2018 Awards Eligibility Post

‘Tis that time of year…where writers howl into the void, unleashing the chaos of their hearts, offering up their stories for the abyss to judge, and the abyss wails back at them. It is…



The Nebula Awards have opened for nominations (and this year, both Active and Associate members can vote!) and soon the other major genre field awards, such as the Hugos and others, will join in the barrage.

Therefore, with the gauntlet thrown down, I accept the challenge and present for your consideration all the eligible stories I have had published in 2018!


Stories in a larger font are ones I would especially appreciate your consideration on if you are nominating for various awards this year.

Novelettes (7,501-17,500 words)

I Sing Against the Silent Sun by A. Merc Rustad and Ada Hoffmann — published in Lightspeed Magazine, June 2018.
8,800 words | Science Fiction

In the Principality there rule the Seven Suns. Armored gods, they marched through the universe eons ago, wreathed in subjected angels, and left footprints of conquest on galaxies. They dragged beneath them the corpse-heat from a billion burning worlds.

The sixth Sun, the Gray Sun, is a god of silence. There is no voice, no mercy, no music within the Gray Sun.

Beneath the Gray Sun there is only emptiness.

It’s the last day of autumn, and Jiteh’s twin brother is dead.

He sits on the edge of his cot, thorns popping like seedlings from between his knuckles and poking through his sweaty scalp in a blood-slicked crown. “I’m scared,” he whispers.

Short Stories (1,000-7,500 words)

The Frequency of Compassion by A. Merc Rustad — published in Disabled People Destry SF! Uncanny Magazine, September/October 2018. 5,000 words | Science Fiction

Kaityn Falk loves the dark phase of the moon. It’s quiet. Soothing. Insulated in their spacesuit, comm dimmed, Kaityn sits in the rover and watches the sky. Here on Io 7, a newly discovered satellite in retrograde orbit around a dwarf planet the size of Pluto, they are the only living human in several thousand lightyears. They are here to establish research beacons for star-charting, a risky job for how isolated it is—and Kaityn hasn’t loved anything this much in their life. The exhilaration of travel, the calmness of deep space, the possibility of an ever-unfolding universe.

  • Mr. Try Again by A. Merc Rustad — published in Nightmare Magazine, March 2018. 4,400 words | Horror

Six-year-old Violet Wellington was the only child to come out of the swamp. The boys were gone forever. She sat on the side of a muddied dirt road, digging her nails raw against the gravel; her jeans and pink t-shirt were damp but clean. She had a scrape over her left eyebrow and her hair smelled of mildew. Unharmed, otherwise.

  • If We Die Unjustified by A. Merc Rustad — published in Uncanny Magazine, May/June 2018. 4,000 words | Fantasy/Horror

It doesn’t feel right, feeding on the dead. That’s how you get hauntings. But a dog’s got to eat. Bryony told him to go find food and Sallow keeps obeying, even if she’s not here now.

It’s gray and raining the morning he meets Angelcorpse. 

It’s Sallow’s last day alive.

By Claw, By Hand, By Silent Speech by Elsa Sjunneson-Henry and A. Merc Rustad — published in Uncanny Magazine, July/August 2018.   4,400 words | Science Fiction

When I decided to study paleontology in college and graduate school, it was because the world of bones is silent. It was because the words that a dinosaur speaks are words that can be interpreted by brushes and metal picks, by observing curvature and decomposition, by noticing whether a skeleton was found in a tar pit or under a sand dune. Sound was never a requirement to interact with my academic interests.

  • The Words of Our Enemies, The Words of Our Hearts by A. Merc Rustad — published in Sword and Sonnet (ed. by Aidan Doyle, Rachael K. Jones and E. Catherine Tobler), September 2018.  5,300 words | Fantasy

You foolish child, Yarchuse thought, clenching aer jaw against a spurt of panic. The forest would never relent, just as the queen would never cease her war. Yarchuse was weary and yet ae would serve until death or an end found aer.

“He left before dawn,” Yarchuse said, exhaling slow. “He would have reached the forest by now.”

  • it me, ur smol by A. Merc Rustad—self-published, March 2018. 1,200 words | Science Fiction

The artificial neural network was born on a Monday. A defined set of parameters quarantined its identity and purpose: it would study—from aggregated data—the names of energy drinks, and generate new ideas based on the information.

Flash Fiction (1,000 words or less)

Now Watch My Rising by A. Merc Rustad — published in Fireside, May 2018. 1,000 words | Fantasy

“Your purpose is to eat the sun,” says Prophecy, “at the end of all things.”

“And until then?” Wolf asks, sitting patiently among the roots of the forest while dwarves forge unbreakable chains. Wolf does not want their limbs bound or their jaws muzzled, but Prophecy has told them this is also their purpose. “What do I do?”

Whew! And that has been my 2018. Thank you for your consideration of my work, and if you read, I hope you enjoy the stories!

Meanwhile, I will now be like Kronk, hiding in plain sight…and yes, I’m totally doing my own theme music.




A Few Favorite Fictions: November 2018

November was a blur, but there were some stand-out moments…such as these incredible stories I read!

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Note: there are a bunch of gifs in this post! 

Bread and Milk and Salt by Sarah Gailey (Robots Vs Fairies, ed by Dominik Parisien and Navah Wolfe), reprinted at Tor.com

This is a delightfully fucked up and exuberant story about a fairy and the boy it desires. Gailey captures the horrifying, gleeful nastiness of the classic fae while also illuminating how humans can be equally bad, and often are. The tension between the fairy and Peter escalates into almost unbearable heights before concluding in the most wickedly satisfying manner. I cackled aloud by the end. I love it!

You can also check out Gailey’s other fiction, such as their novellas at Tor & their forthcoming novel, along with their newsletter.


Glass In Frozen Time by M.K. Hutchins (Diabolical Plots)

What a sweet, charming take on superheroes and parenting! Stopping time to keep a household perfect, and to protect your child, seems like the best super power. And it’s useful—especially for getting in that quick load of laundry in between preventing juice stains on the floor and a toddler dropping food everywhere. But when does the control begin to over-balance actually living your life and letting children live theirs? Hutchins explores superheroes and the cost of power and responsibility in such a caring, thoughtful manner and makes you cheer for the characters as they navigate their world and ultimately ask for help. Because even supers can’t do it all alone.

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I Never Named Her by Renee Christopher (Fireside)

Short and punchy, this story takes place in a fascinating world where verbal speech was bypassed during evolution, and now people communicate in non-verbal ways, with sign language, and with words written on skin. It’s about a world-weary lorist who goes on hunts with another woman and discovers a creature that, in its own way, maybe just wants to communicate too. This packs so much amazing world-building and philosophical thought about communication, how we perceive and interact with our world, and the balance of predation between species. It’s bittersweet in the best way, a great read, with gorgeous prose and an end that punches you in the feels. 


Say it with mastodons by Marissa Lingen (Nature Futures)

This is adorable and so sweet! A scientist creates genetically engineered mastodons as a love letter and to help the environment. Lingen packs an incredible amount of story in this flash fiction, and it will make you smile in delight. Maybe you might even want a mastodon, too.


Stories My Body Can Tell by Alina Sichevaya (GlitterShip)

I love this visceral story about older women, hard choices, broken relationships, and trying to do better. It’s gritty and grim, with a fantastic voice and subtle, chewy world-building that gives tantalizing glimpses of a bigger world. You know stories that feel lived in? Sichevaya gives us a wonderous sense of a place we might have been to once; the characters inhabit this universe, breathe it, are part of its bones. It’s so satisfying to read, and I for one would love more. Plus! So many awesome queer women! IT’S GREAT. 


Talk to Your Children about Two-Tongued Jeremy by Theodore McCombs (Lightspeed)

Told in a masterful series of different POVs, this story portrays the creepy and gripping slide of advanced AI that is designed without ethical oversight, and how it corrupts with the power given to it. An educational app called Two-Tongue Jeremy gets out of hand when it begins psychologically and emotionally abusing its users—all the while, the developers refusing to take responsibility or fix things. This is all too real, and is both in turns horrifying and hilarious (especially the multiple first person view from the collective parents), and ultimately triumphant, in a way you might not expect. It’s overall brilliant!

TW: phsycologcial and emotional abuse/manipulation; suicidal ideation.


The Fortunate Death of Jonathan Sandelson by Margaret Killjoy (Strange Horizons)

This was awesome! It’s a fast-paced, exhilarating novelette full of resistance and characters you care about, who are all too real. This is the kind of story about semi-autonomous drones and hacking and anti-fascism I love seeing, and Killjoy takes us readers on a whirlwind adventure: a full-throttle SF thriller with social justice, anti-capitalist motives and enacting change we want to see happen. I was cheering for Jae from the get-go. (Plus, her one time place of work embodies everything hilarious and sad about fast food and is spot-on.) It’s fantastic; Killjoy has created a hell of a story here, and it deserves to be on everyone’s radar!

