Category: Short Stories

18 Hours

In the third generation after we’d colonized the Douzaines Moons, the gems started appearing. A sort of shimmering blood-blister, growing under a fingernail, usually, though about one in a five get it under a toenail, becoming a full-fledged gémmoire a few years after the first flush of hormonal puberty has settled in. The First Ones

Taco Sunday.

So, Marge says to me, she says “Hey, Bill– you wanna try something new?” I mean, we’re talking about dinner, and I figure she’s about to ask me if I want the Yukon Gold or the Idaho Russets in the pot roast– because it’s Sunday and we always have pot roast on Sunday– or at

Notes from Under the Grounds, part two.

Part II. Now, kids, what I want to tell you, whether you’re listening or not, is why I couldn’t even be a bitch. Honestly, there were plenty of times I wished I could be a bitch. But the wish never came true. Really, kids, I now know that being connected—“plugged in” as we used to

Notes from Under the Grounds…

Part I. I am depressed. … You don’t know me. I am spiteful and alone. I think I have social anxiety disorder. Or maybe not. I don’t know. I’m not in therapy; I’ve never even been to an analyst, though I believe in modern medicine and think everyone could use a little counseling. I’m incredibly

Sci-Fi Saudade

Part One: Temps Perdu “À la recherche du temps perdu”… there really isn’t a great translation for it in English.   “In search of lost time” and “remembrance of things past” are the most common, but perdu is so much more subtle… it’s lost, missing, wasted, alone.  There’s a sense of darkness and despair to