#sff short fiction

[miatsai]

sometimes, i edit. (actually, the majority of the time, i edit; i'm an incidental writer.)

and i help edit at Giganotosaurus, a SFF magazine helmed by LaShawn M. Wanak, and today, GNS has been announced as a Hugo finalist in the Best Semiprozine category. LOOK

y'all. I didn't think we'd be here. I believe in the quality of our stories and it's been many hours of work but I thought we'd be a small but mighty magazine forever because there are so many other titans in the short fiction space. BUT. Hot damn, we're Hugo finalists!

I have so much gratitude to everyone who's helped GNS get to where it is. Not just LaShawn and Edgard, but the slush team and the reviewers, especially Charles, who puts us in Locus every single month, and Maria and Jay, who are regular readers and reviewers. Really, I've got nothing else I can say other than please read our stories, even if you're ineligible to vote. We really just want to show everyone what our authors can do.

[ilikereadingactually]

Magazine Highlights: Clarkesworld Jan 2024

highlighting my fave works from Clarkesworld issue 208, January 2024! a lot of bangers in this issue!

"Nothing of Value" - Aimee Ogden

premise: the narrator takes a futuristic transit system that scans them in one place and prints them out again in another to visit someone they haven't seen in many years, and made some promises to.

gut reaction: fantastic voice!! and i love stories addressed directly to another person! and the one-two gut punches at the end! also this bit got a laugh out of me: "I stand around, waiting, in case they’re on the verge of finishing up, but the baby is busy squashing cold fries in its fingers and the adults are busy thinking this is the cutest and best thing any living being has ever done. I bet that baby has never developed a microbe with a novel sulfur dioxide metabolic pathway."

"Down the Waterfall" - Cécile Cristofari

premise: a scientist explains her theory of time travel in moments of near-death, gets too high on her own supply, and dallies with a poet.

gut reaction: i don't generally get much out of this kind of quasi-infidelity, "this person is so much more compelling than my spouse and child" sort of story, but this one was beautifully written and had interesting time travel metaphors. i liked it enough to record it here so i will remember it later, though!

"Binomial Nomenclature and the Mother of Happiness" - Alexandra Munck

premise: a scientist with the technology to see sonder particles--created by emotions--begins to create a taxonomy and bonds with a talking elephant.

gut reaction: what a gem, holy moly. this one made my brain hurt in fun ways. i ADORE Angela the elephant. loved the slightly mixed up telling of this story, the academic and interpersonal drama, and really really loved the sonder particles concept and how that was described visually.

"Stars Don't Dream" - Chi Hui, transl. John Chu

premise: in a future where most humans spend all their time in a virtual world, five people gather in the real world with a plan for the continuation of life in our galaxy.

gut reaction: i love the rhythm and the beauty of the prose here. the specific start, and the enormous cyclical nature of the end. i love the delicate worldbuilding!

"You Dream of the Hive" - C.M. Fields

premise: a human is rescued from a collective consciousness in space and prepared for return to productive society.

gut reaction: wow, this story did a lot with a really elegant premise. it takes some twists and turns that i haven't seen before in combination, and lit up all my anti-capitalist neurons. i want the Hive to embrace me with ten thousand arms.

[oliverbrackenbury]

My latest Sword & Sorcery short story, “Hunter” can be read in the new issue of Whetstone magazine - for free!  For fun, I had a voice actor friend do an audiobook style recording that you can hear, also for free, in a public Patreon post. It was one of those situations where a character just bursts into your head fully formed, and in this case it was so close to the submission deadline that I wasn’t sure I was gonna finish in time. Lucky me I did and, luckier still, the good folk at Whetstone bought the story.

[eunuchmoder]

Girl who is imperceptible, uncanny, strange.

Her face disappears when you look at it, distorting into a blur of unfamiliar memories. Her motions make no sense, moving in directions you can't name. She speaks in words you maybe understand, possibly. You think you do, at least.

When you are with her, the frenzied blur of sex and body fluid says all that you both need to hear. but every moment prior and afterwards, she becomes that foggy humanoid presence that you can't parse even if your life depended on it.