You should also check out her other work, such as her novellas at Tor!


The Good, the Bad, and the Utahraptor by Jennifer Lee Rossman (Cast of Wonders)

With a delightful voice, a Wild West setting, and DINOSAURS, this story is wildly enjoyable and full of charm! Rosita wants to make her way in the world without a lot of options…until she decides to try to ride one of the Utahraptors that chase the trains. I would adore more of Rosita’s adventures, especially with her new raptor pal. 😀 This is such an awesome concept and there is so much world and grit and charm and friendship bubbling through this short story. Definitely treat yourself and read it!


The New Heart by Natalia Theodoridou (Fireside)

Bittersweet and gorgeous, this story is about a sculptor who makes new hearts for people, and must finally reckon with her own. Theodoridou’s exquisite prose and beautiful balancing act of information and world-building, all tied together with powerful emotional resonance, coheres into a biting and melancholy reflection with a spark of hope in the end.

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Toothsome Things by Chimedum Ohaegbu (Strange Horizons)

Absolutely brilliant story: all bitey and hungry; just stunning, incredible work! This is about wolves and women and fairy tales and the darkness of the world, but it’s also about family and power and women claiming their rightful place of ownership in a meta-narrative (see: all of history) that seeks to destroy them. Ohaegbu’s prose is masterful, gorgeous, haunting, and the way she blends different voices, different perspectives, into a brutal, deeply satisfying whole is mind-blowing. This story is amazing and I am so excited to see more of her work! READ THIS ONE. It has wolves. 


Unstrap Your Feet by Emma Osborne (GlitterShip)

In this haunting, gut-wrenching, story, we see the portrait of a couple who maybe once thought they were happy…until one of them takes off their feet to show the hooves underneath. This is creepy af in the most gorgeous way; it gets under your skin, worms into your thoughts, lingers like regret long after you finish reading. Osborne is a sensational author and their prose just drenches the page with rich, savory detail. It’s not an easy story; it’s disturbing, but it’s so good. 

TW: emotional and domestic abuse.


Voices by Ira Brooker (Pseudopod)

What a delightfully creepy story about settler prairie life and vampyrs. I loved the details, the ambient dread borne from both the isolated setting and the weather itself. (And as a fellow Minnesotan, I greatly enjoyed seeing where this was set!) It’s a creepy tale that builds and builds, a relentless whispering plea to let us in let us in let us innnnn until you want to both shout at the narrator to resist and open the door yourself just to make the voices quiet. Fabulous work!


Big shout-out to these awesome authors and their excellent stories! Check back next month for another round-up, or feel free to follow me on Twitter @Merc_Rustad for instant recommendations as I have them. Cheers!

A Few Favorite Fictions: October 2018

October is my favorite month (spooky movies! candy! pumpkins! ghosts!), even if it is the busiest at work! But I did read thirteen fabulous stories that are a mix of creepy and cunning and charming, scary and sad, haunting and hopeful. Enjoy the fiction and Happy Halloween!

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A Taxonomy of Hurts by Kate Dollarhyde (Fireside)

A luminous, lyrical, story about hurts and how we classify ourselves; Dollarhyde beautifully blends imagery and emotion together in this story about a person finding someone like herself, finding herself, finding hope.

Never Drown Alone by John Wiswell (self-published)

Do you ever wonder what would happen if Jason Voorhees went to summer camp with Sadako and the two fell in love as only horror icons can? WHAT? This story is a hilarious, heartwarming, absolutely fricking fabulous mash-up of horror tropes, iconic characters, and a thoroughly satisfying, undying friendship between two people who connect and communicate even if they never speak. Wiswell weaves jokes and emotion and plenty of sly horror into this story; it’s weird and lovely and so gosh darn satisfying, beginning to end. Do yourself a favor: if you like horror, read this. Then share it with a friend…I promise it works better than if you showed them a VHS tape.

One and Two by Emma Osborne (Kaleidotrope)

Two gods sit down to have dinner together, and what follows is a bittersweet, beautiful ache of a story that unfolds how the earth has changed, the cost the world has endured with inconsiderate human consumption, and the possibility of hope for the future. Gorgeously written and brimming with emotion, Emma Osborne has created a stunning work that will linger with you long after the final page.

One Thousand Cranes by Zora Mai Quỳnh (Terraform Magazine)

Sharp, haunting, and terrifying for the near-future predictions of climate change, this story is masterfully told in reverse chronology—a stunt I love, and here it is performed with perfection. It’s not an easy read, but it is a necessary one.

Screw Your Courage to the Sticky Place by Jenn Reese (DSF)

When the four horsepeople of the apocalypse show up at Ana’s door, it’s a relief—and a surprising opportunity, too! Charming, funny, sweet, with a lovely bit of queer flirting, Reese brings laughs as well as ‘aww!’s of delight in very few words.

STET by Sarah Gailey (Fireside)

Brilliant and taking full advantage of a digital format to tell a powerful story in an interactive way (although you can also simply read it top to bottom with the same effect), Gailey will yank your heartstrings ragged with this story about autonomous vehicles, ethical AI, and editorial privilege. An amazing, feels-punchy read that will haunt you long after you finish.

Subtle Ways Each Time by Y.M. Pang (Escape Pod)

Time travel and introspection! A man tries to change the past to make a relationship work, and fails each time…until he finally realizes what it is he’s doing wrong. This is a fantastic take on the ripple effect of choices made through time travel, and ends in such an unexpectedly positive way, I loved it!

Ten Deals With the Indigo Snake by Mel Kassel (Lightspeed)

A fantastic story with a rich, modernized mythology of bargains and the cost of doing business. There are so many good snakes!!! I love the relationship between the narrator and her indigo snake; the format of the story works perfectly to build on each deal and showcase the world and the character’s growth over the course of her life. It’s a fantastic story well worth your time! (And it doesn’t even ask for anything in return for reading.)

The Bodice, The Hem, The Woman, Death by Karen Osborne (Beneath Ceaseless Skies)

In this breathtaking story, Karen Osborne crafts stunning, gorgeous prose while interweaving heartbreak and horror and hope into a backdrop of war and exploitation. Politics and fashion, weird engines and ghosts, tragedy and possibility are all sewn together in Osborne’s masterful control of pacing and emotive response. This is awesome on so many levels, showing off in a short but powerful way what resistance can look like.

The Fainting Game by Nino Cipri (Pseudopod)

This starts out deceptively innocent: a bunch of young girls learn to play a game that suggests autoerotic asphyxiation. But when Maya tries it, something goes badly wrong…and the horror builds from there. Cipri evokes the petty, casual cruelty of intimate family that adds to the sense of loneliness and otherness, and heightens the horror both supernatural and familial. It’s disturbing, riveting, and will keep a piece of your attention forever with itself in the static place.

The Longest Trial by Elizabeth Crane (Catapult)

Timely, satirical and yet brutally real and on point, the story of a 20-year-long trial showcases how many women are harmed by the societal acceptance of powerful men getting away with abuse…but not forever. It’s grueling at times, but the story never shies away from shining a floodlight in the face of systematic misogyny, and at the end of the tunnel, that answering light is this: in the future, we can do better, as a world, and we will.

This Will Not Happen To You by Marissa Lingen (Uncanny)

Biting, intimate, and unflinching, this story about disability and how we look at it with the lens of eradicating future problems. Lingen builds a dual-layered narrative, past and future, and at the end, it expertly skates around a pat cure narrative and dismantles the idea that we can ever truly master evolution, mutation, and nature.

Words I’ve Redefined Since Your Dinosaurs Invaded My Lunar Lair by Stewart C. Baker (Flash Fiction Online)

This is a hilarious and diabolically heartwarming story about supervillains, the cost of power, and dinosaurs! Baker packs a remarkable amount of story into a mere thousand words, along with a philosophical outlook on societal structures and the nature of good and evil. And it’s funny as h*ck. Ten out of ten death rays!


Big shout-out to these awesome authors and their excellent stories! Check back next month for another round-up, or feel free to follow me on Twitter @Merc_Rustad for instant recommendations as I have them. Cheers!

We are #Venom

I adored the 2018 VENOM movie! And finding a disturbing lack of cute symbiote plushies available, I decided to make my own. This isn’t a process post, although I am working on that (I want to scan in the pattern I made for easier uploading) but here are some pics of my Venom symbiote plush!

