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[pictostory]

Jacki Li, Penguins In The Big City

"Popper's Performing Penguins are sweeping the nation!" rang out from the tinny commercial. This was accompanied by footage of their dancing—black and white, as with everything else broadcasted, but at least not much was lost here. "Snap up those tickets as soon as you see it hit your local theater! They won't last long!" It faded away with a long shot on the apparent lead, Captain Cook.

"That coulda been me," said Tux, wiping mayonnaise off his beak.

"Yes, dear," Pepper said from the kitchen.

"He just got lucky. Some jerk ships him to the right money-grubbing human and he gets a show? Coulda been me." He took another swig of beer.

"Yes, dear."

"Captain always was a jerk. Ppth. 'Cook'," he added with derision. "Who came up with that?"

"Yes, dear."

"Are you even listening?"

"Yes, dear. Would you go wash up? My mother will be here any minute."

"Oh, god, not Lulu!" He wiped the crumbs off his belly. "You gotta warn me about these things, Pepper!"

"I did, honey. I told you last night."

Tux stood up and waddled over a few steps, unintentionally allowing the Popper's Performing Penguins poster across the street to enter his view.

"Goddamn that Cap... wasn't even that good a dancer. All he and the other jerks do up there is slap their feet, I could do that." He demonstrated, nearly tripping over discarded blankets and beer cans. "Timmy... Timmy woulda been good. He woulda had me come with him."

"Mm-hm."

"Ima call him again. Good egg, that Timmy."

The door swung open. "Hellloooooo! How's mah favorite daughta?" Lulu waddled over to Pepper and wrapped her fins around her, who smiled and hugged back. Thick lipstick was smeared all over her beak, and her perfume filled up the place to the point of claustrophobia.

Tux was ignored completely, as usual. "Yeah, well... I was just about to call Timmy, so..."

"Pah!" Lulu said, turning to him. "Ya know he only treats ya good 'cause he's scared'a you, right?"

"Oh, this again! Right away, huh!? As soon as you walk in!"

"'Cause ya're still you! Nevah good enough for Peppah, and yah nevah will be!"

"Mother..." Pepper said, trying to gently pull her back.

"Hey, I'm perfect! Amazin'! I'm star material! At least she sees that!" Tux said. "Y'know what? I don't have to stand here and take this! Timmy's always there for me!" He waddled off in a huff, his feet slapping against the cork flooring, and slammed the bedroom door behind him.

The phone was next to the window—which also had the Popper's poster in view. Tux pulled the curtains closed in disgust, leaving the phone and waddling to the bed instead. Only in his sleep could he return to the good ol' days.

"Cap... who needs him." He closed his eyes, quickly dreaming about lazing on the sand and pushing penguins off of docks. His beak curled into a smile.

[pictostory]

Richard Sargent, Doggy Buffet Good smell! All day, good smell! Good good smell. Family busy all day in smell room.

They're putting the smells on the table—OH IT'S FOOD YES FOOD

It's food not for me? I challenge this. I will put on cute face.

Cuuuuuute.

Cute face will worDOORBELLDOORBELLDOORBELLDOORBELL FAMILY THE DOORBELL FAMILY LISTEN DOORBELL DID YOU HEAR DOORBELL

WOW IT'S PEOPLE, HELLO PEOPLE, YOU SMELL DIFFERENT AND YOU SMELL DIFFERENT SO MANY NEAT SMELLS LICK LICK LICK LICK

People led to couch room, can't sit on couch now, people are on couch, that's okay. I'll go to other room.

...This room has the food.

Family isn't around and telling me not to have food.

That means... food is for me?

...Food is for me. This is a great day.

They left chair by table! This food is definitely for me. Sniff sniff sniff... smell so good... oooh so close!

