Category: Story

Treegadoon – Part 2

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Animal Voices, Unicorn Whispers, October 2024

[Part 1]

“If the curse were true, then Treegadoon would be gone soon. Gone for years and years.”

Alone in his boat on a clear sea in the glow of early afternoon, Elijah found he could almost believe the whole morning had been a daydream, perhaps caused by nibbling on a psychotropic jellyfish tentacle.  Were there jellyfish whose flesh could cause such hallucinations?  Elijah wasn’t sure, but perhaps one of his mothers would know.  As he sailed onward toward home though, he realized:  there were still two sacks of nut-butter sandwiches and joiberries in the boat with him, and that was hard, physical evidence that he had met with someone out here on the sea this morning. Continue reading “Treegadoon – Part 2”

Treegadoon – Part 1

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Animal Voices, Unicorn Whispers, October 2024

[Part 2]

“The sunbeam cut through the grayness and landed on a tussled pile of green like a spotlight. Where it shone, trees rose out of the ocean, as mysterious and unexpected as a shooting star.”

Elijah’s small boat rocked with the storming of the ocean.  Gusts of wind blew sharply against his thick, dense fur, and his clothes — even though they were made from special quick-drying fabric — were completely soaked.  Waves slapped and splashed against the small boat, threatening to overturn him.  Elijah didn’t mind the idea of swimming home.  He was a river otter who had been raised among sea lions on a small island near the coast.  He was used to swimming, and he was used to the ocean’s whimsy.  But he’d spent the pre-dawn hours hunting jellyfish, and now as the sun was about to rise, his little boat was chockfull of delectable delicacies.  There were moon jellies, sea nettles, and — even better — he’d finally caught a lion’s mane jellyfish.  He’d wanted to catch one since he’d been a little fellow, still afraid of the water. Continue reading “Treegadoon – Part 1”

Jellyfish for Dinner

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Animal Voices, Unicorn Whispers, October 2024

“She’d never been afraid of water before Elijah almost drowned. It was a strange thing to be afraid of something so prevalent, so all-surrounding.”

When Arlene and Angelica married, they never expected to have children.  Arlene was a river otter inventor; Angelica was a sea lion artist.  And they were very happy together, sharing their lives and their passions, but theirs was the kind of union that bore fruit of the mind, not the kind of union that produced children. Continue reading “Jellyfish for Dinner”

Frond Farewell

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Animal Voices, Unicorn Whispers, October 2024

“Other rabbits may have faced horrible fates there, but she had no fear.  The other rabbits had already beaten it out of her with their cruel words and cold shoulders.”

Pollen floated on the unseasonably warm spring breeze like glitter, glinting golden in the late afternoon sun.  Each speck a tiny grain of hope, most to be left unfulfilled, for this pollen dispersed from a plant that didn’t belong on the mundane plains of the British countryside.  It didn’t belong anywhere on Earth at all, and its root-mates had already wreaked havoc across all the great cities of Earth, leaving them empty.  The cohort of carnivorous plants had been a catastrophe for humanity, but the wilder parts of the world… those hadn’t fallen prey to this pollen’s particular magic yet. Continue reading “Frond Farewell”

An Otter’s Soul

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in The Lorelei Signal, July 2022

“When otters lose a friend, they comfort each other by saying that the friend’s soul has become a dragonfly…”

Quiley didn’t feel like anything was wrong.  She put one paw in front of the other; she kept moving.  She kept playing and splashing in the river like an otter is supposed to.  But everyone kept saying how sorry they were.  How hard it must be.  It was almost like they thought they knew something about her and Pia that she hadn’t known herself. Continue reading “An Otter’s Soul”

One Sheep

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Allasso, Volume 2: Saudade, April 2012

“She needed one sheep to jump through hoops, one sheep to balance on a giant ball, and one sheep to fly on the trapeze for her circus act.”

There was once a sheep that could have been a sheep with fifteen other sheep, all living on a farm.  But, one day, a man came and invited that sheep to live at the petting zoo with the pygmy goats, pigs, rabbits, and Shetland ponies there.  So, that one sheep joined the petting zoo.

Then, there were fifteen sheep left. Continue reading “One Sheep”

Chrysalis Can Wait

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Paw Prints Beyond the Moon, July 2024

“His voice had not changed.  It was the same voice that Emily remembered from her egg-dreams.”

Warm air, sun-dappled pink tea roses, and the drowsy hum of bees melted away the cold from outer space that chilled the Time Tortoise.  He had hidden inside his shell, wrapped in his silken robe, and watched the spiral galaxy, Galapagofrey, twist and crush down into a pinpoint black hole.  Supermassive.  His home galaxy was gone.

He needed something new. Continue reading “Chrysalis Can Wait”

What the Eyes Covet and the Stomach Craves

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Brunch at the All Alien Cafe, March 2024

“I haven’t eaten in a month,” Am-lei tried to say, but her mouth was so different that the words came out as a jumble of incoherent, fluting sounds.

Like a delicate crystal vase, the hard shell of Am-lei’s chrysalis cracked, spilling out the furled up, new-grown, riotously colorful wings inside.  Still wet, the wings hung from her changed body, pulsing with life, heavy and dragging her down, out of the chrysalis that had held her, dormant, for the last month.

The month had passed like a dream.  Am-lei remembered her body itching all over, and her mouth overflowing with gooey silk-spittle.  She remembered climbing up the walls of her room and gluing her feet to the ceiling as her squishy, green caterpillar skin split down the middle, shedding like a winter coat on a hot day, revealing the hardened chrysalis that had developed underneath, her new outer shell, as the rest of her melted and mutated inside. Continue reading “What the Eyes Covet and the Stomach Craves”

Techno Babel

by Daniel Lowd & Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Kaleidotrope, October 2017

“How could an insensate automaton, a mere button-pusher and lump of cargo, touch our brilliant, shining world mind?”

We are alone now, all of us.

I still remember what it was like to communicate, to share thoughts and visions, to think together.  But now, the Judgment Virus makes my mind fuzzier with each passing hour.  Soon I shall lose the ability to communicate with myself, and my own thoughts shall be as lost to me as the silent strangers that were once my friends. Continue reading “Techno Babel”

Returning the Lyre

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Kaleidotrope, January 2021

“My Orpheus had no lyre with him in Hades’ realm. Those perfect fingers had no strings to pluck.”

The snake didn’t bite me.  It bit Orpheus, and his lyre twanged discordantly as he fell to the ground.  It was the first inharmonious sound that perfect instrument had ever made.  It was the sound that started my journey.  It was a claw, hooked inside my ear, ripping and tearing away every illusion I’d had of safety and happiness, shattering my dreams of a future with Orpheus. Continue reading “Returning the Lyre”