Hither & Yon
There is some fiction that incorporates aspects of fantasy and science fiction but doesn't have that indescribable flavor that would make it clearly slipstream. China Mieville and his work spring to mind. Wizards on space ships, robots riding magic carpets, AIs on a quest to find unicorns? Could all be candidates to appear here.
Doctor Longtooth tapped at the x-ray images with a single gold-sheathed talon. A troubled series of clicks rattled at the back of his throat. Smoke dribbled from the corners of his mouth. "I am sorry, Mr. Callahan," his voice rumbled. "It is at stage four. And the tissue is dying."
My father stared at the images. What should have been the black shadows of his lungs were instead a foggy white reminiscent of frosted glass. "That's it then," he said, taking my hand and squeezing. "It's over. It was a good life while it lasted."
When my television died I grieved. It had been a faithful little TV, bringing life to the house for many years with its bright pictures and chatter. I'm something of a Luddite ordinarily, preferring non-interactive appliances, but TVs are special. It's been that way ever since my mother's old black-and-white met me at the door when I got home from school, proudly showing my favorite cartoon.
The house felt empty with my television gone, and the neighbors began dropping hints. Wasn't I lonely in that silent house? I needed companionship, and so many televisions needed good homes....
There was a hole in the fabric of your favorite dress and the light seemed to bend around it. Light always favored you, softening or illuminating to give you an ethereal beauty at all times.
I didn't say anything to you about the hole. I knew how angry you would be. I knew what could happen if your anger got the best of you, but I didn't fear it. I wanted to keep you safe.
It was a gift, they said, that let her see the quiet, sun-drenched field as a rolling, primal sea. An artistic worldview that heralded great things and a bright future. The wild green grass and sudden bursts of flowers became breaking waves and tiny coral islands.
She was only seven when they noticed her strangeness. Charming at first, delightful almost. As she aged, it became mundane, then tiresome, and finally disturbing. It began young, that separation from the normal children.
SF/Fantasy
There is some fiction that incorporates aspects of fantasy and science fiction but doesn't have that indescribable flavor that would make it clearly slipstream. China Mieville and his work spring to mind. Wizards on space ships, robots riding magic carpets, AIs on a quest to find unicorns? Could all be candidates to appear here.
by Shane Halbach
Hades sat in his office, high atop his dark tower. He put the finishing touches on his black painted fingernails and held his hand up to the light to inspect his work. Perfect. The shade of black exactly matched his hair, his eyes, and his coordinating shirt and pants. Only his pale white skin contrasted the darkness of his appearance. He was just about to complete the look with some dark eye shadow, when he heard a knock. Hades looked up quickly. No one ever dared to disturb him in his tower.
"Enter!" he commanded, and the door swung open.
Published on Jan 7, 2013
by Amanda M. Hayes
They went down to Mercury protected by technology in appearance and magic in fact.
Truthfully, it taxed his strength to keep the temperature around them to levels the tech could handle, but Dain had a wry hunch they'd rather not know. Under lamplight the southern ice glittered, unbelievable, wonderful.
Published on Sep 15, 2010
by K.G. Jewell
22 September 1917
Dearest Janet--
Published on Jul 1, 2011
by Andrew Kaye
Published on May 7, 2013
by Melissa Mead
Published on Jan 10, 2012
by Christopher Owen
Published on Jun 13, 2011
by Gary B. Phillips
Published on Apr 25, 2013
by George Potter
Published on Dec 19, 2011
by Jeff Stehman
Her first customers of the day were teenagers, a brother and sister. Too young to remember the one they sought.
Dolores kept the curtains drawn in her little shop, not for atmosphere, but for the privacy of her customers. From these two, however, she expected no tears, no weeping. They were here on a lark. Their chairs close together for courage, they fidgeted and shared frequent smirks and giggles. Probably ditched their parents in another part of the memorial village.
Published on May 13, 2013
