BY ANDY NARANJO

Before his eyes were planes of red and vermilion sands. Above him passing were clouds of magenta floating in seas of aquamarine skies. Behind his eyes resided an imagination sprawling through pious temperaments. The sun set behind mountains that climbed over the city horizon. Lying in desert beds, on the cusp of the cove, Jouye scaled mammoth stones.

BY DEANNA NGUYEN

At first, everything was pitch black. I blinked. Okay, so my eyes weren’t closed. Also, I had eyes. I patted my body and touched my face—all intact, clothed, and completely human. A lucid dream then? I pinched my skin as hard as I could and winced. Nope, definitely not a dream.

BY PETER WILLIAMS

The Corinalth Colonization Program had proven disappointing in the six months it had been active. While maintaining a breathable atmosphere similar to Earth’s, the planet’s soil had proven inhospitable to any form of edible vegetation. From what the scientists in the colony had concluded, the nutrients naturally produced on Corinalth were not enough to keep seeds alive long enough for them to bear fruit.

BY GILES STUART

Dad set down the glasses, making a “clack” in time with the amplifying weather. Drawing my attention to the windows, the hail pelted the panes of glass, scuffling dull the last bits of light as it disappeared behind the mounted ridge, leaving a purple disco effect in the room—the last taunt of twilight before nightfall.

“I had a nickname for you as a little girl. Do you remember?”

BY PETER WILLIAMS

Her name was Phee, and she was the bravest warrior I had ever met. I had seen her face down ogres, trolls, and even giants without hesitation. She could swing a sword with such grace that it was like watching a vicious dance. Even when she was relaxed, her hazel eyes smoldered orange with the heat of battle.

I loved her with every fiber of my being.

BY JESSICA R. WOEHLER

Listen close, lovers of the light, and know the truth of how darkness flees. For darkness does not shrink away because of what we build up inside, but rather because of what we choose to let go of. A concept simple in statement, perhaps, but far more difficult to put into practice.

BY JORDAN NISHKIAN

You feel that the street Sophie is driving you down should be familiar; and there are little things that are, like the faded posters in the dry cleaner window and the pastel awnings of the gelato shop.

After getting into her car at the hospital parking structure, Sophie told you that you’ve been living in the city for almost five years—one year on Fourth Street and the rest at the apartment she’s taking you to now. While she told you this, she studied you and your movements, relieved when you slipped your arm under the seat belt and buckled in.

BY LESLIE GONZALEZ

You wonder about the shadow in the corner of your eye. It’s been following you now since you left his place half an hour ago. You first saw it when you walked through the front gate of his apartment. He hadn’t seen it because he hadn’t walked you out.

BY DEANNA NGUYEN

A chime ripples the still night, unheard by those who dance in the garden of dreams. In a rowboat that weaves its way through Lunea’s water canals, a hooded figure sits with a fox that’s curled around her shoulders. The fox’s vaporous form emits a white haze, her eyes golden and glowing. As their destination approaches, her ears prick up. The fox jumps off the young woman’s shoulders, leaving smoky tracks that dissipate before she lands atop the bow. All the while, the bell’s song resonates from around the fox’s neck.

BY LIZ MICHAUD

I hated this fucking house. I didn’t want to be on this ugly rock. Not like you. You said you felt something close to magic here at Coal Beach, but there was nothing enchanting about the surly old fishermen in this coastal ghost town.

And now I’m trapped here and you’re missing.

BY GILES STUART

She knew she was dead when she woke up.

She wouldn't have been so sure but for the fact that she'd been dead before.

A minor surgery had turned into a twenty-four hour nightmare when a routine appendectomy revealed a latent heart condition. Only five, she barely remembered dying. She hadn’t really made much sense of living yet, so having nothing to contrast, her perspective was about as mature as a mayfly’s theories on evolution.

BY BRITTANY LAWRENCE

His siren call was elsewhere, leaving the wreckage behind. Me, broken on the floor with all of my pieces. Left in the middle of a shipwreck, he took my treasure and was gone. I watched as the parts of me he didn’t want lost their last hints of shimmer as the sun set, and then there was just darkness.

BY REBECCA CARLYLE

The fire crackled and hissed at her from across the room, the orange light flickering upon the stone walls. She arrived late in the evening a week ago; it was too dark to take in her surroundings. A friend of hers had asked her to look after their cousin’s cabin for two weeks, and she jumped at the opportunity to get out of town—a break from the hustle and bustle of city life was much needed.