"A Memory of Wind" 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. Between the first and second beats of my lashes, I also lost the grunt of goats being led to slaughter, and the roughness of wool against calloused fingertips, and the scent of figs simmering in honey wine.

"Eros, Philia, Agape" 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" at Subterranean Magazine

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.

"Dispersed by the Sun, Melting in the Wind" at Subterranean Magazine

The second-to-last human to die is a child who lives in the region that was once called the Blue Mountains of Australia. She has the strange light eyes that children are occasionally born with, the way they are sometimes born as triplets or with white hair or with another baby’s empty body growing from their bellies. Her mother calls them water eyes, a sign that the child shares the changeable spirit of the ocean which can shift from calm to storm in the space of a breath.

"Scene from a Dystopia" at Subterranean Magazine (PDF)

You’ve read this book before. It’s one of the classics from the Cold War era, always worth rereading when you’ve got a little time on your hands - long plane rides, your annual winter flu, the two rainy weeks between autumn and winter when you find your mood drifting toward insular and melancholic. You feel comforted when you read the famous opening lines: “If these accounts have fallen into your hands, then you have been identified as a potential recruit for the rebellion. Take heed, for the Eyes are everywhere and you may already be in peril.”

"Marrying the Sun" at Fantasy Magazine

The wedding went well until the bride caught fire. Bridget’s pretty white dress went up in a whoosh, from train-length veil to taffeta skirt to rose-embroidered bodice and Juliet cap with ferronière of pearls. The fabric burned so hot and fast that it went up without igniting Bridget’s skin, leaving her naked, singed, embarrassed, and crying.

"Mirror Images" at Fantasy Magazine

In the beveled mirror over Don’s dining table, mine is an ex-wife’s face. Broomstick hair crackles around hollow, harried eyes that look like a beaten dog’s. I could lick or bite without warning.

"Undocumented" at Fantasy Magazine

Near my childhood home, there ran a river that flowed through a deposit of rust. The rusty water was tinted yellow-orange, the color of an early sunset. When I was young, I thought it looked like a river of gold.

"Detours on the Way to Nothing" at Weird Tales

It’s midnight when you and your girlfriend, Elka, have your first fight since you moved in together. Words wound, tears flow, doors slam. You storm out of the apartment, not caring where you go as long as it’s far away from her. When you step off the front stoop onto the sidewalk, that’s the moment when the newest version of me is born.

"A Letter Never Sent" at the Konundrum Engine Literary Review

My name is Marc. I am twenty-two. I need to prove to you that I am "under significant mental stress" and that I am a "threat to others." Probably you need to know something about me so that you will understand why.

"Great, Golden Wings" at Beneath Ceaseless Skies

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.

"Needle and Thread" at Lone Star Stories

The sidhe had taught her embroidery magic, though they exacted their price. They’d found her as a young mother, sitting among the crocuses outside her cottage as she sewed a new spring gown, her stitches eager and unpracticed. Leita’s baby girl lay in a basket at her feet, but she forgot her daughter amid fey promises of beauty and magic. “Come a little way with us,” they whispered. “We’ll show you wonders.”

FLASH FICTION

"Skyscrapers" at Flashquake

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.

"The Slave Man's Magic" at Flashquake

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.

"Exodus" at Ideomancer

The hens don't want to trust me. They flap and rustle, crowding their roost. I'm everything they fear: chilling howl, arctic fur, glistening teeth. Hunger yawns in my stomach. I control it.

"Single Card Spread" at Behind the Wainscot

I’ll read if you wish, but you’ll draw the Moon.

"Harmonic Nirvana" at Spacesuits & Sixguns

Wow, guys, thanks for letting me listen in. You spin noise out of those instruments like nothing else. The harpsichord, the piano – I'm not lyin', your fingers are flyin'. It takes real talent to pull off beauty spots and pantaloons. You know what I'm saying? You gotta have balls of steel to look studly in a powdered wig.

"Two Weeks After the Shadow" at Anti-Muse

Two weeks after the shadow shows up in Stephen’s x-ray, it comes to you that you should do something about the bucket in the garden.

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