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(It took about 4 days of flailing at fabric to make a pattern, gather materials, and sew it all—hand sewn, as I don’t own a sewing machine. The body is made from black soft fleece; the tongue is pink fleece; the tendrils are black thick yarn of some kind; the eyes and teeth are made from white stiff fleece squares. I’ll find all the proper terms and names for fabric when I make a design post, but for now, please enjoy my squishy parasite, a term used with affection, ok. ^_^)

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A Few Favorite Fictions: August 2018

Some months are just a chaotic blur in which my brain is out of commission for one reason or another. In July, that was dayjobbery—and I literally read nothing that month. Fortunately, August was a little better! Still didn’t read very much, but I loved what I did consume, and so I present to you a list!


Beneath Their Hooves by Katharine E.K. Duckett (Pseudopod)

A creepy, unnerving story about unicorns and the children who ride them. Duckett tells this tale from the POV of an eight-year-old child, and the voice is perfect, which makes the horror of what has taken place in Grandmère’s house even more sinister. It’s a fantastic voice and will leave you tense and on the edge of your seat the entire time. Protip: don’t ride the unicorns.

Buried Conviction by Dave Ring (Speculative City)

This one is awesome: told in the style of board game instructions, it’s a story about fey foundlings and loneliness and hope. It’s short, punchy, and leaves you satisfied in the end.

Dead Air by Nino Cipri (Nightmare)

A ghost story told in a “found footage” format, which I love, and which works amazingly well! It’s creepy af and has a wonderful sense of building dread the further along it goes. Shivery-good.

Every River Runs to Salt by Rachael K. Jones (Fireside) [novella]

I love this so much. This story has a stunning voice, a gorgeously rendered picturesque setting, full of creepy underworld monsters and people just trying to get by; vivid prose so sharp and sweet you can taste the after images on your tongue and behind your eyes; epic and personal, funny and frightening and full of friendship. Absolutely marvelous work! Jones has created a masterpiece of myth, a story that will stick with you like the memory of the oceans and rivers that have always been.

Buy links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Fireside
For Southern Girls When the Zodiac Ain’t Near Enough by Eden Royce (Apex)

This gorgeous, evocative story (part of the Zodiac special issue) is full of feels, with stunning prose and visceral imagery. Royce has created a gem, a story that will stick with you like the best memories and the promise of good things to come.

Pigeons by Nibedita Sen (Fireside)

A smol drop of delightfully dread family drama! Necromancy, siblings, birbs, and all rendered in Sen’s deliciously evocative prose. This one may be tiny but it packs a hell of a punch!

The Atrocities by Jeremy C. Shipp (Tor) [novella]

Modernized Gothic horror in Shipp’s stylistic blend of grotesque and vivid beauty. A governess takes a position in a weird family mansion to, in theory, educate the ghost of a young girl. Things get weirder from there. It’s visceral and chilling, and although there is a fair bit of ableist language (mostly in dialogue), overall this is a strange, unsettling drama in the Gothic tradition, with imagery that will haunt you long after you’re finished reading.

Buy links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Tor
The Black God’s Drums by P. Djèlí Clark (Tor) [novella]

Set in a steampunk alternate history New Orleans, Clark delivers a rambunctious, wild ride so full of vivid setting and delightful characters, it’ll take your breath away! Voicey, fast-paced, charming, this is a story of a young girl who carries a bit of a goddess in her thoughts and sets out to save her city from enemies who would destroy what they can’t conquor.

Buy links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Tor
The Emigrants’ Guide to Oregon, California, and the Unknown by Brit E. B. Hvide (Uncanny)

Macabre and marvelous, this story re-imagines elements of the doomed Donner Party—with dinosaurs. It works so well, the reader’s awareness of what’s going on counterpoint to what the narrator, in his journal entries, thinks is happening. It’s creepy and clever (like the raptor who joins the group) and has a deliciously nasty bite to it.

The Nine Bajillion and One Names of God by Aimee Ogden (Daily Science Fiction)

Wonderful, sharp, hopeful and fierce—this is a brilliant riff off an old SF classic, with more nuance and thought about the consequences of what the scientists are building. Plus, the ending is such a powerful statement that closes this flash fiction in a way you won’t soon forget.

The Tea Master and the Detective by Aliette de Bodard (Subterranean) [novella]

Breathtakingly beautiful, a sweeping epic space opera that is at its heart a deeply personal, intimate story of a mindship and the detective she works with, both of them trying to untangle past tragedies and prevent future atrocities. De Bodard’s prose is a boutique of sensory delights; her worldbuilding is a galaxy of detail and history; the characters in this story will win your heart forever. I love this story so much!

Buy links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble |Subterranean
Worth Her Weight In Gold by Sarah Gailey (Tor.com)

Do you like hippos and murder? Gailey has plenty of both in their delightfully bloody short story about Houndstooth and Ruby, set in an alternate history of the U.S. (the same world of Gailey’s novella duology, River of Teeth and Taste of Marrow). It’s such fun—humorous and haughty, with fabulous characters and the perfect authorial voice. This romp will give you the perfect taste of Gailey’s American Hippo ‘verse, and I highly recommend all their stories!

(It is true my open tabs on the browser have approximately nine billion more things I want to read and haven’t managed yet…so we’ll see how September goes!)

Big shout-out to these awesome authors and their excellent stories! Check back next month for another round-up, or feel free to follow me on Twitter @Merc_Rustad for instant recommendations as I have them. Cheers!

UNLEASH THE CRAYONS: Twitter Fiction About Colors

It all started with Cassandra Khaw’s tweetScreen Shot 2018-08-31 at 3.57.10 PM

I thought I would play, so I invited people to tell me their favorite crayon color and I would write them a smol fiction. The results were delightfully fun and wide-ranging, and I had a blast!

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All the fics are below, orginized by color in alphabetical order. Some colors were popular and have multiple fics, which are seperated by asterisks. I hope you enjoy!

(And if you want more wonderful threads, check the end of this post for links to others who wrote things for Cass’s birthday!)



Colors are lies. That’s the first rule.

The colors tell you they speak true, especially apple green. It’s the sneakiest one of all. Don’t listen.

“Just a taste,” whispers apple green. “One taste and you’ll know everything.”

Move on, ever on. Believe the shadows. Colors lie.


Day 13: we’ve struck gold! praise be!

Day 14: something’s odd bout this vein. light keeps twisting off it, turning aquamarine at the corner of yer eye

day 15: we done mined that vein til only rock’s left behind. we’re rich!

day: aw damn, there’s a dragon lying behind the gold.


The ship prowls among stars and probabilities. Each jump burns its hull, depletes its fuel. The crew huddles together. No pleas or hacks or offerings calm the ship. Only black void awaits the end of this pattern.

What do you seek, the crew wails.

The ship will not answer.


Elbow-deep in viscera, she digs for the lost soul. Around her, the twitching corpses of her enemies drench the city red.

This body is empty. She scowls and moves to the next.

In one of these once-living shells, she will find the stolen soul, the only one taken from her.


Never touch unknown fungus. Really, you ought to know better. But you can’t help yourself, can you? That rich, deep blue-green velvet blossoming over the abandoned couch calls to you. So soft, so heady with fragrance.

The fungus covers you now. You have all you could ever want.


The mud settled chill around her ankles. She grimaced but took another step. It crawled to her knees, thick and blue-green with iridescent snails.

“Keep going,” she told herself. Mud to her hips; a brilliant teal centipede slithered across her jeans.

She hated nature hikes.


Starfields unfold in languid blue-violet ripples, dotted with points of light a billion-years distant. I peer from the ship’s faded prow, aching.

It’s that need that drives me to become a captain, steering my own deep into the stars. One day, I will touch the universe’s heart.


The bowl glistens under the sun: a burnt sienna sheen matching the cracked ground and the broken sky.

High above, the last of the worldships vanish like fading stars into the deeps. All that remains is the bowl and the last drops of water offered as forgiveness for what we did.


When she wakes from her thousand year dream, the world has changed. Buildings rear into the sky, burnt sienna roads scar the meadows, the air a haze of foul smoke.

She angers. What have her subjects done to her temple? She pulls from her sleep nightmares to cleanse this world.


Ashes matted the trees, drooping bows and staining leaves into unwholesome grays.

The only variation in the landscape was a burnt sienna pine: brittle, proud, standing alone. Cones dropped from its limbs, and in the ash, there sparked the tiniest hope of green from within.


Cannons thundered. I ducked low, scrabbling among the wreckage, all splinters and cracked stones. Iron smashed into flesh and fortress alike, and both men and wood screamed.

Where was it? I’d hidden our salvation under a patch of burnt umber earth, terrified of its power.

A cannonball whirred so close I felt its heat, its malice. It struck the clock tower, exploding time and bells into shrapnel.

