short fiction

Strange. Surreal. Shocking. Beautiful.

ByStephen M.A.

The Owl

When the owl came to me, its eight frosted talons gripped our continents, and the atmosphere lapped its ankles like a tide pool.

ByDaniela Tomova

Our Lady of the Clay

Even Grandfather himself still carries a fistful of salt and spent shells in his pocket and he hasn’t been in the forest since the mine closed.

ByLP Kindred

Wanderlust

When he talked, it was like he picked up a conversation I was having with myself. And staring into those ebony eyes of his didn’t hurt his chances either.

ByKelsea Yu

To Rise Again

The sunset was bolder than usual that evening, a deep indigo streaked with Dutch orange, fuchsia, and saffron. You barely noticed, hurrying as you were.

ByNatalia Theodoridou

Two sips in, she sees the Jukebox Man sitting in a corner, his lips slightly parted. She only realizes what he is when he takes a drink of water in the middle of a song and the music stalls briefly while he swallows.

BySpencer Nitkey

The Art the Owls Can’t Swallow

Frederick says I shouldn’t spend so much time with dead things. He warns that I, too, might atrophy and ossify.

BySara S. Messenger

The Clown Watches the Clown

I dress up as a clown and let people beat me up in the alley behind the cybermotel. The first man who ever did this to me, he was my best friend.

ByWen Wen Yang

Out of Print

His white skin looked even more pale in monochrome. In the final chapters, he had worn his officer’s uniform, to remind me of his country’s authority over my city.

ByJermane Cooper

Abode

Near the center of the space, a worktable, and a loom—and the Matron. She sits at her loom, just as she has every evening long after the world has gone to sleep.