by submission | Apr 30, 2026 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
I was lying on a beach, naked under a blanket, having just made love to my wife, and we were gazing at the stars. An intense fireplace of driftwood crackled in a hole scooped out of the sand and the only other sound was the soothing pulse of the waves breaking on the shore. We were high or drunk, I don’t remember, but as we slowed our breathing, our backs to the cool granular earth, we took in the expanse of celestial bodies that stretched out above us like an endless sparks splattered canvas.
“God, they’re beautiful,” Nina said, a trickle of a tear leaking from her eye and sliding down her cheek. I could not disagree. I was not crying, but I should have been. Our close friend Samuel had just died. He and I had laughed and enjoyed each other’s company a hundred times, and Nina and Samuel had been intimate from a past relationship. We had all still been friends and always had the best time. He had been killed in a senseless act of violence, and we came here right after the funeral and family dinner to the beach, one of our favorite spots to party, and left our black dress clothes in a pile on the dune.
“Do you think he’s up there looking down at us?” Nina asked.
I scrutinized her wonderings for a few seconds. “In the stars?”
“Or heaven. Same thing, right?”
“I don’t think so.” I was not sure if I was responding to her first or second inquiry.
We didn’t say anything after that, but I felt her quite sobs on my shoulder as we drifted off.
In the morning the sunrise was the most spectacular thing I had ever seen in my life. The sun emerged from the azure sea and filled the sky with a color that was so heartening that I had to wake Nina and show her. The sparse clouds shined like billowy spirits enjoying the spectacle. A lone seagull wafted through the tapestry before diving out of sight. We stared at it for a quiet minute, then brushed the sand from our skin, dressed, kicked over the smoldering wood and left.
The dawn of another day that would see us go back to work as well as the rest of our lives.
Now, on a seemingly endless journey, moving through the universe at a propulsion that bordered contemplation, I blankly stare at the boundless stars, through this triple aluminosilicate glass viewport, at a night that never ends and a dark morning that no longer contains a sunrise. No wife beside me. Only memories of memories. And years of dawns gone by that I took for granted.
“They’re only stars, no heavens.” I finally answered Nina’s question.
by submission | Apr 29, 2026 | Story |
Author: Elliott Fielding
“I need to think about it.”
“But can’t you just pick now? You’re the tiebreaker and we’ve got to decide.” Jene was worried. Making a group decision was stressful; prices changed fast.
“Dude, I told you, I need to think about it,” Kol huffed.
“Fine. When can you let me know?”
“In an hour or so.”
“Okay, but can I hang out here? I won’t bother your… thinking process. And I’m curious.”
“Sure. I need to do a little maintenance first, you can watch.”
Kol turned on a loud filter that blew clean air over an enclosed workspace then opened an incubator with blue-gloved hands to unplug and slide out one of the large trays inside. The surface of the tray was covered with a convoluted pattern of curving ridges. It almost looked like the wrinkles of a brain, Jene thought with a shiver, especially since it was bathed in red liquid.
“Is that blood? Is that your blood?”
“No, jeez, it’s synthetic growth medium, with vitamins and sugars and antioxidants. Brain food, haha.” Kol set the covered tray into the clean workspace. As Kol worked, Jene listened to the drone of the filter fan and the click and whirr of valves and heaters cycling on and off. It all seemed so complicated.
“Is all this worth it?” she asked.
“Yeah! It’s great to offload some thinking while I do other things. Distributed Intelligence is the future.”
“And you think it thinks like you?”
“Definitely! You’ll see. Well, usually. Sometimes things get a bit weird.”
Kol stopped talking to focus on removing and replacing the red liquid. After sliding the tray back into the incubator and reconnecting the leads, he turned to Jene. “That was the dorsolateral tray” —he tapped his forehead— “part of the prefrontal cortex.” He pulled out the next tray. “And this is the amygdala. See that part, that hub at the center of the biocircuit? That’s the basolateral nucleus, great for weighing risk versus reward.”
The names were meaningless to Jene, but it sounded smart. “Where’d you learn all this stuff?”
“Grad school, what a waste of time. But the DI system salesperson was really impressed when I knew all the lingo.”
Once all the trays were complete, Kol pulled off his gloves with a snap and tossed them into a red biohazard trash bag already half full of sterile single-use pipettes and bottles.
“Okay, it’s good to go.” Kol rolled his chair to an adjoining computer workstation. “I don’t even need to input all the parameters; AI can do that.” Kol typed into the search bar, took the stats from the AI overview and dragged them into the DI window, typed one more question, then hit the enter button with a decisive smack. “All this info is being translated into electrical impulses: action potentials that trigger neurotransmitter release, that’s how brains work. It should only take a few minutes— oh, that was fast, here we go.” They both watched as words appeared in the answer box on the screen.
>>> Yo dude, go to Cabo obviously. It’s going to be an epic vacation!
“See?” Kol crowed.