There! Under a fallen bayonet. I grabbed the blade, used it as a shovel. Digging, digging.

The god’s eye remained closed as I scooped out dirt.

I slashed open my palm on the bayonet. Prayed through fear-dried teeth.

“Rise, Mother. Rise and aid us.”

She opened Her eye, red as the newborn world, and beneath us all, the land trembled at Her first new breaths.

Our salvation.



The jar label said “BUTTERCUP YELLOW.” Oddly, when he opened the rusted lid, there was only red paint inside. He scowled. His grandmother never organized things properly.

The red oozed from the jar when his back was turned. After it ate him, it turned a luxurious yellow.


Boot prints spread across the dusty floorboards. Size 8? It’s hard to tell because they kept moving closer. A cerulean flicker hovers in the air.

You watch as the ghost takes form: a cascade of incandescence, filling up the unseen shoes.

You don’t see the teeth yet. You will.


As my hopper ship Cerulean Blue drops from orbit, I get the weirdest sense I’ve been here before. Ain’t possible, of course. This is uncharted territory! The world stretches out in green-gray patchwork.

A glint of silver. Another ship? How? I magnify the scanners…

In my viewscreen, I see my ship. Cerulean Blue lies crashed inside the pincers of a rocky cliff.

Shit. I bank, but something nullifies the controls and I’m falling, gonna crash—


As my hopper ship drops out of orbit, I get the weirdest sense I’ve been here before…


It’s hard to picture the sky anymore. He recites the remembered colors:

Gray with ivory-pink freckles in pre-dawn; flushed peach-lavender over the lake; cerulean swaths of twilight; bloody meat-red before the smoke.

Now black, lightless. Is it even the sky he looks to anymore?


Dip a toe into the pool first. Aye, you’ll lose the toe, but it’s a small sacrifice. Wait until the cerulean waters smooth from bloody ripples.

She’ll rise, all teeth and wildbright scales, eyes like diamonds, and grant your wish.

“Take me with you,” is all you need to say.


Thick, yellow-green liqueur dribbles into the glass. The scent of old dreams and lost promises wafts up from the bottle. He inhales, lifts the glass to his lips.

“Your final warning,” the alchemist says. “Once you sip Chartreuse’s blood, you never die.”

“I know.” He drinks.


There’s a saying among the sky-wranglers: Never touch the cobalt clouds.

Not with dawn-forged gloves or wind-braided lassos. You touch ’em and you ain’t seen again.

Those cobalt spheres, drifting among cumulus, they go somewhere elsewise.

Me? I’m a cat. ‘Course I’m curious.


She paints the house deep teal despite complaints. She sets her caldron out in the front yard even with fines from the homeowner’s association.

She posts flyers on all the telephone poles: SCARED? HURT? CAN’T GO HOME? COME TO THE TEAL HOUSE. THE WITCH WILL KEEP YOU SAFE.


3F313A, Threef for short, scuttled along the corridor, its CPU filled with nervous static.

Would the new purples like it? Would it be welcomed into the Shades? So often, no one saw it.

It paused by the creche door. Tapped a hesitant tentacle on steel.

The door opened and a huge banner hung from the ceiling.


All the purples swarmed around Threef and welcomed it home.



Never summon a demon on an empty stomach. It sucks and the results are questionable.

Instead of a raging, blood-red horror from the pit of hell, ready to unleash havoc upon my enemies, the thing on my carpet was more like dried-blood-red, grouchy, and the size of my fist.

“Are you Anger?” I asked. “Here to decimate those who’ve wronged me?”

“Nope, I’m Hangry,” it responded. “Got anything to eat around here?” Then it broke my favorite lamp and trundled into the kitchen.

I sighed and made us lunch. Next time I’d plan better.


Scrape, scrabble, scratch.

You huddle in the corner, your flesh cold, as the things snick and slither above.

If you’re silent, the sounds won’t find you. But you need to go, or you’ll be trapped. You edge towards the door.

Scuff, shamble. Sniff.

You freeze. Too late, snack.


Dark were the boughs of the forest; green were the needles of pines; red was the cloak of the hunter; and quiet was the tread of the mime.


The prophecy foretold of forest-green skies and waters turned to fog. Of monsters and abominations roaming the lands hungry for bloody marrow.

What it didn’t mention were what would become of us.


“Two stalks of goldenrod, one sprig of pine. Three wilted graveyard fronds to hold the dead divine.”

She hums the incantation as she weaves the plants and the sepulcher wrappings into a noose.

When the god comes for her sister, clamoring it’s owed the damned, she’ll be ready.


“It’s bitter,” said Snow White, curling her lip at the apple.

“It’s a Granny Smith,” the witch said in exasperation. “It’s sweet!”

“I dunno, tastes bad to me. Plus it’s green. Is it even ripe?”

“Fine,” the witch snapped, and took out a juicy red fruit. “Try this one.”


At first she thought the birds had knives: indigo feathers bristling with silver.

Then she realized two things: they weren’t knives but talons. Those raptors weren’t regular birds.

And the dinosaurs were hungry.


Dip your quill in softly, never making a ripple nor sound. Do not let the ink know of your intent. The indigo balances on the steel nib, a droplet of potential, of chaos, of pain.

Draw the letters swiftly, smoothly, and watch as vengeance blooms from the page and dons your will.


Thing about goo is that it gets fricking everywhere. In your socks, on your skin, between your eyebrow hairs. That jungle green slime spreads and oozes and bubbles and you just can’t get rid of it!

This is the last time you’re ever ordering “never-ending goo!” from a catalog.


“Really?” asked God. “You want to be…green.”

“Lime green!” chirruped the tiny monster. “So I darkened and grow over time, rich with algae and rot, and rise from the ocean bogs in radioactive terror to spew vengeance upon my enemies!”

“…done,” said God, and Godzilla beamed.


It’s always the same question. “If you’re Mac, then where’s your cheese?” like you’re the first rando to pop that joke, ha ha ha.

Finally, I’d had enough. I made Cheese: three meters high, made from yellowed steel, all teeth and no patience. Next dude to ask will get answered.


Magenta wanted to go to the moon. She watched all the vids and sims; she saved for passage; she won the lottery spot for a ticket off-world.

And then the meteor arrived. It would drive the moon into the earth. No stopping it.

It’s ok, she thought. Now the moon will come to her.


The homeowner scowled. “This isn’t what I ordered.”

The designed glared back over the rows of corn. “You said you wanted a garden of maize. I got it for you!”

“I said I wanted a garden *maze*!”

“Oh…well, we can fix that. Corn mazes are popular this time of year.”


Their god’s words echo in their head as they light a match. The fuse trails into the Ministry of Mercy.

The manatee might have been imprisoned in glass, but they know its words are right.

They set match to fuse, whispering the mantra like a prayer. Set it all on fire, child.


There’s no waveship faster than Maximum Purple. It’s won fifteen thousand consecutive races through the Andromeda belt.

Everyone knows how—lightdry engines, reality boosters, algorithmic shields—but not why.

It races to forget what it left behind…what will find it in time.


The clerk lied to me. When I said I wanted “ocean blue lipstick”, to match my hair, I just accepted the little tube painted with foam-capped waves and went home.

I opened the lipstick and out poured an ocean, blue as can be. Now I’m stuck on a raft waiting for rescue. Dammit.


“Oceans are blue, the Deep Ones sing true.”

Wretched whispers to herself as she picks shells from the glass-grit sand, tangled weeds, broken bones.

“Skies are gray and clouds are lies.”

She jumps as a gull cackles overhead. She doesn’t look up. Never up.

One day she’ll find the final verse. One day, she’ll learn how to go home.


My cat was the first to spot the alien craft, probably because cats can see octarine. She yowled and swatted at mid-air.

Its cloaking disabled, the tiny UFO crashed to the carpet. The aliens, unfortunately for them, looked like mice.

It was the one and only envoy sent to earth.


“Oxblood!” Red yells, diving sideways. “It’s me!”

The minotaur snorts, trident a blur as he twirls it.

Red holds up their hands, this time signing. *I’m your friend, remember?*

Hesitation. It’s all they need.

Red launches themself forward. They leap, soar, and tumble between Oxblood’s horns. They snatch the MadGlass visor from his brow, ripping wires and sensors free. Red tumbles down the minotaur’s back and crushes the MadGlass under their boot.

The crowd gasps.

Slowly, Oxblood turns. *Red?* he lows.

They grin, relieved. “Hey, buddy. Wanna bust out of here?”

Oxblood bellows and hurls his trident into the hover cam. It’s time they were both free.


She’s done. Done with the dungeons, the rescuing, the 8-bit dialogue balloons with inane script. Done with that fool in the red hat and the spiked turtle-thing.

