Rachel Swirsky

Rachel Swirsky holds an MFA in fiction from the Iowa Writers Workshop and graduated from Clarion West in 2005. Her short fiction has been published in a number of magazines and anthologies, including Tor.com, Clarkesworld, and Subterranean Magazine, and been nominated for a number of awards, including the Hugo Award, the Locus Award, and the World Fantasy Award. In 2010, her novella The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers Beneath the Queen’s Window won the Nebula Award. As a kid, she watched too much Fairy Tale Theatre and memorized the score to Sondheim’s Into the Woods.
PODCAST EP. 1: IF YOU WERE A DINOSAUR, MY LOVE

PODCAST EP. 1: IF YOU WERE A DINOSAUR, MY LOVE

Season 1 Episode 1 IF YOU WERE A DINOSAUR, MY LOVE by RACHEL SWIRSKY If you were a dinosaur, my love, then you would be a T-Rex. You’d be a small one, only five feet, ten inches, the same height as human-you. You’d be fragile-boned and you’d walk with as delicate and...

All That Fairy Tale Crap

I was supposed to go to the ball, but I spent the night licking out my stepsister instead. Bethesda moaned and rustled mulberry silk high up her thighs. “There, there, no, faster, come on, faster, please…” The friendly mice put out their eyes and ran out in trios to...

Abomination Rises on Filthy Wings

[TRIGGER WARNING: Some readers may find this story disturbing] My cock is throbbing so I pull it out. My wife lolls in front of the TV, spread out on the sofa, eyes glazed and mouth open, illuminated by flickering light. Her empty–eyed stare is so vacuous that it...

The Crows and the Witches and the Window

I’m probably going to die at midnight. Don’t worry— I’ll set the timer on the coffee pot before I go. The crows will be up with me and the witches. I’ll watch them through the window and they’ll watch me back. I’ll crack the window so I can smell stew simmering in...

Thirteen

Jacob’s wife is always screaming: Cheat! Scoundrel! Layabout! Scrooge! Jacob takes solace in the mausoleum. Girls there are quiet. He finds a dead woman, worms in her mouth. They court, cavort. Three dead fetuses swell her dead womb, born blue and silent. Dead...

Decomposition

PART ONE: LIVING New Year’s celebrations crashed through the streets of Whitcry in a din of masks and swirling petticoats. Pottery smashed against cobbles, women’s shouts echoed from garrets, men groaned and fought and pissed. Sour smells of alcohol and vomit mingled...

Black, Red, White

On her wedding day she is red and black and white: cheeks flushed with desire, dark hair spilling over bridal gown. She sits before her mirror, toasting the best man. He smiles, tips scarlet tablets into her ruby wine. "To celebrate," he says. He is the huntsman, dark...

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