongst the last of the last, the ‘do-not-dies’ as the dead now call us. They follow us, the dead do, whispering and pulling at our ears and hair. The other two don’t notice, although they do see and comment on the occasional cock of my head, as I listen without comprehension to dry and meaningless whispers from shadowy lips, the occasional repetition of that one phrase, all I can make out - ‘do-not-dies…’ |
Issue 18 (Feb 2012) |
by Thomas Carl Sweterlitsch
Ashen drizzle. Black sky. Christ, thought McKinley - nothing like the fucking rain. It collected in muddy drifts. It pooled at the curbs. Already the streets were slicked with wet soot. McKinley lifted his boot from the accelerator and hit the emergency flashers. The bald tires of his Ford Focus fishtailed. It was bad enough on clear days when the ash was like fucking snow, but when it rained everything just turned greasy. |
Issue 18 (Feb 2012) |
by Cat Hellisen
We must be close to New Londinium by now. The jungle is thinning and this little clearing is as good a place as any to stop and rest. My current employer sits hunched on a fallen log thick with fungi and bottle-green creeping vines. She holds her hands against her face, palms over her eyes. Her hair has turned black as feathers. |
From Issue 17 (Jan 2012) |
by K.A. Dean
The Third City drifted slowly across cresting water - a blue-green sheet of rippling shades, sunlight dancing - moving against the wind. A floating island of glass and gold and silver, frozen towers like ice, basking. Behind, left by the motion of the massive propellers beneath water's surface, a faint trail of froth. |
From Issue 17 (Dec 2011) |
by Tom Jolly
The interesting difference between doctors and scientists is that scientists often ignore the potentially deadly repercussions of their activities, so immersed are they in their work that they fail to see all the dark applications of it. If people die, it's not their fault. As long as your motives are pure, no blame can be laid at your doorstep. |
From Issue 16 (Dec 2011) |
by Sheila Crosby
Dan said, "All the bigger asteroids are tracked by the computer, but there's zillions of tiny ones too. One's heading our way." After five months here, getting into his spacesuit was simple. The trick was to get one foot firmly fastened into the suit before you took the other out of its metal-soled shoe. If you didn't, you found yourself floating weightlessly around the airlock, magnetic floor or no magnetic floor. |
From Issue 16 (Dec 2011) |
by Domyelle Rhyse
Ilkyia watched the starship arc upward, a brilliant star in the pre-dawn sky. She was fascinated by the ships of the dead, despite being only six years old. Three-year-old Reyna tugged at her hand, curious about everything but the ship above them. Their parents huddled protectively around them, keeping them close. Even though sparks of brilliant fire lit the entire city, Ilkyia imagined she knew exactly which one held her older sister. |
From Issue 16 (Dec 2011) |
by Cedar Sanderson
Curiosity is what led my predecessors into the wild unknown - curiosity and a driving desire for notoriety. |
From Issue 15 (Nov 2011) |
by Davin Ireland
The desert here is pink and rocky and shrouded in darkness for much of the day. The excavation site is slashed with grey spills of rubble that could be collapsed towers or random seams of granite. To the east, great clouds of mortar dust boil across the plains, scouring the arid landscape, depriving it of fresh growth. Only the Idrl remain. |
From Issue 14 (Oct 2011) |