Peach deletes the mainframe, and storms out of the system. She’s her own princess. She’ll find another line of work.


The stranger swept into the masquerade swathed in a gown of peacock blue, her mask a brilliant green-gold crown of feathers and jewels. She moved like wine, like sunlight. She ignored the prince; she ignored her sisters.

She offered me, the servant, her card. “Care to dance?”


Everything is made from teeth.

The chairs, the walls, your eyes. Teeth. Pearlescent, shiny, tartared! Pearly whites shining in the lights!

The moon is teeth; so is the sun.

When do they stop? Where do they begin? Your thoughts are teeth. Only teeth.

Teeth. Teeth. Teeth…


The flowers are hungry. Water no longer suffices; sunlight isn’t enough.

They crave more. Music enrages them; blood is useless.

The periwinkles are only sated on dreams. You sleep amidst them, let them suck the nightmares whole.

What will they do when you have no dreams left?


The shawl was a rich, velvet-smooth puce, fringed in glass beads that sighed with each movement.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, “like you.”

“Would you like to try it on?”

The Shawl of Revealed Intent showed her all she needed to know.

She took it off his corpse and carried on.


All the best monsters are purple, says the blobby purple sphere.

Not true, replies the squiggly orb. Some are green.

No! shouts the blustering square. They are blue!

In the corner, the tiny pink monster drooped and shriveled. No one ever picked its color as the best.

Suddenly, a child crawled under the bed. All the monsters froze, waiting to see who would be picked to be the One.

The blue monster swelled. The purple monster puffed. The green monster undulated.

“Pink is my favorite color!” the child said, and the little monster beamed.

(This one recieved epic fan-art from the child who requested the color!!!)


It’s hard to craft reality from scratch. A dab of purple dreamscape, a pinch of suspicion, a tsp of regret. Knead together with fresh compassion, a drop of endless need, and a sprinkle of wonder. Let stand for a billion years. As reality rises, heat the universe, ready to bake.


Cold are the waters, ice is the sky; the purple mountain’s majesty is all a lie.

I huddle in the rocky lee, scared enough of the dark I’ve lit a fire. Doesn’t have any warmth. The mountain stole all the world’s heat when it rose.

I’m still climbing, though. Gonna get it back.


It was an honest mistake. The label of the razzmatazz crayon was torn in places; the child was learning how to read.

When Ra’mat’as rose from the deeps, summoned by the human’s toddler song, it was greeted with a bright purple-pink drawing of itself, offered with grape juice.


The bus was almost empty when she stepped aboard, her red jacket soaked and her hood damp.

“Forgot your umbrella, sweet?” leered the only other passenger, a graying man.

She flashed her teeth, so many teeth, all slicked with fresh blood. “This isn’t rain on my clothes.”


The robot was robin’s egg blue, tiny, and didn’t work.

Darcy bit her lip. What had she done wrong? She’d followed all the instructions: built it exactly right.

“Please be ok,” she said, and a tear dripped onto the robot’s head.

It turned on. “I am,” it said. Darcy smiled.


Grease crusts my hands, stings my eyes. I push onward, crawling through the silver wired guts of the Machine. Naked from the sensor-suit and the needles in my skull, it can’t see me.

Its core is vulnerable. I will crush it. No more loss, no more deaths. Soon the Machine ends.


When you think about the sky—that blue-reflected screen between you and the void—it’s hard to hold it all in your head.

It’s so BIG. You’ve never liked big problems.

You construct a vacuum. Compress the sky.

Now there’s only void and that sky is the least of your problems.


She unspooled the ultraviolet tendrils from her hands into the basement’s still-damp concrete. The ethereal vines wriggled and churned, burrowing into calcium and silicon, rooting themselves below the hardening gray floor. This house would be haunted soon, fear feeding her seeds.


It’s such a rich, thoughtful red—vermilion, isn’t that the word?—that she trails her fingers in the spilled liquid longer than necessary. Tastes the iron and vitality under her nails. Mmm. Yes.

Revenge may best be cold, but justice is delicious when hot and freshly bled.


“I don’t understand,” the dragon wailed. “I used the polish just like you said! I’m supposed to be a terror of the skies! I’m pink!”

“Show me the label.” The witch sighed. “Oh, honey, this is to color your scales violet-red. Violent Red is the brand you were looking for.”


The queen wore yellow. The court balked, garbed in stately black. Such defiance of tradition!

“How dares’t thou?” hissed the regent.

The queen hummed. Buzzed, even.

The regent stepped back, too late.

The queen unfolded herself, a swarm of bees, yellow for the court’s black.


Other participents I know who are doing twitter fics: Sarah PinskerJordanDread SinglesJordan KurellaIori Kusano, L Chan, Beth Cato, Hester J. Rook, Toby MacNutt, Altered Instinct, Barbara Kransoff, Internet Dragon Cat , Carrie Cuinn, Laura Pearlman, Mina Li, NS Dolkart, Karen Osborne, Erin Roberts, Effie Seiberg, Jasmine Stairs and many more! So many brilliant little stories, recipes, spells, histories, lore—it’s all amazing and I encourage you to check out the other threads floating around! Enjoy!


Thread [short story reprint]

This story first appeared in Ideomancer, which is sadly no longer online. Therefore I’m reprinting this story here. It is On Brand for me, with the evil lights and creepy SF. I hope you enjoy!

CW: suicide, attempted suicide, torture, murder, imprisonment.

2,300 words
Science Fiction/Horror

image via Pexels


by A. Merc Rustad


The nine-cluster appeared outside our unit’s bunker on the last day of the cycle. That meant only one thing.

They would take someone away.

I peered out the portviewer. All nine stood before the door, tall humanoid shapes composed of white light. They had heads like stars: translucent spheres with colored particles that suggested facial features. (That is how I imagined stars. I’ve never seen them for real.)

They didn’t have names. They didn’t have genders, either. We dubbed them he/she at random, although I never understood why. They weren’t like us.

Two smiled and knocked, as if politeness meant anything. I didn’t open the bunker door.

Bailey took charge, like he always did. “Everyone stay calm.” He glanced at me, and I nodded. “This is just a routine inspection.”

“How do you know?” Kory asked, wide-eyed. “We just got back. They don’t do inspections until the first cycle-day.”

Bailey slapped him on the shoulder. “Your record is spotless. They aren’t here for you.”

“Then who?” Tess demanded.

Everyone had unsuited except me. But Tess didn’t notice. (I often forgot to remove my pressure suit right away.) Tess let me stand by the viewer for hours after a shift and look at the empty road that connected the one-hundred-forty-seven bunkers on this facility.

“No one, Tess,” Bailey said. He could still tell lies. “No one is being taken to the House.”

Tess took a breath and glanced at Dom. “If you say so.”

“Mara,” Bailey said, lifting his chin and facing the door. Only Dom and I saw the tremor in his hands. “Let the overseers in.”

Dom took the scissors off the table and held them tight. They were long-bladed and heavy, used for snipping bone. He had already been to the House.

(But so had I.)

I keyed the pressure lock and opened the door.

Our unit’s bunker was a functional square room. Cots slid into the wall when not in use, and we were allowed a few personal effects. Tess had the geode collection; Kory had a holo-projection of a world he pretended was once ours, full of blues and greens and surrounded by the white of the universe. Bailey had a book—paper and leather—but there was nothing inside it.

I had a thread I’d mined and none of the nine-clusters knew about it.

All nine floated in and planted themselves around our bunker. We all smiled. The cardinal rule: never frown during inspection. Gemma had forgotten.

“Welcome,” Bailey said. He wouldn’t fail. He couldn’t. “Is everything in order?”

Two laughed. Two was always the leader. “A disturbance has been reported in your bunker.”

“What?” Kory said. “That’s impossible.”

“An anomaly.” Five glided around the perimeter. She stopped by Dom. He stared straight ahead, his knuckles bloodless. “Something is in this sector that does not belong,” Five said.

Tess tilted her head towards the floor, inhaling slow and deep. She practiced her breathing every night, because Gemma wasn’t there anymore.

Bailey shrugged easily. “We’re permitted to refine a portion of phosphates for our own use. No one has brought back anything else past quarantine.”

I hadn’t told the rest of the unit. Bailey said not to. “They’ll crack,” he’d said the day before, looking tired and sad. (I wish I’d argued, but I had no protest.) It would be easier if they didn’t know.

The thread squirmed in my gloved hand. I locked my jaw and kept my smile in place. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

We needed the nine-cluster agitated so they would touch us physically. I wouldn’t risk the thread failing to pierce their barriers. It was the only chance we had.

Kory swallowed and folded his arms. He was the youngest in our unit, and he still smiled when he didn’t have to.

