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22 Sep 2020
The day the last qawwal was killed, my childhood city, already known for its lethal silence, for its censorship of words, for its refusal to listen, went into a deep deep quiet.
14 Sep 2020
The Drone remained behind him, heavy as a funeral. The Boy stood still as dirt.
7 Sep 2020
She chooses at random. No one is special, or unspecial. It doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like. They’re just data.
31 Aug 2020
Another apocalyptic was out by Gert's truck, stuffing pamphlets under the wiper blades. "End's coming," he said as she approached, his voice a frail whinny.
31 Aug 2020
That smirking girl staring back with her cigarette, that ugly short hair, the shapeless dress with its silly fringes and its shameless show of calf, frivolous before the great dark mass of Flamel Hall. Girls these days, says Edith. What they wear.
31 Aug 2020
How long are these people going to keep the dead from the next life? I mean, no one can undo what was done, so what's the point in reliving it?
30 Aug 2020
I learned how to use a knife on a hot, wet Thursday night.
17 Aug 2020
As if belief, whether ingrained or hard-won, was not deeply personal. As if it could be easily discussed in a loud pub filled with circumstantial acquaintances; acquaintances who were, in this case, Alia’s boyfriend’s drunken co-workers.
10 Aug 2020
Let me tell you how I first met Seax-of-Peony, Empress of the Known Moons.
By: Christine Lucas
Podcast read by: Anaea Lay
3 Aug 2020
The convoy appeared in a cloud of dust against the Martian dawn atop the eastern hills...Were they bringing food, or were they bringing more war into the chapel?
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