A Memory of Wind

read by Rachel Swirsky at Tor.com I began turning into wind the moment that you promised me to Artemis. Before I woke, I lost the flavor of rancid oil and the shade of green that flushes new leaves. They slipped from me, and became gentle breezes that would later weave themselves into the strength of my gale.

Eros, Philia, Agape

read by Rachel Swirsky at Tor.com Adriana waved her hand bitterly when Lucian began packing. “Take whatever you want,” she said, snapping her book shut. She waited by the door, watching Lucian with sad and angry eyes.

A Monkey Will Never Be Rid of Its Black Hands

read by Alasdair Stuart at Escape Pod Papa and Uncle Fomba told me if I didn’t join the army, they’d kill me. They didn’t. They cut off my hands.

How the World Became Quiet: A Post-Human Creation Myth

read by Frank Key at Escape Pod During the first million years of its existence, mankind survived five apocalypses without succumbing to extinction. It endured the Apocalypse of Steel, the Apocalypse of Hydrogen, the Apocalypse of Serotonin, and both Apocalypses of Water, the second of which occurred despite certain contracts to the contrary. Mankind also survived the Apocalypse of Grease, which wasn’t a true apocalypse, although it wiped out nearly half of humanity by clogging the gears that ran the densely-packed underwater cities of Lor, but that’s a tale for another time.

Heartstrung

read by Heather Welliver at Pseudopod The seamstress bends forward as she presses her needle into her daughter’s heart for another stitch, squinting to make sure she sews tight and even. As she pulls the thread taut, she realizes this stitch marks the midpoint – she’s now halfway finished sewing Pamela’s heart onto her sleeve.

Great, Golden Wings

read by Scott H. Andrews Lady Percivalia watched the young cinematographist’s hands as he set up his equipment. They were narrow and graceful, dusted with pale-colored hair. His limber fingers moved rapidly as he angled his screens and adjusted his projectors.

Skyscrapers

read by Ann Leckie at Escape Pod I love to lie when discovered. "I'm your new neighbor." "The landlord sent me." "I'm the ghost of the girl who died on the 11th floor." "I fell from the sky." I wear billowing white dresses and a wide-brimmed straw hat that throws my face into shadow. People are eager to believe me.

Silence

read by M. K. Hobson at Escape Pod I cannot walk through walls. I cannot conjure a chicken and make it dance or start a fire with my fingers. I cannot shape familiars from fog or examine entrails to see if a man will die. I cannot resurrect your son.

Header illustrations by Sam Weber (left and right) and Fantasio (center).