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 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 Commander Annie and Other Adventures, November 2023
The universe is fundamentally composed of irony. We live in a story, and that story has a genre. It is a satire. Let me repeat the most important idea here: the fundamental building block of the universe, the smallest, indivisible component is irony. When you take an umbrella, and so it doesn’t rain — dramatic irony. The viewer, whoever or whatever exists outside the universe, or perhaps simply the personality of the universe itself gets to laugh at you. It knows; you didn’t. Dramatic irony. Continue reading “When the Universe Listens”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in The Lorelei Signal, January 2023
Franzi swung her long, giraffe-like neck from side to side, surveying the tightly filled shelves of the grocery aisles on this asteroid shop-mart. There were too many brands of jangleberries to pick from — she didn’t know which kind she’d like best, and somehow, the existence of so many brands made her feel like she shouldn’t have to settle for anything less than her absolute favorite type of jangleberry. Continue reading “Too Many Jangleberries”
by Mary E. Lowd
A Deep Sky Anchor Original, October 2022
I watch the lake, peaceful and serene; white swans float on it with the graceful delicacy and stillness of ice sculptures or many-tiered, fondant-covered wedding cakes.
Then the black swans come. One after another. Crashing into the water, wings spread wide and flapping.
Progress has begun. Continue reading “Black Swans”
by Mary E. Lowd
A Deep Sky Anchor Original, June 2022
This is not a story about Spider-Man, because Spider-Man is owned by a company. This is a story about a young boy, on his first day of high school, who was bitten by a spider and fell asleep like a princess in a fairytale. He fell asleep for the life of the author — which in this case would be his parents — plus seventy years. Continue reading “Not Spider-Man and the Seven Angel Donors”
by Mary E. Lowd
A Deep Sky Anchor Original, December 2021
Warm buttery crumbs flaked off the toasting bread and sprinkled down to the diminutive city built on the metal tray below. Gooey cheese dripped off the sides of the horizontal toast. Metallic creatures — ant-like with their half-dozen legs and expressive antennae, but tiny, so tiny, ant-sized to an ant — scurried back to their minuscule buildings, seeking refuge from the reeking rain. Later when the fallen scraps had cooled, foragers would gather them up and the city would feast on bread and cheese. Continue reading “The City In Your Toaster Oven”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in New Myths, December 2019
I am a cracked crystal vase holding a rainbow cloud. The colors leak out through the cracks. The crystal is too rigid; it can’t contain them. The colors are too strong, too big. Too bold. And the crystal is precise. It desperately wants — no, needs — to be precise. But the colors have no patience. They can’t wait for precision. They happen. Whether the crystal is ready to contain them or not. Continue reading “Crystal and Rainbow”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Furvana 2019 Conbook, September 2019
Ariadella chose a cozy corner of the universe where the velvety blackness was thick with a rich, fizzy soup of hydrogen and helium. She settled into the lonely void and began gulping up the fizz, letting it process deep in her belly, until she had enough dark matter to begin spinning.
With her thousands of legs, Ariadella pulled silk from her spinnerets. The gravitational lines of silk brought tension, structure, and form to the swampy darkness. She spun from a central point outward, choosing a spiraling pattern as she went. Continue reading “Galactic Garden”
by Mary E. Lowd
Originally published in Bards & Sages Quarterly, Volume IV, Issue 3, July 2012
Dennis took a bow and left the stage for his last time. He gripped arms with his brother and fellow band member; they grinned at each other and agreed it had been a good set. Cameras flashed, and fans shoved photos of him, hopefully, his way. He signed a few autographs, kissed a few girls, and made it to his car. This was the life. His job was being famous and adored, maybe singing a little too. When his day’s work was done, he could head over to a party. There was always a party, every night. Tonight, the party was at the docks, on a house boat. It would be good, lots of new stuff to try… and Dennis tried it. Continue reading “The Opposite of Suicide”