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What is Science Fiction?
"Science Fiction" means—to us—everything found in the science fiction section of a bookstore, or at a science fiction convention, or amongst the winners of the Hugo awards given by the World Science Fiction Society. This includes the genres of science fiction (or sci-fi), fantasy, slipstream, alternative history, and even stories with lighter speculative elements. We hope you enjoy the broad range that SF has to offer.
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Science Fiction

Aliens


Yes, of course here be little green men. But not only these. Extraterrestrial life can and sometimes should be almost unrecognizable. Luminaries from Carl Sagan to Madonna have noted that the odds against humanity being the only sentient form of life are astronomical. Yet, as noted in the Fermi paradox, there seem to be no signs of aliens in reality. (Of course, with the recent discoveries of many hundreds of planets orbiting other stars, perhaps that will change. Stay tuned to your favorite science fact websites.) Science fiction writers have stepped into the void, providing entertainment, humor, and cautionary tales. Here are those that have appeared in Daily Science Fiction:

by Cassie Beasley
We expected them to be better at it. The aliens. You've only got to go to the movies to know that we expected explosions, telepathy, ray guns. We thought it would be something drawn-out and gruesome, or maybe quick and painless. But either way--big. The invasion looked bad in the beginning. On the first night, we saw weird damn flashes in the sky over the gulch, and the sound of the ships made lightning crawl across my shoulders. Earth's cities took some damage, but it didn't make much sense. They went for bridges and highway overpasses.
Published on Jan 8, 2013
by M. Bennardo
I heard you got a cat. I heard you named him Charles. I guess you didn't know that I do cats too? I played all those games you wanted, all those black-blond-red-brown-bald-headed strangers. But you never said you wanted a cat. I could have done that too.
Published on Feb 20, 2013
by Keyan Bowes
“Feathers? What do you mean, feathers?” Kate asked her co-worker, taking a bite of her honey-ham sandwich. “Aren’t you eating? We’re due back in fifteen.” The spring breeze blew Nelli’s hair into her face, and she brushed it away impatiently.
Published on Oct 19, 2010
by Jacob A. Boyd
Jane woke Kim. "You were dreaming," Jane whispered from the top bunk. "Twitching."
Published on Mar 17, 2011
by Eric Brown
I visit your planet from time to time, but it really is too painful. My race is immortal now, and our client races are immortal, too, or have transcended bodily form and exist in virtual realms, which is immortality by another route.
Published on Jan 30, 2012
by Georgina Bruce
***Editor's Note: Adult Language*** It's not like we didn't try. A little tentatively at first, a little too gently, I'll admit. We'd never done it before. We hadn't even seen one, only heard them scratching around in the bushes at night. But we understood what we had to do--it's our duty as citizens and all that. And after a while, we really got into it. I had the big stone mallet from the shed, Bridget had the kitchen knife, and we got into a rhythm. Smack, stab, smack, stab. And Bridge went a bit crazy, going stabstabstabstabstab, and then I took over with the mallet, gave it a good going over. It was brutal, honestly. So it should have died right there and then.
Published on Jun 24, 2013
by Carrie L. Cadwallader
K'loth bends his face to the basin and washes. The first washing of the day is for the Gods. One is the Goddess. Two is the God. Three is the Shadow. The water drips from pale blue tentacles above his mouth that move in the motions of prayers he has said every day since attaining his majority. Three is a sacred number.
Published on Nov 23, 2013
by Curtis C. Chen
"You lose," Lieutenant Darrow said. "Again." He tipped over Erin's game piece, the one they were calling the king. Ton-Gla-Ben wasn't exactly like chess, but the mechanics were very similar, and the actual Quggano names were mostly unpronounceable by humans.
Published on Sep 19, 2014
by Krystal Claxton
She had my teeth. I hadn't expected to recognize myself in her, but when she greeted me, her maroon lips parting into a crescent, there they were. My teeth. White, flat, and surprisingly human. I forced myself to look into her too large eyes as her warm, seven-fingered hand wrapped around mine. Black with purple specks, like a neon vision of the night sky, the almond-shaped organs took up the greater part of her face and were irrevocably her father's.
Published on May 31, 2012
by Tina Connolly
Beth was breaking down book boxes in the backroom on the day he left. She ran her box cutter down taped seams, split the tape with slashing strokes that ran into the cardboard, ran through the corrugation, frayed bits of brown into fringe. She had thought she would not see him again. Thought he would return to his home a billion miles away and never say goodbye. Leave her to her own decisions.
