Instructions to My Past Self

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by Liam Hogan

 

Don’t study microbiology at university.

Definitely don’t take Dr Meadow’s course on recombinant DNA.

Whatever you do, don’t volunteer to look after her lab rats during summer break. Certainly don’t name one of them “Nipper”.

Take July the 13th off. Any excuse will do. Someone else can feed her damned rats for one miserable day.

Don’t let the mail-boy stick his hand in Nipper’s cage. And DON’T mix up the iodine solution with Dr Meadow’s untested serum.

If you do end up doing all of this (again), at least make sure you’re wearing a good pair of sneakers. And RUN!

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, with stories in Best of British Science Fiction and in Best of British Fantasy (NewCon Press). He’s been published by Analog, Daily Science Fiction, and Flame Tree Press, among others. He helps host Liars’ League London, volunteers at the creative writing charity Ministry of Stories, and lives and avoids work in London. More details at http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

 

Payload

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by Ria Rees

 

The last city sprawls below—a hodgepodge of rooftop slums. With the deafening thump of helicopter blades pounding in my skull, I radio the pilot. “Target below. Keep us steady.”

One finger trembling on the switch, I repeat my mantra. We tried everything.

A small group hails us from a hospital helipad, arms flailing madly. Leaning out, I spot a single child, starved and dirty. My breath catches. The remains of a plushie dangle from their hand. I swear they look right into my eyes.

I swallow my guilt, convince myself they’re infected, and drop the payload.

We tried everything.

Ria Rees

Ria Rees writes from her cosy cottage in Wales, praying that her creations will never become sentient. www.riarees.com 

 

Death By Cake Pop

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by Jodi Jensen

 

“Almost ready, dear.” Joslyn ignored the growling in the corner and focused on her batch of cake pops.

Humming a cheery tune, she picked up a homemade squib (God bless the internet!) and rolled it in her dough. She poked the stick in, then dipped it in melted chocolate and voilà!

Her undead husband’s teeth gnashed as he struggled against the ropes binding him.

She shoved a cake pop into his mouth, then dove behind the counter.

Boom!

She jumped up to find his exploded head coating the walls.

Grinning, she rolled another cake pop…she had neighbours, after all.

Jodi Jensen

Jodi Jensen, author of time travel romances, a biopunk novella, and over eighty speculative fiction short stories, grew up moving from California, to Massachusetts, and a few other places in between, before finally settling in Utah at the ripe old age of nine. The nomadic life fed her sense of adventure as a child and the wanderlust continues to this day. As a natural born storyteller she has a passion for old cemeteries, historical buildings, things that go bump in the night, and sweeping sagas of days gone by. 

 

Brain Waves

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by Laura Nettles

 

Months after Z-Day, scientists finally discovered the zombies were hunting us by tracking our brainwaves: higher brain functions, specifically.

Coma patients and people in deep sleep remained unnoticed by those who had risen from the dead. There had to be a way to harness that. Tweak it. Adapt.

Icepick in hand, I tapped into the eye sockets of my captives. My patients. Trying different positions, angles, depths with each. The undead ignored my experiments when released, but the patients were more vegetative than living.

Inhuman screaming arose outside.

One more chance! I placed the pick to my own eye. Tap.

Laura Nettles

Laura Nettles is a California girl living in Canada.  She lights special effects for films by day, and pens terror by night. Snuggles with her dog Roy, and warm cups of rooibos tea sustain her. Follow her journey and read some of her fiction at lauranettles.com.

 

The Weight of Alone

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by Alden Terzo

 

Melek was alone. The mortals, her late mother’s people, shunned her. Her father—banished from Shamayim for siding with the Adversary—passed this banishment to her at birth before abandoning her. Melek had no place in Heaven or Earth.

But there was another place.

The rabbi, eyes wide, cowered and prayed at Melek’s feet. No longer able to endure the weight of alone, Melek raised her sword. Her great wings unfurled, obscuring the stars, as she brought the sword down, cleaving the righteous man and saturating herself with sin.

Better to serve in Hell, she’d decided, than to be alone.

Alden Terzo

When Alden Terzo isn’t reading, he’s often writing. Or procrastinating. There is usually coffee involved. Find him on Twitter @AmbassadorAlden 

 

Like Father Like Son

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by  Kai Delmas

 

My father was an angry man. He took what he wanted, convinced it was his due for the wings he had lost. The power he had been stripped of.

Before dying he whispered in my ear, lips aquiver.

“The sky is your birthright. You’ll grow strong. Take it. Reclaim the heavens.”

I slid my blade out from between his ribs and looked to my mother. Finally safe.

Yet his words lingered, and as I grew and grew, I understood that I was special. That I could take what I wanted. But I didn’t want the skies.

I wanted the world.

Kai Delmas

Kai Delmas loves creating worlds and magic systems and is a slush reader for Apex Magazine. He is a winner of the monthly Apex Microfiction Contest and his fiction can be found in Martian, Tree and Stone, and several Shacklebound anthologies. Find him on Twitter @KaiDelmas.

 

Fallen Angels

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by  Pauline Yates

 

Mother heats the blade in the fire, but it’s the flap of monstrous wings that strikes fear into my heart.

“Will it hurt?” I whisper, scrutinizing her scarred face.

“Better to suffer a searing blade than endure the agony of being raped by a Fallen and bearing its unholy offspring. Did the Elder’s son tarnish your purity?”

“Yes. He was kind.”

“Pray his seed will also deter them. Hold still.”

She brands my cheek with the blade, ruining the beauty the Fallen desire. Biting my lip, I pray for a son so I won’t have to deface a daughter, too.

 

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates lives in Queensland, Australia. She writes dark stories and loves bright sunrises.

https://linktr.ee/paulineyates

 

The Destroyer

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by  Tracy Davidson

 

The last of the Nephilim, dormant for millennia, rose in the year 2022. Its destiny was to destroy, wreak havoc on humanity, cause catastrophe. One swipe of wings could level cities in seconds.

But, no hurry. It was curious to see how humans had evolved during its long sleep.

On the first day, it walked the Earth, east to west, north to south.

On the second day, it sat and wondered why it bothered waking up at all. Humans were doing the job for him.

On the third day, it flew away. Maybe another world was in need of mayhem.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights. 

 

All Fall Down

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by Don Money

 

The beat of heavy wings gusted over the battlefield, sending dust plumes swirling. The three Nephilim landed, towering over the combatants on each side. Fear swept the faces of both armies. These fallen angels were allies to no man.

With no warning, the Nephilim lashed out with their silver weapons, long spears impaling dozens of men with each thrust and sword blades slicing open the blood and bone of scores with each swing.

In the end, the carnage of broken bodies flooded the field, the tide of men had been smashed like waves against the immovable rocky shore of giants.

 

Don Money

Don Money writes stories across a variety of genres. He is a middle school language arts teacher. His stories have appeared in a variety of anthologies.

 

Pomegranate

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by Inez Santiago

 

After swiping dark black wings across her eyes, her eyes drifted down from the heavens. Her fingers dipped into the masses. Screams erupted a little too late as she made her selection.

It was met with resistance, a downward tug on her little snack’s legs. More screams. She shook a few off, but some still desperately clung.

But she did not hunger for more than what she had, so she squeezed. Its red juices bubbling from its body dripped delectably onto her fingers, and the desperate. The desperate slipped away, the man into her maw.

She smiled at the flavour.

 

Inez Santiago

Inez Santiago is a young Mexican writer from Southern California. She likes long walks by the cliffside and roaring waters. Beware. Find her staring off into space on Twitter @InezSantiagoFic or at her website: https://inezsantiago.carrd.co/