Plugs

Trent Walters, poetry editor at A&A, has a chapbook, Learning the Ropes, from Morpo Press.

Sara Genge’s story “Godtouched” may be found in Strange Horizons.

Jason Fischer has a story appearing in Jack Dann’s new anthology Dreaming Again.

David Kopaska-Merkel’s book of humorous noir fiction based on nursery rhymes, Nursery Rhyme Noir 978-09821068-3-9, is sold at the Genre Mall. Other new books include The zSimian Transcript (Cyberwizard Productions) and Brushfires (Sams Dot Publishing).

Archive for January, 2011

A Little Collection of Last Words

Friday, January 21st, 2011

“Yeah, I’m finally feeling better.”

“Gosh I love mornings–don’t you?”

“We don’t have any.”

“Well, it certainly looks edible to me.”

“Crap, I need a will! Quick, get me some paper.”

“As if!”

“Are you sure it goes there?”

“Oh, I think I can handle it.”

“The red one … Christ, yes, I’m sure!”

“Want any?”

“These are harmless–look.”

“i know ur not supposed to text while driving i gues im just a rebe–”

“Here, kitty kitty!”

“Bake at 350 for 40 minutes. I made up a few batches and put them in the freezer in foil for you.”

“Hell, I’ll try anything once.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Is that a meteor?”

“I’ll be fine: I’ve done this dozens of times.”

“Did you brush your teeth?”

“Wait–“

Just Because You’re Paranoid

Thursday, January 20th, 2011

Robbie was in trouble. The traffic signals were communicating with one another using a variant of Morse code. The lights were against him.

In the park, clockwork birds shadowed his footsteps, pretending to be sparrows hunting for seeds in the dirt. He stomped a few.

Robbie hurried toward the courthouse. Despite his monitoring apps he was surprised when a black hole opened directly beneath his feet.

The manhole cover had been booby trapped. Robbie’s security software hadn’t warned him. “Crap!” he thought as his “Z” value plummeted.

Thank Designer he couldn’t smell! Access ladder gone, shaft too wide for him to brace himself against the walls and inch his way up.

Claws scritch on stone, wet black scales, rows of shiny white teeth. So it wasn’t just an urban legend! Fortunately, he had a jet pack.

Steering these things is tricky, he caromed. Good thing they don’t let humans have them. He stratosphered uffishly.

Calculating tangents and trajectories, reaction mass and resistance, Robbie figured he’d skip off the atmosphere in 3.672 years.

If he slingshot round the sun, he could go where no bot had gone. Solar vanes out, limbs aflexin, Robbie hit the sleep mode of the just.

end

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