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Published Fiction  Imaginary Prisons in Theaker's Quarterly Fiction"Thinking he can beat wise and mighty Goblins, foolish boy-man goes looking for rusty trinket-sword lost by grandfather after much ale. Fifteen suns and moons he goes, getting lost and falling over often, until he is lucky and finds cave where useless sword is. Greatly I’ve done, he thinks, but just as he is picking up blunted pig-sticker, stupid man-child stumbles over own feet, falling on arse and smashing puny head into many pieces. Not the most literary people, are they? But it’s always nice to see a sense of humour exhibited in these things.”  Peachy in Murky Depths # 8Peachy had been watching the back garden with cold calculation for about an hour before I properly noticed. It was hardly uncommon for her to scowl through the glass at the neighbours' tom, or to stare at blackbirds that had the temerity to wander through her hunting grounds. For her to stay in one position for an hour, though, fully conscious and alert, was something new. Survivor in Nanoism [Twitter story]  In the Service of the Guns in Space and Time # 107
In the far distance the half-dozen human ships stood out stark against the ground, hunkered together in a crude encampment. Apart from that there was rock, in dull grey planes broken only by the occasional dip or hillock; there were the meagre moss-like plants, and the Singers. With nothing else to look at as he set off towards the camp, Pilate focused his attention on them. If he'd had to describe them he’d have offered the image of
a two metre long, semi-translucent, white slug.
If slugs had evolved to become the dominate life form on Earth, had
developed forepaws and--whatever those things at the front were, some kind of
proboscis? Well then they'd have looked
something like the Singers.
George Provost stood, for the first time, in the presence of
DeepRED. But that was misleading; the whole of The Monolith, a
hundred floors above ground and fifty below, was all DeepRED. The
Interview Room was only an interface, and a redundant one at that. For
twenty years, the idea of anyone feeding data into the system, when the machine
saw everything and in its way touched everything, would have been
laughable. Provost felt the Coin in his hand. He was gripping it so
tightly that the serration cut his skin. If he was nervous, DeepRED would know.
Thangrind had only one ambition when he
ascended to the throne of Lastaphia: to be more loathsome than his famously despicable
father. He would have liked to surpass his grandfather as well, but was
conscious of the need to set realistic goals. Though his father had been
appallingly evil, Thangrind believed that with diligence he could exceed the
old man's misdeeds.
Goaded by my nerves and the last vestiges of the champagne, I snarled, “Damn it, are you threatening me?” Nothing in the old man’s outward appearance changed: the lined face, beneath its mop of white hair, remained inscrutable. Yet as he replied he seemed somehow, suddenly, exhausted. “Not at all. Still, you won’t be permitted to leave. We will go beneath the church and I’ll show you what I have to show you. Nothing else will be tolerated.”
Billy, he was first generation through and through. I don’t know what his story was, but when he turned up about two weeks ago he was wearing a suit, a real nice suit, he even still had a carnation in his buttonhole. I don’t know, maybe they was burying him when it happened. You’ve got to wonder what they’d have thought, when they was burying him and he got up like that. Anyway, he cut quite a figure when he walked up Main Street in that suit. Well, not walked, y’know, I guess he shambled as much as the rest of them, but somehow he seemed kind of smarter than the others–more alert. And in that suit, he reminded me of my kid, when we buried him. That’s why I named him Billy.
"I was young when I met him, and they called me ‘the savage
prince.’ I don’t know now whether it was
meant as compliment or mockery. I was on a journey and had found a cave to shelter me for the night. Outside in the forest, the rain
and wind were driving hard. It was the kind
of storm that can bring a tree to earth, and I’d heard more than one fall as I
lay awake that night. How could any
living thing be safe in such a tempest? And
yet it was there that the old man found me." Exodus in Hub # 57 "It's a miracle," she said to the official, before she could do anything to stop the words. He (or she) glanced down at her. She tried to imagine eyes behind the frosted silver plates, and failing, continued almost in a panic, "It’s a miracle, isn't it? All these years they've been working and nobody thought they'd ever manage it, but they did. I remember when everyone said it was impossible--a door here and a door there and, oh, something in between I suppose, but nothing you can see. Isn't it a miracle?"
I stood there on the cusp of the crater looking down for perhaps half an hour, feeling like at any moment I’d wake up. But the more I looked, the more real it seemed. It was something like an igloo, a dome of metallic fibre slung over a large framework with an airlock jutting from one side. It was built partly over the water pipe that runs through DeLambre, while power appeared to come from a nest of solar panels on the nearest rim and oxygen recycling to be handled by scrubbers jutting from the side opposite the door. It all seemed sensible enough--except that it was on the moon, in the middle of the DeLambre crater, perhaps eighty kilometres from human contact and with no visible means of communication.Doppelganger in Chiaroscuro Thirty years spent hunting, Strive to be Happy in Flash Fiction Online She stared back mutely. That, at least, he didn’t blame her for: what could she say, after all? Any intrusion would only make things worse. He’d established the rules for this long ago, and she hadn’t fought back, which he considered as good as consenting.
