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.
Read MoreA Beautiful Memory
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.
Read MoreCharaid Dreams
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.
Read MoreHoudini’s HeartYou voted every week on who should win American Idol, frantically trying to insure that your favorite candidate would go on to the next round—yet you couldn’t be bothered to go to the polling booth every few years to cast a similar vote for who should represent you in the House and the Senate.
Read MoreA Revolution of OneWhen everybody on the bridge of the interstellar mercenary cruiser Zinnia fell into a magic sleep, I was busy using my scrubber attachments to attack the usual stains under the captain’s chair. There was a sudden series of thuds, and I noticed that everyone had either slumped over in their chairs or fallen to the floor.
Read MoreThe Best Little Cleaning Robot in All of FaerieOur destination is mundane and so tranquil. Maybe that’s why we’ve stopped here; it’s the product of an uninspired journey. The air is still and the sun is waiting, and at a spot midway between a limb and the earth, a half–fallen leaf comes to a decision.
Read MoreInhaleI stare out over my pregnant belly, feeling awkward. Feeling irritable. “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
Read MoreForeknowledgeCatering was potluck. Potluck, for God’s sake. Catriona forced a smile as the neighbours streamed into her living room, all plump and tanned and healthy, not a scar among them. They carried platters and casseroles and cheap plastic plates, the flimsy circles all gaudy crimson or green—probably discounted post–Christmas stock from Costco, she thought, cringing.
Read MoreHeirloom PiecesThe first time I saw you play:
Bach’s Six Suites for Unaccompanied Cello; your chin tucked down; your eyes soft but intense; the fingertips of your left hand deftly pressing into the fingerboard; the bow in your right moving across the strings like a lover’s sensate promise.
Read MoreRequiem, for Solo Cello