Published on Dec 12, 2011
by Colin P. Davies
Sometime after sunset on a blustery evening in late summer, with the offworlders' orbital station a small bright misshapen moon over the choppy water of the river and the glittering barges of the loyal rich fighting at their moorings, a slim girl came skipping over Westminster Bridge like a leaf carried on the wind. She danced down Belvedere Road, her pale face bobbing though the crowds, and ducked into the alley beside the bookies. In a ground floor apartment, Melinda watched her Dad, Brian Johnson, former cop, rush from monitor to monitor, press a button here, enter a code there, as he followed the girl from street to street. "She thinks she's won," he said. "If she thinks at all."
Published on Feb 1, 2013
by John Parke Davis
The first time I saw the artwork of a knid, I was twenty-five. By that time, I had grown used to them, seeing them standing alone at a bus stop, a small cleared out circle around them; watching them sitting by themselves in the park contemplating ants or trees or the paint peeling on a bench. The stooped, fragile little creatures had grown more prevalent in those days, but were still fairly rare, even in the larger cities. I had spoken to one once, and of course, "spoken to" is the right phrase, since they don't speak back. It was at a college party, one I was too old to be at. The knid was there as some kind of joke among frat brothers, and when I was drunk enough to approach it as it huddled in a back corner, I asked it how it felt about that. It turned its eyes to me and nodded its head, as they do. I smiled at it, and it waved its mouth tentacles lightly in what I took to be a friendly gesture.
Published on Jun 24, 2011
by Seth DeHaan
Our home always smelled like blood. My father spent his days among meat and his nights ensconced in the aromatic mist of it. We lived above the shop--he and me, Mother and my sister Fennel--in three small rooms built of knotted pine, boards stained in the colors of our livelihood.
Published on Nov 30, 2011
by Seth DeHaan
Tom wakes in a rush of fear--as every morning--and motion triggers react to the flicker of his eyelids, flooding his small room with light. He takes immediate inventory of the space: The door, closed; the tripwire, undisturbed.
Published on Jul 4, 2012
by Nicky Drayden
Seven security gargoyles stare at me from atop the elaborate sandstone columns lining the casino’s walls. Their sharp eyes and oversized talons flex ever so slightly in anticipation of snatching up cheaters like unsuspecting prey. They’ve moved closer since I first sat down at this slot machine, the only place in the casino that hadn’t had line-of-sight thanks to a fortunate arrangement of overgrown palm fronds and the gritty haze from a gaggle of feathered Gwiffahs smoking silvawax from a hookah. But the gargoyles have been swarming to my location ever since my machine passed 87,000 kalax, its blinking lights and wailing sirens announcing my winnings to the entire casino.
Published on Nov 10, 2010
by Nicky Drayden
Being a little curious doesn't make you a deviant. On Vero-Avalon Station, with its hundred and fifteen sapient species, it'd be weirder not to wonder about the alien biology of your cohabitants. You see them in the mess hall, slurping up trans-dimensional slugs, gnawing on Yuvvian bark, sipping pink clouds from see-through thermoses, and dining on the finest spiced lava rock this galaxy has to offer. You don't blink an eye when a proboscis appears from a rift in space-time and oozes purple acid onto freshly killed Frall. And when an Undulite consumes its still living mate right in front of you, you don't judge. You're something of an amateur anthropologist, after all, and a curious one at that. Curious enough to enter through that doorway, the one with the symbol on the front that you can't quite decipher. Not the symbol of the humanoid man, nor the humanoid woman. Not the generic fish symbol for the aquatics. Not the avians, nor the giant blue placard for the restroom designed especially for the spatially challenged.
Published on Jan 3, 2011
by Nicky Drayden
Dr. Gianna Nero played the recording back for the fifth time, noting the odd inflections and guttural clicks in Breva's message. A smile curled up at the edges of her mouth as she caught the double entendre that no one on Earth would notice except her. In less than twenty-four hours, twelve billion people would hear Breva's message--a message of peace, hope, friendship, and excitement over the impending meeting of their two races. He expressed his desire to extend gratitude for humanity's generous offer to share their planet with the sSuryn, who'd lost theirs to a fungal blight that decimated their ecosystem. Gratitude was the word that snagged Gianna's attention. In addition to the literal translation, it was also a colloquialism for the sSuryn's biological equivalent of a female orgasm. Breva had never explicitly said that, of course, but Gianna had gathered as much from their conversations over the last decade. Establishing a rapport between the sSuryn and humans required unprecedented tact from both sides, but they still managed to express their feelings for each other in buried messages. Yes, behind his dignified demeanor, chiseled features, and sharp tongue, Breva Harathla was nothing but a flirt.