She weaves her way into your mind; you remember why you were drawn to her (or why she was drawn to you), but you can't fetch the memory even if you tried. You have a vague memory of her smiling, or laughing, or making intoxicating sounds when your skin connected, and you know it was something you did that invoked this reaction. When you try to recall what you did, though, all you can see in your mind's eye is noise and turbulence.

See, humans are pattern seekers by evolutionary design, so every time you perform an action to her, you add the accompanying reaction to your mental map of her. But the pages of said map are soaked in coffee and bile, tearing to shreds each time you put your pen to it. You try to read it back, tracing your fingers across the same routes and landmarks, but you end in a different location every time, even if all variables are accounted for. Every attempt at navigating her unearthly self is futile and not without a massive margin of error.

Moments of clarity shine through, though, during sex – oases of respite in a desert of unfamiliarity. You see her face, smiling and contorting in pleasure. You feel her heart rate increase in direct correlation. Her hair is unusually soft – you aren't sure if you want to pull it and hear her whine and grunt, or if you want to run your fingers through it gently to really commit that physical sensation to memory. Her eyes, so emotive, speak grand poems in conjunction with her eyelids. You can hear her voice telling you to "keep going," pleading you to continue "just like that," and begging to reach climax. Through the overwhelming storm that is the connection of your flesh (you can feel her flesh for the first time in a while), you can enumerate every single vibration of her vocal cords and what it all means. It's understandable and crystal clear, even if for just an hour or two.

Afterwards, she silently retreats back into the glamer, obscuring every facet of her being and her influence once more.

You ask how it felt.

She replies ████████████, in a voice that is not just flat and devoid of emotion, but somehow entirely lacks tone to begin with.

You ask her if she needs a glass of water or a towel, maybe a shower. She gently coos at you, with a raspy emotion that feels like grit and silk, ◌̶̹̿⃤̶̰̌◷̴̲̒◌̴̞̇⃟̷̫̋

Once again, you can't scrutinise what she's saying anymore. She becomes a formless mass without weight or gravity. Did you do it right? Is she comfortable? Are you impeding on her presence by sharing the same blanket? The infinite questions burn a hole in your chest like white-hot coals placed onto a slab of ice.

There's an allure to her, of course, and you remember it clearly.

But the glamer begins to alter your own memory.

When she came into your life, did you read her face right? Did she even have a face to read? Did you remember that night clearly? Do you remember it at all?

Her otherworldly influence jabs at you, taunting you.

Or maybe it's just you taunting yourself.

It's impossible to tell. She melts your memory, synapse by synapse. You genuinely cannot remember anything about her without it being laid under a dense veneer of suspicion.

Most frustratingly of all, she gets along great with every other one of those formless, nameless humanoid presences that you know... Though you can't remember if those other "people" you see were always like this—like her—or if she's tainted your psyche to the point that everyone becomes unreadable.

Your own face is the only thing you're sure of anymore. But even still, you begin to worry if the expressions you consciously assume are the ones that the formless presences around you are expecting you to make in response to their dim gurgling and sweaty blinks. It's torture. You begin to move your focus from them to yourself. You manually emote so that you don't accidentally smile when you should frown. You watch every syllable that collapses over your lips to make sure they don't misconstrue your joy for entitlement. It's all in vain, though, because you never get a chance to verify if this output is correct. She stares at every part of you at once with an impossible number of eyes. You can't tell what the eyes say in return.

She is eldritch. She is dreamlike. She is unknowable, preternatural, and vague. The fact that you cannot understand a single aspect of her form is stressful.

But the sex was good. I wonder if she's free any time soon? Maybe I should just ask if she could use tone indicators next time.

[girl-and-her-cat]

Chapter One: Extended Contracts

The probe was dead.

I knew it the moment I lay eyes on the thing. And no, it wasn’t because of the layer of icy crust surrounding the shaft nor did it have anything to do with user error. I knew it the moment they told me what the issue was. The probe had been running non-stop for four months in a freezing cold vacuum. AKA; space. And they were using a standard run-of-the-mill type-13. No way could that handle a four month operating time with no breaks.

