I stand backstage, anxious. My cognitive implant, fed by a recursive code, tells me this is a bad idea. It tells me this decision is, as humans would say, impulsive. I am desperate. Desperate to make a good entrance. Desperate to make a point.
Read MoreProfessor Strong and the Brass Boys
Well. Look at you, Mary Ann Nichols, drinking in the Frying Pan.
Read MoreO Have You Seen the Devle with his Mikerscope and Scalpul?
Jesus Christ is dropping f-bombs again.
Read MoreCurse Like a Savior
This one was made of glass. He wasn’t all that similar to my son, but he was sweet with a high, gentle voice like wind blowing across branches.
Read MoreWhere Gods Dance
Language always felt, to me, like an invasion.
Read MoreThe Prison-house of Language
Apá always said I could come home. He never had to say the words if it doesn’t work out, but I heard them clear enough the day I left to live amongst the Fair Folk.
Read MoreCold Iron Comfort
\At least they’re not talking much, Lucinda Hawkins thought as she eased the airport shuttle bus through the blizzard.
Read MoreHole in the World (Excerpt)
The dusty, bumpy road linking the magnetic hyper-expressway to Ijebu-Ode was nothing like the smooth, organised, and illuminated tunnels from which it branched out.
Read MoreNecessary and Sufficient Conditions
When I was little, I’d lay in Ma’s arms and listen to her stories. Beneath us, the web swayed so gently, you could almost forget it was there.
Read MoreThe Crafter at the Web’s Heart