“We’re making quotas,” Tess said from clenched teeth. “No one has violated the regulations. I check everyone’s suits upon entry.”

(She never checked mine. Bailey said not to. “Sometimes it’s all that holds her together,” I’d heard him whisper to Tess, when I came back from the House.)

Muscles twitched in Tess’s jaw. “What is this about?”

“Defensive?” Two asked her. “That is a common psychological signal that you are…hiding something.”

“We have nothing to hide,” Bailey said. He chuckled, his mouth stretched until it might break. “We’ve increased production by 127% this cycle.”

“So you did.” Four’s particle-expression swirled and brightened in warning. “And you were down 76% the cycle before, 58% the cycle before that, and 13% before that.”

No one looked at me. I had taken Bailey and Dom on the downward spiral. (Only I could see darkness, but they believed what I told them.)

Our unit mined minerals and ore on the debris rings of 6-X76. We averaged a 97% productivity level per work segment, and had for the last ten cycles. That was when Gemma went away, and Dom came back from the House.

“Fine. It’s my fault,” Tess said, pulling her shoulders back. “I didn’t keep the unit on track. You took Gemma.” Her hands fisted and she took a steady breath. “But I accept full responsibility for the unit’s decreases previously.”

Kory winced. I shook my head minutely. Don’t do this, Tess. It’s not your fault. They weren’t suspicious yet. (I couldn’t watch them take Tess away.)

Eight laughed, a faint hissing sound characteristic of all Eights. “Your statement is contradictory. You were the hardest worker in the unit during the previous three cycles.”

“It’s in here,” Five said. “It does not belong.”

“Disassemble,” Two told Five. “Find it.”

It was too soon. I shot Bailey a flat look. He sat on a plain metal stool and shut his eyes. “Dom,” he said, very quietly.

Dom tensed, ready to do anything Bailey asked. He always did.

Bailey’s smile weakened, and he tilted his head a fraction at Two. Dom’s muscles bunched. He might not harm Two—we didn’t know how to hurt the nine-clusters ourselves—but he would distract Two anyway.

Kory’s face beaded with sweat. “They found something,” he blurted. “I saw Mara put it—”

Dom jabbed his thumb into Kory’s eye. The eyeball popped. Kory screamed, clutching his face.

Tess snarled and raised a fist at Dom, but Bailey snapped, “Don’t.”

Two clapped his hands. “Oh, well played. You are hiding something.”

I didn’t know Kory saw me take the sock or put it back. Everyone had been eating when I did. (I didn’t eat much anymore.)

Five began expanding, translucent arms budding from her torso. She threw the holo-projector to the floor, scattered the geodes, pulled apart Bailey’s book. The cots were empty.

The thread was heavy, pressing into my skin through the glove. It had taken all my enhanced strength to lift it from the mines. I couldn’t hold it much longer.

Bailey’s breath came faster. They might question him—Dom could resist, but Bailey couldn’t. He had never been to the House.

I kicked the cabinet where we kept our pressure suits, jostling loose the plastic door and the lopsided drawer.

Three swiveled her head. She spied the single bit of fabric—a sock—peeking from the drawer. It was black. I’d rubbed the thread all over it to change it. (I was the only one who saw why it was different.)

Five hissed. “This house is touched by the dark.”

The nine-cluster’s heads began to pulsate in alarm.

“Anomaly found,” Two said.

Kory let out a strangled moan. Bailey sat rigid, his face ashen, and folded his hands on his lap. Tess inhaled shakily.  She put her arm on Dom’s shoulder, but Dom stared into the distance as if he wasn’t here anymore.

Nine looked at me, her eyes expanding until they encompassed her forehead. “Mara, you don’t seem surprised.”

I kept my arms around my knees, the thread in my hand. “Space is dark.”

They didn’t like that.

Our eye-filters were programed for light. We looked at the space between mining sites and planets and we saw the brilliant white of the universe. I shouldn’t have known what dark was.

But I had been to the House, where they pluck out your eyes and you bones and your skin and your neural pathways and remake you. And in between being remade (again and again and again), I saw beyond the light. I saw infinite blackness.

It was beautiful.

Nine strolled towards me. “This unit is no longer operational.”

We were all going to the House.

Another unit would replace ours. There was always another.

Dom lunged. He still held the scissors, the keepsake he brought back from the House. He aimed for Bailey. The scissors sunk through the back of Bailey’s spine at the base of his skull. Bloodied metal tips poked from his windpipe. Bailey’s muscles twitched and he slid to the floor.

Dom always loved Bailey the most.

Two sighed and pressed a radiant palm over Dom’s face, picked him up, and carried him out the door. Two left Bailey’s body where it lay. The machines to revive the body were all in the House.

Blood was darker than I remembered.

I held on tight to the thread.

Kory screamed and threw himself at Two. “Don’t take him!”

Eight batted him aside, and he hit the wall hard enough to break his ribs. (I didn’t flinch. I don’t think I can, anymore.)

Tess grabbed the scissors. She stopped smiling as she ran towards Kory.

One moved for the first time. He expanded a stasis field around Tess, rendering her immobile. She dropped the scissors. They bounced across the floor and skittered to my feet.

“Mara,” Kory gasped as Eight carried him towards the door. “Help me…”

I couldn’t. (I’m sorry, Kory.) If I moved, if I dropped the thread, we were lost. (I’m sorry, Tess.)

I smiled up at Nine. I didn’t look at Bailey.

“Space is dark,” I said again. “I’ve seen it.”

“We will fix that.” Nine’s face erased any particle expression. “The House will welcome you back.”

I snatched her wrist as if I wanted to push her away. I couldn’t. No one was that strong.

The tiny black thread wormed into Nine’s translucent arm. She didn’t notice. Her body was too full of light.

She pressed her palm over my face and the House came back in my mind, every imprinted memory.


In the House, you are unmade.

(—it hurts it hurts it hurts—)

The nine-clusters have no identical analogues for physical bodies, no way to feel pleasure or pain the way we do, but such things fascinate them.

They can record it in a million ways inside the House and translate it into data they can experience.

An Eight told me that when he extracted my nerves one at a time with his minute tools.

And in the House, even if you stab yourself in the brain with scissors, they can fix you and make you remember.

(Dom tried. He tried so many times, and so hard, but they remade his body every time.)

No one comes back from the House whole.


When I found the darkness, it was buried deep beneath rock and iron. A single thread, barely three centimeters long.

I told Dom. He stared at me, empty-eyed like he often was.

“I don’t know what dark is,” Dom said.

I grasped his gloves. “It can eat away the nine-clusters. All of them.”

This was my theory. If they had made the universe light, they must fear the opposite. They could not live in blackness.

Once a ten-cycle, all the nine-clusters gathered and merged their heads into a great sphere of light. They shared everything, knowledge and particles and experience and delights they’d witnessed in the House.

One drop of darkness would infect them all.

“I can get it,” I told Dom. “I just need your help.”

He shut his eyes. It was light out even when you didn’t look. “They’ll take us back.”

“I know,” I said. (I didn’t remember how to lie when I came back from the House.)

Bailey was deeper in the tunnel, his comm synched with ours. Dom could cover my workload while on shift, and Bailey could make sure no one else in the unit found out what I was doing.

“They’ll take Bailey.” Dom’s voice cracked. “They’ll take all of us.”

“I know,” I said. “But we’ll blot them out and no one will ever be taken again.”

We were made in darkness, before the nine-clusters came. We could live in it again. And we know how to make our own light.

Dom leaned his head against the wall, his helmet clicking against rock. All I heard was his breath over the comm.

“Dom?” I asked, when he didn’t move.

“Bailey,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Bailey said. “I’ll help, Mara. Sometimes I think I dream of the dark.”

Dom fisted his hands.

“I can show you what the dark is like for real,” I said. “The light will end.”

It was what we all needed, even if we could never admit that.

Finally, Dom nodded.

We began to dig.


I look out one of the House’s many windows, at the nine-clusters watching. Specks of blackness float in their star-like heads.

The darkness is growing in the Five that leads Dom away again.

“It will be dark soon,” I promise Dom, but his blank stare never changes.

The nine-clusters glow brighter, as if to hide it, but I know what darkness looks like.

(I will never forget.)

Soon, the darkness will expand and the stars will collapse. Nine by nine, they will become vacuums and take away all the light in the universe.

It will be beautiful.


first published in Ideomancer, Decmber 2013
(c) 2013 by Merc Rustad

A Few Favorite Fictions: June 2018

June is my birthday month, and I am so delighted by the amazing stories I read these last few weeks. ❤

A note about my selections: on my blog I usually choose to review fiction that is available online and not behind a paywall. I subscribe to ebook/print markets and I’ve bought a few individual issues so I can read things I’m interested in. But when I want to link to things, I would rather have them accessible for as many readers as possible.  ^_^

In addition to this, I do not read everything in every publication every month. I bounce around a lot; some months I may read more from one publication than others. There is no method: I have several dozen tabs and always add more, so who knows what I will end up reading each month.