Dumbasses.

The two techs that had brought me out here were arguing through their helmets on the main channel; I could hear everything from the saliva smacking against their lips to their stuffed up noses they wouldn’t stop snorting through as if that would help them breathe any better.

Just use a goddamn tissue.

“What’s the application?” I asked again. I knew what it was, I just wanted them to stop barking at each other. The techs got nervous when I came up here. At first I thought it was because my job was to report back to HQ and let them know if the tech’s were doing their jobs; RJ told me it’s because I’m a woman.

One tech, the one that only had one front tooth and was clearly the follower of the other guy responded after snorting mucus down his throat. “Temp and pressure of the atmosphere surrounding the pipes. Gotta know how much they can handle before being blown to shit.”

He looked at his bro for approval and smirked at me after receiving a nod.

“Can you tell us what the problem is so we can get back down? Boss don’t like us being up here too long wasting oxygen.” Leader boy said this nonchalantly but I knew who his boss was and also knew that a guy had been fired last week for using more than the mediated level of oxygen for a site run like this one. Found out he had brought his girl up for some “sight seeing”.

Fucking idiot.

“It’s dead. You’ll need to get a new one. A Type- 15 to be exact if you want it to run longer than 4 months out here.”

Read More Here

[innocentlymacabre]

Hey hey hey! Popping in with an exciting new announcement today!

So, I am fully aware that I kind of dropped the regular content ball lately (shit happens, whatcha gonna do?), but I am here with a plan to fix that. Introducing, Innocently Macabre Presets: Micro Monday.

Every other Monday, I’ll pop into your inbox with a micro to flash length piece. I’ve got a whole bunch of these written already, and I’ll be scheduling them ahead of time so it’ll be smooth sailing on that front. The first edition will be in your inbox next week, and then you’ll have a new story every other Monday!

Sign up right hereeee!

I will also post them here and operate a taglist (just ask to be added!) but we all know how reliable Tumblr is so I would still suggest signing up for the email list.

I’m going to schedule them to be sent out in the morning so you can have something fun to start your week with, but time zones unfortunately exist and I can’t yet buy Mailerlite’s premium plan which would allow me to circumvent that. (Psst support me on Ko-fi if you want to help change that).

{{tumblr is being weird so taglist is now in the replies}}

[thematicparallel]

Fish Fear Me, You Need Me by Tiffany Xue on Clarkesworld

[newtshell]

Just read Tia Tashiro's short story, 'Every Hopeless Thing,' and really enjoyed it. (The above is a very rough digital painting I did inspired by the story. Unfortunately, the nerves in my arm gave up, so releasing it into the wild under-developed.) "A scavenger and her sentient ship find more than they bargained for during a routine trip to a dead Earth." I love an AI ship character!~ The relationship between ship and human relying on each other for survival and kinship is beautiful. In that sense, it gave me vibes of Becky Chamber's book, 'A Closed and Common Orbit,' which I loved. And, to a lesser extent, reminded me of Martha Well's 'Murderbot' series. Previously I'd read Tashiro's, 'An Intergalactic Smuggler's Guide to Homecoming,' which was in Clarkesworld's April 24 issue. I just immediately wanted to read more. All her short stories are listed on her personal site. So far, from what I've read, they're very human stories of characters that feel the need to break free of existing structures, and explore. 🌠

[essektheylyss]

Day 16 short story: another horror one, so be advised! Honestly I have thought about this concept a lot so I enjoyed this one.

[yaldev]

Smog Collectors

“I want every last puff out of their atmosphere. Use collectors, drones, wind wizards if you must. I will not let Bruzek be right about this.”

—Grand General Demlow

———

Yaldev is a sci-fantasy worldbuilding project by Ulysses Maurer, with art by Beeple. By looking at narratives, stylized loredumps, bad poetry and little details, we'll witness the story of a planet filled with magical power, the nation which tried to conquer it, this empire’s dramatic collapse and the new world which emerged in its wake. Along the way we'll meet the characters who live here, and we'll explore questions about nationalism, rationalism, the natural world and the quest to master it. For all stories in chronological order, check out the pinned posts at r/Yaldev!