I think my tongue can reachAAAHHH YELLING WHY IS FAMILY YELLING

MOTHER NO, DON'T TAKE ME AWAY FROM THE FOOD, THIS FOOD IS MINE

LOCKED IN BED ROOM?? THIS WILL NOT STAND. I CURSE YOUR NAME, MOTHER, WITH A THOUSAND BREATHS OF MINE AND A THOUSAND BREATHS YET TO BE TAKEN, I CURSE YOU, UNTIL THE LAST SUN SETS AND ALL FALLS TO DARKNESS, MAY YOU REGRET THIS ACTION. YOUR GRANDCHILDREN AND YOUR GRANDCHILDREN'S GRANDCHILDREN WILL RUE YOUR CALLOUS ACTIONS TAKEN ON THIS DAY, THAT WILL BE REMEMBERED IN HISTORY AS THE MISTAKE THAT REVEREBERATED THROUGH A HUNDRED LIFETIMES

Okay tired now.

...

Sad. Bored.

...

OH IT'S MOTHER YAY HOW ARE YOU YOU'RE MY FAVORITE I GET TO LEAVE THE BED ROOM?? YAAAAY FATHER TOO YOU'RE ALSO MY FAVORITE HELLO HELLO HELLO

People are gone!

...Food is gone.

OH BUT FAMILY SAYS I GET TO LICK THE PLATES

Yessss

This is a great day

[pictostory]

John Brosio, Fatigue 2

Can we all agree that literally no one predicted how humanity would react to something like this?

Like. We all saw the disaster films, the dramas, all the movies that tried to make something dramatic out of this. And the reality was... just... boring.

Capitalism trumps all, I know. But I didn't think capitalism trumped giant crab invasions.

There's two or three crabs stomping around the United States right now, depending on the status of the one that keeps scuttling back and forth over the Mexican border (I'll spare you the 'build a wall' jokes that everyone on Facebook has made a million times already.) And we're tracking them, obviously. Since they're unkillable and any attempt at interaction just agitates them further, we're just kinda, watching 'em. And that's goddamn insane.

So I live in the northern Indiana area, and we all knew Shelby was near. We've all got the Crabtrack app. Not everyone paid for the premium version for the push updates, so I guess maybe a few people missed it. But by and large, we all knew she was close. Nevertheless, workers gotta work. Not just essential workers! Since the chance of attack was under the <25% threshold, pretty much everyone had to come in under threat of getting written up. "What's the difference, you get stomped on here, or you get stomped on at home," my boss said.

I called in sick. He knows why, I don't give a shit, I've got enough built up. Anyway, my apartment overlooks a few office buildings nearby with this shared parking lot, so I got a real good look at the interactions between Shelby and capitalism. I watched this dude with a briefcase stroll out toward his car fearlessly, even as Shelby was tossing vehicles around just on the other side of the lot. Like, "Yeah, it's a catastrophe or whatever, but so's missing my wife's beef surprise." Something like that, probably. He had that Boomer look about him.

Unfortunately, he got to what was presumably his parking spot, looked around confused, and then noticed—I'm extrapolating and making assumptions here, but trust me, I'm very good at reading faces from hundreds of meters away—that one of the vehicles Shelby was throwing around was his vehicle.

And he... continued standing there. Only then did he acknowledge the situation and show any emotion, even if it was a resigned succumbing to misery. Because, you see, the real tragedy of the crab invasion was never the potential loss of life, but loss of the motor vehicle you use to transport yourself from the sleeping area to the working area. Now he would have to spend more time in the working area to obtain another motor vehicle. It was one hundred percent clear that that was the only thing on his mind.

If that wasn't enough, I then watched him march away—not even away, but perpendicular to the crab chaos—and catch a bus, because yes, the buses were still running.

Everyone's just trying to get by, I guess. Not everyone can afford to miss a day to crab chaos.

Seth S. June 4th, 2022

[pictostory]

Mocha, Sheet Music Of The Night Sky

Pine Avenue. Usually, Steph practically skipped down this street due to the steep angle of it—particularly with her full guitar case adorning her back—but tonight, it was more of a lazy flow, like a canister of trash dumped out from the top.

Fitting, as she just got dumped. This will probably be the last time she makes this walk.

It was more than a shock, it was a devastation. Out of nowhere. Oh, later on, she'll look back and see the signs, surely. For now, a million questions were running through her mind, and they were all unhealthy.

Maybe they weren't perfect matches in every aspect, but... they were when it came to music. They sang together, they played together, they vibed together. Not tonight, of course. Tonight, Steph's guitar had remained in its case, crushingly silent.

The thought most present in her mind was... all she'd ever wanted was someone she synced with in that way.