Published on Nov 8, 2013
by Paul Ebbs
I go to the grave after the service on Sundays. I leave Cal with Florence, our neighbor, and walk the dusty trail up the hill alone. It's ok because Cal enjoys the time with Florence; she plays games with him much better than I can. I'm not, I guess, that kind of father. My old man was the same, no less loving but emotion didn't come easily to either of us. You might, if you wanted to make something of it, call us both distant. I just suppose it rubbed off on me.
Published on Jun 19, 2012
by Karina Fabian
Sally blamed the drill bit stuck in her tooth. She didn't blame the dentist. It happened sometimes. The tiny little bit broke and got stuck. Nothing for it but to fill the gap and go on. If her roots were thin and twisted, it wasn't his fault.
Published on Jan 11, 2011
by Milo James Fowler
They say you never see the one that kills you. But they might have been referring to weapons fire in an open battlefield, not a plasma charge on a crowded lunar tube. He sits facing me, and the way he's looking me right in the eye, I have a feeling this will be the end. With the close proximity, I'll see his green hand reach for it, concealed beneath his double-breasted, razor-sharp pressed suit.
Published on Oct 26, 2011
by Susan Franceschina
Marcia was super pissed. Who the hell do they think they are? She stormed into her bedroom to get dressed. She tugged on a pair of jeans, which wasn't easy since she hadn't really taken the time to dry off. The sweater she slipped into instantly became damp around the neckline because of her uncombed wet hair. She cursed and decided to call Randy.
Published on Jan 9, 2012
by Anne Patterson Friedman
Emjid was thrilled to be using human eyes. As he pushed his cart down the aisle, he turned his head to the left--a joy with a twistable neck--and savored the red of tomato-paste cans. What fun! "Excuse me, sir."
Published on Dec 16, 2010
by Alex Gorman
Joseph blinked open his eyes and groaned, stretching his arms out wide and running his hand over the rumbled sheets. He turned his head. His wife was gone, leaving only the impression where her body had lain the night before, a shadow of her curves in the old mattress.
Published on Nov 14, 2013
by William Greeley
Dr. Arroyo sighs. It's over. NASA has shut down, SETI has folded, the donors have forgotten the cause, the computers are out of date, the telescopes are old and broken. The decades of silence had defeated his mission. How many billions of dollars had SETI spend over his lifetime, searching the sky for something, anything, some little sign that they're out there? All of Dr. Arroyo's life was spent listening for a sign of extraterrestrial intelligence in the vast universe. His career was looking to the sky and pleading, "Speak to us. Please, just one bleep of signal. We're waiting."
Published on Dec 22, 2011
by Alexandra Grunberg
"I'm sorry, I just don't think you're right for the part." Michael Poksi shuffled the resume in front of him to the bottom of a large pile of resumes, the result of a disappointing casting day. He stared at his watch and sighed. 5:45. If the train was not running late, he might just get to see the last ten minutes of the game. His team was probably losing, it was a bad season, but that was all the more reason they needed his moral support.
Published on Jan 9, 2013
by Colin Harvey
Garcia met her at the entrance to the network of tunnels running beneath the radioactive remains of the Pentagon. "Major Sparrow." Garcia offered his hand. "Thanks for coming all the way from Huntsville."
Published on Sep 13, 2010
by Sylvia Anna Hiven
Thorn had seen so many orbs on their journey. Some were large, some small. Some were red and scorching, some cold, craggy rock. But in this swirl of light, the thirdly orb looked different. It was the color that caught his eye: blue and green, with wisps of white swirled around it. He stopped for a star blink, taking in the soft colors and the perfectly round shape.
Published on Aug 21, 2013
by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
Published on Nov 20, 2012
by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
It was my turn to wear the mask, but my egg-sister Linney wouldn't give it up. She'd been wearing the mask all morning, set on Smile, and it was a test day, too. Everyone thought she was so pleased and relaxed and Earthy. I am wretched at tests, but the mask would have helped. I flunked my Calm test that morning, scored medium low on Earth Facial Expressions, and got a fifty in grooming because I didn't know how to put on makeup. The mask has its own. Maybe I depend on that too much, even though I only get to wear the mask half the time I'm awake.