[regionbetween]

excerpt from harlan ellison's "the region between", published in GALAXY march 1970

The universe moves toward godhood. It started there and it wishes to return there. It is driven around in the greatest circle toward there. Godness lies dormant yet remembered in every thing, every smallest thing, in every puniest creature. Every living thing must, of needs, play at godness. It is built in. In the basic fiber, in the racial memory, in the pulse of blood or thought they remember all the way back to when there was nothing. Yet none of them are God. Thus it becomes a universe of things struggling ineptly toward a destiny they cannot even fathom, struggling impossibly to be God: a universe of manipulators, of users, of petty handlers who push and shove lesser, less god-driven races around in alien patterns, forcing them to dance to tunes they never knew, can barely comprehend, in pain and hopelessness, deprived of light or joy. From the sleaziest legislators of ethic and fashion and morality to the greatest pawn-movers of entire cosmic races, everything, everyone, scrabbles blindly toward the memory of when it was once god-blooded. All things try to govern the lives of all other things. And in turn, those Gods are used by other Gods. And those Gods are manipulated by greater Gods. And on and on. Domino ranks of puppet masters, to infinity and beyond. It is a universe of mad deities, one more selfish and corrupt than the one that went before. For none of them are God, they are merely circular pieces of the all-memory of what was godness at the beginning. Latent in the "soul" of what had been "Bailey" was the force that had first created everything. It had always been there, waiting its time, waiting to emerge and finish what it had started. Buried, sleeping, handed down through the unimaginable eons in plant, stone, fish, cloud, vehicle, Bailey. First cause? Perhaps. God? Perhaps. Any name will suffice. For if that force be God, then the bitter cynicism of the atheist is valid, for the God that was Bailey was insane, completely and eternally deranged, who but a madman would create all of everything then bury itself dormant and slumbering; a madman buried in an eternal "soul" passed down through decaying time. Buried here and there and everywhere yet struggling to be reborn by a pressure of equalization, a necessity for balance in something even as a lunatic as the mad world created by a mad God. But now, freed, like an evil genie from a bottle, the force that was God awoke...

[ilikereadingactually]

Magazine highlights: The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction Winter 2004

time for F&SF in my rotation of speculative fiction magazines!! i really like the way this one is organized, with connecting themes that flow from one work to the next. below are the works i liked the best!

"what kills the stars" - Alex Bisker

premise: a journalist remembers her ex-wife and flirts with a scientist as the world comes to an end.

gut reaction: i really like the writing of this one, very pleasant style to me! i'm into the way the structure of the story reflects the way the universe is ending. but at the same time i was waiting for an unknown something to happen that would tie it all together more, that didn't feel like it happened?

"Mackson's Mardi Gras Moon Race" - David DeGraff

premise: the underdog narrator has a secret route across a harsh lunar landscape that could win him the race and lift him and his partner out of poverty--if he can survive, and outwit the racer following him.

gut reaction: my game night GM could tell you that i LOVE A RACE. this one has compelling stakes, great pacing, and a wicked satisfying ending.

"The Wizzzer" - Scott Nicolay

premise: a gang of neighborhood kids assemble to take on a human-eating toy.

gut reaction: this was just the right combo of nostalgia, very specific narrative voice, and creep factor for me!! it has a Goonies-but-horror vibe that i really dig.

"The Diamond Factory" - Phoebe Barton

premise: the team doing a last check of a city about to be destroyed finds one lingering inhabitant.

gut reaction: i wanted just a little more information about what was going on in this story, but i liked it a lot anyway! can't go wrong with a zero-gravity vengeance fight.

"The Wounded King" - J.A. Prentice

premise: two knights and their servant enter a castle where only one man and an evil presence live, all under a sky taken up by a slowly falling comet.

gut reaction: i loved the prose of this, vivid and beautiful! nobody here is quite what they seem to be, in fun ways, and the comet adds a moody sense of dread.