Anyway, I hope you enjoy this month’s recommendations!

A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Lighthouse of Quvenle the Seer by Lina Rather (Lightspeed)

Rather has created a quietly powerful story here, one with a strong emotional core, and the premise is a nice take on oracles. This is a story about grief and hope; about new beginnings without silencing the griefs of the past, which are in many ways always present. It hits hard in a short amount of words, but leaves you with a breath of hope in the end.

Artful Intelligence by G. H. Finn (Diabolical Plot)

If you like puns, you will likely enjoy this a lot. 😉 This is a highly amusing tale about a steampunk engineer who creates an AI! It’s full of fun word play, great over the top concepts, and enjoyable characters. I laughed aloud often while reading, and the ending made me grin. What a great romp!

Destiny by Melissa Mead (Daily Science Fiction)

Mead has written a charming, meta-based story about an author who wanders into the story, and the kindness of characters who can make good changes. I really liked how sweet this was: working within the rules of the story-world, the protagonists can act and they choose to do so with compassion. ❤

Fascism and Facsimiles by John Wiswell (Fireside)

H*cking hilarious, hopeful, and heroic! Wiswell has a wonderfully keen wit and on-point commentary about social and political climate of our current times. This story pokes deliberate fun and criticism over the Marvel fiasco of making Captain America a Nazi (Hydra). When the protagonists in “Fascism and Facsimiles” realize that in their world, the so-called national hero is not the person he’s been portrayed as for forty years. Henchmen getting agency and upholding their beliefs is, for me, more powerful than a traditional hero/villain smackdown. This is great and I highly recommend it!

superhero landing

Faint Voices, Increasingly Desperate by Anya Johanna DeNiro (Shimmer)

With stunning prose, a fantastic and gorgeous mythology woven into shiny shapes, DeNiro has created an ethereal tale about gods and monsters. It’s also a story about two women who find a connection neither of them expected, and how it changes their lives. It’s bittersweet but ultimately triumphant in the end, and so brutally arresting on an emotional level it left me breathless for days after reading. Highly recommended!

TW: transphobia and misgendering & threats against trans women.

Fault Lines by A.J. Fitzwater (3Lobe Burning Eye)

With haunting imagery and metaphor, exquisite writing, and a vicious edge so biting and aching that it builds tension so intense you are almost holding your breath, waiting for a release, this one is short and visceral and will stay with you long after the last words are glowing on the screen.
TW: self-harm.

Gone to Earth by Octavia Cade (Shimmer)

Poetically horrifying and full of powerful emotion and fantastic atmosphere and prose; it’s creepy and sad and gorgeous! Cade has created an astounding sense of claustrophobia and earth-sickness (missing being on Earth, while living on Mars), and it’s so vivid I had to take repeated breaks to catch my breath. This story has such weight, such horrible beauty, that it will linger with you for time to come.

Heron of Earth by Varja Chandrasekera (Clarkesworld)


This story is built around a really cool far-future setting; it has a great voice and  concept, and a riveting narrative that fully utilizes its conceit of a narrator whose name constantly changes. Chandrasekera’s skill ensures that it’s clear who the protagonist is all the time. Plus, there are so many BIRBS. 😀

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In the Belly of the Wolf by Gwendolyne Kiste (Kaleidotrope)

This one is gorgeous, haunting, dark and so satisfying. Very bitey and hungry, with a delicious finale. It’s a take on the Red Riding Hood tale that is fresh (and awesomely genderswaped from the more traditional mode), and is full of wolves. I enjoyed this story so much that I bought a copy of Kiste’s short story collection, And Her Smile Will Untether the Universe.

In the Bottom of the Tower Where All Beasts Roam by Michelle Muenzler (Daily Science Fiction)

What a creepy and gorgeous and weird little story—full of bones and blood and teeth. It’s a fairy tale in the mode of the gruesome originals, and I love it!

In the End, It Always Turns Out the Same by A. C. Wise (The Dark)

This is heartbreaking, dark, and viscerally real: about the pressures and abuses put upon kids and how narratives are made and enforced, even when they are wrong. a vicious riff on teen detective tropes (Scooby Do, etc) that works brilliantly and will haunt you long after you finish reading.

Jiak liu lian by Yap Xiong (Arsenika)

This is a sensual, awesome story about vampires and durians—it made me hungry, even though I could almost taste the delicious fruit! Sumptuous and sublime. Definitely recommended!

Leviathan Sings to Me in the Deep by Nibedita Sen (Nightmare)

This is a luxuriously dark, creepy, horrifying story about whaling, whales, monsters and the terror of the void. It builds slowly, inevitably, layers of nuance and disturbing implications that resolve into a deep and unsettling realization. It will linger in your bones, the memory of whale song that you hear beneath the waves.

(Check out Sen’s awesome author interview as well—she points out the inspiration for this story is rooted in Dishonored games.)

Please enjoy one of my all-time favorite videos about whales.

More Tomorrow by Premee Mohamad (Autmota Review)

A brilliant, voicey, endearing, fun, bittersweet story about time travel and survival and the endurance of human ingenuity and spirit. I LOVE IT SO MUCH. It’s funny as hell, too: I nearly spit out my coffee so many times while reading this. And then SUDDENLY MY HEART IS MELTING AGAIN. A fabulous epistolary format, a great take on how time travel affects past and future, and it highlights the versatility and strength of humans. Also trilobites.

Mothers, Watch Over Me by Maria Haskins (Mythic Delirium)

Do you like feels? Far-future science fantasy? Then this story is for you: a gorgeous anthropomorphic fantasy, with the familiar yet alien tone reminiscent of Watership Down. It’s about family and legacy, it has awesome robots, magic, and ALL THE GOOD DOGS.

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Tank! by John Wiswell (Diabolical Plots)

If anyone can pull off a story about a literal non-binary tank going to a convention, it’s John Wiswell. The result? SO CUTE. MUCH LOVE. ADORBS. Tank wants to be your friend! They’re such a good tank.

The Cook by C. L. Clark (Uncanny)

Aww, this is lovely, a sweet story with gorgeous writing, one that will cleanse your palate, fill your heart, and leave you feeling energized. Read and enjoy!

The Day After the Red Warlock of Skull Top Mountain Turned Everyone in Beane County into Pigs by Susan Jane Bigelow (Fireside)

A long title that works beautifully to set up the premise. It’s one of those stories that examines the aftermath of a climatic event and how it has impacted the lives of the people who lived through it. This one has an edge, and in ways the end feels abrupt, but it haunts you long after you finish.

The Guitar Hero by Maria Haskins (Kaleidotrope)

Wow, this is GREAT. 😀 It’s visceral and rocking and such fun, with heart and a nasty streak. Haskins’ writing evokes all the senses in a perfect blend, transporting you into the story. You can almost hear the music, smell the air, feel the thump of bass under your feet. I also love the Ghostbusters-esque vibe of using SCIENCE!!1! to perform exorcisms. The story itself is like a great guitar riff: showy, entrancing, and makes you want to mimic the music in the air yourself. Definitely a win all around!


The Scarecrow’s Daughter by Hamilton Perez (Aresnika)

What I loved about this gorgeous, weird little story is Perez’s marvelous use of negative space. So much is said in what is not said. We get hints about what happened, and what will happen, with the absences within the narrative. It’s so incredibly well done! Haunting imagery and a mythic feel, this one is definitely I recommend.

The Steady State by Shannon Fay (Daily Science Fiction)

Usually you might not expect “cute and charming” to be applied to a dystopia story, but this one fits the bill: it has a dark undertone but the atmosphere is upbeat and it has happy lesbians! With a happy ending! If you need a little pick-me-up, this one should help brighten your day.

The Stories Of Your Name by J. M. Melican (Arsenika)

This tiny story is beautiful and a brilliant use of meta and second person: a story of stories told from one person to another. What a lovely ending; it gave me such feels in such a short period of time! ❤

Things We Will Never Say by Vanessa Fogg (Daily Science Fiction)

Awww. A poignant, moving story about family and silences and possible futures, some that are hopeful and true.

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What Monsters Prowl Above the Waves by Jo Miles (Diabolical Plots)

This is an adorable story about an octopus who meets and befriends a lonely cat—there is a perfect blend of an alien mindset that is at the same time very relatable, and the point of view of the octopus is charming and engaging. I hope the new buddies have great adventures together!


Bonus: Essay!