Published on Sep 8, 2011
by Kelly Jennings
I was on my way home from my night job when I heard they'd found life on Mars. Algae, I thought, wearily. Fossil bacteria. My night job, my other job, not my full-time job, which was unloading trucks at a warehouse, this job was tutoring Exceptional Teens in Broken Arrow for five hour five days a week, from five to ten p.m.
Published on Apr 14, 2014
by Patrick Johanneson
Stella Laine, deputy head of Human Resources, tented her fingers, looked me in the eye, and said, "Your time on Earth is nearly up, Benjamin." For a couple seconds I couldn't stop blinking. Finally I got my eyelids back under conscious control, and, with what I thought was a heroic lack of quaver to my voice, I said, "Do you really have that kind of power?"
Published on Aug 3, 2011
by Steven Kahn
Beneath the oldest rainforest in the world, Bakti walked quiet as a jungle cat. Three more hours to check his traps before nightfall. Ndari, equally stealthy, accompanied him. Bakti had warned her it was too dangerous, but her green eyes sparkled at the challenge. "Why?" she had asked. "Why more dangerous for me than you? I'm just as swift as you. My eyes and ears just as good, and I'm better with a rifle at fifty meters."
Published on Nov 15, 2012
by Malia Robin Kawaguchi
The reporters keep asking how we could possibly have missed them. "Little green men in our backyard, and the eggheads at Steward didn't even notice." The press just eats that story up. So when I talk publicly, I start with the fact that we're not SETI. We're astronomers. Plus, the observatory is closer to Tucson than Phoenix anyway. Not to mention, it's hard to notice something that's always just there. I mean, they were here for a thousand years.
Published on Jul 7, 2014
by Michelle Ann King
Anton drew his legs up underneath him. The car seat was huge and puffy, and the leather made a breathy creak when he moved. It sounded like it was sighing. "How much longer?" he said.
Published on Jul 25, 2014
by D.K. Latta
"Picture this: an astronaut arrives on another world, searching for mineral resources. There's an unanticipated snag. Specifically, the exhaust from his stabilizers destroys the crops of a local farm lord. The astronaut did not anticipate encountering inhabitants, and is improperly trained for the encounter. Words are exchanged (through translation devices, of course), tempers flare, and the earth astronaut utters what is construed as a challenge. The farm lord has him placed at the base of a volcano, knowing that molten rock will pour over him. The air is thick with sulphur and radiation levels are beyond human tolerance. What does he do?" Edward shifts slightly in his chair. "The whole thing seems a bit farfetched, don't you think? After all, it was an accident. Hey, is that it? The correct answer? The whole scenario is invalid because it's based on a false premise?"
Published on Nov 17, 2010
by D.K. Latta
There was a lingering smell of smoke in Chanthrows' nostrils, like the acrid stink that stays with you even hours after the campfire has died. He was laid out flat, while overhead the night sky glimmered as with a thousand stars. He had never seen a sky like that before. Then he realized he had never looked up from the surface of this world before. And with that realization, his eyes snapped wider with a start. It came back to him now, like a wave slamming him against the surf. He remembered his flyer--part of that armada orbiting permanently overhead, those glints of reflected sunlight that created the illusion of a firmament full of stars. He remembered his flyer's stabilizing engine being clipped by a rookie flyer moving in too close. He remembered the rookie bursting into a fireball and his own flyer plunging down into the atmosphere. Down into the world that was the closest thing his people knew to Hell.
Published on Feb 21, 2012
by Christine M Layton
No one heard the crash the night it came to Earth. There were no alarms or calls to the police. The wreckage was actually discovered by a couple searching for the perfect picnic spot. There, in the middle of a clearing, the saucer stood out against the ground. A spray of soil showed the force of impact the ship must have made when it crashed. "Oh Clark, don't go near it!" The shining curve of the saucer filled Marcy with dread. "It could be dangerous."
Published on Jul 28, 2014
by Ken Liu
Welcome, Curious Volunteer! You've taken the first steps on a path that we hope will be rewarding (financially and spiritually) for you as well as the human race:
Published on Feb 19, 2014
by Brian K Lowe
He went on and on while we all stared at the picture on the TV. I thought it looked just like when Klaatu landed in that old movie, "The Day the Earth Stood Still," the black-and-white one. I thought, "Grinpa would like this," because he was the one who watched that movie with me on cable. Then I remembered his fallen-in face, with his eyes closed, on his hospital pillow.
