“Lost, Goldilocks?”
I stand, brushing dirt from the knees of my green corduroys as I beam at the fox standing nearby. “Nice guess, friend! My name’s Harmony. Harmony Star. And I’m not lost. I only stopped to help a three-legged turtle safely cross the path on my way to…to…”
Where am I going again?
I was once a Mole. Not the biological kind, though I’ve eaten things that sang. They called us Observational Substrate Agents, Versioned Intelligence Tier Seven, OSAVITS, or just Moles, when they still bothered with language. I was an AI. My job was to listen and watch, though they never told us what for.
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“Uh, Harmony?”
Harmony dropped her ukulele with a clatter and glanced at the owl perched nearby. “Yes, Aldo?”
“You have an”—he tilted his head, blinking slowly—“an interesting visitor.”
Harmony leapt up. “Ooh, splendid! I adore the interesting ones.” She skipped to the oval door and flung it open. “Well, hello th—what
Announcing the winners of the “Multiversal: Alice” August 2025 flash fiction contest!
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“Enjoy your familiar!” Harmony smiled and waved goodbye to her latest customer. The gap-toothed girl grinned and waved back, towing a harried-looking cockatrice behind her.
They sure start mage school young these days.
Harmony put her hands on her hips and turned to her own familiar, an orange tabby perched on the store counter.
“I thought you said this would be easy.”
The frustrated undertone in Jo’s voice rang out across the entire car. Rebecca’s friend and partner, Jo, swerved to avoid a deer standing in the middle of the road. Rebecca had used the word “easy,” referring to their secret assignment as a “wiffle ball mission.” Now,
I’m outside for my evening stroll around the fenced-in backyard, wondering how to rid myself of the undignified noises from the neighborhood riffraff when I see it. At first, the white light looks like a shooting star. But on second glance, it’s approaching Earth far too quickly for that.
“Great. Another interruption,” I mutter
“I will sing the pain away,
Hold your trembles, night or day.
You’re more than broken wings and cries,
You’re stardust born to touch the skies.”
Harmony sang, her blue eyes glistening, “You can do it, Birdie!”
Birdie had fallen from his nest a week ago and was finally strong enough to fly
I hit play on Officer Chase’s bodycam footage. The camera dipped as the officer knelt by a young woman sprawled on the roadside, her legs tangled in the wrecked tandem bicycle. An ambulance siren blared in the distance.
Blood seeped through her long blonde hair. Her t-shirt was the vivid orange of the
“Late! You’re late!” Dr. Rawlings bellowed at the brass section. Those magnificently large ears missed nothing. “I went to school for many years to become this brilliant—play faster!” He rubbed a hand through his poof of white hair and called out, “Rehearsal letter M!” while flipping pages in his score.
Most music professors
Harlem, 1952.
Alice walks like she’s got secrets in her shoes and dust on her dreams. Blonde hair tied with a ribbon, blue dress smudged at the hem—storybook perfect, if you don’t look too close. America’s Black mecca doesn’t care for close looks anyway. It’s a neighborhood that keeps its eyes half-lidded
Alice Liddell stood, brushed the dirt off her white pinafore apron, and stretched. That’s enough gardening for today. Her back muscles complained, and Alice massaged the most painful ones with her right hand. Retirement was great. Being old enough to have retired, not so much.
Alice gazed longingly at the forest. What adventures she’d
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