Short Fiction by Lindsay Bison

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The box was empty.

It was the second impossible event of the morning. First, the symmetry drive was failing; now the reserve ammunition was gone.

Wemly forced the gun into her boot. Thirteen shots and then death, if she wasn't dead already.


The fabric is thin. I do a quick spin to get the feeling of it when I move. I want to go down to the reflecting pond to get a look but mom says we don't have time.

She's agitated again. Keeps flexing her mandibles, but I know she's not hungry. We're going to meet with her artist friends.


The log exploded. Black vespers curled out, slinking and snaking towards Dad. He waved the splitting maul through the dark tendrils and they burst into fine particles. The glass orb at the butt of the maul flashed bright blue, like the after image of a lightning strike. Any time I witnessed this, I was never sure if I had actually seen it, or if I had blinked at the wrong time.


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