Short Fiction
Lia Swope Mitchell

Mag, the Habitat and We

It starts with a bang. Those of us awake scurry for cover; those sleeping jump wide-eyed. Five peep out of shoebox nests. Only Mag remains halfway, still part-drowning in dreams.

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Short Fiction
Lia Swope Mitchell

Slow

From her mouth exhales some warm magic that sweeps the marble dust away, and this is the first thing he sees, though he does not quite understand that he sees: her lips with their red stain worn away, paled in a utility light’s blaze. Below her chin a dust mask snares her throat.

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