Sci Fi
Relocated
There was nothing but this brown dust as far as the eye could see. Its dry, clay-like texture choked my senses. I would have sighed, but that would have meant sucking in a mouthful of whatever this crud was. And the air—don’t get me started on the air… all I could smell was excrement… everywhere.
By Alicia Anspaugh6 days ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Fog
The fog settled over the village like a blanket soaked in silence. At first it was gentle, wrapping the streets in a quiet hush. But as night deepened, it thickened into something heavier, almost alive, crawling along the cobblestones and slipping into the cracks of every home. It was not the kind of fog that simply blurred the edges of things. This fog carried a chill that touched the marrow, a weight that pressed on the heart, and whispered doubts in voices that sounded eerily familiar.
By Sound and Spirit6 days ago in Fiction
Dragon's Breath
Zorb checked the calculations on the dash as his ship zoomed through space. His controls went crazy as he entered the meteor field. Lightning appeared out of nowhere, striking the fragile ship. As the crew hit the ground, the instruments flickered as they dove into an odd planet. Its fields were green and lacked any bases. The strange planet seemed simple, and yet Zorb still kept his guard. The land was empty until a small creature, ridden by a new species, appeared. Zorb walked out of the opening wearing his galactic translator.
By Sarah Danaher6 days ago in Fiction
The Gods Shall Provide
Trielsa scraped carefully at the heavy white clunch, freeing the delicate vevola plant with as little root loss as possible. In the cratered landscape of clay and dust left behind by the miners, the vevola was a precious symbol of vitality and endurance. She would plant it outside the Hall of the Ancestors, where its purple blossoms and sweet scent would help dispel the sorrow around the place.
By Angel Whelan6 days ago in Fiction
Salvage, Crime, and a Smile to Die For
Working salvage is the worst job for meeting people. We don full body environsuits, usually the clunkiest, oldest ones that could make a bodybuilder look like a sack of potatoes. What it does to ordinarily built people like myself is even worse.
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA7 days ago in Fiction
Off the Book. Top Story - January 2026.
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Frankly7 days ago in Fiction
