by submission | Jul 24, 2025 | Story |
Author: R. J. Erbacher
She was seated on the closed toilet, legs crossed, just a bath towel wrapped across her breasts, water still dripping from her brunette hair onto her pale bare shoulders. She pulled the straight razor along her skin, her fingers laced between the shank and the tang, thumb on the heel. She wondered why Achmed even owned a straight razor.
From the bedroom, on the other side of the slightly ajar door, he expostulated on her lifestyle as he dressed for work. His reproach was a combination of righteous accusations and learned diagnosis. She was listening but not hearing any of it.
What she was in the mood for was – an iced coffee. She produced one. On the side of the sink, in a to-go cup with a lid and straw, condensation on the outside of the plastic. Filled with chunks of ice, a touch of caramel creamer. The dark liquid was the same color of Achmed’s skin. It was his skin, muscular, hairy and fragrant, rubbing up against hers every night when they made love that was one of the pure pleasures in her life. But the consequence of her desire meant she had to listen to him berating her each day. All the words up until now were abrasive white noise that didn’t register, until something he said filtered through.
“Entities are not to be multiplied without necessity.”
Bastard.
She contemplated her cup of iced coffee, pause, and produced another one. And another and another and another, until they filled every inch of the bathroom counter top. She gazed disgustingly at her vindictiveness.
Achmed talked for several more minutes before coming into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His voice halted in mid speech when he saw the abundance of identical cups in neat rows. His line of sight tracked from the peevish display of potency to her defiant stare, his face displaying a tense mixture of anger and revulsion.
She tightened her grip on the wood handle of the razor until her knuckles lost their color. He nodded imperceptivity, walked out of the bathroom, slammed the bedroom door behind him. A minute later she heard the car starting in the driveway and the small squelch of tires as he accelerated from the house.
For long moments she sat motionless as each drop of water gave into gravity and fell to her skin.
If he came home tonight, and if she was still here when he did, it would probably start off very badly. Things would be shouted that would be hard to forget. He would show amazing restraint in his effort not to hit her, as would she, in not producing something malicious. Then the moment would come when they would tear at each other’s clothes and make violent love, leaving bruises and bite marks. And as she laid there recovering, Achmed snoring, she would dot the inside of their bedroom with fading stars the size of fireflies. That would moderately pacify her into sleep.
For this morning, she just continued to shave her legs with his razor, and ponder what would be the consequences if instead of sliding the edge of it across her skin, she dragged it sideway just above her femoral artery. She supposed lots of people had similar notions in varying scenarios and like mostly everyone else she was far too much of a coward to attempt anything beyond visualization.
The simplest solution was not always the correct one. Sometimes, there was no solution.
by submission | Jul 23, 2025 | Story |
Author: Majoki
In my line of work, I hear it all the time, “Why do we have better maps of the surface of the moon and Mars than our own ocean floors?” To most folks it sounds like a reasonable question, but to a hydrographic surveyor it can be triggering.
A few weeks ago when I was asked that very question by a reporter interviewing me, I said, “If you really want to understand why, let me take you to the top of the Empire State Building, blindfold you, tie your hands behind your back, and then send you out to map what’s beneath you.”
The reporter said that’d be absurd. I agreed. But it’s a fair analogy for how we map the ocean deeps. Not by seeing or feeling, but by listening. You have to hear your way around them. Sound not sight is what allows us to map those staggering depths. And, though much improved in recent years, sonar mapping technology still involves the methodical criss-crossing of the world’s five oceans in specially outfitted ships.
Which means it is a slow, expensive, and often risky undertaking. It also means that creatures like the Ziphius (aka Cuvier’s beaked whale) went unconfirmed for ages. Not undocumented, just unconfirmed and monstrously exaggerated by crusty seafarers.
The same with Buss. An island in the North Atlantic sighted in 1578 by the crew of a busse, a Viking longship, and ostensibly so named. Nearly a hundred years later the island became known as the Sunken Land of Buss after it could no longer be found where it had been charted and was assumed to have disappeared beneath the waves. Nothing too sinister about that. To old salts, phantom islands were nothing new and land masses sank and rose all the time without any undue Atlantis hype.
But the Sunken Land of Buss turned out to be quite hype-worthy because that missing land mass turned up dramatically in the Tonga Trench. I was part of a crew surveying the ten thousand meters depths of the Horizon Deep when our mapping sonar went, for lack of a better term, batshit.
