I will eat you.
My meal sits outside of a prison cell’s glass wall. Tempting. So close. Inches away.
Eat you how?
“I-I just wanted to say I’m not afraid of you, Morlock.” The figure holds an object in his hands. “I know that’s not your real name. But that’s what you are. Like
Some posts were lonelier than anywhere else in the universe.
The lighthouse at the edge of the Black Nebula was loneliest of all.
It existed literally in the middle of nowhere. Near no star systems. Out of the way of everything except a backroad intergalactic freightway that hardly anyone took anymore, unless the cargo wasn’t
The Veil between worlds smells like overripe fruit, a deep purple scent. Cloying. Decaying. Bruised.
The sanitized atmospheres of living worlds lack the depth and complexity of abandoned realms. They never smell like the Veil, suffused with the scintillating aroma of death.
I breathe it deeply.
Invigorating.
Its heavens, ever-clouded. Its ground
Any ship on approach gets to see the giant ring I call home. It’s a beautiful structure, gleaming brightly against the backdrop of space. Great place to live, but honestly—a circle is the worst when you’re trying to evade someone who wants to space you.
Robyn whipped around a corner. She tried to activate her comms
The biggest risk of being a superhero was ending up a cliché.
Caspian had always mocked the stereotypical hero speeches he’d seen on the news, but now, facing his own villainous showdown in a closed pawn shop at midnight, well… it seemed like the only things he could spout were tired old
The blast doors gave way, pummeled into slag metal by relentless energy blasts.
Cody lowered his hands and marched into the centrifuge. The surviving Takton sentries retreated, their clawed toes clacking on the icy floors. Frost bitten wind whipped Cody’s hair and tugged at his tattered wool coat. Fists clenched and teeth
The synaptic probe slides into my brain, battering down the doors to my treasured memories. There is no time to prepare for the pain. Instead, I focus on the memory of a kindly old face.
Would my creator be proud of me?
“Are you smiling, RS-47? Such emotional mimicry will not hold sway here.”
By Meaghan E. Ward I lean harder against the apartment wall and press a mask to a little girl’s face. Outside, ash rains on the desolate streets of Mid-level, Sector 4. The staticky hiss of the blast cannon’s recharge and the click of heavy boots echo from everywhere and nowhere. “Did I not warn you?”
Read it now
It’s a girl.”
The phrase buzzes into my ears like a swarm of mosquitoes. Unwelcome. Unbearable.
A paper towel appears in the doctor’s hand and rubs at the clear gel slabbed over my stretched skin. Indifferently, though; a cold glob remains in my belly button.
A girl.
“Any questions?” the doctor recites.
The drop freighter loses its savage grapple with gravity for a moment. Everything inside the vessel rises and falls from the interruption. Like those old music machines with the plastic wheels. Discs. Records. They’d collect dust, and songs would skip.
“Ya know…” starts Sergeant Cava, battle rifle resting against his chest. “
I’m stuck between two dimensions and surrounded by darkness. I press my palm against the transparent panel of my floating prison. The gentle warmth emanating from the force field provides a sense of physical reality in this space. The walls—if you can call them that—are made of energy but firm to the touch,
Read it now
The monarchs fluttered about the bright orange milkweed blossoms. The color of their wings matched it perfectly, like a sunset shining from the bushes.
“This is going to be the perfect centerpiece for our presentation.” Penelope held the camera steady as she crouched forward. She scanned the ground, careful not to snap any
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