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Glass Memory by Sandra

Published by Sandra Lloyd Lewis on April 29, 2025

The cube was clear green grass, the smoke inside moving slowly. Now here was here, he was didn’t want to open it, but Mint was waiting by the door, huddled in her thick coat, and he could sense her impatience. He had come here after all, against her better judgement.

‘That’s why we put memories in boxes, Tor. So we can leave them behind.’ She had stroked his arms softly as she spoke, gentle movements that calmed him, but it wasn’t enough.

They had said the procedure was one hundred percent successful. In most cases. But in some, like him, the procedure left a sort of psychic residue. The online forums called it the Aftertaste and that was exactly what it was like, the unpleasant taste of something repeating on you. He couldn’t remember the memory itself – that part at least had worked – but there was a constant sense of disquiet, that he couldn’t shake off. His mind kept trying to work out why he felt it, and, like a newly removed tooth, he couldn’t help probing the missing hole.

The Missing and Found

Published by Janet Johnson on April 29, 2025

Sarah sipped her strong, black coffee and stared out of the kitchen window at the mizzle shrouding the garden. She hadn’t slept well, the black crows nesting in the large fir trees, waking her from her dark, fitful dreams in the early hours with their hoarse coos, caws, rattles and clicks. She’d always been suspicious of crows ever since her grandmother had told her that they were bringers of bad luck and death, shooing them away from her small cottage garden at every opportunity. A dark despair crept over her, reflecting the greyness of the clouds and the symbolism of the crows. She didn’t notice the police car at first until a slight movement caught her eye. She watched as a tall, black-suited man, followed by a young, immaculately uniformed female police officer, opened the gate and made their way to the front door, their faces serious with the news they were about to deliver. Finally, this must be it, Sarah thought to herself, the moment she had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure for the last five years. She hesitated at the sound of the doorbell, its cheery chime so inappropriate at that moment. Time slowed as she went to open the door, her legs dragging as if she was walking through quicksand.

Sirens on the Move.

Published by Jason Davies-Redgrave on April 29, 2025

Scene 1

The oldest music is birthed in the oceans, both earthly and celestial.

The sentient races of the universe knew that their oldest songs come from the ancient oceans. From the expanses of water that continuously shape each of their worlds and the vast celestial ocean that holds these worlds in their orbits. Even today, some of the women of these sentient races, the Sirens, can still hear these symphonies.

Symphonies that swell and blossom and grow in the cold depths. Shifting rhythms born where the masses of fresh water collide with the swirling salt waters of the far north. Melodies waxing and waning in the gravitational forces that pull at the very heart of the sea. Creatures from the depths find new chords and notes hurl them to the surface so they burst through and dazzle atop the churning waters like flecks of burning light.

The oldest songs are about crossing the sea. The Sirens have never lured sailors to their deaths. That’s just patriarchal nonsense. They have more important things to do than that. The Sirens are custodians. They herd the songs; they keep them alive and in motion. For a still song is a dead song and will soon be forgotten. Occasionally, if called to by the Five Families or some other need, the Sirens can add their own song to the tides…

At the scene of the crime

Published by Martyn Winters on April 29, 2025

Borough Market is a series of enigmas. It sits on an artificial island in the middle of the Great Lundeinjon Lake. Built from lost shoes often found at the side of the road or hanging from overhead wires, it is the destination for the long barges travelling in aquatic caravanserai across SPOWK, carrying goods of uncertain provenance to traders of ambiguous means, piloted by Elves of unclear status, with even more recondite motivations. Few know how the Elves of the barges are compensated for their labours, some say they do it for the fun of sailing the seas, crying “Arrrr” and “Jim lad” from their forecastle perches. Even fewer know who Jim might be, and no one knows why wires are strung from poles, often in the middle of nowhere.

Love in the Air: A February Tale

Published by Zin Shandi on April 29, 2025

Greetings and salutations!

Oh no, not this again! February, can’t you let me sleep in peace? Tella pleaded, tossing and turning. February lingered in the dim light, a ghostly presence drawing ever closer, pressing her to unveil the secrets of her heart. “Do you love me? Because my admiration for you knows no bounds.”

“Shush, February! Don’t muddle our connection with human emotions. You are perfect just as you are in my mind. You never hurt me; you love me in my quiet, awkward ways,” Tella rebuffed. “Now, please, go get busy. I’d like to catch some Z’s.”

But February chortled softly, “You know my duties begin the moment you drift off. My thoughts of you keep me awake; I only want your happiness and protection. But…”

“But what?” Tella snapped, her irritation flaring.

Walker by Sandra

Published by Sandra Lloyd Lewis on April 1, 2025

The road this time is long, wet and so dark I can only make out the faintest glimmer of light reflecting on the wet tarmac ahead. The man walking beside me stares straight ahead fixing his eyes on some distant object. His mind is difficult to read, but we push on together. I am not sure what I expected but it wasn’t this. You can usually tell what you’re going to get, or as near as damn it, so this is a surprise. There is a deeper darkness than usual from the space either side of the road, a sense of something there, that doesn’t wish us well, and I shiver. This is not going well, why the hell did I take this job? Apart from paying the rent and buying food, and feeding George, I was fine. Really. And I’ve done plenty of jobs like this, so this is no different. Except I have the uneasy feeling this is very different. The road has never been this dark, for one thing and for another, Mr Fink is a closed book, like he is keeping a very tight rein on his thoughts. And he’s walking so fast I feel like I’m in some army march and an irate sergeant will bellow, Move yer arse, yer lazy worm. He’s walking like he is being chased by the hounds of hell. Why am I thinking of the word Hell over and over? I take a deep breath and refocus ahead, listening to the sounds of my breathing. Mr Fink’s chest is rising and falling in panicked breaths, and I hear a moan from him. I start to sweat, this is not good. The darkness on either side of the road has thickened into a wall of seemingly solid black and I sense dread from it. Mr Fink’s eyes are now darting left and right to the dark and ahead I see a small white flesh shape emerge from the gloom. As we come closer, I see what it is and my scalp crawls: it’s a child’s hand, bloodless white, and wrinkled, as if the owner had been in water too long. Mr Fink is eyeing the hand out of the corner of his eyes, as if to look directly at it would cause its owner to come out…

