A Little Like Sap, a Bit Like a Tree
It was a hard winter, and the cold had seeped deep into the wood of my cabin, the crisp air impossible to warm no matter
Stories will be released on our website and podcast approximately 1-2 months after publication in our issues.
Letter from the Editors
Aleksandra Hill, Kanika Agrawal, Rowan Morrison, Zhui Ning Chang, Isabella Kestermann, and Sachiko Ragosta
Coming soon: excerpt of Liar, Dreamer, Thief and an interview with its author, Maria Dong!
Interview with Naseem Jamnia
Questions by Aleksandra Hill
Excerpt: The Bruising of Qilwa
Out from Tachyon Publications
The Last Flesh Figure Skaters
Claire Jia-Wen
The Universe & Miss Debbie
Cindy Phan
In the Age of Fire
Ana Rüsche, translated from Brazilian Portuguese by the author
Nightskin’s Landing
Chris Campbell
Cuckoo
Esra Kahya, translated from Turkish by Aysel K. Basci
A Little Like Sap, a Bit Like a Tree
Natalia Theodoridou
Some Thoughts on Cuisine and Culture
Aliette de Bodard
Ketchup Pork Chops and Foreign Potatoes
C. H. Hung
Cover: Issue 4.3
Charis Loke
It was a hard winter, and the cold had seeped deep into the wood of my cabin, the crisp air impossible to warm no matter
The future borders the present at all times. Thus, although silver linings could be part of possible futures, they aren’t enough to protect future generations.
The first time I saw you, you laced up your skates, adjusted your knee mods, and I was just another unremarkable face as you fluttered
Her name was Deb (Miss Debbie to the staff), but everyone at SALON LA BELLE called her Clockwork, a covert nickname one of the children
Crècheships weren’t built to withstand the forces at play during a planetary landing. They were solely designed as engines of eternal warfare, meant to slip
They start with rats. Rats are easy to find; there’s a swarm of them convulsing on the dumpster outside the lab, so they draw straws
It rarely rains on Mars. Most of the domes are equipped with the requisite machinery, most of the caverns too, but only Estrid makes use
Leon was a rock. Sometimes. Other times, he was a horse. At times, a cloud. Never an idea, like the economy. Never a feeling.
Before she died, my mother pinned a new verse to the family song, which caused some consternation among the elders who were left. No one
We are driving to Big Bear Mountain because my father is an engineer at Rocketdyne and says he wants to celebrate the moon landing. Except that
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