She wasn't sure she'd truly realized that before now. That must have driven everything for her. But... it shouldn't have. If she had been conscious of it, maybe she could have remembered all the other things you're supposed to be doing in a relationship.

Yeah. Maybe this was starting to make sense.

Her normal pick-me-up strategy involved singing, but... music tasted very bitter at the moment.

...Oh, no. God, no.

Fear took her. What if that bitterness never went away? What if her love of music was left at his apartment?

What if she'd sung her last song?

A tweet rang out above her.

She looked to the sky. A brilliant night lay before her, owing to the low light pollution of her small town. Wisps of the Milky Way stretched out.

And framed against it all... power lines adorned with birds. Not in a row, but sporadic, spaced out, scattered amongst the different levels.

Like music notes on a sheet.

It was an odd time for birds to start singing out, which only added to the moment. As if they were reminding her to never, ever stop.

She realized she had stopped, and had no idea for how long. She continued on her way.

For now, no, she couldn't sing. It hurt too much.

But she hummed along with the birds.

She'll get there.

[pictostory]

9. Mohamed Saad, Anubis The Spirit Guide

Come, child, Your death awaits. I know you fear it, I know you shun it.

I promise you thus: There is still more. Were existence a lake, You've not left the shore.

Come, child, Your fate awaits. We'll measure your heart, We'll measure your deeds.

What crimes could you have, In your seconds on this Earth? Don't fear my judgement, I know well your worth.

Come, child, Your path awaits. You should not fear it, You should not shun it.

Ammit will not see you, Long may he bide. To find the lake, Simply follow the tide.

Come, child, Your life awaits.

[pictostory]

Guy Buffet, The Making Of A Perfect Martini

Augustin Feist was not feeling his usual self.

Things took a moment to focus when he shifted his view. All inputs seemed to be treated as of equal importance by his brain, leaving him ignoring those speaking to him and responding to those having conversations on the other side of the room. Lights were brighter, and yet he struggled to see.

Unconsciously, he compensated for these aspects by staring at individual things for a long period of time—until he was certain he understood what it was, so he could move on and forget it existed.

"Augustin?" his co-bartender said.

"Yes?" Augustin said, after a five-seconds pause.

"Shake this up, if you would?"

"Yes. I can. Yes. I will," Augustin replied. "Please hand to me what you would like shaken. Yes."

His co-bartender had already placed the cocktail shaker in front him, but he hadn't seemed to notice. Confused, his partner then grabbed his hand with the intention of physically guiding him to the shaker. Augustin, feeling something in his grasp, dutifully began a wild shake.

It was some time before his partner managed to get his hand free, now quite sore. Eventually the matter was cleared up, and Augustin had the correct shaking objective.

Careful, now, Augustin, he thought to himself. If you're not careful, people will start to suspect something is off with you.

So he shook carefully.

"Augustin?" his partner said after some time.

"Yes?"

"You appear to be trying to lull my martini to sleep."

"Mm." Augustin clearly had not achieved the correct tempo. "More vigor, then?" he asked.

"...If you would, yes."

Augustin applied more vigor.

He shook and shook until he was sure something must have been achieved, and he placed the shaker back on the desk. "How was that?"

"Well..." His partner had taken several steps away by this point, leaving his voice quieter to Augustin's ears. "You looked as if you were in a washing machine."

"Oh."

"I believe your toupée has nearly fallen off," he added helpfully. This news was most shocking, since Augustin did not wear a toupée.

A strange woman approached the bar. "Darling," she said, "I can't help but feel that something is off with you."

Not at all, ma'am. "Shoot! I've blown it."

"Erm... quite," she said. "Have you taken caffeine pills before?"

Suddenly, Augustin had a surge of recognition. "You're my girlfriend!" he said in awe.

"...Please stop shouting," she said.

"Sorry!" he shouted. "Right, the, caffeine pills... you offered them to me. The ones beside the bed. Were they expired? Can caffeine pills expire?"

"Dearest, they were in the bathroom."

"Oh. So... Oh." He didn't feel like asking after what he had, in fact, taken.

"I think that perhaps we should go home."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's one thing to behave this way at a wedding reception, but I do believe there is a funeral reception after this." He motioned at an older lady in a dark veil. "Even here, I am causing guests to erupt into tears!"

