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Short Fiction from Apex Magazine

Issue 128Short Fiction


My spirit aches. Reality is severed. I’m trapped in a glass room. Time is water, streaming by. I’m underwater in the current of time, watching time float by. My hand on the room’s thick glass, unable to shatter it, unable to get out. Even if I escape, time will drown me.

Issue 128Short Fiction

The synchronism of touch

I breathed in. It had a complex smell with many layers. I sniffed until I sneezed. It reminded me of luxury fragrances composed of many aromas and varying notes. But these fragrances only become perceivable with time, whereas the flower’s essence was, let’s say, simultaneous. There was the scent of vanilla and dust, of sand and musk, of the damp of a cave, of salt and blood.

Issue 128Short Fiction


Godmother watches over us all. The AI’s face beams out across the city from a billboard, wearing a nurse’s cap and a beatific smile befitting her name. Nickname, to be precise. Her official name, ZolaMX3, was scrapped only days after she launched

Issue 128Short Fiction

Soil of Our Home, Storm of Our Lives

There were two terrorists inside her house. Inside Mami’s house. They were named Alfredo and Gui as they didn’t seem to be worried about hiding their names while talking with each other. The only thing they’d asked of her was a first aid kit, so she grabbed the one Marcos had given her as a gift and that she’d never used.

Issue 127Short Fiction

Thresher of Men

Black Edie was trying to restart the Benz. The old hermit kept turning the key and stomping on the gas pedal so hard she was bouncing on the driver’s seat. By way of a reply, the car she’d owned since Jesus was a toddler wheezed, smoked ... and died. The look of dazed resignation on Black Edie’s face infuriated Fitzsimmons even more.