Issue 35 Stories

The Dreamstealer of Tremayne Quay

The Dreamstealer of Tremayne Quay

They say that in your last moments, you can feel your mind start to empty, your memories and dreams stealing away from your body to find their home in the sky.

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Real Flowers Don’t Have Loose Threads

Real Flowers Don’t Have Loose Threads

Rosenblum rose from the black soil in which he slept because the incoming call would not stop. He drew his root system back into his body and stepped out of the bed onto unsteady legs.

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Supersedure

Supersedure

“Personal Transport,” thought Queen. They used to be called cars. But, then again, people used to actually drive themselves.

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A Woman Named Life

A Woman Named Life

I had her once. I was young and stupid, seeking a life of adventure—assuming my return with riches would make her happy.

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Along The Hudson

Along The Hudson

My pulse quickened as the wakening island of Manhattan came into sight further down the Hudson. Our pre-dawn dirigible flight from Montreal to the airship port on Governors Island, New York had been uneventful...

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Market Rat

Market Rat

Tarrel pried the key from the mummified corpse's fingers as he knelt in the cobbled alley. Keys protected things you could trade for food in the market, and he had lived off the bazaar's trash heaps for days. All he needed to do was learn what the key opened.

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The Spring Clearing

The Spring Clearing

Thawed from their icy tombs, they chased off any travelers thick enough to traverse the gorge alone.

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Issue 35 Poetry

If You Plan to Trap More Werewolves, Don’t Send Them Here

If You Plan to Trap More Werewolves, Don’t Send Them Here

The panting is the worst, it doesn’t stop For hours after the moon’s gone, and it Shakes the whole prison.

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Skimming

Skimming

Peeling skimmers off the windshield I toss them in the bin Fried, they make good eating

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Balloon Animals

Balloon Animals

We are simple creatures—part lung, part bladder— twisted into shape, with buoyant hearts. Dog, my blue lover, calls me his little pink monkey.

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I Can’t Break Up with a Mermaid

I Can’t Break Up with a Mermaid

You want something torrid, a swan dive into jagged rocks and just enough sea foam to make the blood look pretty in the moonlight.

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the path that cuts through famine

the path that cuts through famine

Loneliness is a hunger that sours the gut—but when cupboards hold only crumbs, a woman can endure the absence of laughter bubbling, can usher small bodies away from her hearth.

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Autumn Twilight

Autumn Twilight

The air tastes of magic and even leaves flee the encroaching dark Shadows now lengthen and pulsate seeking clouds shot with hematite

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Progress

Progress

The large brown beasts drew closer. The people fled. Only I remained.

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Settling on Mars

Settling on Mars

I don’t mind the cold so much, but he does. I can’t get him out of bed, just to walk around. This isn’t good for your muscles, I say.

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You lean into this tree as if its roots struck something made from wood no longer moves, became an island

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