"I think that perhaps we should go home quickly."

"If you think that is best, darling. I am quite a skilled runner. I will see you there!"

"Get in the goddamned car, dearest."

[pictostory]

Josh Guglielmo, Codename Ultra

"I think he'd have lots of little guns," said Tommy.

"Nuh-uh," said Steven. "If I built a giant robot, he'd have one really big gun, for shooting really big holes in other robots. Little holes aren't gonna do anything." He turned over his bucket of sand to add another tower to their sand castle.

"You're all wrong," said Billy, who always had to be right. "He'd have missiles, like, that'd home in on other robots. They couldn't dodge them or anything."

"Maybe the robot could have a sword," said Suzy. "Then he could chop up missiles."

"You're a girl, you don't know anything about giant robots," said Billy. "My missiles would be too fast." He pointed at Steven's new tower. "That's too close to the other towers. That should be on the other side."

There was a rumbling.

Off in the distance, across the sea, water exploded into the air, miles high, sending clouds spiraling. Moments later, a bulge appeared in the churning sea, from which a tremendous bronze hand appeared. As it receded, a monstrous head emerged, sleek with metal and blue lights. Somehow, it climbed up further and further, passing cloud after cloud that had seemed so large and so high but now some of them didn't even reach its torso. It had a grand ring floating behind its back, as big as its head, slowly spinning around a jet of flame coming out of its back. Two smaller jets of flames ignited further down the back, seeming to help keep it up and steady. As it began to march off to whatever destination it had in mind, its remaining hand pulled a titanic sword from the ground, itself as tall as the tallest skyscraper, clutched in a reverse grip.

The children were silent as they stared.

"Yeah, but look how slow he moves, he couldn't swing—" said Billy.

"Shut up, Billy," said Suzy.

[pictostory]

6. Simon Stalenhag, fjarrhandske.1377628842

Stellan waved his gloved hand left. The robot waved its hand left. Stellan waved his gloved hand right. The machine waved its hand right.

"This is sick," he said.

He and his tagalongs had found this two-legged machine alone, in this wheat field. No one around. Like a free ride at the carnival.

Papercut objected, obviously. (His name is Nils, but no one cool calls him that.) Something something this could get in trouble, something something what if the police see us, something something I'm so scared I'm gonna pee myself. All things he probably said.

Lars, the cooler tagalong, helped put the controller pack on Stellan. He was the one who knew how stuff like this worked. It was like a big minifridge of a backpack, but it wasn't much for someone like Stellan. It connected to a glove with a long tube, and with every step or hand movement, it told the robot to do the same thing.

"See, this is how robots should be," Stellan said. "It gets all complicated when they do whatever they wanna do, like try to take over the town." He spoke from quite recent experience. "This one isn't gonna do shit I don't tell it to do."

Papercut grimaced at the horror of the swear word. "What... what are you gonna tell it do?"

"Well, I don't know yet. The world is my otter."

"Oyster," Papercut said quietly.

"I could punch a tree down..." Stellan tapped his finger on his chin, and the machine did the same, with a clanking sound ringing out. "Wanna see if I can punch a tree down?"

"Sure," Lars said cooly.

"No!" Papercut said whinily. "That's not even a real hand, it's like a rotor thing! It's not for punching! And—and someone owns this, and they're gonna come back, and we're gonna be in trouble!"

"Well, Stellan will," Lars said.

Stellan turned to look at him.

Lars shrugged. "Why do you think I didn't just put it on myself?" He was starting to sound much less cool.

"...I'm gonna punch a tree down," Stellan said. He started his walk to the edge of the field where it turned into forest.

"Hey, whaddaya know. Look," Lars said. Stellan rolled his eyes and glanced back, and he and Papercut followed Lars' pointing finger.

A police car was driving on the road nearby... and slowing down. It came to a stop, backed up, and slowly drove into the field, directly towards them. Stellan... felt his stomach drop. This actually could be bad.

"I knew it!" Papercut said. "No, no, no! I have too many animals to feed to go to prison!"

"Calm down. We didn't do nothin', the two of us," Lars said.

Stellan pointed at Lars. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me! You... you accessorized me! I know how this stuff works!"

