Originally published in Static Movement. Eight: On the street, as our bewildered hero blinks in the sun, a roving reporter with a live feed: “You’re an educated man, mister Set—” “Set Zero was, at least, yes. I like to think that I am being a good steward of his talents.” “That’s a good place to …
Originally published in Technoccult. Difficulty: no giving up. Hard to write, feet not dextrous, ha. Five senses, five simultaneous inputs. Synthesize three for single output. Public radio address — pen in hand, now, foot delicate enough for Braille —through the aural inputs. Twelve stranded atop house in flood. Restate. Twelve stranded atop house in flood. …
Originally published in the Goodbye, Darwin anthology. It was not a night to spare expense. The firm had successfully defended against their twenty-fifth anti-trust suit earlier that afternoon and, to celebrate, the senior partners had brought out all the silver, and had sprung for the champagne. The party went through the natural life cycle of this …
Originally published in Wanderings. I met Emma when I was nine and she was older. I was in the park playing snakes in the grass while mother was in getting her hair done. I crawled belly-down around trees and over paths while dog-walkers and baby-strollers clicked and rolled around me. I didn’t have any friends …
Originally published in Speculative.ca. In old Nippon, in the city of Edo, there was a lonely daimyo. He was a minor lord, arbitrator and administrator for a modest section of the city, wherein lived simple artisans and rough tradesmen. His wooden house was only slightly larger than those of his subjects, but it felt to …
continued from part 1 It was two weeks before Pash got up the nerve to stage a proper escape. During that time, the old man had him pull weeds in a ratty garden, haul water from the nearby stream, and dig up rows and rows of potatoes, which he then had to clean and store …
Originally published in Rage Machine Magazine. They were the Callow gang and they ruled the last day of school. Oasa, Damper, and Pash were the seniors; they sat open-legged on the library steps, chucking snowballs at freshmen and blasting new grunge music across the filaments that webbed their ear drums. The junior Callows sat guard …
Originally published in Open Wide Magazine. “Sing somethin’ beautiful,” said Bents. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted up. His throat kept moving in waves, as though he were drinking something straight from the ceiling. He looked a bit like a hamster at its drink bottle. He buzzed a chord on his acoustic …