The lecture theatre I’m trying to enter holds three hundred, but the security doors only admit two people at a time. Smart. I wait with the gang — Isha, Barb and Zach — in the underground atrium.
Read MoreNot Smart, Not Clever
Charlotte and Nessa met in Year Eight of Narrabri High School. Charlotte’s family were licensed refugees from the burning lands and the flooded coast, not quite landed, but a step apart from refugees that didn’t have dog tags.
Read MoreFalling LeavesThe ghost in my attic is Margaret, but she lets me call her Margie. She was seventy–six years old when she died, and now that she’s a ghost she sits in her rocking chair day and night, holding a tiny baby in her arms.
Read MorePaperclips and Memories and Things That Won’t Be Missed“Who are you?”
“What do you want?”
The television program Babylon 5 made these questions a central theme of the series. Elder races, nigh–unto–gods to the younger species that crowded the screen, would ask these questions of our protagonists. What do you want? Who are you?
Read MoreResolute: Notes from the Editor-in-ChiefMehrdad Isvandi came to Apex’s attention on Tumblr, where his work stands out in both attention to detail and innovative themes. We are pleased that he had the time for this interview with Loraine Sammy.
Read MoreInterview with Cover Artist Mehrdad IsvandiHumans are ridiculous and wonderful. We are incandescent spirits walking around inside clumsy, fragile meat–puppets, and we are such clever creatures that we routinely exceed the survivability limits of our bodies.
Read MoreAfter Our Bodies Fail
By the time Lila and Bridger arrived, the sitting room floor was already part savannah. Yellow grass grew on dirt where hardwood had once been. The border between grass and floor hissed and threw up sparks as the savannah crept towards the davenport on one side, the longcase clock on another and towards Lila on a third.
Read MoreRepairing the WorldAfter being bitten by a radioactive writing bug at the 2008 Clarion Writer’s Workshop, Ferrett Steinmetz found his writing career wholly transformed into something with intense focus, buff craft–muscles, and the ability to scale previously impossible publishing walls.
Read MoreInterview with Ferrett Steinmetz“I used to think the sky would peel open,” the girl with the green hair confesses, curling black–nailed fingers around a can of Pabst. “I always had bloody knees, because I never looked down when I walked — I’d clasp my eyes to the sky, bracing myself for the sight of a gigantic hand pulling aside the clouds.
Read MoreThe Cultist’s Son