apex magazine

We're redesigning our site. Read about the upcoming changes here.

ByIndrapramit Das

The Widow and the Xir

Namir watches his wife and son as they sift baking salt-pans under the sun. They help gather the wet mounds of white clay that will be turned to dry powder later. If they see him, they will avert their eyes. If he comes any closer, they will flee in fear and alert the village.

ByT.J. Weyler

a teddy bear sitting on top of a wooden chair.

The Neighborly Thing to Do

Bear liked the house even if I still felt bad about having to move. Almost everybody besides me felt good about moving.

ByStephanie Jacob

Interview with T.J. Weyler, author of “The Neighborly Thing to Do”

Congratulations on having your first story, “The Neighborly Thing to Do”, published with Apex. Were you familiar with Apex before submitting work?

ByStephanie Jacob

Interview with Chesya Burke author of “CUE:Change”

In “CUE: Change”, the undead promise change, a better world. What are your thoughts on the consequences, good or bad, that a society functioning with a “hive mind” would usher in?

ByStephanie Jacob

Interview with Shira Lipkin author of “Valentines”

On your blog, you mention that your own circumstances inspired the story “Valentines”. Would you tell us about the evolution of the story and what it means to you?

ByChesya Burke

a painting of a woman with a flower in her hair.

CUE: Change

CUE: Me running for my life. The zombies didn’t really chase you, as much as they loomed menacingly. There was something in their demeanor that signaled they were the zombies—that they were changed and not like the rest of us.

ByShira Lipkin

Valentines

The waiter’s name is Valentine. He has long, slim fingers, and he writes down my order instead of pretending to commit it to memory. I like that, his pen on the paper bringing forth one simple thing about me. My lunch. Just a tiny fragment of information.

ByAnaea Lay

Your Cities

I was thinking of you. It was late and the lights in the bar were set low, creating the cozy, private feeling that you always found so depressing in those sorts of places. They’re my sort of place now, but there was nothing private about the mass of people pressing on me as we stared in awe at the big television screens.

ByKathryn Weaver

The Doves of Hartleigh Garden

A girl of thirteen once owned Hartleigh Garden. Her four years as proprietor witnessed wars of silverfish and centipedes beneath her ballroom floor, mold that dripped down the wallpaper like strings of pearls, rats in the cellar among shattered wine-bottles and decaying wood.