Recent Stories
My dead girlfriend's face greets me in the kitchen, holo-projected above my burbling coffee pot.
"Your memories from seven years ago!" Alexis-5 chirps.
Panicked scientists stampeded every news network early morning, wailing about what was happening to the moon.
"The moon's gone all smooth!" shrieked one elderly astrophysicist in a wrinkled lab coat. The poor man looked to be in desperate need of sleep. He and many others were terrorized because the moon was literally being flattened out. Scientists across the world were confused and desperate for answers.
I grew up on Kata Skip Station. Seven skip nodes lead here.
My parent and I run SpiceFire, a restaurant catering to the Four Known Races. We have four separate kitchens and four special chefs who set the menus; we have four species-specific dining rooms, and one big common area where all can eat together.
Tad managed, barely, to restrain himself from punching the wall. He punched air instead, anger and frustration on his face.
Then he looked at his phone again.
"I'm telling you, none of this is real. Just go down to the END to find the bottom of our world."
"Wait, what could that possibly mean?"
The first time Zadie visited the coffee shop, Rahni was in the midst of explaining for the fourteenth time that no, they did not sell alcohol, no, not even an Irish coffee, to an old woman with glossy curls as springy as a vintage movie star's. Rahni never got snappy, exactly. In a place like Bean Days, with its London mix of tourists, do-gooders, grouches, and absolute weirdos (all of whom could overlap) anyone with a short temper would not have lasted long.
But Rahni was tired. Because really? Alcohol in a coffee shop?
by Joy Kennedy-O'Neill
Published on Aug 16, 2019
by Josh Hagen
Published on Aug 15, 2019
by Nina Kiriki Hoffman
Published on Aug 14, 2019
by Jennifer R. Povey
Published on Aug 13, 2019
by Sebastian Gil Rodriguez
Published on Aug 12, 2019
by Molly Tea
Published on Aug 9, 2019
