Ruin Marble by Arkady Martine

“Ruin Marble” – Illustration by Anju Shah. Medium: White glass marking pencil on black pastel sheet. Spring was late. Two, three weeks at least: April already and every tree barren, scoured and hesitant with the memory of snowbanks. The sorcerer...

Axes on Viola

An intriguing short story from the award-winning Czech science fiction and fantasy writer Jaroslav Mostecký The tree yelled in a premonition of death and the sky stormed. Seal was startled and dropped the lamp on the ground. I swore and looked furiously at him. “What...

La Gorda and the City of Silver

I. I was born on a Wednesday, in middle of a chapuzón. The sudden squall of sky water bears little resemblance to a thunderstorm – it’s more like a vertical flood, though very brief. I considered Chapuzón for my luchador name – I had poured out of my mother with...

American Moat

Hamilton — everyone called him Ham — had fully bought into the bacon-as-fashion fad. That night as he patrolled the Arizona border with Alex, his ensemble featured a bacon wristwatch, bacon suspenders, bacon bolo tie, and bacon boots branded with the image of a pig...

Winds That Stir Vermilion Sands

2370 Seven-year-old Rodrigo ben-David sat alone in the hovel, spooning the last bit of last Shabbat’s chamin into his mouth and using a hard bit of crust to scrape the pot clean. The thin, cold wind rattled the aluplaz walls mercilessly. Winters in the Hellas Region...

Gringos

By Ernest Hogan An extract from the novel High Aztech: I thought I had died, but it was an ixmictiante flowery death, in a battle with a proud Aztecan warrior, so I was happy. I knew it wasn’t Mictlantecuhtli and Mictlancíhuatl that were waiting for me this time. I...

Priya Sharma: Egg 

I consider my egg; its speckled pattern, its curves, strange weighting and remarkable calcium formation that’s both delicate and robust. It hurts but I’m determined. The old hag promised. I put my egg inside me. — Hot water soothes my skin. It plasters my hair to my...

Ng Yi-Sheng: No Other City

Listen: next Monday at 4.30pm, Singapore will disappear. The entire island, its earth and earthworks, its rivers and reservoirs, its megamalls and museums, will vanish, poof, like so much gun smoke. Its flora and fauna too: its orchards and orioles, its rain trees and...