Short Fiction

Short Fiction from issues of Apex Magazine

Blessed are the Hungry

by on Jul 1, 2014 in Short Fiction | 6 comments

That afternoon they flushed San Carlos Seldran out the airlock. Everyone on Cabra Deck was required to watch, even the little ones. Despite what old people tell you, in the vacuum of space your blood won’t boil. Your body won’t explode either. In less than a minute you’d simply die from a lack of oxygen. There wouldn’t be time to scream. His was a humane execution — quick, clean and painless. “The Lord preserves all who love him but all the wicked he destroys,” growled the ancient Holosonic, droning the day’s lesson with great pomp and solemnity. My family and I watched as our former parish priest drifted away towards infinity. The void swallowed him up with a deep...

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The Food in the Basement

by on Jul 1, 2014 in Short Fiction | 18 comments

Kaden mostly fed Sondra frozen meals and salads, though he made a point to buy her favorite snacks and desserts when she was behaving. She had a small kitchen in the basement and he would restock her food supply about once a week. When he left she would hide part of the food, in case she was punished by only being given bland food again. But no matter what, Sondra always had food, probably because Kaden wouldn’t get much nutrition when he fed on her if she was starving. Sondra was reading Rabbit at Rest when she heard the locks of the door being released. She glanced at the page number and shut the book. She placed it back on the bookcase, so it looked like it had never...

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The Salt Path

by on Jun 3, 2014 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

At first the others didn’t trust Ilahi because he’d never killed anyone. But he could find things. This had been his job with their unit, finding the enemy, finding supplies, finding… anything. Away from the war, he became essential, and by the time they reached the salt marshes, Tran had begun to make excuses for him to the others whenever he did anything too outlandish. Mishy never made excuses for anyone, and she waved away Tran’s excuses whenever they came up.  Mishy felt that excuses were beside the point. They were short on rations and short on ammunition, and none of their dreams were giving them any direction that indicated anything useful about finding their...

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Soul of Soup Bones

by on Jun 3, 2014 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

Finding Drevený came first. An unrecorded town on the border of Slovakia—outgrown, emptied and overgrown since 1523—it knew no maps. Adrienne located its remnants just the same; wild roses, a crust of scattered masonry in a pitted field, bomb-broken from an old war. The necromancer’s journal placed the forest less than a mile to the north. She found it near enough as he described, downhill a way and settled in a loose crook of the river. From there, with only the ritual to worry about, things grew easier. Adrienne stepped out of daylight and into the forest, a wild goose held under one arm, spell-docile and dozing. Choked with elderberry and briar bushes, the forest...

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Cape to Cairo

by on Jun 3, 2014 in Short Fiction | 2 comments

Of all the things Alice is good at, she is the best at leaving. Jobs, lovers, apartments, things when they get difficult. There is not enough time in life, she thinks, for living and for trying to fix things that can’t be fixed. Now she is in Arusha, in Tanzania, in the shadows of Kilimanjaro and Meru, and she is conflicted. Arusha is the middle of her travels, and going past the middle means getting closer to the end. The young batik salesmen swarm around her, feinting and charging with their batiks like matadors. “Hello sister,” they say. “Good price.” They’ve followed her across Old Moshi Road, dodging the wild traffic that screeches around the rotary. Here come the...

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Not Smart, Not Clever

by on May 6, 2014 in Short Fiction | 1 comment

The lecture theatre I’m trying to enter holds three hundred, but the security doors only admit two people at a time. Smart. I wait with the gang — Isha, Barb and Zach — in the underground atrium. “Lin,” Isha asks me, “you totally don’t have to tell me, but are you on brain–rec?” “No. I mean, not yet, anyway.” “I am,” Isha admits. The gang gasp. Isha is normally squeaky–clean. “I didn’t cheat! I was on face–rec,” Isha explains, “but then I was writing my Decadence essay and the face–rec didn’t know who I was, because I was wearing a hat. So the department put me on brain–rec, too.” She frowns. “It’s not fair. It was my thinking hat.” The gang coos. Isha is adorable. The...

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