Daily Science Fiction showcases some of the best science and fiction fantasy being written today!
Original science fiction and fantasy emailed to you every weekday.
Friday, 31 December 2010
EVERY DAY FICTION: UPDATE
Every Day Fiction is a magazine that specializes in bringing you fine fiction in bite-size doses. Every day, we publish a new short story of 1000 words or fewer that can be read during your lunch hour, on transit, or even over breakfast.
Feel free to browse around the site, check out our archives, or even sign up to receive a short story in your inbox... every day!
Thursday, 30 December 2010
BENEATH CEASELESS SKIES: UPDATE
Issues available in the Amazon Kindle Store
"The Sumer King," by Megan Arkenberg
"Shit," I said, and that sat there ugly and twitching between us for a few seconds before his stallion decided he'd had enough and wanted to go check out the mares. The King just had enough time to swoop up into his saddle before the horse made a beeline through the crowd. "Come and see me sometime, Livia!" he called, and then he was gone, swallowed up in the blue.
"Transitions of Truth and Tears," by David G. Blake
Garran spotted the fountain long before he reached its base. Water spurted into the air, sprung from a stone wineskin held by a life-sized statue of the founder of Vihal...one of the murderers of Beliath. Garran repeated that fact in his head as he pushed through the last throng of people, a part of him both amazed and horrified that no one had stopped him yet; a much deeper part shamed that he had not stopped on his own.
"The Suffering Gallery," by Matthew Kressel, from BCS #57
Mielbok stared at the boy. "I'm Mielbok the White Worm! Mielbok the Foul! Mielbok the Eater of Minds! What can you do for me, human? To me, you’re just food not yet ripe. A fruit just waiting to be plucked! Quiet yourself, before you wake the Lady. She'll make a mockery of you!"
From the Archives:
"The Sacrifice Pit," by Brian Dolton, from BCS #16
Sanquor shook his head. How could such foolishness, such misunder- standing, have taken root? Of course the thoravids had to be destroyed; of course any trace of them had to be scourged. They were an abomination in the sight of the Tetharan.
Thursday, 16 December 2010
BENEATH CEASELESS SKIES: UPDATE
Issue #58 -- Dec. 16, 2010
"Red Dirt ," by Ian McHugh
The shadows on the buildings seemed alive with movement, although the air was too cool for mirages. The memory of my dream still lingered, fooling my weary brain into believing that I glimpsed animal shapes writhing there. I hurried my pace along the empty streets, wondering if I should just pay the Commissaire's bribe and be done with the place.
The shadows on the buildings seemed alive with movement, although the air was too cool for mirages. The memory of my dream still lingered, fooling my weary brain into believing that I glimpsed animal shapes writhing there. I hurried my pace along the empty streets, wondering if I should just pay the Commissaire's bribe and be done with the place.
"Lession's Tower," by Fox McGeever
Lession's first catch was an old drunk, a silver-haired sailor who was staggering through one of the back streets. When he bit a chunk from the drunk's shoulder, the man went limp. The initial thrill of tasting meat soon evaporated. The flesh was old, sour, steeped with alcohol. He couldn’t take this back for Hurkerna. No. Goat would taste far better.
Lession's first catch was an old drunk, a silver-haired sailor who was staggering through one of the back streets. When he bit a chunk from the drunk's shoulder, the man went limp. The initial thrill of tasting meat soon evaporated. The flesh was old, sour, steeped with alcohol. He couldn’t take this back for Hurkerna. No. Goat would taste far better.
From the Archives:
"Sorrow's Blade," by Rita Oakes, from BCS #24
Meurig scrambled to his feet, confused. “Your pardon, that I missed prayers,” he said to Father Ambrose. “My heart is too heavy for my words to rise.” He had pierced the skin of worlds, however briefly. Now Rhiannon was a sword again, and Caedmon would die."
"Sorrow's Blade," by Rita Oakes, from BCS #24
Meurig scrambled to his feet, confused. “Your pardon, that I missed prayers,” he said to Father Ambrose. “My heart is too heavy for my words to rise.” He had pierced the skin of worlds, however briefly. Now Rhiannon was a sword again, and Caedmon would die."
