Category: Short Stories
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She left a lot of boxes blank. The system immediately flagged them amber, a gentle, automated notification popping up in the corner of her screen. Its tone was perfectly calibrated to simulate human concern: Incomplete profiles generate suboptimal team matches. Please ensure all fields are populated to maximize your workplace harmony. Mina looked at the…
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The morning should have begun with an optimization report. Owen hadn’t received one for some time. As far as the system was concerned, he was no longer a verified entity. He was a glitch. He made his hot chocolate. The machine let out a wet, mechanical wheeze as it struggled to process the hand-ground cacao. …
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Staple Green did not notice Gerdy return. This was not surprising. The village was busy with itself: the sharp clang of hammers on iron, the sounds of livestock in the crowded market, the tireless calls of merchants haggling over salted fish, fruit, and other wares. The machine clattered on, each part performing its rehearsed role…
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The van had come with the book. Cael had inherited both from his uncle, who had inherited the van from someone else and never mentioned the book at all. Either because he hadn’t noticed it, or because he had and thought it better not to. It lived in a metal box bolted under the passenger…
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The old river road began sensibly enough. It was a modest dirt track lined with elderflower and the occasional flock of chickens, and for the first hour Gerdy felt quite confident he was the sort of man who went on journeys. He had his provisions. He had his map. He had a small piece of…
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The yard belonged to Reginald. Under the Mango tree, he was the sun around which all life orbited. His harem moved in a synchronised dance of scratching and pecking, always within the shadow of his mahogany wings. He was the “Main Man,” the undisputed law round these parts. His crow was the authority: a weathered…
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The village of Staple Green clattered with the rhythm of practical hustle. It was a place defined by the sharp clang of hammers on iron, the sounds of livestock in the crowded market, and the tireless calls of merchants haggling over salted fish, fruit, and other wares. The villagers moved like well-oiled parts of a…
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The midday sun sat heavy over the meadow where Buttercup and his young trio were grazing. “Can you head back and check on Mum? I’ll be a tad later,” he bleated softly. After a moment’s fuss, since they would much rather have stayed to frolic around their father, Bramble, Clover, and Aster finally obeyed. “Stay…
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“The ground didn’t just shake,” Buttercup said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “It groaned. For a heartbeat, Zamba stood frozen, the same fear that had hampered him at the lantern returning with a vengeance. But as he looked into the glowing throat of the earth, he realised the truth. There was no beast.…
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“The lantern was dead,” Buttercup whispered. “Total blackness. Zamba’s hooves felt like lead as he fumbled with the lantern, his grip slippery with the cold sweat of a goat who knows time is running out. In the dark, the only sound was the frantic clink-scrape, clink-scrape of stone against iron. Zamba struck the flint again…