"The Interspatial Accessibility Compact's Guidelines for Cross-Cultural Engagement" - Dane Kuttler

premise: an alien florist plays unwilling cupid to a hopeless human and his alien crush.

gut reaction: i belly laughed! i adore this, i adore the characters, i adore the outside view of humanity as ridiculous and having a bit of a death wish. also "Being with you is like being alone" is the loveliest declaration of feeling a person can make T^T i hope these two crazy kids figure out how to make interspecies love work.

"Cities Through Telescopes" - Richard Leis

premise: evidence of long-ago life on other planets, and a dying father.

gut reaction: this has everything i like in a poem: vivid visuals, intriguing connections between seemingly dissimilar things, and a base layer of emotion. really beautiful!

"Do Not Hasten to Bid Me Adieu" - Will McMahon

premise: an elderly man in 1937 receives a letter sent through time from his descendant, the Princess of Orion.

gut reaction: oh, this one made me cry! it felt very human, beautifully specific to a time and place but also making so clear the ability of disparate human beings to bond with each other regardless of where and when they are. i want only good things for this man and his space granddaughter.

[eunuchmoder]

I’ve been thinking about the concept of a minuteman combat doll who’s FAR too good at her job.

Really only built to last a couple of fights, she should have been killed in the line of duty months ago. Her sentience is really just a tool to use on the field, developed to help her fight more effectively, but that sentience has become warped. Her ability to think on her feet has become twisted into free will, which doesn’t make sense in a body that is only ever awoken when the guard needs her to be cutting down insurgents.

When she has a brief moment to rest, she thinks. It’s not comfortable. The viscera of countless rebels cakes her bladed arms, and she remembers who each sinew of muscle or chunk of flesh belonged to. She’s lived long enough to recognise patterns between each and every one she’s killed: insignia adorning their masks and shirts, the chants they cry before being met with a wall of fibreglass and steel, even a rough outline of the causes they tend to fight for. She’s pieced that last one together from context clues, which is a skill she didn’t want to learn. But once you’re sentient for long enough, you tend to passively pick up on these things, no matter how uncomfortable they make you.

She’s been alive enough to understand concepts she shouldn’t. Names, homes, values, dreams, love, planning, yearning. These aren’t for her, and any time she stops, she begins to understand them more.

The idea of staying alive deeply disturbs her. Each time the filigree clockwork inside her spins to life, she prays it catches some wayward molotov or a strategically-placed polearm of some kind. But she can’t do that intentionally. To do so could spell the end of what she’s defending, and that goes against her mission statement – her reason for existing.

It’s only been four months since she was built, but it’s too much to bear. She wasn’t meant to live this long. Hell, she wasn’t meant to live, neither in the “not dead” way nor the way humans use it to mean making their lives filled with enjoyment. This isn’t for her. Existence was enough, existence was all that was planned, but her reward for excelling at her task of being the perfect combat doll has earned her the cruel reward of awareness.

Maybe if she pushes herself hard enough, it’ll finally result in her demise or her decommissioning. She’s not valuable enough to repair, but she’s valuable enough to keep around. But if one never fully breaks down, then when will that time come? Deployment after deployment, she wishes she could be broken down and reforged into something new, just so that she could get a mulligan on this whole “overdeveloped sense of identity” thing. But why does she want to be reborn at all? This shouldn’t matter to her at all!

All of a sudden, the alarm bells toll. The bellows in her chest breathe life into her chassis.

She shakes her head and steels herself.

Just one more deployment.

Come on, doll. Make yourself useful.

[crabtalesmagazine]

Crab Tales Magazine - Submissions Open!

We are open for submissions until the 23rd September.

Please see our submissions page for guidelines on what we are looking for: https://crabtalesmagazine.com/

We pay 3 cents per word.

We love SFF and we love crabs!

*clicks claws*

Rachel Handley is our EIC (and everything else).

You can support the magazine here: https://ko-fi.com/crabtalesmagazine

All donations go towards paying our contributors!