by submission | Oct 22, 2025 | Story |
Author: Alzo David-West
While wars were burning, flowers were growing.
***
No one had paid much attention to the small comets that had landed on the fringes of Eurasia, North America, and the Middle East in the midst of the ruptures and revolts that were dividing and tearing up the continents. Streaming and TV broadcasts showed the same calamities everywhere—missile strikes, smoke, raids, refugees, drones, and people dying—whether in the thick forests of the Ukraine and Russia, on the asphalt streets of Washington D.C. and Portland, Oregon, or in the hot desert lands of Israel and Palestine. The big media had no care for the flowers, only the body counts, mass protests, and immigrant detentions.
But on the fringes, the flowers were growing and growing quickly. They were an odd specimen somewhat resembling daffodils, but soft and fleshy, with a dripping liquid nectar that oozed from their folds. The wildlife took readily to the delicious succor—the hungry pollinators, the bees, the hummingbirds, and the other little creatures. Soon enough, the daffodils were spreading across the hemispheres—appearing in garden plots in small towns and green parks in great cities. The botanists who published on the flora classified it a remarkable mutation and, in their rarefied journals, debated its provenance—with hypotheses of its origins in, of all places, the Amazon. The speculations did not, however, change the fact that the flowers were still spreading, and they became as ubiquitous as dandelions on an undisturbed rural field and a fractured urban sidewalk.
As the daffodils proliferated, birthrates internationally, by some coincidence, began to rapidly decline. That—the declining birthrate and an increasing loss of interest in intimacy between consenting and transactional partners—was the only major news besides the wars and the protests. Really, things should have been much more concerning. The peace activists organized rallies to stop the wars while the revolutionaries led committees of the international working class to seize the state, and other groups composed only of traditional women in Indonesia and Uganda declared the fall of civilization. But surely, that was all an exaggeration, many people complained, swiping away the agony and the clamor on their smart devices and smartphones, searching for the flowers. For they had become truly quite a desired commodity with the uncertain world economy and the rising value of gold. Yet to some, the daffodils were even more valuable. Thus, the flowers became cultural fixtures throughout the globe—from Sendai to Xi’an, Jakarta to Mumbai, Belfast to Riyadh, Khartoum to Johannesburg, and Boston to Punta Arenas. The daffodils did not stop the wars, the detentions, or the drones. Airstrike bombs continued to fall. So did the numbers of children, every year, who would not have to be fed to the internecine machine.
Then, the news broke among a handful of the botanists, the men who had been tempted, that the daffodils were fertile and hybridly procreant. The flowers from the comets were not flowers after all but a species of female, strange, mesmerizing, and infectious. The brains of those others more who wanted to deeply know and enter the flowers filled up with a feeling of expanding foam, a feeling of calm, so soothing, so complete, like there was nothing to worry about in the entire world, which now moved in a pleasure of slow motions.
The flowers spread and grew into towers, and inside, new flowers formed, in the shape of small newborns.
by submission | Oct 21, 2025 | Story |
Author: Mark Renney
It is difficult now for Jess to pinpoint exactly when the other one began to take hold but it had been years, at least five and maybe even more, since the visitor first arrived, appearing in her head, determined to see through her eyes and to take control of her limbs, commandeering all senses and emotions, eventually forcing Jess up against the precipice in order to feel both fear and elation.
The physical transformation occurred just a few weeks ago but Jess didn’t find it sudden, the other one having been part of her for so long already. A passenger and albeit an unwelcome confidant. When she awoke on that chilly morning and hobbled across to the mirror and discovered the other one peering out at her she had been relieved,
‘You are older than I imagined.’ she said, watching the new mouth moving and forming the words, escaping from the unfamiliar face. ‘Older than I imagined. ‘ she repeated, wanting to be unkind, cruel. But Jess felt revitalised and fresh, the new skin stretching tight in places where before it had been loose.
Since the transformation, Jess had started to ask herself ‘Why, why me?’ It had become a mantra of sorts, ringing out in her head constantly. She supposed it was a way of clinging on but why couldn’t she let go? And then suddenly it dawned on Jess – she was no longer possessed but she was now the demon within, the passenger gazing out through someone else’s eyes and making use of their limbs, commandeering another’s senses and emotions and pushing towards the precipice.
by Julian Miles | Oct 20, 2025 | Story |
Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer
“Why thank you, Susan. Happy to be here. You’re very kind, and one of the few to express my troubles so gently.”
