Category: Surreal

When the Universe Listens

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Commander Annie and Other Adventures, November 2023

“The universe didn’t blink in our staring match, it redefined how staring matches work by growing additional eyes.”

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”

Too Many Jangleberries

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in The Lorelei Signal, January 2023

“…am I truly a human dreaming of being a bizarre alien giraffe, shopping for groceries in an asteroid belt? Or am I the giraffe, dreaming of being a human?”

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”

Black Swans

by Mary E. Lowd

A Deep Sky Anchor Original, October 2022

“Why are you afraid of the black swans? They’re only swans, floating on the surface of a lake, gleaming with the depth of nebulas in their feathers.”

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”

Not Spider-Man and the Seven Angel Donors

“The boy’s parents couldn’t take time off of work to grieve for their sleeping princess boy, because they worked at Mal-Wart, and without the protections of a union, they couldn’t afford any time off.”

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”

The City In Your Toaster Oven

by Mary E. Lowd

A Deep Sky Anchor Original, December 2021

“…she worked fast, chipping at the bread with her chisels, carving her predetermined pattern into its doughy grain.”

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”

Crystal and Rainbow

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in New Myths, December 2019

“But the colors have no patience. They can’t wait for precision. They happen. Whether the crystal is ready to contain them or not.”

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”

Galactic Garden

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Furvana 2019 Conbook, September 2019

“Ariadella had watched other, older galaxy-spinners work their webs before. She’d seen their erratic patterns — artless and chaotic. She had better plans.”

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”

The Opposite of Suicide

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Bards & Sages Quarterly, Volume IV, Issue 3, July 2012

“The game before him, the one that let him live the life of Dennis, was flashing its lights, telling him that he’d died and the game was done.”

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”

The Screen Savior

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Bards & Sages Quarterly, Vol. 2, Issue 3, July 2010

“I speak,” scrolled over the trembling body in simple red. “I speak that I am,” and after a pause, “I am the Screen Savior.”

Twenty-four bit, RGB color swirled, paisley-like on the sleeping monitor. The psychedelic mass of colors did not sleep like the electronic cradle holding them. The colors bulged. They ballooned out from the center of the monitor. The screensaver pattern pulled away from the physical surface forming a new surface, visible but ethereal. Continue reading “The Screen Savior”