There were two cops in the car. They stopped their vehicle several yards in front of the machine and got out, starting their dumb cop walk towards them.

"Alright, Mr. Cop Expert," Stellan said to Papercut, "What do we do?" Stellan had lots of practical experience with cops, but not so much in ways that led to him not getting in trouble.

"I'm not—I'm not a cop expert!" Papercut said, reaching new heights of uncoolness. "We'll just... we'll do what my mom said when it comes to meeting strangers and being respectful. Look them in the eye, give them a firm handshake, and say 'sir' a lot. We can do that. Right? Right. It'll be fine. It'll be... fine."

Stellan nodded. Time to listen to the nerd for once. He breathed in, then took a step and lurched his hand forward.

The machine slammed its foot forward, sending the cops diving for cover as its bent rotor flew over their heads. They immediately got to their feet and starting sprinting towards the three of them, yelling harsh commands and not sounding very happy.

With this, Lars and Papercut sprinted past Stellan towards the forest. "Wha—" Stellan managed to get out. He made the snap decision to follow their lead, easily catching up with them.

"Stellan you attacked the cops why did you attack the cops!?" Papercut shouted, then gasped to recollect all the air he used up on running and saying things.

"I was trying to give them a handshake! I thought a robot handshake would be cool! I—Shut up!"

Along with the shouts of the cops, there were distinct, earth-shaking rumblings behind them. Papercut turned to see. "Aaaaahhhh and now the robot's chasing us!" Both he and Stellan screamed and picked up their pace.

"That's because that dummy's still controlling it!" Lars said. "Take off the glove and stuff!"

Papercut was falling well behind the other two. Then, he was falling on the ground. Might have been a log, might have been Papercut being bad at using his legs, might have been that Jansport weighing him down. But now, the cops were almost on him.

Lars stopped, and Stellan with him. "Aw, geez. We gotta help him. Got any ideas, Stellan?"

Stellan rolled his tongue around in his mouth... then kept running.

"That's not an idea! You can't just leave him!" Lars shouted.

Stellan wasn't planning on it.

He slid into a kneel on the ground, craning his head to try to get a view of what he was about to do. The cops dove out of the way as the machine slid up to Papercut—then, as Papercut got to his feet, the bent rotor scooped him right off of them. It held him high and kept moving.

Lars grinned, and followed after Stellan. "That was pretty sweet," he admitted. "But my favorite part is how you look like a really overdramatic waiter right now."

Stellan used his free hand to flip Lars off, what with his other hand busy being stretched towards the sky.

The cops chased the strange trio (or four... o?) off into the woods, yelling and waving their arms at those pesky kids they'll never be able to catch in a million years.

They're just too damn cool.

[pictostory]

Thomas Dubois, Sandman

The following was recovered from the Deleted folder of an AIM executive's inbox after a recent breach.

Come to beautiful KLEIN VALLEY, home to a brand-new prosperous community! Whether you're passing through, or making it your home, we wlecome one and all! (note: you're doing a pass for spelling right??)

- GREAT FOR ENVIRONMENT

You may have heard rumours of an accidental incident involving Pym tech in the region. Not so! There was, howeever, a very INTENTIONAL incident involving Pym tech! We've reduced the carbon footprint of this community to [insert exact value here]! It makes for a wondrous and magical experience for adults and kids alike! But not only that, all the infrastructure is still in place and functional! We are accepting applicants for residence from VERY SMALL PEOPLE. Pleae e-mail us if interested! (note: screen out people who like snooping into corps)

- EXPERIENCE THE LAKE LIKE NEVER BEFORE

Following the tragic and mysterious loss of the nearby dam, we are proud to offer the world's first community that is 100% WATERFRONT PROPERTY! Imagine stepping onto your balcony and imediately being in the lake! Imagine that in your kitchen, your bathroom, (DON'T bring this one up) your bedroom! You've always wanted a lakehouse—now's your chance to afford one! (note: based on this, I feel like we should change the previous text to read 'applicants for residence from VERY SMALL MERMAIDS.' seriously though, idea: pay-to-own scuba gear??)

