An e-zine about spaceships, aliens, science, memory, motherhood, magic, and cats.
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Theme of Absence, September 2021
Blake had heard octopuses were smart, but it was hard to believe, looking at the blurring mass of muscle. He scooped the hand net into the cold water of the storage cell, like a plastic tub set into the deck of his small fishing boat. Tentacles writhed in a squirming reddish brown mass below. He couldn’t even make out a single individual creature in there. Just limbs. Squishy, slippery limbs. Continue reading “Eight Ways”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Kaleidotrope, October 2022
@UnicornGirl231: O MUH GOD i jus saw a zombie eating sumone’s arm and the ARM FELL OFF #zombiesarereal #zombiesarehere #evenincrestcity
@KarenCane: You’re in Crest City? How do you know it was a zombie?
@LiteralGhost1: Is the zombie virus airborn? Will a mask protect me? Do I need to hold my breath around zombies? Maybe I’ll just stay inside… Continue reading “Safe Here in Crest City”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally serialized in Daily Science Fiction, November/December 2022
Part 1: Comfort Animal
The wide timber frame arch rose high above Dr. Miriam Loxley’s head, presaging the size of the animals kept in the enclosure. All the movies, books, and games came rushing back to her — she’d grown up with the Jurassic Park franchise. She knew all of the paleontologists and geneticists involved in The Prehistory Zoo had too. Somehow, they’d taken those stories as a siren’s call, instead of heeding them as a warning. Continue reading “The Prehistory Zoo”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Electric Spec, Vol. 13, Issue 2, May 2018
Hanna steered the spaceship with one arm, punching buttons, turning knobs, and flipping switches. Her other arm was wrapped tightly around her young son. His face was buried against her shoulder. He wasn’t crying any more. His breathing had stilled. He was sleeping, but he still clung to her with his arms and legs that seemed so long and gangly compared to when he was a baby. Continue reading “The Blood Portal”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Hot Chocolate for the Unicorn and Other Flights of Fancy
The Unicorn stretches his snowy neck, leaning his nose down to taste the dark liquid in the mug before him. He’s been blowing on his hot chocolate, quietly nickering, to cool it, but it must be too hot still. He lowers his translucent horn to the surface of the drink. Cold suffuses. With the lightest touch, the chocolate is cool enough to drink.
“Will you tell me a story?” the Unicorn asks. Continue reading “Blaze the Fire Monster”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Hot Chocolate for the Unicorn and Other Flights of Fancy, December 2024
Seven riders on six horsebacks and one mechanical contraption, each of the seven blessed with wings, flew toward the sea.
The horses’ wings were made of tawny feathers, golden when the sun hit them right, downy and angelic. The mechanical contraption’s wings were less wings and more of a spinning rotor in a tarnished shade of silver, held above the rider by a jointed, metal arm, heavy with bolts. It didn’t look air-worthy, but it was. Continue reading “Seven Riders and Six Horses”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Hot Chocolate for the Unicorn and Other Flights of Fancy, December 2024
First, you tear the eyes out, digging your fingertips into the sockets around them, squishing the bulbs to get your fingers under them. They’ll be slippy, and you’ll have to squeeze hard while yanking out, or the eye won’t come.
Once you have the eyeballs pulled out of their sockets, rip quickly to tear them from the gooey threads still connecting them. When they come free, throw them at the floor. Stomp on them with your boot. The heavier the boot, the better. Continue reading “The Dancing Swords”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Every Day Fiction, June 2017
“If you could do anything in the world for your birthday — anything at all — what would you do?”
My daughter, Layla, mirrors the question that I asked her last month about her birthday when I was looking for clues as to what I should give her, what kind of party I should throw her. She’s only five, too young to be looking for clues. Continue reading “Birthday”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Aoife’s Kiss, Issue #33, June 2010
The shore bubbled and frothed under Bryen’s sotto voce chanting. His hands trembled, conducting currents in the air, and he squinted his eyes tight.
“Knock it off!” Charles yelled at his brother. “How will I ever get a fish to bite if you keep that up?” He kept preparing the boat as he grumbled. “Bunch of rubbish,” he said. “Scares all the decent fish away.” Continue reading “The Third Wish”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Collie Commander, November 2024
The social heart of the Tri-Galactic Union starship Initiative was a wide room with windows all along one side that looked out on the yawning void of space, sprinkled with the bright points of the distant stars. Tables were scattered around at a comfortable density, and a synthesizer bar worked by an uplifted rabbit named Galen stretched along the opposite wall.
Galen was a mysterious figure who loved listening to the woes and travails of the mostly canine and feline officers of the Initiative when they came to her bar, which she called the Constellation Club, but she rarely opened up about herself or how she’d come to be the only rabbit on a ship full of dogs, cats, and the rare exchange officer from another world. Continue reading “The Grafting”