Cassie pulls her hood low over her forehead, keeps her eyes on the ground ahead of her. She wears face paint meant to fool facial recognition algorithms, though the cops think she’s dead. Her friends are. She should be.
Read MoreThis Shattered Vessel, Which Holds Only Grief
Interview with Author Marie Croke
Read MoreInterview with Author Marie Croke
Featuring original fiction from Marie Croke, Izzy Wasserstein, Carson Winter, Erin K. Wagner, Stephanie Kraner, and Zahra Mukhi.
Read MoreIssue 127
The lady possessed all her fingers. Even the useless fifths wiggled in obscure movements as she stroked the vines drooping from the terrariums and grazing the aquariums below. With curiosity bordering on the obscene, Keba sank the viper’s coils that made up his neck that he might gander at the lady’s feet, but they were tucked away neatly inside laced boots. If she’d traded a toe away, it had not been for something larger.
Read MoreTo Seek Himself Again
From the Editor, Lesley Conner
Read MoreFrom the Editor – Musings from Maryland
Interview with Artist Megan Feheley
Read MoreInterview with Artist Megan Feheley
But where is nature, the very literal bedrock of our future, in all of these imaginings? In our global culture of capitalism and consumerism, nature has been reduced to a commodity and the futures explored by our most revered storytellers maintain this status quo of leaving the land out of the future. How can we disentangle capitalism, nature, and our narcissistic vision of the future? How is the concept of progress corrupted by imperialist capitalism? And what does a future look like with nature at the fore instead of our own “standard of living”?
Read MoreThe Nature of a Natural Future
We were gonna be stars. That’s what you got to understand. Big fucking stars. Like Jack and Rose or Mr. and Mrs. Carter, like our faces on every screen, dominating every media feed. Everyone already loved us, wanted to be us, wanted to fuck us.
Read MoreA Brief Lesson in Native American Astronomy
Images pried their way into fuzzy thoughts. Red flesh coated with a rime of frost. Screaming, toothless faces. Vahla shook the thoughts free and continued forward in his newborn deer stride. It wasn’t a skin-thieving alien horror. It was just rats. He repeated this litany to himself over and over as he picked up speed, finally breaking into a mad run as he rounded the corner into the hallway leading to his bunk. The last thing the lawman expected was for a person to be standing dead in his path.
Read MoreAn Incident at Hellpoint Prime