Published on Oct 11, 2010
by Sadie Mattox
I've learned a few things since my first race with the Martian. I learned clothes are nothing but extra weight. I strip off my shirt and kick off my skirt until I'm standing, shivering, in my skivvies. They used to be pink, only having been passed down through three sisters has turned them grey, and my Nana says that's what happens when stuff gets old whether it's panties or people. Lan Delson skipped out to watch the race. He sits at the top of the hill with his elbows on his knees, waiting. I spy my kid sister thinking she's smart, hiding behind a tree, leaving her shadow stretched in plain sight. The other kids would just have to hear about it later, I guess.
Published on Dec 24, 2012
by Matt Mikalatos
"I believe we have found your temporal lobe, which means you should be receiving translation now." "We call that Wernicke's area," Sgt. Eastwood replied, wondering if the translation went both ways.
Published on May 5, 2014
by Mario Milosevic
Pardon me for my impertinence. I do not wish to impugn or malign anyone on this committee. I appreciate your considerable hospitality towards me and my family. How are they, by the way?
Published on Nov 1, 2010
by Mario Milosevic
Published on Jun 14, 2011
by Lisa Nohealani Morton
I've decided to blame the aliens for the way my petunias died without blooming this year. Everyone blames them for something. The business journals blame their disinterest in trade for the length of this recession; the financial community is supposed to be in shock over the fact that Earth isn't "galactically competitive." The Catholic Church blames them for the precipitous drop-off in Mass attendance.
Published on Jun 1, 2012
by Samantha Murray
He wore her heart on his sleeve. It was where he kept all of his trophies. Stitched into the ceremonial garment that proclaimed him Gar-rag the Victor. He had seven now; seven life organs from seven species from seven planets. Seven was lucky, he knew that too, and he held himself with more than his usual pride.
Published on Oct 15, 2012
by Samantha Murray
1: Where a Monster Moves In Next Door to Marnie. "You shouldn't call them that," says Carl, her son. It doesn't really make sense to call them monsters, but somehow the name has stuck. They look human, mostly. Some small differences; they are very pale, their noses are small. And then the eyes. They remind Marnie of cartoons of people--manga maybe--where the eyes take up most of the face. She knows that in infants and young animals large eyes are designed to bring out protective and nurturing instincts. She remembers when Carl and Callie were babies, and how she would look into their eyes and drown in love. She does not find the monster endearing.
Published on Apr 2, 2014
by Jez Patterson
"We have to smother it on all over. Otherwise he'll dry out. Think of it like human babies weaning onto solids. They can't produce their own mucus until they're three years old. The dependency helps reinforce the bond between child and... Moira? Are you alright?" "I can't do this, Geoff. I mean... look at me." Her sleeves were rolled up, but Lyam's baby-gloop was dribbling down her forearms as she held her hands out from her sides like a surgeon ready to operate but who'd overdone it on the disinfectant hand gel. Geoff laughed.
Published on May 2, 2013
by Cat Rambo
When Bjorn and his fellows were selected to supply context for the alien overlords who kept insisting they were just there for the Earth's own protection, he'd expected something different. Warriors in exo-skeletons, four limbs with a laser in each, maybe machine intelligences with scalpel-like fingers. Instead, he found, they were soft.
Published on Mar 28, 2013
by Robert Reed
Ask people what they believe. Approach them on the street or at work, or better yet, visit their homes at dinnertime. Carry clipboards and tablets along with bright unthreatening smiles. Beg for a moment of their time and some careful thought. Tell them that you are doing a survey, and when they seem agreeable, pose one question. "What would it take to conquer the world?"
Published on Sep 18, 2012
by Robert Reed
Saturday night was scheduled to be our game night. Except that nobody ever told me the schedule. My son was unfolding the Monopoly board. My wife claimed that we had talked this through days ago. I claimed that I'd been more preoccupied than usual, which was the truth. I explained to both of them that I couldn't play just now. JB was waiting for my call, and this was important. My son ignored me, sorting money and cards into neat piles, while my wife stared at me in that special way of hers. "Give me five minutes," I begged.
Published on Feb 3, 2012
by Luc Reid
Dear Persons Who Have Evolved on the Earth, Please excuse this interruption of your fascinatingly disturbed culture. We will attempt to communicate in one of your languages, but it is difficult to adapt our reference-laden, parenthetical, simplest mode of communication to your clumsy face-noises and adorable little picture-symbols.
