Yes, I’ve still been writing even more scifi/fantasy very short stories! I’ve even included a few of my favorites in my latest book, Saints and Curses. If you’re interested in reading more, make sure you check out the hashtags #vss365, #scififri, and #satsplat on Twitter.
They tore my babies from my arms before the execution. My uncle glowers as they tie me like an offering to the River God.
What will happen to them?
Your bastards will die in the woods, he smirks.
I pray to the gods of Hell, with the power of my mother's love, to come back.
They always send a waif, he thought. Skinny, dirty, a supposed virgin with no family or connections. He flicked his tongue at the latest sacrifice. Her eyes burned bright.
"I can unlock the gates," she said. "You could feast on the others, the rich, fat ones."
"The night the white things landed," gran began to reminisce. "They looked like slugs, ugly. Tricky, too, singing in your mind about galactic harmony and what not. But Pa couldn't hear 'em, so they couldn't trick him. He shot at 'em, and they left for good."
She watched the clouds float above her. The wind twisted them into surreal shapes, and she could feel little sparks on her skin.
"Is there a storm coming, Gran?" one of the children asked.
"Yes. Go to the shelter, the hidden one. Wait for me and don't make a sound."
The creature has long fingers, lithe as willow branches and brown as roots. It runs them over the flowers in the garden. They grow over the tops of the beds and spill out over the step stones. Jen watches silently from the upstairs window.