London, 2113.Racked by riots and ruled by corporations, London has grown to house over twenty-million people. Its limits stretch across the south-west of England.Pollution chokes the skyline, hiding the stratoscrapers of The Mile, London’s exclusive centre, from sight; though its gaudy neon signs penetrate the smog. Corporations rule after the collapse of the mid-2000s. The NHS, under strain from underfunding and the barrage of pandemics, chemical attacks and terrorism, found itself sold off, piece by piece, to the highest bidder. The augmentation companies moved in; buying what they liked. The National Health Bank rose, supplemented by other privatised care centres.
by Hari Navarro
I was sixteen the first time. Never sensed anything like it. Such wonder. Worlds away from the fantastical lies that curled my toes and suppressed my exasperated sighs as the father spoke down from his pulpit.
Poor Charlie, loved since he was but a ball of foundling fur. His rot grabbed me and I sat transfixed as the faeries nipped, tugged, and gulped down the flesh from the now exposed cage of his ribs.
I called my parents—they, too, stared yet all they saw were mites and flies and maggots.
I was sixteen when I first encountered the fae.
by Hari Navarro
I felt the impact as she landed in our bed. That sickly hollow plunge common to nightmares in which we fall but never land. It was sometime after the birth of our third child, I think. And she did arrive in our bed, and she did lay waste to our passion and she turned what we had to dust.
I saw her that next day as you awoke. I saw the flurry of blackened wings as they fluttered behind the blink of your morning eyes. I saw her nesting inside you and I knew then, quite certainly, we were lost.
Hari Navarro has for many years now been locked in his neighbour’s cellar. He survives due to an intravenous feed of puréed extreme horror and sticky-spiced unicorn wings. His anguished cries for help can be found via 365 Tomorrows, Breachzine, AntipodeanSF, Horror Without Borders, Black Hare Press, and HellBound books.
by Hari Navarro
The tip of his stake pushes the cloth from my chest and settles against my hardening nipple. I prick my tongue on the rapier prongs in my mouth, and I open the moist stick of my lips and offer he, who would be my killer, a glimpse of their reddening shine.
“I’m human. See in me a ghost of the life that was torn from my neck?” I whisper as my long fingers wrap around the hard black wood in his fist.
“I see you. I’m not here to kill the beast. I’m killing the wretched man you once were.”
Hari Navarro has for many years now been locked in his neighbours cellar. He survives due to an intravenous feed of puréed extreme horror and sticky-spiced unicorn wings. His anguished cries for help can be found via 365 Tomorrows, Breachzine, AntipodeanSF, Black Hare Press and HellBound books.
Keep up to date on Tumblr: harinavarro.tumblr.com/
Hari Navarro has, for many years now, been locked in his neighbour’s cellar. He survives due to an intravenous feed of puréed extreme horror and Absinthe-infused sticky-spiced unicorn wings.