- PEST-FREE

Everyone's biggest downside to the lakeside experience is the wildlife. (note: change to 'bugs'? most people like SOME wildlife) Don't worry! This lake has been calibrated in just such a way that no wildlife could possibly survive! (note: again, I really feel like you need to be more specific) But don't think that'll make for an empty, soulless living experience. We've populated the lake with our special patented HOLO-FISH to breathe some holo-life into the lake! Sit (float?) on your balcony as you take in these wondrous creatures, or get the experience in your own living room as they clip through the buildings!

We here at KLEIN VALLEY are dedicated to providing a lovely living experience for all ages. A perfect retirement community, but also close enough to the nearby dam (note: dude did you already forget) for a quick commute! Bring the whole family and let us welcome you to KLEIN VALLEY!

(final thoughts: very creative. I respect your initiative in trying to turn a big L for us into a W. but I just don't see this taking off. I think hush-hush is definitely the way to go on this. let's just dump a bunch of dirt into the lake and literally cover it up. maybe see if we can find where the dam washed away to. it should be on the lakebed somewhere right? I know it's gonna be annoying to find but we should make sure it's there so we can hide it right. anyway, good thoughts, but let's get back to more important projects.)

[pictostory]

Spine Apples, Are Ya Winning Son?

Every last achievement point. Every last challenge. Every last easter egg, secret, and collectible.

He'd done it. The only one in the world.

Kyle pushed his chair back over various bottles and cans and stood up. He stretched his arms, avoiding the half-full ramen bowls and pizza slices left abandoned from some other day.

It was hard to make it all out. This apartment was cheap because of the presence of the neon sign outside the window that painted the whole household red. You got used to it, like his dad said when he picked it.

His dad. His dad had been asking about this game for a while, for some reason. Best to tell him the good news.

He opened the door and leant out. "I won, Dad."

No response.

He inched out of his room. Even moving slowly, he banged his shin into an end table. How long had that been there? With Mom bringing him his meals... it might have been a while since he'd gone out there. Weird.

Everything was in the spectrum of red to black. No lights were on.

"Dad...?" He walked down the hall, poking his head into the kitchen, then the living room. Nothing.

It was the master bedroom where he found his father. The familiar silhouette of the homburg hat, framed by cigarette smoke. He was facing the window.

And he had a gun.

Kyle froze. He looked back to his room, wondering if he could sneak back.

"What'd ya say, son?"

Kyle swallowed. "U-um... I won, Dad."

"Didja?" Kyle's father nodded slowly, and took a long drag off his cigarette. "No, son. I won."

"Y-you...? What do you..."

"Gabe Newell... Sid Meier... Michael Persson..." He blew out a long stream of smoke. "I remembered the names of those people you went on about, who made these games that keep you locked away. No more. Uh-uh. No more."

"Wh... what are you saying?"

"I killed them, Kyle. Shot them dead." He threw the gun on the bed. "No more video games. I won."

Kyle didn't know what to say. This couldn't be real.

He let his mouth empty out of the first thing that came to mind.

"Did you say... Michael Persson?"

His father paused.

"Wasn't that... the guy with the blocks? That game that had the, uh, the trees?

"That's, er. That's Markus Persson."

His father nodded, taking another drag. "Interesting."

"I mean. That's who you meant, right? That's what you meant to say. You just got the name wrong there."

"Well, yes and no," his father said. "I sure didn't shoot Markus Persson."

His father's tone darkened. "But that doesn't matter. With those three people gone... and there was another guy, but I forgot his name... no more video games. There will be no more video games to take you away from us."

"Dad... a lot more people make video games than those people."

Another pause. "What?"

"Like, hundreds of people work on some of these games... a place like Valve, it's—"

"Hundreds of—!? How hard can it be? It's just typing stuff and doing math, isn't that what you said?"

"That's part of it, I guess, but there's still—"

"This is like when you tried to tell me it could be some kind of career, like anyone would pay you to type into a computer to make a guy hold a crowbar—"

"Dad, look, you can't just kill three people and end—"

"Four guys. There was another guy, but I forgot his name."

"You can't just kill four people and end video games. Lots of people make video games. Some people make them as a hobby."

His father twiddled with his cigarette contemplatively. "So how many people do I need to shoot?"

Kyle threw his hands up. "I'm not going to give you a list!"

