short fiction

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ByTaryn Frazier

the cover of a magazine with a woman with long hair.

Every Shade of Healing

“I’m Fiona,” I say, holding out a hand. When she shrinks away, I back off. Some people who come to me don’t want to be touched more than necessary.

ByLavie Tidhar

a woman with long hair standing in front of a wall.

Unboxing

Evie sits cross-legged on the carpet, glued to the screen. She loves Riley. Everyone loves Riley.

ByBeth Dawkins

Pastel is beautiful against black. I cannot tell you where I first saw a flash of mint green, or where I’d heard of the word mint. It was bottled inside my head, waiting for the cracks in the sky to flash pale blue. The sky, they say, will be blue at the end of times, when the pastel eats us all.

ByCoda Audeguy-Pegon

the cover of apexx magazine featuring a woman with her hair blowing in the wind.

Over Moonlit Clouds

It’s sad to think that casting blame on the airline may have caused her ultimate undoing. The moment corporate profits were in jeopardy, the debate got ugly. Some big law firm with too many old-money names on the letterhead got involved, and they had no qualm stoking prejudice to redirect blame. In the eyes of the public, they made her into a monster.

ByLP Kindred

a painting of a woman sitting in a forest.

Your Rover is Here

My heart pumps Four-Hour Surge through hellfire veins to combat the car’s lulling vibrations. My fists grip the steering wheel. Instead of squeezing, I push. Not with muscles, but with presence.

ByJordan Kurella

The Wreck of the Medusa

She surfaced again last night, the creature, to say more riddles. There is no malice in the way she speaks, as if she either cannot feel it, or is capable only of malice within the grip of her tendrils, or between her rows of teeth. Malice for her is an action: intended for those who intend it toward her.

ByAkis Linardos

Daughter, Mother, Charcoal

It comes with age, she said. Your skin grows tough and strong, until it doesn’t feel the pain. I believed her, then.

ByK.S. Walker

River Bargain Baby

All the best stories start with desperation. A want so large it twists like hunger pangs tying your stomach up in knots. Jackie knows a thing or two about that. A want so great she’d do anything to ease the fire of it.

ByV.G. Harrison

Message in a Vessel

The delicious hotness of 98.7-degree blood was like drinking a fine, expensive wine. Whatever they fed him, they made sure it tantalized our senses, too. Unlike most depictions, we didn’t ravage our food. Our constant reconditioning throughout schooling took care of that. We drank a good pint or two and that was enough to sustain us for a few days up to a week. It had been nine days since my last feeding.