Short Fiction

Genre short fiction from Apex Magazine

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What I Am

I am Big Apple. I bear witness to struggle, to tragedy small and enormous, to daily happiness, madness, and vengeance. I am gas leak, rent hike, and sewer blockage. I am five–alarm fire.
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an old house with snow falling from the roof.

The House in Winter

There is a presence in completely dark rooms — even rooms in ordinary houses — a sense of certainty that someone else is there. It fills all the space where you are not. It wraps long arms around you and whispers in your ear. It lets you know without a doubt that this house in the dark is not yours. I know this house is not mine. This story is not mine.
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Coins for Their Eyes

I opened a door and walked through. § Eyebrows are the hardest part. Lips are comparatively easy and forgiving of a bit of asymmetry. Cheek and body blushing, if it’s subtle, is similar. But eyebrows require me to start with the finest possible lines with the pastels.
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Primrose or Return to Il’maril

“I will not leave this cavern,” the voice said as soon as I stepped into the cave mouth. A baritone decaying into vibrato, an old man’s voice, full of dignity and pride. I tried to pinpoint its source, but the air was thick with fog. The haze seemed to originate from inside the chamber, where a mysterious current of cold wind blew from underground.
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a painting of a group of people walking through a destroyed city.

Enemy States

I try anyway to kill the memory of you. I make the plans. I attempt premeditation. All this time waiting has made me a silent murderer. Is it murder when it’s in war? If the enemy doesn’t do it, you can count on me.
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a small white and red helicopter flying through the sky.

Economies of Force

The Loom came to Rade’s world when he was still a boy, a silent invasion made known to him in the strange quiet at the breakfast table, and, once, the murder of Mr. Sauerbier the town ombudsman, who might, it was rumored, have been one of them.
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a very large planet in the middle of the night sky.

Jupiter and Gentian

Gen walked on the endless, oscillating sea of liquid metal hydrogen and tried, tried to keep her consciousness together. The knight who followed her into the atmosphere, swam through the outer sea of hydrogen with her, he was here too. His armor defied the pressure, his banner defied the heat, and his hands, deep within the boiling, rolling mass of Jupiter. He stood beside a tree that constantly remade itself as it burned and crumpled.
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