Posts Tagged "short fiction"

Sing Me Your Scars

by on Mar 3, 2015 in Short Fiction | 1 comment

5000 Words This is not my body. Yes, there are the expected parts—arms, legs, hips, breasts—each in its proper place and of the proper shape. Is he a monster, a madman, a misguided fool? I don’t know. I don’t want to know. But this is not my body. § The rot begins, as always, around the stitches. This time, the spots of greyish-green appear on the left wrist, and there is an accompanying ache, but not in the expected way. It feels as though there is a great disconnect between mind and flesh, a gap that yearns to close but cannot. I say nothing, but there is no need; Lillian’s weeping says it with more truth than words. The hands are hers. “Please don’t show him yet....

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Where I’m Bound

by on Mar 3, 2015 in Short Fiction | 3 comments

4200 Words I waited in line behind twelve other clowns at the fae portal from the Underland into the clown car. We did two shows a day, collecting emotions. This performance, we were also on the hunt for a new child, which only happened sometimes. Underland day was bright, with blue sky and a few snowy clouds, no surprise; it was the favorite daytime weather of the high fae, who set the climate here. Sometimes I longed for a nice, clean, Earthly rainstorm, not the slam-banging, thunder-lightning-and-drenching storms the high fae were so fond of because drama almost let them feel something. The air tasted of stepped-on grass, fresh pine, the sour-sweet scent of magic,...

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A Beautiful Memory

by on Mar 3, 2015 in Short Fiction | 2 comments

4000 Words On Thursday, a windsor-knotted businessman paid Anna three times her normal asking price for a quartet of thought-birds. She normally sold two at a time because their growth was so slow. But he insisted. A bird of each flavor: contentment, melancholy, joy, fury. “A few of the guys at work have taken up competitive birdsong,” he told her as he wrote the check. He had sharp breath, with the whisper of a three-martini lunch. “But they’re just using finches or sparrows. This one guy’s got a bunch of pigeons. Seriously.” “I see,” Anna said, and stroked the melancholy bird’s head with one finger. It let out a sad little trill. “So what do these things eat, anyway?”...

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Charaid Dreams

by on Mar 3, 2015 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

3500 Words It’s not the cold what kills you. Not the naarg-wolves neither, Maw says, though they’re plenty scary. No, it’s the Dreams what’ll get you in the end. Dreams what wake in winter and sleep in summer. If only summer weren’t so short. Like the song of a chitkil it is, a burst of glory that leaves you colder, darker than before. But the cold and dark has a song all its own. I got no fancy words for it, but when the moon of long shadows rises over the top of the black ice forest, I get all chokey, like something’s trying to force its way out of my throat. Maw says I waste too much time staring slack-jawed at the purple horizon. “Close that mouth and get to work,...

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Houdini’s Heart

by on Mar 3, 2015 in Short Fiction | 0 comments

4195 Words Surgeons put the steel and carbon fibre hearts in them so their hearts can stop and go. How else to keep the cattle and birds, the men and women and children, from being fried by the continuous lightning strikes down on Catatumbo IV? Olwen takes an x-ray of each living thing, to be sure it’s not birthday standard, before he allows them to board the lifts for their one-way trips. Even newborns. Even canaries in cages. Right now, at the end of his shift, the queue that floats in his segmented white tunnel is stalled by that stubborn multimedia magician. Again. Olwen has grown, over the past six Cat-Four months, to hate the sight of the woman; he loathes her...

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