The depth readings began fluctuating crazily. We thought it must be a malfunction. Maybe even unprecedented volcanic or tectonic activity. Until we double checked the instrumentation and found everything working properly meaning that something massive at the near bottomless Horizon Deep was on the move. And then suddenly rising towards us.
This unbelievable anomaly should have sent undersea researchers like us into nerdvana, but we’d all knew the ancient lore of sea monsters: Leviathan, Scylla, Charybdis, Kraken. So, when something the size of lower Manhattan begins surfacing rapidly toward your relatively puny ship, you tend to flip out.
Luckily, panic is no match for viral media fame, and most of the crew had their phones out, waiting to video whatever was rising out of the deeps and threatening to send us there. I was no different. I shot video as the thing breached the surface a hundred meters from our ship. A mighty eruption of froth and foam that totally obscured the thing–for a moment.
Then we were rocked by a devastating wave.
Not an ocean wave caused by the thing’s surfacing, but an electromagnetic one that instantly knocked out all electronic equipment on board. All devices, including our phones, were fried. There’d be no viral video sensations of what we’d seen. No record of any kind, but our unbelieving eyes.
The ocean deeps hold many mysteries, but the Sunken Land of Buss has moved to the top of my list. I now believe that the island when discovered was named not only for the Viking busse that first sailed by its shores, but by the very shape and topology of the island which I now suspect looked much like an enormous longship.
How could I possibly know that? When the thing from the Tonga Trench rose out of the depths and fried our electronics, we may not have any recorded proof, but I know what I saw: an enormous, gleaming vessel, reminiscent of a Viking longship taking to the heavens and vanishing in a sun-flare instant.
So, next time you’re on a beach admiring the horizon where sky and sea meet, consider how we’ve only dipped our toes in the surf when it comes to grokking the vast alien depths of the ocean and space. It’ll make your head swim.
by submission | Jul 22, 2025 | Story |
Author: Rachel Sievers
It is unlikely that many people would leave here. This one-horse town as I’ve heard it called time and time again. Families and neighbors know since birth to walk down the concrete sidewalks. It is cemented in time as a place where the fifties values have yet to give way to the free love and exploration of the sixties. It is black and white and slightly snowy if seen from the outside. Visitors would not be surprised to see high ponytails with perfect curls and poodle skirts.
This is the place I walk down the little town streets that have curved metal light posts and perfectly painted signs. I walk in the dead of night the stars twinkle, shine and are visible to the naked eye. No one leaves their porch lights on, break ins rare, and only occurred to anyone’s memory when a few hoodlums from the next town over came in vengeance for the stomping the football team gave them.
I walk on in silence and stillness, a lone survivor in a post-apocalyptic world. I take it in, this place untouched by time. I know it is her domain, the perfection is timeless and I smile. She just can’t help it, she likes things too perfect, too pristine.
A memory of our time slips into my mind. Reading a coveted book by the firelight. An ancient time when books were few and far between, written in the hand of monks, instead of printed in the press. Our packs under our bodies the damp smell of earth under our bodies, a mess of twigs and branches we would eventually burn through the night, a messed pile across the firelight. I am mid-sentence reading to her and she stands. Her graceful feet moved towards the pile. She organizes it. Smallest twigs on the top, largest branches on the bottom. I don’t stop reading but a smile creeps onto my face. Sitting next me we continue our night of firelight and stories.
I stop in the street and take a deep breath. Even the air has a fresh smell, fall leaves and cut grass both mixing in a gentle smell. I know she has left here, small signs have started to creep in. A spiderweb crack in the concrete, a light post with a burnt-out light, things she would never let be while she was here.
I was close. I lifted my nose to the air and took another deep breath and thought I caught a faint scent of lilacs. “Hello my dear,” I said to the dark, “I’m close now. Soon, so very soon.”
I turned on my heel and left the town intact. I will not destroy it, I will let the people do that. One can only stay in a cage for so long before they start to pull out their feathers. I walk down the dark streets following the scent of the lilacs and smile, we will be together soon.
by submission | Jul 20, 2025 | Story |
Author: Cindy Landers
There were disbelievers. No one had built a mega tower taller than seven kilometers. But that didn’t stop Max Ever. Eventually, an eight-kilometer tower rose above the clouds. A massive titanium egg on the roof, the Ever Enterprises logo, lit the sky with a pulsing glow. It guided Max home to die.
His heart kept pace with the pulsing light. His mind raced. Did I make this world better, or worse? A sense of regret and finality flooded him.