“Yes, I can see the reply streams. There’s some lag, but I’m not one for quick banter at the best of times, so it’s no hindrance.”
“By all means go ahead, Susan. Let’s not waste our brief window in idle chat.”
“The Provost Initiative came about from a government contract that was expanded by military interest. However, what caused the havoc at Terminal Ninety was far beyond what I designed. I would characterise it as a mutation built upon my original work. Obviously I can’t be sure as the whole affair is now classified, but from what media I’ve been able to access, my opinion is unchanged.”
“Yes, it came as a significant shock. I had for a very long time been accused of being naïve. Terminal Ninety was what made me admit it to be true. Safe to say it changed me. In the subsequent twenty months Earth time, I’ve had to make some painful decisions about a lot of my ongoing projects, as well as deal with a series of professional and personal attacks. Some of them struck me as being ways of passing the blame to me rather than leaving it on the still-unrevealed organisation behind the biodrone, but I can’t prove anything. Confronted with an absence of effective response options, I’ve decided to move on.”
“Well, Susan, that’s one of the reasons I chose to come on your podcast tonight. I’ve been aware of some of the wild rumours regarding what I’ve been up to. So, when I came to my most recent decision, I thought I’d join you afterwards to talk about it.”
“No, I’m not quitting bioengineering. However, there has been a significant change. If I can just get enough time before our launch window, I’ll explain.”
“Thank you. Okay, this started the weekend after Terminal Ninety. I’d been struggling with the ramifications of it, and finally realised my work had been hijacked just like I’d always been warned about. It seems that how I create is a gift few possess, but many can imitate once they analyse some of my creations.
“I became obsessed with making amends: of creating a miracle cure or similar. Something so staggeringly beneficial my grievous blunder would be overlooked. That obsession is why I’ve been so quiet on the technical front. Indeed, it’s turned out to be the reason why I’m going to need to be quiet for a while longer.
“Two months ago I confirmed resounding success in curing Stage 4 Sarcoma, effective against all the bone subtypes and sixty of the soft tissue subtypes. A month later I finished reviewing the first and second tier possible applications of that cure if there were no constraints placed upon those using it. A fortnight ago I reluctantly conceded that my cure can be used to create monsters that will make the biodrone that tore through Terminal Ninety look like a puppy at play. After consideration, I spent last week completely erasing twenty months of my work to prevent that ever happening.”
“Yes, I’m expecting to be called a liar. It doesn’t change anything.”
“What now? I’m going back to developing an uncompromisable Three Laws equivalent for biodrones along with working to improve routine biodrone repair abilities at the Reguluna Four exploration hub. Now, as we’re about to lose comms for a few hours while accelerating, thank you for having me on your show.”
by submission | Oct 19, 2025 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
I was holding hands with the ‘alien’ as we walked through the forest. I had been dating her for the past three weeks now and even though I had seen her naked she wouldn’t sleep with me. She was stunning beyond compare and I really wanted to be with her.
I had gone for a swim on a warm summer day, parked my pickup, stripped, took off my glasses and waded into a calm lake. I was about chest high in the water when I heard a small splash not far in front of me. I thought it was a fish breaking the surface but the displacement that ejected up went a good distance, meaning it had come from above. There were no overhanging trees or nearby cliffs and there wasn’t a soul for miles so nobody could have thrown a rock. And although the original splash wasn’t much bigger than the bobber at the end of a fishing line would make, from the height of the recoil it must have been heavy and fast. All I could figure was that something fell from space.
I waited for thirty seconds expecting something to bubble up. I began to feel a warm tingling as if a thousand fish were nibbling at the hairs of my skin. Then from the spot of the splash, the head of a woman rose slowly and began walking towards me. I scrambled back to the shore and yanked on my pants and fumbled for my glasses to make sure I was seeing this. When she emerged in front of me, she was naked and beautiful. I offered her my sleeveless flannel shirt, but she just gaped at it like I was giving her a Chinese puzzle box to solve. I helped her put it on and button it and she was unfazed by the process. She reached out her hand and touched the side of my head, and a hot electric charge sparked at my temple, yet I could not pull away. I felt a connection that was unmatched. When she pulled her hand back, I was in love.
