E
Jan/Feb 2002

e c l e c t i c a   f i c t i o n

Fiction


Falling Away

I don't like them, but Sung-Joon loves them. He watches as I squeeze the soft shell between my fingers, follows the path of the husk as it falls to the pile. Then I see the familiar anticipation in his eyes as he waits for me to proffer the two small jewels I've extracted.

Cynthia A. Kim

 

A Threnody

Sometimes, the blue ball of light dips viciously towards the earth--it dives and screams as it goes, down, down, down to the heavy earth. And when it gets there it kills. Oh yes, always. Sometimes it's a single hit--a child dies in a womb, or is crushed with a tipper truck, or burnt black and brittle in a careless fire.

Rohana Reading

 

Dead Leaves Driven

The capital is seventy miles away and we're only making ten or twelve miles a day. The artillery starts up behind us in the early morning and only stops at nightfall. We're running out of food and water. We can't trust the village wells: they're a good dumping place for corpses.

Tom Brennan

 

Mapping Charlotte

"My name is Zelda," she would say in her deep, soft voice, without laughing, as though it were true. I would stand by her side and feel, not crazy, but younger, stronger, more capable in my own life because I was married to a woman with such spark and imagination. I never acted like a normal husband and asked her why she did this--perhaps it would have been a good idea to have done so.

Susannah Indigo

 

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