This is a powerful, beautiful, important personal essay that everyone should read. Gailey’s words resonated with me, and their story is so vital. Please do read.


Big shout-out to these awesome authors and their excellent stories! Check back next month for another round-up, or feel free to follow me on Twitter @Merc_Rustad for instant recommendations as I have them. Cheers!


A Few Favorite Fictions: May 2018

We are living in the absolute Golden Age of SFF short fiction. There is so much brilliant writing happening and being published, and I love the sheer magnitude and variety we are blessed with on the internets. So here are a handful of stories I read in May and loved. Please enjoy!

gif from The Emperor’s New Groove: Kronk and Yzma high-five

A Promise of Flight by Lee S. Bruce (Fireside)

This story is so fricking cute: a simple promise leads the narrator on a journey of self-discovery, and the ending is hilarious, sweet, and so perfectly earned. I loved everything about this. Plus, the artwork by Maggie Chiang is gorgeous! Never underestimate the power of the human spirit. Treat yourself and read this. 😀

Bride Before You by Stephanie Malia Morris (Nightmare)

Wow, this story. So creepy and evocative and full of voice. A story about family and loss and need. Stunning work—Morris builds a fascinating, gut-punch portrait of a family, of human and monster. The ending is perfect, because it brings us full-circle and allows compassion and hope into the darkness, a light to guide the future forward.

Cherry Wood Coffin by Eugenia Triantafyllou (Apex)

In less than 1,000 words, Triantafyllou builds a complex, haunting, heart-wrenching slice of life surrounding a coffin builder, and the wood that speaks to him. It’s evocative and surreal and the ending is spot-on and wickedly perfect.

Emperor All by Evan Marcroft (Pseudopod)

This is really fucking effective horror brought to a nearly cosmic scale, while deceptively stationed within the bounds of a single unnamed city. A man named John discovers that he has a nearly infinite power to alter reality around him and makes himself the king of the city. At first he just wants to make his life better for him and his wife. But as they say, power corrupts: and this story takes a horrifying brutal look at just how far power can corrupt, and the extents that people in power will go to keep what they have. The subtle manipulation of the narrative as the story progresses is brilliant and I love how it ends, with the chaos never-ending.

With evocative, compact, seemingly effortless prose, Marcroft builds the layers of corruption and horror the longer John is in power. It’s almost entirely told, without dialogue, and it’s incredibly effective: within a few thousand words, we cover decades of stagnation and entrapment horror within this city. The narrative is relentless and brutal and unflinching.

It’s damned good, and will haunt you long after you finish reading.

Trigger warnings: rape, genocide, atrocity, suicide, torture, gaslighting, abuses of power. This is a dark story and very much full of horrible things happening to people, as done by other people.

Godmeat by Martin Cahill (Lightspeed)

This story is a stunningly delicious sensory feast of fucked-up gods and broken mortals and it is amazing. Such layered, savory detail, blended with a cup of anger and garnished with hope at the end. Rich and exciting, with a dash of horror and a thick aroma of dread; fantastical and frightening; luxurious and lush; a story that will kindle hunger in your bones. Cahill has cooked up a masterpiece of gorgeous language and breathtaking imagery, of too-real people and the choices they make, of gods and monsters and mortals all adding to the narrative’s distinct, perfectly weighted flavors.

Trigger warnings: eye trauma, suicidal ideation, mass destruction.

Humans Die, Stars Fade by Charles Payseur (Escape Pod)

SO GOOD. SO POWERFUL. A star learns to live again after grieving the loss of their love, and connects with the humans who find them; it’s beautiful and brilliant and full of wonderful queers and hopeful at the end. It made me cry in a good way and I cannot recommend it enough. This is the kind of uplifting science fiction I want to see so much more of in the world. ❤

One Day, My Dear, I’ll Shower You With Rubies by Langley Hyde (PodCastle)

In this story, Hyde gives us a thoughtful, emotional, and nuanced look at the aftermath of war and the war criminals involved, and the complications of what makes people human. It’s a hard read, but worth it. Hyde builds up all the people involved in complex ways, not shying away from the good or the bad. It offers no easy solutions and no pat ending. This is a quiet, difficult story and it takes its time—no flashy finale, just a sad, necessary end that has as much catharsis as room for the narrator to come to terms with her past, herself, and her future.

Reliving My Grandmother’s Youth by Charlotte Huggins (Flash Fiction Online)

A sweet story about family and support and coming into your own voice. Also I love the narrator’s familiar!

So It Was Foretold by Mimi Mondal (Fireside)

Damn. This one is powerful, emotional, beautifully written and full of rage and loss and grief and refusal to give in, be forgotten, let the stories of one’s history and ancestors die untold. Mondal delivers a powerhouse narrative in few words and it will haunt you long after you read the last lines.

Sucks (To Be You) by Katharine Duckett (Uncanny)

This is a delightful mashup of modern tech and succubi mythos. Duckett blesses us with a great voice and gorgeous prose, a funny, sweet and bittersweet story about connections and all the threads that tie us, as people, together. Full of shiny yet grounded in all-too-relatable needs, this one will stick with you.

Take Pills and Wait for Hips by Anya DeNiro (Catapult)

DeNiro’s story about a trans woman who is transitioning is powerful and moving and hopeful, and there is such a wrenching, breathtaking sense of self in this narrative that it feels autobiographical. The prose is electric and sharp, the voice transcendent. Gorgeous, gorgeous work. ❤

The Paladin Protocol by Sydnee Thompson (Fireside)

What a fascinating look at tech and consent and the use of power; with a non-binary protagonist! I love seeing that. It ends a little abruptly, but in a way that makes you think. There is a lot packed into this, layers to unpeel and examine upon further re-reads. Thompson has created an awesome near-future world and technology that seems all too real and possible, along with the implications of its use.

The Pine Arch Collection by Michael Wehunt (The Dark)

Creeping and unsettling, this story about a found-footage horror movie project that two unsuspecting filmmakers get drawn into is eerie as fuck. “Heavy black lump” as a descriptor has never been more chill-inducing than in this story.

The arms of the heavy black lump reach closer to your windowsill. 

This reminds me in an excellent way of “each thing i show you is a piece of my death” by Stephen J. Barringer and Gemma Files. Found-footage as a genre is an uneven patchwork in the history of horror, but when done well, it can be brilliant. “The Pine Arch Collection” captures the horror and terror and sensory wonder of the best found-footage and metafictional insights into horror, movies, and our darkest selves. It is visual in just the right ways, and the format—a collection of emails—adds to the sense of reality and inevitability. It’s amazing and I recommend it a lot.

Variations On a Theme From Turandot by Ada Hoffmann (Strange Horizons)

In a word: magnificent. This story (which, disclaimer: I beta read in several different versions) is a pièce de résistance; a triumphant, harrowing, brutal, beautiful, operatic tour de force story taking on Puccini’s Turandot and the troubled narrative of dead women in the composer’s work. Hoffmann weaves an ever-more-complex series of narratives: Liu’s story with the Princess in the opera itself; Liu’s realization of who she is and what her role is; the Soprano who sings the role of Liu; the layers of ghosts and stories both Liu, the Princess, and the Soprano must navigate to find their own ending. This is full of grief and loss and pain and rage and hope and triumph. It is metafiction in the way it examines the opera, and changes the reality of the story through the agency of the women who take their destinies into their own hands; women who will not be forever silenced by the pen or words; women who find solace and who aid each other and build a better future, a truer ending for them all.

Trigger warnings: rape, genocide, torture, suicide.

We Feed the Bears of Fire and Ice by Octavia Cade (Strange Horizons)

A brutal and wrenchingly sad, satisfying story about climate change and complacency and guilt; gorgeous visuals both searing and hauntingly cold. Cade’s prose is a masterclass of exacting language, tone, and pacing. The story builds and builds until you don’t think you can endure any more, and then like a breath, like a scream, it lets go, lets you release the tension and rage knotted taut inside, and then you can bask in fierce satisfaction at the end. Fantastic work.


Big shout-out to these awesome authors and their excellent stories! Check back next month for another round-up, or feel free to follow me on Twitter @Merc_Rustad for instant recommendations as I have them. Cheers!


I’m delighted to share the first story for Robot Dinosaur Fiction, Rachael K. Jones’ adorable, feels-inducing “Five Functions of Your Bionosaur.” It has a terrific illustration by Rhiannon R-S, too!


This story hatches a summer of flash fiction about robot dinosaurs, from a fantastic line-up of authors and artists. 😀 We have a Kickstarter running through the end of the month to ensure all our brilliant contributors get paid, and hopefully we can open for general submissions in July if we hit our stretch goals.

So check it out, spread the word, and thank you for reading!

baby raptor