I grip Flor’s clammy arms and hoist her onto my back. Crouching low, I pass rows of straw cottages and head for the gloomy thicket. Flor presses a feverish cheek against the nape of my neck and sighs, her breath sweetened with nopal. Mamá must have coaxed some fried cactus down her throatRead it now
Archive - March 2022
The knock at her workshop door startled the vaether out of Eulalia Clune. She flailed, her arms nearly sending the nebulum condensers on her crafting table crashing into the plasma generator.
If she had her way, whoever invented knocking would be vaporized in the galaxy’s largest imperial starsteam engine and served with starberry tea
Am I content to float alone?
In this vast universe, I’ve only known one other of my kind—my mother—and I only knew her for mere minutes before she vanished without a trace. I searched the entire perimeter of this water-based planet for her to no avail. Did she leave because her
Marta clutched a bag of medicinal herbs as she hurried down the dusty street. She brushed past a man holding a chicken he had just purchased, and she jumped backward at the animal’s squawk. Marta collided with a boy grasping a wooden box. It fell with a crunch.
“Dios mio!” The boy glared.
The portal closed behind me with a whumph and a sharp scent like fresh mustard. I shielded my eyes against glaring sunlight. A great desert stretched as far as I could see, dunes slowly baking in an oppressive heat.
I checked my list.
A. Valis – The Vanishing Unicorn
I was hunting a human
I could feel the kitten’s heartbeat.
That shouldn’t have been possible.
Opening his mouth, the kitten let out a tiny meow, showing off his small pink tongue. I hugged him to my chest and glanced around the alley. We were still alone, unnoticed.
I’d stepped into the alley to adjust my glitching earpiece.
Despite the engineers’ best efforts, time drones have a loud buzz. So when Hanover’s time drone popped in early one sunny Cretaceous morning, it was noticed immediately.
Not by the dinosaurs the drone’s owners sought, who were not in the area, nor the flies swarming a chunk of rotting fruit on a tree branch
Cyrus Montez knelt by the large print in the mud and surveyed the surrounding jungle. “We’re close.”
The native guide, hoisting a spear and, wearing nothing but a loin cloth, nodded and waved his arm, motioning for Montez to follow.
“The Phoberomys?” Julie Szubanski shouldered her pack and prepared her DSLR camera.
Hello, folks, Phenny the Phoenix here, reporting on the results for Havok’s Season Six: Casting Call contest! These stories passed the Great Audition of our daily publication, impressing our editors with their stunning renditions of memorable characters. Then, after duking it out with other fabulous stories in the wings, they took center stage and garneredRead it now
The portal closed behind me with a whumph and a smell like rotten eggs. My eyes watered as I tried not to gag on the stench.
The clicks, buzzes, and cries of a vibrant emerald jungle enveloped me, followed swiftly by a sodden blanket of humidity. My dark human hair and ridiculous human robes