She abruptly began talking as if we both just serendipitously sat down at a bar alongside each other and shared a laugh. Normal conversation, except that she wasn’t from the next county, she was just from another galaxy, and not afraid to tell me so. I decided to take her to town, bought her some jeans, a couple of T’s and a pair of boots at the Thrifty Shop and then we went to the diner. She’d been sleeping on my couch ever since. Well, at least lying down and pretending. I’d never actually seen her with her eyes closed. I asked her repeatedly if she would like to join me in my bed, but she always politely refused. It didn’t diminish my desire for her.
Tonight, I had one hand entwined in hers and the other holding a flashlight as we weaved in amongst the trees. She liked walking outside after dark and staring up at the stars. After a while we came upon an old barn and stopped to take a look. I found the courage to ask her what was on my mind.
“Do you have another form – where you come from?”
“Form? Yes, I suppose so.”
“Is that why you won’t be with me? You’re not all slimy with tentacles, are you?”
“No.”
“Do you have any superpowers that would hurt me?”
“I do have an unimaginable force.”
“Really? Can you… show me? Just a little?”
She sighed, took a few steps ahead, between me and the barn, faced me, spread her arms.
“Shine the flashlight on the wall and tell me what you see?”
I did as she said, and the side of the barn lit up.
“What am I looking for?”
“Watch.”
Suddenly the barn vanished. I blinked and adjusted my glasses. The barn was actually still there, it just didn’t have the light shining on it anymore. The light stopped at her figure. In fact all of the light was bending toward her, causing her to glow like she was a holy effigy.
“You’re… absorbing the light? Wait, only a black hole can do that.”
“There you go.”
“You’re a black hole?”
“A little one.”
“How can that be? They are the most powerful things in the universe.”
“Well, if I used all my force, I could absorb not only the light, but you, the barn, and three or four of the closest planets.”
“Whoa.”
“That is why you can’t ‘be with me’ because that would suck, in all senses of the word.”
Now, I wanted her even more. Yeah, she was a whole lot of woman.
by submission | Oct 18, 2025 | Story |
Author: Aubrey Williams
“So, anyway, I’m afraid I’m still going to have to kill you.”
The Astronaut’s expression would have read puzzled and disappointed as he sat on the edge of the asteroid’s crater, if he wasn’t wearing a reflective visor. The green, long-snouted Alien in a red cosmic suit next to him looked down, awkwardly twirling one long foot.
“And like I said, I think you’re a really cool guy, and I want to hang some more, but my family would—”
“No, I understand,” replied the Astronaut, gazing into the distant galactic dust, “your government would do awful things.”
The Alien rubbed its snout, whistling a little as it drew on its internal pressurised air-sac.
“I mean… if you were to call the other guy, whatshisname…”
“No, I’m not doing that,” the Astronaut said, holding up his hands in protest, “I’d never hear the end of it. And the clusterfuck that’ll result from me making the first contact—”
“Er, first contact that didn’t die…”
“…right,” the Astronaut continued, inclining his helmet somewhat suspiciously, “anyway, it’s too much of a big deal, and that planet’s already pretty worked-up about its own imagined problems. Plus, as I’ve already mentioned…”
The Alien looked up, a little embarrassed and sheepishly, if something vaguely crocodilian could look sheepish.
“Your wife, Kayley?”
“That’s Kayleigh, with the stupid, silent gh.”
“No way can you hear that!”
“Oh!” said the Astronaut, raising a finger and wagging it, “Believe me, I can!”
Rubbing the back of its head, the Alien looked over at the Astronaut.
“She’s a bitch.”
“Total bitch. You know, I wish I’d taken my mother’s advice and divorced, but I didn’t want to cause a fuss … Treats me like junk, always tries to make me feel insignificant, and she’s accomplished nothing except getting lots of likes on LinkedIn, and I’M A FUCKING ASTRONAUT!”
At this he jumped up, holding out his arms.
“And I’ve met a bloody alien!”
The Alien nodded.
“She’s the worst. But… you seem oddly chill about this. I am going to kill you. I’ll do it really carefully, quick brain-puncture, and believe me, they’ll treat your body like a fucking relic— the dead of old would envy you! But… it’s death. You’ll stop being. End-point, cessation of existence.”
