The flip of a coin: win or lose. Three dilemmas to solve. Stay in the countryside or move to the city? She relocated. Stop in or go out? She went out. Coffee shop or wine bar? She found a coffee shop and met the person who would end her life.
Kathryn Evans was born in Wales, raised in Scotland, has an Irish grandfather, and lives in Plymouth, England. She studied genetics to PhD level. Her main passion is rock/indie music.
“Happiness is seeing Mars in your rear-view mirror…” sang Lorg as the planet disappeared from view. “Good luck colonizing that mudball!”
He turned on the vessel’s kitchen feature. Reaching for the hyperspace button, he hesitated and turned around instead. “I’d colonize an asteroid with Liya if she wanted.”
Penny Jo McAllister writes fantasy and has never left Earth.
Out in Jupiter orbit, Langdon woke, his panicked breathing echoing through his space suit.
A nearby helium miner picked up his SOS. Their medic examined him; traumatic amnesia, she said. They began the journey back to Callisto base.
Inside his body the creature stirred, sensing the presence of new prey.
Bill lives in Aberdeen, Scotland. A cadre of monks maintain the chant, keeping the nightmares trapped in his head. If they should falter, then the whole universe would tremble…
My owner greeted the receptionist behind the counter and set my kennel down on the waiting room floor.
I pressed my nose against the bars. This wasn’t the veterinary clinic. Where―
“Welcome to Sepsihso Minor,” a mechanical voice crackled on the loudspeaker. “Veloroqi Sector LNQ4. Human Adoption and Dropoff Shelter.”
Christopher A. Jos is a teacher currently living in Alberta, Canada, and is a self-professed fantasy and science-fiction junkie going back to his early teenage years. You can visit him at https://christopherajos.wordpress.com, or find him on Twitter
The dog noticed first. Spun upright in our bed.
“What is it, Calvin?” Alert ears. Rigid tail. Low growl.
I dropped my hand under the bedframe. Grabbed the twenty-two.
When the shadow appeared in the bedroom doorway, I fired once. A practiced shot.
He won’t be coming home late anymore.
John dabbles in flash fiction while editing his (hopefully) debut novel. Taste some of his stories at JohnDavisFrain.com
I must fix my time machine, but every night she comes dancing in the woods and I’m lost.
I wanted to give my legacy to science, not lose it to history, but maybe I’ll ask her name tonight. Maybe she’ll love me,
Maybe they’ll remember Robin Loxley, after all.
Matthew Wilson, 34, has been published over 150 times in such places as Horror*Zine, Zimbell House Publishing, Star*Line, Alban Lake, and many more. He is currently editing his first novel.
The Scottish Highlanders had to leave.
As they sailed out of the harbor, their dogs swam alongside their ships, not understanding.
Most turned back. But one strong dog, who loved too much, would not.
After many miles and waves, a ship pulled that dog aboard for the long journey west.
Adele has loved many dogs. She is sure that at least one of them was descended from the dog that loved too much.
The exhausted hero stumbled into the village square, dragging a monstrous, gruesome trophy behind him.
Onlookers gasped as he pulled the creature’s head from the stained sack. Its green eyes glimmered in the sunlight as he tossed it aloft.
It hit the ground with a wet thud.
The proletariat cheered.
Daniels is a writer of horror and weird fiction. His short stories have been featured in Corner Bar Magazine, Helix Magazine, and various anthologies. He lives in New England with his wife, kids, and a couple of devious cats. Find out more at bldaniels.wordpress.com
Clouds bulge grey and spit fat drops into my river, slate-grey in reflection. I relish their wanton lack of care, their wild abandon, their unthinking fall and splash.
Then come the bereft, sad, homeless seeking shelter under my bridge.
I welcome them, my teeth razors, my mouth waiting underwater.
Aisling Green wrote this story.
Of unknown origin, the Strangers became our saviors. War, famine, plague—ended. Progress happened swiftly, and society flourished.
No one noticed the changes right away; they came slowly, like a creeping fog. Four hundred years made us complacent.
By the time we realized they were gone, it was too late.
Sean Fox is a New England native living in California. He holds a B.A. in English from Western Connecticut State University. When he writes, people tend to die.