“It does sound like you! Wild. But who still says ‘epic’?”
“Not me. Like I said, it’s a bit weird sometimes.”
“So, Cabo it is.”
“Cabo it is.”
“I’ll let everyone know.”
“Epic!”
by submission | Apr 28, 2026 | Story |
Author: Majoki
While Mr. Patella lectured on quantum entanglement, Jeremy’s right hand almost slipped through his desk. His fingers and palm were halfway through the scratched laminate surface before he noticed. He felt himself gradually slipping through the rigid plastic of his chair.
A prickly panic edging down his spine, he looked around to see if any of his classmates noticed what was happening to him. They were not. They were floating in their own daydreams. Jeremy placed his forearms carefully on the top of his desk and spread his palms wide. Maybe that increased surface area would provide the leverage to stop him sinking further.
With a strange sense of pride, Jeremey thought how Mr. Patella would appreciate this line of reasoning to solve his strange problem. He cautiously leaned onto his forearms and outspread palms. The desk felt firm. He bore down harder and pushed with his legs. He felt his butt and thighs begin to rise. He pushed harder, sure that this approach was sound. Pure physics. Equal and opposite reactions. It seemed to be working.
Until the seat of his pants sprung from the surface tension of the plastic seat. It was like a rubber band snapping and Jeremy jackknifed forward and over the front of his desk.
Mr. Patella looked at Jeremy sprawled on the floor by his undisturbed desk and then looked calmly away as if to acknowledge that something like this would never happen in his AP Physics class. But when his gaze returned to Jeremy and the plain evidence before him, he frowned. “What’s going on, Mr. Lott?”
Jeremy looked up helplessly.
“Are you hurt?” Mr. Patella strode closer.
It was a good question. “I don’t think so,” he said and tried to lift himself. The thinly carpeted floor held—for the moment—and he squirmed out from the legs of the desk and sat up.
“What happened?” Mr. Patella stood over him and Jeremy felt his weight and the weight of his surprised classmates on him.
He didn’t have to pretend to be dazed. “I was feeling funny. I think I might have fainted.”
That was plausible. Maybe it was true. He did feel light-headed. Maybe the last few minutes had simply been the result of a cloudy head. He knew he hadn’t slept well last night. Had even felt like he might be getting a cold. Scratchy throat. Full head. That was the way out of this. He was getting sick. Maybe the flu. That was a much more plausible explanation than the foundational laws of physics breaking down around him. Much simpler. Occam’s Razor and all that.
Sitting on the floor in front of his classmates in a moment of what should feel embarrassing, Jeremy felt a sense of pride that he had reasoned it out. Mr. Patella would be pleased at how he was using scientific methods to get to the heart of his unusual morning. Learning didn’t get more authentic than that.
“If you’re feeling faint, I’d like you to go to the nurse’s office.” Mr. Patella extended his hand. “Are you able to stand?”
Jeremy nodded and took Mr. Patella’s hand. His grip was firm and reassuring. Solid. No slippage. Jeremy rose with a smile. “Thanks,” he said.
Out in the hall, Jeremy took a deep breath. Everything would be okay. He was solid. The world around him was solid. And then he began filtering through the hallway floor only stopping when his hips were well below the scuffed tiles.
It made him smile to picture his feet dangling from the first-floor ceiling. He wiggled his feet, just in case someone below was there to watch his descent. He felt nothing. Am I a ghost? he thought. Did I get hit by a school bus this morning? Am I dead?
As he continued to seep, Jeremy wondered at the strangeness of the moment, at the surprise he felt, at the calmness that overcame him. He never lost consciousness, if that’s what he could call it anymore. He felt composed, though not present. His mind had grown large, spread out. It was if he could move anywhere through anything. And that was what he did.
He did not end up on the first floor. He filled it. His being extended the length of the hallway. And then beyond. Jeremy was outside and inside, his personal galaxy of particles sifting through the vastness of quantum space. And he felt freed by the final thought that he’d never wanted to feel dense in Mr. Patella’s AP Physics class and now he never would.
by submission | Apr 26, 2026 | Story |
Author: David C.Nutt
The Crow sat on the post croaking, clicking and cawing at my dog Culley. Culley’s got a real strong prey drive so watching him sit there and occasionally whine and stutter step was par for the course. Jah, Culley-boy has serious focus. If he scents a squirrel or chases a rabbit in our fenced in yard he’ll come back to the same spot for weeks, so it was no big deal him coming back to the same spot day after day. But not for a solid month. And not with a crow teasing him every day for exactly 45 minutes, every morning, rain or shine. This was strange indeed. Being recently retired, and the weather being glorious, I thought I’d sit out with Culley and see what all the fuss was about.
