Maurice buys an apartment on the moon. He calls it speculative real estate.
His friends just laugh. But, Maurice, no one goes to the moon anymore, they say. No one even wants to.
That’s all right, says Maurice, gazing up through the cloud-laden sky. At least I know it’s there.
Sometimes, Cathy Ulrich would like to live on the moon, but only when she’s feeling really antisocial. Her humor writing can be found at hollywoodhatesme.wordpress.com.
On my first day as a pest control technician, I met Dr. Krankenblatz. He came to the door in a lab coat, brandishing a raygun-like contraption.
He pointed to my sprayer. “It doesn’t detect tachyons, does it?”
“Oh,” he sighed. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to work out…”
Rollin T. Gentry lives in Birmingham, Alabama. A software engineer by day, he can be found reading and writing speculative fiction during much of his spare time. Several of his stories have appeared in other publications. Read more from him at rollintgentry.com.
“Made of rosewood, padauk, or simple plastic, resounding with two octaves or many, and whatever mallet pleases you, but xylophones remain just that: quivering fountains of life.”
“I can’t play,” she told her lover.
“You’ll learn, for me.” The music-breathing alien placed her hand on the idiophones, and smiled.
Russell Hemmell is an alien from Mintaka snuggled into a (consenting) human host. He’s had fiction published in PerihelionSF, Strangelet Journal, Vine Leaf Literary Journal, and elsewhere.
I picked my son up.
As I drove home, I peered at him. He looked like my son but he smelled different, talked different, and his smile was so wrong.
As we sat at traffic lights, I received a text: Dad, where are you?
That was how the world ended.
Steve Coverdale is an Englishman living in Nova Scotia. He keeps trying to write short stories with a happy ending but keeps on getting dragged back to the dark side.
Brad thought he might find tools or supplies in the old mine shaft. The last thing he expects is a cave in. Brad knows there are other exits miles away. After two long days Brad finds daylight.
Now if only he could get his ship fixed and get off Mars.
Denny E, Marshall had had art, poetry, and fiction published, including fiction in Black Petals #73, October 2015. See more at dennymarshall.com
The moon had been eaten again.
People glanced through the bullet-proof glass of their homes in the stratosphere, realised the time of the month. None of them worried.
The creature would regurgitate it again soon, bit by bit, its surface shining with saliva.
Perhaps one day it would admit defeat.
William Shaw is a student, blogger, and amateur journalist. He is slightly obsessed with the moon. You can find him on Tumblr, where he writes haiku poetry about Doctor Who.
The searing heat drove them inside to rest. Scavenging could wait until nightfall.
“Gran,” Caleb said, “tell me a story.”
She licked her dry lips, remembering other Octobers. “Leaves turned bright colors and fell from trees. We raked huge piles and jumped in.”
Caleb frowned. “Leaves? Trees? What are those?”
Joanne R. Fritz lives in West Chester, PA. Her short fiction and poetry have appeared in various magazines. She blogs at My Brain on Books.
The time viewer was built on the theory that positrons were electrons traveling backward in time. I could view the future of Lunar City.
Then I viewed an hour forward and the screen flashed white, then—
So now I sit thinking, what can I do? What would you?
Teel James Glenn is the multiple award-winning author of the bestselling Exceptionals series, the Maxi/Moxie series, the Dr. Shadows series, the Renfairies series, and others. Visit him at theurbanswashbuckler.com.
I’m doing this for you. I have volunteered, and you’ve no idea, no clue about the wires or the cables that will be plugged into my [REDACTED]. And all for [REDACTED]. For [REDACTED] and honor and you. Most of all for you. I don’t really give a damn about [REDACTED].
Jessica Rutland graduated from the University of Texas. She recently had a story published in the Austin Chronicle, which she thought was pretty neat.
Abby had been missing for over five weeks. Her family was close to giving up hope when one day a local farmer found her lying in his wheat field, fast asleep, surrounded by crop circles.
When asked what had happened, she always responded with three haunting words:
“I went home.”
Quentin Norris is a fiction writer and filmmaker who enjoys making small comics in his spare time. He attended film school in North Carolina and currently lives in Austin, Texas.