"I thought those guys were the game masters! The bigwigs, the ones who control the games and send them into our houses. Like that guy you were spending all your time with in high school—" He snapped his fingers. "That was it! That was the fourth guy."

"Y-you killed Sean!?" They hadn't spoken in years, but he still had notes from their old D&D games.

"Everyone with the title of 'game master's gotta die, son. It's for your own good." His father stood up and picked his gun back up. "Guess my work isn't finished."

He brushed past the frightened Kyle and walked to the front door. Before he opened it, he looked back. Kyle avoided eye contact.

"Congratulations on your win, son."

And with that, he left.

[pictostory]

Ilya Milstein, A Couple On the Floor of a Forgotten Church

Shantelle found a couple of broken windows, but experience told her to skip over those. A whole, unlocked one would be better.

She tried each one until one slid up welcomingly. "Here," she whispered, and scampered in. Chrissy scampered in after her.

Chrissy had been asking for this ever since Shantelle had revealed her urban exploration hobby. Shantelle had been resisting, but ran out of excuses to hide her reluctance behind. Now that they were here, her fears were coming true; she felt only placation, like Chrissy was allowing herself to be dragged along into something that had never felt so lame.

Chrissy was at least pretending to be impressed. "Geez," she said, "I feel like I've gotta take my shoes off for this." She slipped out of her sneakers and tossed them forward with her feet. The clattering resonated off the high ceilings, bouncing into Shantelle's ears more than once.

"Didn't realize you were so reverent when it came to religion," Shantelle mumbled.

"Religion? No. Artisanship, yes." Chrissy delicately walked around, eyes on the floor.

Shantelle's eyes were on Chrissy. She still had no idea what to call the two of them. Was it worth calling them anything? What word sums it up when someone clearly out of your league is pulling you along for a summer fling?

Shantelle had had this church on her list for a couple of months. The only reason she hadn't come sooner was because it had been shut down so recently, with the pandemic and gradually reducing religious presence in the city claiming another casualty. It was sort of like the quandary of the border between archaeology and grave-robbing; how long until it becomes cool to sneak into somewhere once full of life?

Towwards the ceiling, wooden beams lay exposed, which wasn't unexpected. A few grand pillars. But... nothing was exceptional. It wasn't a terribly large church, which meant there weren't going to be many nooks to snoop out interesting secrets in. It had been stripped of pews and other fixtures already. A bare, empty building.

"Yeah, I'm... sorry," she said.

"Hmm?" said Chrissy. She was still walking about, arms raised like she was on a tightrope.

"There's been more exciting churches that I've... I mean, it's... this one isn't as cool as I thought it would be."

"Shan, this is cool. I really like this."

Yeah. What was cool, Chrissy? The dust? The unfaded spots on the wall that indicate where art used to hang? "C'mon, Chrissy. There's not much here."

"There's not—?" Chrissy looked to her, bewildered. "Shan... look down."

Shantelle looked down.

…A mural. An incredibly detailed mural. How had she missed it? A grand scene of wildlife with the sun hanging above—and above that, it transitioned to nighttime, a sky full of stars and clouds.

"Oh my god," she said. "This is... they left it behind? I guess they didn't have a way to..."

Chrissy clapped her hands, laughing. "That explains earlier! Like I had to take my shoes because we were in God's house. No, I just didn't wanna, like, scuff this. But I guess a lot of people have stepped all over this anyway."

Wordlessly, Shantelle tugged at the laces of her boot until they could be shaken off. She was fixated, finding more and more animals the closer she looked. And...

"There's two humans," she said. "And this cool angel with a sword. I guess this is an Adam and Eve thing? But they've got clothes on, which is... cheating. Free the boobs, c'mon."

Chrissy laughed. "They've... are those wings, or part of their clothes? Yeah, I have no idea either. You know more about this stuff than I do."

"Barely." They were both raised in Christian households, even if they both 'grew out of it' before too long. It ended up being something of an ice breaker for them when they first met. The only additional knowledge that Shantelle came from breaking into churches and reading up on what she found. "Hey... I see three ducks here. What happened to 'two of each?'"

"That's... wh—" Chrissy burst out laughing. "Totally different Bible story! Nothin' to do with this." She grinned.

