Shifting Sands of Blood by Rebecca Harwell
Inara wanted so much to look up at his face. The silence dug its way under her skin. Would he show mercy? She was running out of time.
The Peculiar Fruit of the Savage Chinchilla by Kate Duva
Our innocent daughter would have been horrified to see this pelt decorating her mother’s shoulder, complete with the animal’s little hollowed head, its eye holes accented by two balls of jet black glass.
Compassion, During and After the Fall by Cory Cone
There is someone there, and the woman knows it is the man who is not like her. He is surrounded by the light, always by the light.
The Imago by Carly Berg
Lei’s fingers knew clay and her holy imagos made the other women gasp. The thumb-sized clay baby looked real.
Little Stitches by M. Shaw
I don’t think they have a language; just a rhythm, and they don’t use it to communicate so much as to wear down, to drone out.
The Travelling Dead by Keith Kennedy
Forbidden Island by J.A. Grier
An Unexpected Review by Michele Bannister
Where We Died by Shira Lipkin