They Are Already Here by Janet

Published by Janet Johnson on March 31, 2025

Trekking deeper and deeper into Myanmar’s Northern Forest Complex, Ellie couldn’t believe her luck at being one of two student botanists chosen to join an expedition to explore a region previously unexplored by man. It’s amazing to think that there are still some places on Earth that we know less about than space, she had told her friend, Jess, when the letter had arrived confirming her place. The mother of all hangovers the next day was worth it, though, she thought, as she took in the vibrant colours and cacophony of sounds of the forest.

The expedition was coming to its mid-point, miles from the last mountain village, and everyone was tired from the physical effort of cutting through the dense green vegetation day after day. Spirits were still high though as they made camp, the prospect of a couple of days to rest and take in their surroundings the reward for the effort of the last few days, before turning back, not to mention a few treats they’d packed for the rest days.

The Goblin Wars by Martyn

Published by Martyn Winters on March 31, 2025

At just after six and one-quarter owls that morning, three matters are of immediate concern to Lieutenant Camden Ironbell of the Gnome Guards. How can he defend Elizabeth Ridge from a platoon of crack Goblin commandos with no surviving troops left under his command? When are they going to attack? And what time is lunch?

The latter is the most pressing. Partly because his stomach is telling him lunch was sometime last week, but mostly because Lance Corporal “Tidy” Jones revealed to him where he hid his stash of Gala Pie as he died in Ironbell’s arms. In Ironbell’s estimation, humans brought very little to the party, other than courage and an unwillingness to admit defeat in the face of overwhelming odds. For that, he admires them, although quietly conceding even though they are the foolhardiest creatures on the planet, they made up for their shortcomings with Gala Pie, a dish unsurpassed in the annals of gourmand history. He glances at the sky and then at the shadows cast by the craggy, snowcapped rocks delineating the valley to estimate the time. Six to seven owls to lunch, he thinks. He would have to get a wriggle on.

The Last Contract by Jason

Published by Jason Davies-Redgrave on March 31, 2025

Meredith is a happy child and today is her birthday. She has been given a wonderful gift; a song called “For Hope.’ She is seven and this is not just any song. Mama has impressed upon Meredith the importance of this song above all others. There will come a time, when Meredith is much older, when she will need to sing this song, to offer it up to the world with all of her heart. As happy as she is to receive this gift and keep it safe, Meredith cannot help but be worried by the look on Mama’s face: behind the smiles and the laughter, Meredith sees a sadness in her Mama, like an ice chip sitting in her heart. It’s like Mama knows something bad is going to happen but she won’t tell Meredith, like the time just before Papa walked away from them for good. Meredith takes hold of Mama’s hand desperate to make her happy again.

In the soothing coolness of the pre-dawn night the chapel stood on the outskirts of the abandoned town. A simple building, square and squat with a rusted crucifix jutting up from the roof directly in line with the single, wooden door. The once white adobe walls were pock marked and pitted, scoured by the relentless winds that whipped off the barren sands. The only source of illumination came from the scattering of cold stars. Silence hung about the old building like forgotten cobwebs.

Persona Non Grata by Sandra

Published by Sandra Lloyd Lewis on March 11, 2025

Alice tried the front door key again, then checked the key ring. No, she had the right one, but for some reason it didn’t work. She pushed it in the lock and wriggled it left and right, before giving up, and pushed the bell in exasperation. There was a long wait, and she was about to ring it again when she heard her son Sam yell, ‘Door!’ presumably to Cyril, her husband; but there was no answer. She rang the bell again, and shouted, ‘It’s me, my key isn’t working, let me in!’ She heard the heavy, tread of her son, Sam, as he descended the stairs and opened the door. ‘Thank you,’ she said stressing the word, to make it clear she hadn’t appreciated being kept waiting so long, but she was talking, as usual to the top of his head. He didn’t even look up from his phone, as he chewed a piece of toast and stomped back to his lair. Typical of most interactions now, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d made proper eye contact.

She dropped her work bag at the foot of the stairs and carried the shopping into the kitchen. Cyril was lying on the sofa in the snug, eyes closed, his new headphones on.

He must have sensed some change in the air, because he opened an eye, and nodded at her. Not an effusive welcome, but she nodded back and unpacked the grocery bags. ‘My key didn’t work,’ she mouthed, waving them at him.

A look of annoyance crossed his face, as if she was interrupting him at a crucial moment, which was typical of their interactions now, but he slipped the headphones off. ‘What?’ There was a silent ‘now’ implicit in the way he’d said that word. She drew a breath, ‘I said: my key didn’t work. I couldn’t get in. Sam had to let me in, didn’t you hear?’

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