The Stories

by Kurt Chiang
"Just a very ancient desert with my very own very ancient colossus."

by Zack Parsons
“Shortly before my internment here I saw a man with the body of a shaved bear wearing a garment depicting my wife’s face.”

by Hannah Lott-Schwartz
“For the years of strength and power, of telling me you were ready, your final look screamed.”

by Rob Neill
“Tribute shall be small, only your sanity, or a box of wafers.”

by Jonathan Herzog
"I will feed on you and feel more deeply connected to you than ever.”

by Brock Savage
“Then monsters, then mammoths, then man.”

by Marcus Goodyear
“I don’t believe the dead can come back. I don’t believe in zombies.”

by Kathleen Akerley
“The first absolutely clear thought he had was that he was afraid to take away the sheet.”

by Gary Belsky
“The story resonated doubly with me because I had removed human eyes before myself.”

by Will Hartwell and Christopher Scheer
“Even though it was night, there was a glow above, like distant fire but without heat.”

by Mark Farr
“One of the china-men was helping Aleister into his octopus suit.”

by Kyle Levenick
“This is my escape pod, it has to be. But it’s not how I left it. It’s…different.”

by Daniel McCoy
“We once spoke of water doing this job, we prayed and fantasized of the Flood returning, of God breaking his covenant, of the dove circling and circling.”

by F. Omar Telan
“Oh, you'll have plenty of inspiration once you meet the rest of the guests. Travelers, from places even you haven’t heard of…”

by Marta Rainer
“She decorated his lacerated neck with a crude garland of flowers and sat quiet for days.  Ate little.  Pooped more.  What you might call a cleanse.”

by Justin Marquis
“Atlantis, famed for its beauty, sat sunk in dismal dark, patrolled and populated by scores of rangy little abominations.”

by Brian James Polak
“Where your birth was once pictured is now the image of a faceless man standing in a crosswalk .”

by Jeffrey Cranor
"I can't feel my teeth. There's blood dribbling from my lips. I know that I am dead.”

by Meg Bashwiner
“I went looking for the quiet and realized that I was the noise.”

by Joseph Fink
"The cut on Father’s cheek also did not resemble writing, at least not in any of the known languages. It made no sound. There was no unusual texture. For the three days it remained open, it bled minimally, but consistently. It bled and bled and bled."