Blog Archives

Shishkosh

food scifi

Today, here on Eustachia, it’s a different ballgame altogether.  First of all, they don’t eat anything they can cook.  My guard in his white apron serves me Eustachian wafers at prescribed intervals.  Though they come in different flavors, I’ve yet to distinguish any difference between them.  Imagine a piece of hide from a zulkof, maybe a baby zulkof (if you’re lucky), that you chew and chew and chew, turning it over in your mouth again and again, sucking down the juices, before finally—if you’re a foreigner like me—spitting it out in sheer fatigue and boredom.  One thing I must say for it: it does kill the appetite and stall the cramps for a while.

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Turtled Dove

free-scifi

The explosion rocked the Dove before the two men could consult on the change in their ship any further. With a knowing look, they immediately shifted to the seriousness called for in a situation like this.

“Engines,” Hugh called.

“Then I shall see to Life Support.”

They scattered, a tickle of preemptive panic over their off-ecliptic shortcut fluttering in Hugh’s gut as he triggered an automated diagnostic.

Scuttling aft, Hugh tried to temper his panic with the knowledge that whatever the source of the explosion, it hadn’t killed them.

Yet.

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Posted in Featured Fiction

How the Static Men Saved Our Marriage

free-scifi-story

At night they come prancing into the bedroom like they own the place. The static men have no concept of ownership or privacy. To them we’re some kind of prop-- the parquet floor beneath their dancing shoes.

Carl and I are holding hands beneath the covers, our bodies already rigid. Then the creatures get started, dancing above us with their static bodies, almost transparent, the edges of their forms nebulous. Only their smiles are real.  Their big, white teeth shine down in wide grins. They wiggle their long static hands in our faces. Carl and I lie transfixed.

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An Act of Consumption, in Two Parts

free-fiction-consumpt

In the basement, there is candy. Boxes teetering atop boxes, overloaded with gum gums and chew worms and those little nougat-filled eyeballs that blink when you stare overlong; with honeyed do's and honeyed dont's; with tar braids and clots of candied floss.

The basement has all the candy you've ever dreamed of, a sticky thrill in every box that's yours and yours alone because only you know where the basement door is currently hiding.

The basement, unfortunately, is also full of spiders.

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Two Unromantic Scifi Stories

free-snake-scifi

Pulling her Ralph Lauren Black Label leather coat closed against the freezing air, Claire knocks on the first level door of a sprawling, fully above-ground Upper West Side townhouse. The home features 1,000 square feet of entertaining space with a sizeable open kitchen and 30 foot living room. Claire coughs.

The real estate agent, Will, answers the door. He wears a Gray Calvin Klein two-button notch lapel suit. “Oh my god, you look more beautiful every time I see you,” he says to Claire. “How is that possible?”

“You look good, too,” she offers quietly to his back.

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Posted in Featured Fiction