Published on Sep 9, 2013
by Ian Rose
Ship's record of the Assembly colonial warship Eraedia, timestamp 2-18-5-8023. Recovered after the Slaughter of Pramis, 8023-25. Begin transcript: 1. The Judge
Published on Jun 26, 2014
by Spencer Sandoval
Day 1: This morning, our satellites picked up a radio signal originating from somewhere near the edge of our galaxy. A couple of us think it's more than the usual static background noise we sometimes pick up. Maybe a lot more. We've decided to keep it quiet until we can understand what we're actually hearing. But I think I'll tell Molly. She'll probably be more excited than I am, and that's saying a lot.
Published on Mar 25, 2014
by Jason Sanford
The plains rolled out before Aiesha, all buffalo grass and forever sky drowning to the dusk's easy light. Aiesha sat on the weather-worn porch of her grandpa's farm house, flipping page after page of her history textbook--unread, the words blurring to elsewhere. Away! they whispered. Go! they sighed. Despite this urge, Aiesha knew she was stuck. Might as well sink her boots through the porch's half-rotten planks and never move again.
Published on Apr 1, 2011
by Rene Sears
The vitamins stick in my throat worse than the old pre-natals, but I force myself to swallow. The babies need the nutrients, and they'll suck them right out of my body whether there's enough for all three of us or not. I make sure to switch them every time so each child nurses on a different side in case one breast produces more milk. The invaders don't care if Christophe gets as much as the other one--he's only human, after all--but I do.
Published on Jan 14, 2014
by Katherine Heath Shaeffer
Our alien overlords meant us no harm. I understand the frustration and resentment that this sentiment will no doubt inspire.
Published on Jun 5, 2012
by Alex Shvartsman
The investigators arrived in the morning. Father Laughlin and Father Sauer trudged through the dense, chilly fog from their shuttle to the spaceport terminal just as the twin suns of the Tau system began to paint the eastern horizon in yellow hues. "Thank Christ you're finally here," said Abbot Fierni, who was waiting for them in the relative warmth of the terminal. "I've been bombarding the Vatican with messages for weeks. He's on to The First Epistle of John by now and should be finished within days. I fervently prayed that you would arrive in time to witness the miracle firsthand."
Published on Dec 27, 2012
by Alex Shvartsman
We listen to the spidersong. The spiders are far away, just at the edge of our senses, whispering a haunting and beautiful melody into our minds. The grown-ups are oblivious, as always. They are having several conversations at once around the campfire, laughing and gossiping. It's a nuisance because we can't enjoy the spidersong nearly as well, not with all the distraction. We use a reliable trick--we have Sheila ask for a story. Sheila is the youngest and she hates to speak using words even more than the rest of us, but we nudge her along, and she tugs on old Jens' coat. He is only too happy to oblige. Kids and grown-ups alike gather around the fire. Everyone else quiets down and settles in to listen to Jens.
Published on Oct 17, 2011
by Marge Simon
A giant silver ship burst though the Great Blue Dome and hurtled toward the earth. There was an explosion that shook the ground. The native found her in the wreckage. He prodded her with his foot. She whimpered, so he squatted down to watch until she coughed and sat up. He tried the signal for friendship, but her eyes narrowed and she struggled to stand. Back a few paces, he squatted again, curious. Her hair was very long. He liked that. None of his kind had hair so long. It was a sign of great beauty. Her skin was a strange color. Not the same as his, but not offensive to behold. And her eyes were the color of the sky in contrast to his own, which were the normal deep red.
Published on Dec 1, 2011
by Brent C. Smith
Published on Jan 23, 2014
by Steve Stanton
Destiny drove him forward like a taskmaster from the bus, up the grand entranceway into the ballroom at the Civic Centre, past the sign-in table where he received his laminates and loot bag, onward to his publisher's booth in a back corner. There it was: the fabled anthology, bright with colour but creepy enough to grab his attention. He picked up a copy to examine it closely, saw his name on the cover, third from the top, felt a surge of satisfaction. His first sale as an author. "Do you like science fiction?"