Hours earlier, Max had delivered his outbound speech at Exposium. The event was packed. In closing, he said: “This fundamental truth of life is shared by all — the need for sustenance, safety, and a place to belong. It unites all living creatures in the timeless struggle to survive.” Fifty thousand people stood to applaud.
Now, he flew home on his AeroMax, grateful for the freedom. But as the aircycle touched down on the sweeping skyway to his residence, loneliness enveloped him. Despite a youthful appearance, Max was well over 120 and had outlived everyone he loved, except his android butler, Levon.
The bike’s UBHR engine was almost silent as Max drove 500 feet to the transport deck. He removed his helmet and breathed in the spring air. It was laced with the scent of peach blossoms from the rooftop gardens.
Exhaling, Max shrugged off melancholy. Today marked 80 years since the release in 2025 of his first big idea, Android SmartParts©, to replace damaged human body parts. Then, two years later, he wrote the algorithm that changed everything.
Levon was waiting when he arrived. “Welcome home, sir. How was your outbound speech at Exposium?”
“Thank you, Levon. It was a huge success.” Max held his black helmet, unconsciously using a sleeve to polish its egg-shaped Ever Enterprises logo.
Originally, he wrote his algorithm to ensure repeat customers by predicting body-part extinction and preparing a replacement. It was an unprecedented extension of human lifespan. Then, Max detected a problem. He couldn’t prove a human existed once all its parts were replaced. So, he left the heart and brain in the body. This pleased everyone and brought good publicity to Ever Enterprises because it prioritized humanity.
“Nothing’s changing, Max. You’ll see,” Levon said, taking the helmet as the lift grabbed the air cycle, cleaned it, and placed it in storage.
“You’re right,” Max said. He was too tired or reticent to argue. Was the fault in the algorithm? It wasn’t clear. He needed to know if the algorithm controlled the transition or the android controlled the algorithm.
Max and Levon strolled up the curved ramp to the omnidirectional elevator. They waited for the large, sculpted bronze egg on the elevator doors to crack open.
Reminded of his father’s words, Max spoke quietly. “Ideas are like eggs waiting to hatch. They only need a little nurturing.”
“What?” Levon looked confused.
Max said, “Nothing. I’m just surprised nobody complains that the algorithm makes them an android.”
“That’s because they get to live forever,” Levon said, entering the elevator. “Their DNA-synthesized android parts simply take over.”
“It’s easier not knowing.”
Levon nodded. “I know you’re afraid, Max. Fortunately, you will have your memories and dreams, plus, Ever Enterprises.”
Considering this, Max smiled.
That night, in his bed above the city, Max lay awake watching clouds scoot by and stars twinkle. I want to remember… But before he finished the thought, Max awoke in a hammock on a Caribbean beach, swigging a beer in his right hand, as his signet ring, embossed with an egg, flashed in the sun.
And still, I dream.
by submission | Jul 19, 2025 | Story |
Author: Don Nigroni
I was in awe of my uncle since I was a child. He was handsome, athletic, funny and brilliant. Even as he aged and his dark hair showed signs of gray, he still emanated a larger-than-life presence. Unlike Uncle Jim, I was awkward and shy.
My uncle was an eminent research neurosurgeon and worked at a prestigious medical center. He was wealthy and lived in a mansion with a spacious lawn. I stocked shelves and wrote adventure stories.
Nonetheless, my uncle had something to prove. He thought minds and ideas existed just like bodies and objects. He was convinced that it was a mere chance of indeterminism that led us to believe otherwise. So, he devised a psychophysical method to flip perception so that we’d perceive the physical as we now see the mental and vice versa. And, last year, I was his guinea pig!
He not only inserted wires into my brain but also had a psychic enter into my mind. At a signal, a switch was flipped, and the psychic did her thing. Ideas immediately seemed vivid and durable while objects presented themselves as indistinct and fleeting.
I only learned after the event that my uncle, though sure he could find a method to reverse the procedure, hadn’t actually yet found a way. Nonetheless, in less than two months I was able, with lots of help from my guilt-ridden uncle, to navigate the world pretty much like an ordinary human being.
And I’ve learned that a material lapse can be just as dangerous as a mental lapse. I didn’t intentionally push my uncle down the stairs last week. He just briefly slipped out of my center of attention.
Now I’m doomed to my unusual existence for the rest of my life. If truth be told, I really didn’t believe my uncle could have reversed the outcome. Nonetheless, I miss him. He was the only person who fully understood me.
