Catacomb’s Orchestra

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, April 2020

“Mice minds were so small. So easy for Catacomb to read.”

Catacomb laid her paw across the tiny heaving belly of the almost drowned mouse.  The poor thing was frightened out of its mind; she could feel its fright through her paw, prickly and tingly.  Mouse emotions were so funny.

“I saved you from the koi pond, Little One,” Catacomb purred.  “Now your life is mine.”  Never mind that the mouse would never have fallen in the koi pond if Catacomb hadn’t been chasing it.  She could see herself through the mouse’s eyes:  massive, terrifying, death-personified.  The asymmetrical orange and black splotches that had inspired her human to name her Peaches (after a bowl of peach cobbler) looked like a devastating Halloween mask to the mouse.  No sweetness.  All murder. Continue reading “Catacomb’s Orchestra”

The Unicorn Keeper

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Theme of Absence, January 2020

“If I try to lay down limits, she stops eating and her ethereal glow — silver like moonlight — fades to a sickly, flickering shade — gray like a staticky television screen.”

Amalioona prances into the stables, her tufted hooves gleaming. They are the same sparkling shade of white as a hillside of snow in the sun. They are dainty, perfect unicorn hooves. How is it, then, that she always seems to clumsily knock over the slop bucket — no matter where I put it — and kick up the fresh hay into a veritable dust storm? Continue reading “The Unicorn Keeper”

Grizzelka’s Bridegroom

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in The Overcast, February 2020

“Evil had sounded more glorious to him when he wasn’t standing before it, promised to be married to it, and expecting to be eaten by it if he ever stepped out of line. Evil is so much more exciting in the abstract.”

Red light from the five suns streamed down through the church’s stained glass windows.  The colored glass of the windows tried vainly to tint the light, to paint pictures with it on the packed pews below, but the redness was too powerful.  The intricate, rainbow-filled depictions of many-winged angels and many-mouthed chimera bled together into indiscernible pools of red, orange, auburn, and sickly magenta.  The distorted light colored the crowded interior of the church like a crime scene, covered in splattered, congealed blood. Continue reading “Grizzelka’s Bridegroom”

The Spider In Her Lungs

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Abyss & Apex, October 2019

“The newly hatched spider had been nothing more than an eight-legged splotch of light on that x-ray, but Moira liked to imagine that her spider glittered like gemstones, ruby red, a living piece of jewelry hidden inside her chest.”

Moira felt a tickle in her throat. She pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and covered her mouth before coughing. It was a hacking cough that wracked her body, deep into her lungs.  She felt the slime of silk on her tongue and spit the silky strands surreptitiously into her handkerchief before tucking it back in her pocket. Continue reading “The Spider In Her Lungs”

Chrysalis Party

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Kaleidotrope, June 2018

“The larval stage of the K’shellican life-cycle lasted nearly twenty human years. Plenty of time to make friends and build attachments that felt like they would last forever.”

Jade’s belly was full of food from a dozen star systems, but she felt hollow.  It was her place, as Moryheim’s closest friend, to pour the glass of Khenani-catalyst wine that would begin her friend’s change.  Having attended dozens of K’shellica chrysalis parties, Jade had thought this time would be no different.  It was always hard to say goodbye to her K’shellican friends, but she now realized it was much harder to pour the wine herself.

“It’s time,” Moryheim urged with her rumbly voice. Continue reading “Chrysalis Party”

The End of BoJack

I started rewatching BoJack Horseman when my dog died. I’ve now finished rewatching BoJack Horseman… somehow this has not resurrected my dog.

On my first time watching the end of BoJack Horseman, I kind of wished BoJack had actually died, and the final episode had been only about the other characters, especially Diane and Princess Carolyn. Continue reading “The End of BoJack”

Less Valuable than the Concept of a Fetus

Climate action…
Racial justice…
Reproductive rights…
Healthcare for all…

They’re all connected. They’re all about not hurting people.

You can’t have one & skip the others. Because the callousness necessary to deny any of them will leak over into the one you care about.

‪All the good things you want in life, you’re more likely to get them if you live in a world with kind and compassionate leaders who care about your needs.‬

‪But a truly kind and compassionate leader who cares about YOUR needs will care about the needs of EVERYONE.‬

Kindness and compassion can’t deny science, because fundamentally, science is nothing more than a process for figuring out what’s real.

Denying reality is neither kind nor compassionate. It’s delusional, dangerous, and cruel.

I’m still mad that after literal years of me dragging my whole family down to the Bay Area (from Oregon) for holidays that my in-laws cared more about peace and politeness (meaning me keeping my mouth shut about the hatefulness of forced-birthers) than about seeing any of us.

It really messes with your sense of worth when people that you’ve cared about for years make it clear that you mean less to them than THE CONCEPT OF A FETUS. Not, like, even ones they really know or have investment in or EXIST. Just, like, the idea that some MIGHT exist.

Because there are literally people out there who will vote for stupidity and cruelty, figuring those are acceptable collateral damage, just to protect the IDEA of fetuses. And yes, it’s just the IDEA, because there are LITERALLY NO FETUSES out there fighting for their rights.

You know why fetuses don’t fight for their rights? BECAUSE THEY’RE LESS ALIVE THAN GRASS. A cat will scratch you to make its feelings clear. A dog will bite. ACTUAL BABIES CRY. Fetuses are fucking nothing. And the fetishization of them is goddamned sick. GODDAMNED SICK.

Apparently when I get angry, I use the word “literally” a lot. Correctly… but possibly unnecessarily.

The toxic smoke in the sky; the virus carried invisibly by other people; and the hate, cruelty, and incompetence from the republicans in charge…

It feels like being in Ghostbusters 2 when the pink slime, charged with bad feelings is ready to make the whole city boil over.

When you’re more gentle with the feelings of people causing harm than the feelings of people they’re harming, that’s not kindness. It’s complicity.

The beliefs of forced-birthers are fundamentally hateful and violent, because they dehumanize people with the mixed fortune of having uteruses.

Pretending otherwise is participating in that dehumanization.

The Fire In Her Claws

by Mary E. Lowd

Originally published in Daily Science Fiction, April 2020

“How could they ask someone to take her claws away? How can hate look so much like love?”

Apricot dozed in her cat-carrier, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight pouring through the car window and down through the grated metal top of her carrier.  She had an old, rough towel to sleep on, and she was extremely comfortable.  The occasional bump in the road roused her out of her semi-sleep, and she heard her humans in the front seat of the car talking.  Continue reading “The Fire In Her Claws”