“Oh yeah,” the Astronaut responded, “you don’t believe in any spiritual or ethereal existence.”
“I don’t understand how you can exist as the element ether.”
The Astronaut instinctively put his fingers to where his nasal bridge would have been had the helmet not been in the way.
“Look, I have no regrets bar the ones I’ve told you in confidence. I’m fine with it. Just let me get into my zen space.”
The Alien nodded, then paused as it saw a comet streaking across the firmament, blue-purple with majestic sublime power. It thought of some of the jokes the Astronaut had made.
“You know…”
“I don’t have the energy to kill you, and I’m trying to get zen, here!”
“No, no!” The Alien said, excited. “What if… I just brought you back, as a guest! That’d be… so cool! And everyone would be so impressed they’d definitely not want to kill you.”
“What?!”
“No, I mean it! I know I said we have this code about killing other intelligent beings we meet or dying gloriously, else we bring shame and dishonour to our families… if we are approached by a stranger of hostile or unknown intentions, or a diplomat! It says nothing about exiles in the code!”
The Astronaut paused.
“Do they have doughnuts on your planet?”
“Well, we have these doughy fritters…”
by submission | Oct 17, 2025 | Story |
Author: Brian Ball
Alan was Newton’s cannonball, spinning in chaos, cursing this tiny moon. The ship grazed the atmosphere and was reeled in, defenseless. He was alone. His orbit increased to 14,500mph. 226,000mph. 450,000mph. Each spin pulling him down a bit closer. His anger grew with every inch.
When he hit 800,000mph on the sixth day, he waited for Ganymede’s atmosphere to superheat the shields. It did not. Internal environments held. He waited in Death’s vestibule, spinning.
Alan was like an electron, orbiting the moon in seconds, faster than sound, faster than thought. Emergency systems overrode the bridge controls and counted aloud his distance from impact. The ground, sky, ice, and rock were a blurred smear of colors and imminent doom.
He began to starve. No food or water. The ship was not built for long transport. The moon, named for Zeus’ mythical cup bearer, was as good as any place to die slowly. Without energy, he moved very little. Death moved closer. He waited.
And then suddenly a sensor blared. Data screens across the bridge flashed. From inside the giant canyons on Ganymede a crack opened. The entire surface of the moon quaked.
A grayish living liquid slithered onto the frozen plain, a glinting vermeil of life. Miniscule tails, legs and teeth emerged in great number. Dense layers spread in every direction. He watched as they seethed in the subzero, without death or inhibition, floated about and drifting in the blowing snow. The swarm collected and grew.
With clenched fists, Alan struck the thick glass of the data monitor. He tried to drive the slithering horror. He struck again and again. His skin split. His knuckles cracked. A cleansing pain ricocheted up his arms, but he felt nothing save his hunger and that of the brood. It moved to him. He could only wait.
It puffed out, became larger, a giant traction of purpose and followed the ship with lightning speed. It surrounded the ship, a living, pulsating cloud of dark agitation. Billions of legs swirled, fought, crawled to devour, an instant nightmare ready to order. He pounded the screen.
At 1,026,000mph, cracks bloomed along the walls of the spinning ship. He gasped for air as life-support purged through the cracks and out of his lungs. He watched his artificial paradise crumble. The brood moved in and came for him.
The ship shook and creaked as they skittered up the walls. The tiny organisms all around him, everywhere at once, coming up his legs and onto his screaming face.
Two-hundred feet from impact, a noise. He turned and before him stood a being in a cloak and tunic holding a cup aloft. Ganymede.
He was not flesh, but something drawn from the very brood itself. The living cloud moved and rippled into human form.
The creature was glowing, platonic and alive; it smiled. It did not speak but offered the cup to him. Alan hesitated, scared, but took it and drank. So thirsty, he drank endlessly. The cup held no coda. He drank this perfect agony and consumed the brood which then took him.
A warmth hatched, a new feeling of contentment and presence. The creature smiled, offered its hand and Alan took it. He felt no fear for he was not alone. The cupbearer then took Alan to another place; his wait was over.
At several hundred thousand miles an hour, with a standard acceleration due to gravity at 200gs, the ship touched the surface with the force of matter and was no more.
