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Apocalypse, at sunset:
Noxious gasses
form animal clouds,
phenomenon of pareidolia,
that babble and spurt
while below, the purple
sludge burps and the
tired forest catches fire.
The sun glows on,
sinks low, brilliant
orange strikes the sky.

Apocalypse, at daybreak:
Mushroom clouds cluster
along the crimson horizon;
thunderous booms shake
crisp leaves from long-dead
trees. Birds scream
morning sounds.
Craters form in
dusty bowls.
The rivers run red
with blood.

Apocalypse, at midday:
Everest has fallen,
Mount Olympus, too.
Gods tangled in humanity
forgoing palaces for catacombs.
Sink holes consume
fields of gold.
The wise man
builds his house

Apocalypse, the witching hour:
Split moon cuts the fearless gloom,
sneering at tsunami waves
Bogs rise, towers collapse
Yellow fog withers
plagues of locusts.
Red Sea flooded, resurrecting
sunken ships bound for
nonexistent promised lands.
At least the fire
is out.

S.R. Tombran is an Indo-Guyanese American, virtual reference librarian, and fantasy and sci-fi author. She has published works in STAR*LINE and You can connect with her at @STombran.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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Issue 12 Feb 2024
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