Everyone knows the great desert is hot by day and cold by night. But that heat and cold is something you must know to understand. The midday sun seems to burn through your eyelids, so that outside the shade you cannot escape it; it pricks at your skin like a thousand needles, and sweat offers no relief because you could never sweat enough. It is harsh and cruel, and without water and a good guide you will not live long.  The Facts in the Case of Algernon Whisper's Karma in The Willows #5
I would not suggest that Algernon Whisper is a sane man. I would not even go so far as to argue the claim made in this and other journals that he is criminally insane - in that matter he has proven himself beyond my ability to defend. I contest only one assertion made by your otherwise-reputable periodical: that Algernon Whisper is foolish, that his madness is at the expense of his wits. Having known the subject since childhood, I write here to state clearly and categorically that this is not the case - if anything, Algernon Whisper is a genius.
Life Sentence in Mythlog Life
can be relentless. Again, either you get this, or you don't get it -
yet. Wishing its hold on us away won't ever work. In such moments, you
can either hold out hope that, when you finally break, there will be
something new, or you accept what life is and find the good in it. On
the other hand, we may know that, but there are some of us who never
stop looking beyond and continually leaping into the abyss.
[Introduction by Mytholog]
Fishfinger
and her mom and her dad don’t ever come to church with us, so I asked
her one time, did that mean that she doesn’t believe in the baby Jesus
like how we do? And she said, no, they have their own God who’s
different from ours and he isn’t called God his name is D-A-G-O-N,
that’s how she spelled it. New Skin for the Old Ceremony in Hub #17 Suddenly,
and quite unexpectedly, Lansdale craned his head out of the window, and
said in a tone so serious that it seemed strange coming out his mouth,
“I did see it, y’know. Hadn’t a drop in me on the way here, an’ I swear to you an’ god an’ whoever else that I saw something.” “I’m not saying you didn’t.” “An’ what’s more, when these lads and me got here, there was somethin’ moving around in those woods. We went to look, but we lost it. That’s why we was waitin’ here. If you want to police something, maybe you should go an’ see what that was--‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t no man.” King Gob's Warcry in From the AsylumThree thousand years we have waited. Three thousand years since we fought and lost to them. Were they stronger? No, but they were bigger and more numerous. For all our magic, they were too many. I remember--the fierce northmen with their axes, and the blood of my brothers. I remember, for I was there. We are very old, we are, and age does not decay us as it does them--no, it teaches us. We who are old and do not die have learned much in our waiting and in our patience. Stockholm Syndrome in Pseudopod Billy, he was first generation through and through. I don’t know what his story was, but when he turned up about two weeks ago he was wearing a suit, a real nice suit, he even still had a carnation in his buttonhole. I don’t know, maybe they was burying him when it happened. You’ve got to wonder what they’d have thought, when they was burying him and he got up like that.Anyway, he cut quite a figure when he walked up Main Street in that suit. Well, not walked, y’know, I guess he shambled as much as the rest of them, but somehow he seemed kind of smarter than the others–more alert. And in that suit, he reminded me of my kid, when we buried him. That’s why I named him Billy. Night Nurse in Yellow Mama [See Free Fiction] The Lord of Feathers in Reflection's EdgeIsabella, daughter of the Fourfold Baron, has lost her heart to the Lord of Feathers. Without having spoken a word to him, she chooses to give up her life and follow after him to the ugly, forgotten town of Lantern, where she begs audience in his court. Denied this visitation, her money dwindles and her servants vanish, and Isabella focuses feverishly on the question that haunts her: what will it take to make the Lord of Feathers love her? [Summary by Reflection's Edge] Fear of a Blue Goo Planet in Chaos Theory : Tales Askew When a shuttle that's never supposed to crash does just that, it leaves our hero stranded on a planet where every thing is covered in some kind of blue organic substance. The blue goo has some interesting properties... just ask the zombies. [Summary by CTTA]
Forthcoming Fiction Futurequake Press
The Unleashing of the Ineffectual Publication date (in Something Wicked magazine (pub: Futurequake Press)) NYK. New Skin for the Old Ceremony Publication date (in From the Asylum's "Things Aren't What They Seem" anthology) NYK. Caretaker in the Garden of Dreams Publication date NYK. Passive Resistance Publication date (in Mythica Publishing's "Another Time, Another Place" anthology) NYK.
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The Ascension of DeepRED in OG's Speculative Fiction # 15
The Tyranny of Thangrind the Cruel in Dark Horizons # 53
The Space Beneath the Church in The Willows, Vol II Issue 2 (Jul / Aug)
Stockholm Syndrome
The Burden of Kings
Allotment in Barren Worlds Anthology 
Fleshworld in 
The Other Ten Thousand
The Gate in the Jungle 
My Friend Fishfinger, by Daisy aged 7 
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