Shantelle laughed, too. She didn't feel mocked, which almost surprised her. "Right. Yeah. I was a little confused, 'cause of the..." she motioned towards the ceiling vaguely.

Chrissy's eyes trailed upward. "Ohh, that's neat. But, um, question: What?"

"Oh, I... I heard that exposed beams like that are supposed to represent a ship. Like, you strip off the top of the ship, flip it over, plant it in the ceiling... like that. I guess the point is that the church is like an Ark, right? Like to help you navigate this world."

Not hearing a reply from Chrissy, Shantelle turned towards her. She was sitting on the ground, looking at Shantelle with a bemused expression. "'Barely,' she says," Chrissy said. She flopped back, now fully laying down. "That's really neat, Shan."

Shantelle cocked her head at Chrissy's prone form. "I thought you were being all respectful," she said in what she hoped was a teasing manner.

"I am! It's a very respectful lounging. I'm becoming one with the mural." She spread her limbs out like a starfish. "You should try it!"

Shantelle began to lower herself. "No, no," Chrissy said. "Under this big tree here. It's got great shade." She patted the floor... right next to her.

Shantelle inched over and lay down. Towards Chrissy, at first, but then quickly turned to look at the ceiling.

After a moment, Chrissy's hand entered her view. It gently pulled her shoulder, rolling her back over. Before she knew what was happening, they were face-to-face, noses an inch from each other.

Chrissy's eyes... were so bright. Like they wanted to take in the whole world. Right now, they were taking in Shantelle.

Chrissy's hand ran through Shantelle's dreads, then wrapped around her head and pulled her even closer. Shantelle felt Chrissy's legs intertwining with hers, a sort of hug from her knees. She was pulled in so close, so tight. Not for a kiss, but for a hold.

This was never a placation, Shantelle realized. She was wanted. Genuinely, honestly, wanted. She'd never felt that so strongly. Chrissy wanted to do this to share in her life, her world.

Chrissy closed her eyes. Shantelle did as well.

All was peaceful and quiet. Only a few sounds of the city pierced the windows.

Not a summer fling.

Not if she could help it.

[pictostory]

Alex Hyner, Moon Reflects

Most of the populace know there to be eight phases of the moon: New, full, waxing and waning crescent, waxing and waning gibbous, and first and last quarter.

Some researchers, however, have discovered many more.

“Where the typical phases are ones the moon enters and exits repeatedly as the year goes on, there are some phases it has passed through only once in its lifetime.” These are the words of astronomer Cynthia Richardson, who has catalogued as many of these transient phases as she can.

“We believe the moon’s current phase is one of listlessness and self-reflection, remaining quiet as it ponders its purpose and past and looks for its reflection in Earth’s vast oceans. What has it done with its time as Earth’s sole natural satellite? Is it happy in its current orbit? It’s achieved fame, but has that led it to find fulfillment? We think these are the questions it seeks to answer.”

Its current meek traits come in stark contrast to its earlier phases, Richardson says.

“Earlier in its span of existing came its rebellious phase, wherein it attempted to maintain maximum[...] lunar distance at all times. As well, it adjusted its typical axial tilt, breaking away from what tidal locking has otherwise maintained, and mainly displaying its rear to Earth.”

It eventually returned to normal facing, though insisted it was due to boredom, rather than any sort of emotional attachment.

“Even earlier came a phase marked by evidence of long, curved outcroppings that covered most of its near side. We also believe this was the period it spent listening to bands such as My Selenium Romance, Linkin Parallax, and Jimmy Eat Satellite.

“We have not been able to find any triggers or motivations for many of these phases,” Richardson says. “Many aspects of this still remain a mystery to us.”

Some theories have come from the most unlikely of places, such as sociologist Clementine Peary.

“I would surmise that this period came about as a result of insecurity stemming from the presence of the many craters scattered about its surface,” Peary said in a Zoom call with us. “My son had a similar issue last year.”

Peary's son has not responded to requests for comment.

Similarly, the moon has very rarely responded to outreach for comment. Notably, however, during the aforementioned phase, it did release a statement decrying the use of such terminology and claiming that this was "who I am."

The moon is a big rock that's spun around our planet for 4.5 billion years.