We woke under a perilous sun: too red, too hot, too close. How did we come here and how would we ever get back?
We meant only to watch, to observe the Arcane Plane. But one cannot observe without becoming part. The mirror showed us more than our own darkness.
Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She works as Fantasy Editor at Cosmic Roots and Eldritch Shores, and publishes an annual anthology for her writing group, Writers Assembled. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera. Find her on Facebook.
I sat, staring at the news station, counting the steps to the door.
I should go in, tell them what I knew, what I’d discovered. But the people who wanted me to stay quiet were out there somewhere, watching. They could end me so easily.
I opened the car door.
Chad Bunch writes speculative fiction from the suburbs of Saint Louis. He is currently trying his darnedest to publish the first book of a series.
She contemplated the fork. She’d seen the golden path a thousand times; the dark path, never before.
Ahead of her, the growl of a predator she didn’t know.
Behind her, the cry of a predator she did. “Baby, don’t be this way.”
She turned onto the dark path, and ran.
Claire Bartlett lives in Copenhagen, where she writes from her enchanted forest apartment.
My legs beg me to stop but we must keep running. Sharp winds cut and pierce my skin. The snow makes this difficult.
“Keep running! Save yourself!”
An entire pack approaches: thundering hooves, glimmering eyes. His grip loosens. Menacing eyes and white breath envelop me.
I know what comes next.
Estefania Jomant is a student studying Advertising with a minor in Psychology at the University of Miami. Her website is: www.estefaniajomant.com.
Editor: This story is a prequel to The Juggernaut. You can also read the sequel, The Trapped Submarine.
“It hasn’t been tested!” his crew muttered.
“I’ll volunteer, Cap.”
“Why you Piper?”
“Piper, your wife’s been in to see me. She’s some woman, all right. Made me promise to bring you home! Anyway, when we’re through we can celebrate with this here whiskey I’ve been saving.”
Connell Wayne Regner had successfully avoided writing creatively since he wrote spontaneous lyrics to music some years ago. Although from a linguistic background, he has serendipitously succumbed to fiction. His other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.