Short Stories

The Preacher declared that the unbelievers be destroyed, in a land faraway where they mocked the Testament. Nameless workers—their names appropriated by the state when their status changed—mined coal deep in the barren earth and iron, mixing their blood in the coke. They hammered steel into steamflies for sky-flight and filled their bellies with uranium bombs and copies of the Testament carved onto steel sheets to survive the conflagration. Eyes will burn. And they will at least see. We save them all. The Preacher promised his people in the land that forgot its name that no enemy ship will...

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Or The Four Yorkshiremen Play with Dr. Fantastique’s Time Machine and Have a Jolly Bit of Fun (with apologies to John Cleese, Graham Chapman, Tim Brooke-Taylor, Marty Feldman, Eric Idle, Michael Palin, Terry Gilliam, Terry Jones, Douglas Adams, Sir Terry Pratchett, Gene Wilder, and Mel Brooks) Royal Interior Decorator, Sir Timothy Nordham Cantor, settled against the cushions of his parlour chair and recounted the day’s proceedings. Everything had gone well, considering. It’s not as though he had planned to set the Lady Noddingbottom’s hair on fire whilst attempting to rearrange her sitting room for a more welcoming feel. It...

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She sat with the old man’s head in her lap, stroking his hair. While he stared without blinking, she ran her fingers across his forehead and back through the thin strands of white at his temples. Some part of her knew he would not get up again, would not speak, move, live, but he had not made her to do anything other than love him, so she bent low over his still form, humming softly to herself, hands moving gently over cooling skin. She had been the first. He was young, strong, full of pride and quick ambition when...

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It was their sixteenth day of walking but it felt like forever. Isabella’s eye’s were sunk deep into her skull, as if her body was protecting her innocence from the harshness of the reality all around them. “Father, I’m hungry,” she said again, in a voice as thin as smoke. Manfred looked at her with a love as real as the earth itself and almost wept at what a sin it was to bring such beauty into this godless world. “Soon Isabella,” he lied, “we’ll get you something soon.” The land before them was desolate and broken, a no-mans...

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Grains of sand slide between my toes with the softness of time, like abrasive tongues. I walk the shore slowly, lulled by the crash and swish of tireless waves. The ocean always calls, and I come to it. Darkness envelops me as I approach the rising tide. The wind snags at my dress, thin cloth on cold skin. It pulls my hair, makes it dance wild around me. I taste the ocean on my lips, salt and bitter, a patient lover of skin. A few daring stars give shape to the world, infinite sky above inky ocean, me on...

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Tarak wanted his bones submerged in honeyed water.  He wanted them preserved in golden fluids, in dark basement hours. He wanted his limbs to be encased in amber forever, letting his body soak in and still live, the soul strapped to the bones and hovering in the shadows. Tarak worked day and night, his limbs falling off one by one.  He would have to stop for a moment, stop and re-attach a finger or an arm, or a toe or a leg.  Sometimes he would spend an hour, completely submerged in his work, only to come out and notice...

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Ephraim Noble dressed in clothes typical of a young teenage gentleman, yet his appearance was distinct from his friends because his trousers fit fashionably tighter, his collar was starched more stiffly, and his cravat meticulously tied. He always wore his jacket, which was tailored to a lean physique.  While his friends preferred going to watch scenes at the mechanical optical theater and riding dandy horses, Ephraim was earnest in his studies. Children usually inherit the opinions and interests of their parents.  In this case Ephraim Noble, Sr. had the opposite affect on his son. Mr. Noble was known for...

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There was a man living in a city, working at a very normal job and doing very ordinary things.  The man woke up at seven o’clock every morning to be to work by eight, returned by six o’clock in the evening to prepare an evening meal, watch an hour of television and put himself to bed.  It would be too kind to say that beneath his rather boring exterior he had a brilliant mind or that he was quietly plotting nefarious schemes. What made this man exceptional at this particular moment was not that he was on the verge...

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EDITOR’S NOTE: This story originally appeared in the Spring 2007 issue of Electric Velocipede, and is reprinted here with consent of the author. Karac perches on the looking stones of Silas Bay, the sea spit frothing in black turmoil against the iron clouds of the horizon. Behind him the city belches fissures of steam and smog, glittering against the grey cliffs, an oppressive structure with clear and angry features, its brass and clay towers aggressive against the backdrop of sky and earth. The songs of birds mating fill the air with angry cries as Karac stands and walks towards the...

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Dixie Winesworth was a Miracle.  Not in the sense that she was somehow miraculously created or saved, but she was a part of an elite Corp of Angels called the Miracles.  It was her job to make sure that the earth was well supplied with miraculous things happening all of the time.  Needless to say, she really loved her job. Today was no exception. Dixie fumbled around in her messenger bag in search of a sleek black handheld  device.  This device was a Wingline and her connection to Heaven while she was on earth.  She shoved around a messy...

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