ABSENT WILLOW REVIEW: UPDATE
December 2010
Emma Bovary
by Lee Robertson
Fade to White
by Michael James McFarland
Yesterdays Tomorrows
by Devin Hodgins
The Mirror
by Brandon Taylor
The Last Boy Left in Town
by Chris Castle
Button Breather
by Chris Castle
Adversary
by Wayne Faust
Popcorn
by Christine Dougherty
What God Made First
by Stephen McQuiggan
Unicorn 1
by Anna Skyora
Next Hero
by Emily Crawford-Margison
Tuesday, 14 December 2010
HUB: UPDATE
Issue 133
Fiction
And The Northmen Brought Their Gods by Louise Morgan
Non-Fiction
Reviews
Corvus
The Terror and the Tortoiseshell
Corvus
The Terror and the Tortoiseshell
Feature
Open Sourcing Armageddon by Alasdair Stuart
http://www.hubfiction.com/
Monday, 6 December 2010
ABANDONED TOWERS: UPDATE
New fiction and poetry from
Christopher Heath
Doug Hilton
Sandra S. Richardson
Carol Scott
Dustin Wier
Timothy A. Sayell
Trent Amor
Tim McDaniel
Erik VanBezooijen
Sandy Wardrope
Robert Mancebo
David Pilling
S.J. Higbee
Richard Marsden
Harry Calhoun
Richard H. Fay
Emily Hayes
Troy D. Young
Christina Getty
Denny E. Marshall
Michael D. Turner
Rick Coonrod
Robert William Shmigelsky
Chad Weiss
Allen Kopp
IRON BOUND: UPDATE
December 2010
Tall Tale Newly Told by Changming Yuan
Un Lound Secret by Sunil P. Narayan
Meeting by Joanna M. Weston
The Statue by Rich Feitelberg
Blood of Warriors, Blood of Kings by Alva J. Roberts
The Rekein Boy by Tannen Bell
Douglas by E. J Leora
Etchings by Ben Johnson
Thursday, 2 December 2010
BENEATH CEASELESS SKIES: UPDATE
Issue #57 -- Dec. 2, 2010
"The Suffering Gallery," by Matthew Kressel
Mielbok stared at the boy. "I'm Mielbok the White Worm! Mielbok the Foul! Mielbok the Eater of Minds! What can you do for me, human? To me, you’re just food not yet ripe. A fruit just waiting to be plucked! Quiet yourself, before you wake the Lady. She'll make a mockery of you!"
"The Suffering Gallery," by Matthew Kressel
Mielbok stared at the boy. "I'm Mielbok the White Worm! Mielbok the Foul! Mielbok the Eater of Minds! What can you do for me, human? To me, you’re just food not yet ripe. A fruit just waiting to be plucked! Quiet yourself, before you wake the Lady. She'll make a mockery of you!"
"A Bounty Split Three Ways," by Peter Kovic
A floating tree starts as a seed in the sky but needs no soil. It takes air, sun, and rain and turns them into leaves and branches. It doesn’t need roots either. It only grows more leaves and branches, until a full-grown floating oak is like an uneven ball of leaves. I asked L'Acoste, are they the work of nature or some wizard so long ago that he had been forgotten? His response was "who knows these things."
From the Archives:
"The Shades of Morgana," by Dean Wells, from BCS #48
Sully could practically feel her glance brushing along his skin like silky smooth lips. It could, more to the point, the thing inside him, exploiting his senses as if they were its own. She stood and stretched, then strolled to the doors of carved tulgey wood that opened into the mews outside. Sully caught her fragrance, the scent of her feminine places, a smell of spice and rich dark petals of bloodleaf. "Sabrina? Don’t get too close."
A floating tree starts as a seed in the sky but needs no soil. It takes air, sun, and rain and turns them into leaves and branches. It doesn’t need roots either. It only grows more leaves and branches, until a full-grown floating oak is like an uneven ball of leaves. I asked L'Acoste, are they the work of nature or some wizard so long ago that he had been forgotten? His response was "who knows these things."
From the Archives:
"The Shades of Morgana," by Dean Wells, from BCS #48
Sully could practically feel her glance brushing along his skin like silky smooth lips. It could, more to the point, the thing inside him, exploiting his senses as if they were its own. She stood and stretched, then strolled to the doors of carved tulgey wood that opened into the mews outside. Sully caught her fragrance, the scent of her feminine places, a smell of spice and rich dark petals of bloodleaf. "Sabrina? Don’t get too close."
3 LOBED BURNING EYE ANNUAL
Three-lobed Burning Eye Annual - vol. V
Edited by Andrew S. Fuller
Edited by Andrew S. Fuller
This collection features stories of horror and wonder by: Vera Searles, Graeme Penman, Edward Morris, Dirk van Nouhuys, Neil Ayres, Jason Hauser, Bret Tallman, Lida Broadhurst, Miranda Ciccone, Isaac Fellows, Nadia Bulkin, Matthew Chrulew, Kelly Barnhill, John Medaille, D. E. Wasden, Mari Ness, Chuck Von Nordheim, Ward Crockett, Georgina Bruce, Jessica Reisman, Adam Browne, J M McDermott, Cheryl W. Ruggiero, Ferrett Steinmetz, Jennifer Stakes, Shweta Narayan, DeAnna Knippling, Justin Lee, Seth Cadin, and Jennifer Hollie Bowles.
Order here http://www.legionpress.com/3lbe5.html
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