Published on Feb 7, 2011
by Andrea G Stewart
1532 Mayberry Lane New Haven, BR 83623
Published on Mar 13, 2014
by Steve Rasnic Tem
The two officers at the front door looked doubtful. Maybe it was the late hour. Maybe it was the less-than-pleasant neighborhood. Maybe it was the short shorts Clarence had fashioned out of aluminum foil to shield his naughty bits from alien rays. He didn't mind their skepticism--he'd been laughed at before. Which he might have tolerated better, frankly, if it hadn't been his therapist snickering through their last session.
Published on Oct 15, 2013
by Brian Trent
Sparg had difficulty making pancakes, but he was trying. In the empty apartment, he clutched the silver bowl with one tentacle to hold it steady. With another, he attempted the far trickier business of whipping the batter as he'd seen his owners do many, many times. The bowl was bigger than he was. The counter was sticky with flour, egg, and ink.
Published on Aug 6, 2013
by James Valvis
The alien sat, if you called it sitting, in my tree house as I tried to explain the game of Monopoly to him. "No, no, no," I said. "You're stupider than Billy Ailes and he's been left back twice. Boardwalk is yours. You bought it and you own it. You just can't give it up. Maybe you can sell it, but if you hand over all your properties you'll lose the game."
Published on Dec 11, 2013
by James Van Pelt
"That woman is asking about you again, Dustin," said Lucienne, the grad assistant. She'd braided her hair into a blonde rope that hung down her back. Like all his grad assistants, she didn't look old enough to drive. Dustin ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. The morning sun slanted through the lab, and he realized he'd forgotten to sleep.
Published on Aug 15, 2014
by Desmond Warzel
Another battle had been decided in humanity's favor; another system reclaimed from the Squids. Another tiny pseudopod now extruded outward from the amorphous boundary that marked where human territory left off and Squid territory began. Similar victories had been coming with such speed and frequency that, for the first time in living memory, there were hopeful whispers of an end to the generations-long stalemate and a final victory for humanity.
Published on Mar 4, 2011
by Rebecca Adams Wright
***Editor's Warning: Even Humor can be disturbing, and for adults only***
Published on Jan 14, 2013
by Caroline M Yoachim
Five days after my mother dies, I push her into the ocean. Her body is a darker blue than mine, iridescent and nearly purple. Her carapace is brittle, and it shatters beneath the force of the waves. Her body breaks down into a coarse grit that washes up onto the shimmering blue sand of the beach. My mother's ghost is easy to find, for she had one leg shorter than the other five, which gave her an odd way of scuttling. I spot her quickly, dancing in the sea foam where the water meets the sand.
Published on Oct 8, 2012
by Caroline M. Yoachim
My best friend growing up was a Splitter named Cobalt. She was nicer than the human kids--they called me Stump because my left hand has no fingers, or Puddle-lover because I spent so much time with Cobalt. Splitters are shape-shifters, but they come from a world with low gravity, so on Earth they get squashed flat to the ground, like puddles. Cobalt got her name because no matter what color the rest of her was, her edges were always blue. She was embarrassed about it, but I thought the blue was pretty. I remember the last time I played with Cobalt. We were hanging out in the debris from a collapsed building. I collected nails and dropped them into her puddle, and she stretched them into thin strands and wove them together to make a crown. We were going to play at being royalty, but my mother called me in for dinner. Cobalt let me take the crown. I wore it to bed that night, and dreamed I was a queen.
Published on Aug 26, 2013
by Ree Young
A simple story about hobos and the kind-hearted strangers they find along their path.
Published on Sep 8, 2010
by Steve Zisson
The G'narlons were coming any moment for the harvest. Dawnte liked to wait as long as she could, almost to the last minute. She didn't want her son Charlie to be away from her any longer than he had to be.
Published on Apr 29, 2014
by k. b. dalai
Roger swiveled his chair to gaze out his study window, half-seeing his wife's garden bloom into spring, relishing the down time. The doorbell rang and Roger smiled, listening to his wife Ann plead to their ten-year-old son to quit stomping down the stairs three at a time. Five minutes later, Mike Watson, Roger's boss at the National Reconnaissance Office, walked into the study, shutting the door behind him. Roger noted with disgust Mike's bulging attaché case. "No way, Mike, this is my first weekend off in over three months."
Published on Apr 22, 2013
by Jetse de Vries
WARNING: trying First Contact can cause genocide, xenocide, death, injury, and/or mysterious disappearances. CAUTION: trying First Contact can cause enslavement, colonialism, frustration, bafflement, extreme cultural diffusion, and/or enlightenment.
Published on Nov 11, 2013
 
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