On my first day I sat a few yards away and watched Culley’s new ritual unfold. Sometimes the Crow was there, sometimes he’d sit and wait for her. She flew and perched. There was a long “caw” and then Culley sat down. I wasn’t really listening (plugged into YouTube,) but I could see him sit rock solid until the crow flew away. The next day Culley and I sat in the same place and waited. The long caw started followed by the clicks and croaks. It was odd…the clicks and croaks soon had a weird rhythm, a set of distinct patterns. It was so annoying I was about to grab a rock and fling it at the Crow. Then, it happened. It wasn’t pleasant. It felt like someone took two icicles and simultaneously, jabbed them into my temples. I saw sparks and my body was flooded with heat and then there was a sound like a combination of shattering glass and a gong and, and…I was in a different place.
Culley was next to me and he looked like always did except he looked up to me with his “happy face” and said “Hello Daddy.” Off in the distance I saw this being in a cloak of crystal feathers and a helm…or mask. In an instant she was in front of me, the mask with it’s beak-like visor open revealing a beautiful woman’s face. Smiling, she took my hands and said “Welcome Marlon, Culley has told me so much about you, glad you paid attention enough to join us.”
Since that day Culley and I sit out in the yard, rain or shine for exactly 45 minutes with the Crow. My family teases me (good-naturedly) incessantly about Culley and me and our “Martha”, the name they gave the Crow. But with what we have learned, both our lives our exponentially better. Once a real type “A”, now I am mellow. I know the day I will die. I know the day Culley will pass and he knows it too. Me and Culley, we’ve both got a longer life than average and that’s cool. Plus from what we’ve taught our family they will be living far longer than most. So my family puts up with me and Culley…and Martha. Hard to say dear old Dad is crazy and send him away when his new hobby of day trading and investments has paid off all my their mortgages,
Our “Martha” has taught us that we might be a catalyst for change in the world. I guess Culley and I are OK with that, but with all I am learning and the places we go, Culley and me would be happy just as we are. Sitting in the yard, for 45 minutes, “meditating” and listening to a Crow.
by submission | Apr 25, 2026 | Story |
Author: James Gonda
The walls in the room curve inward like the inside of a shell, smooth and pale.
When he thinks of sitting a chair rises from the floor and shapes itself to his back.
Light fills the space evenly.
His thoughts arrange themselves without effort.
He feels panic build and begins counting breaths as he was taught during a workplace wellness seminar. Then his breathing settles on its own.
The memory of the road, the flash of white, the sudden lift, sits at a distance, intact and sealed.
When the first alien appears, it doesn’t enter so much as assemble. One moment the air is empty, the next it contains a tall, jointed shape, its surface matte and softly faceted. “Are you experiencing distress?” it asks. The voice arrives already translated.
“No,” he says, almost laughing.
“This aligns with expectations. I am Talar. I will accompany you during this phase.”
Phase means sequence and sequence suggests an ending. He finds this comforting.
Talar asks questions, one at a time.
What work does he perform?
He explains accounting. His days are filled with correcting other peoples’ errors.
What is his domestic arrangement?
He says he lives alone.
Talar asks him to describe a typical morning.
He talks about scrolling through his phone at breakfast, rereading an email from his supervisor that contains no actionable information. As he speaks, he notices the tightness he usually feels in his chest when he thinks about these things does not appear.
He finishes.
The air shifts and a second alien forms.
“This phase is complete,” the second alien tells Talar. “Prepare him for return.”
Return. “Return where?” he asks (though he already knows).
“To the location of your extraction.” Talar says.
His mouth moves before he can articulate the thought. “But . . . I don’t want to go back.” He stands, aware again of how gently the room holds him. “I know I’ve been taken. But here—.” He gestures, helplessly, at the walls, to the light. “Here, everything feels right.”
Talar watches him closely. “You are experiencing relief?”
“Yes!” he says. “And usefulness.”
The second alien steps closer. “Purpose is not an offered condition.”
“Maybe not deliberately,” he says. “But it’s here.” Then: “Let me stay. Maybe I can help.”
The second alien’s reply is immediate. “Your request is a result of this environment—
specimens mistake containment for meaning.”
Specimens. The word lands heavy. “I’m not a lab rat,” he points out.
“This phase was designed to minimize harm upon reintegration,” Talar says.
He laughs. “You think this ‘phase’ will make it easier to send me back?”
“Yes,” the second alien says. “It is proven to be effective.”
He looks at Talar. “What I’m feeling is real.”
“Yes,” Talar says. “But it is not validation you belong here.”
He thinks of his last performance review when they told him he was “valued” and “on track,” phrases recited from a script while his real concerns went unaddressed. “Earth is full of worse illusions,” he says. “At least this one is honest.”
The room opens and images pass through him. Other humans. Same refrain. Let me stay.
“You are one of many,” the second alien says.
“You knew I’d ask,” he says.
The second alien nods. “Before you did.”
The light begins to withdraw.
“You will retain very little of this experience,” Talar says. “Only impressions.”
Back on Earth, he wakes up in the same place from where he was taken, no time missing.
A faint discontent simmers inside him.
Later—days and weeks—he compares every room to one he cannot quite remember.
