Category: Flash fiction

Red Quartergiant

Red Quartergiant

Image in dark red and black of concentric circles with a brighter spot in the middle.

February 2020 flash fiction (science fiction, space). For the Patreon post, click here.

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We knew from the moment it appeared that something was wrong—fundamentally, intrinsically incorrect about the giant star.

Our expedition ship entered observable distance during what counted as morning in the void of space. The rendering software spat out sensor-captured shot after shot, but nothing could replace our own eyes. Permanently shadowed by the other planets, we could only ever see about a quarter of its body. Around it, matter—red, plasmatic in essence—spiraled inward, seemingly static.

“Debris must be caught in its gravitational field, probably traveling at impossible velocities,” our science officer said. “But from this far away, we perceive it as motionless.”

A lot of us thought she meant to say dead.

We flew as close as we dared, hovering on the boundary of justifiable risk. We studied it, talked to it, trying not to get overwhelmed by exposure to radiation and loneliness and the crackle of feedback static whenever we attempted to contact base. We shared our stories, our science. Our deepest, most hidden thoughts.

It was morning again, a prime number of days-years-minutes after our first sighting, when an anomaly became evident, glinting along its inner edge. Around and around, and then—

Then it blinked.

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Pencil drawing of buildings forming a cityscape flowing out of a quill.

January 2020 flash fiction (urban fantasy, death). For the Patreon post, click here.

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My name is Amara and I was lost once.

When I was six, I learned the universal truth, just like everyone else. Whatever you’re skilled at is the one thing you cannot have. Like a shoemaker walking with blistered feet on cobblestone, or a seamstress dressed in tattered rags.

Across from Nana’s shop was the house of a muse, her hair streaked with purple and white, lips always quirked into a smile. She came to the Valley of the Forgotten after her eyesight had faltered. Back in the City, where the streets were filled with the creations she’d inspired—where her architect had thrived—she’d been driven to a blindness that the Valley had kept at bay. One day, Nana gifted her a painting of the prettiest building in the City, and I was surprised when she thought the canvas was blank.

That was when I started asking my own questions, curious about the magic of the Valley.


When I was twelve, I learned that Nana wasn’t my grandmother, not by blood. She didn’t tell me why she’d been caring for me, or who my parents were, or where I’d come from.

There, in the Valley, we wore ill-fitting clothes made by blacksmiths and lived in houses built by cooks. Everything was always on the verge of falling apart, nothing ever worked quite right, but it was a place of safety from the clutches of fate. The Valley was where the tired ran to. Some remained for the rest of their lives, others only sought refuge for short reprieves. All resisted their calling, their own skill. So did I, after figuring I would’ve been a storyteller, if I’d lived outside, in the other world. But I left it be. Reading tales was enough, and Nana provided as many as I wanted.


When I was twenty-four, I found the piece of paper that had condemned me to the Valley. There, in blue ink on yellowing paper, sat the words forbidden and mandatory isolation and punishable by incarceration. So if Nana took me to the City, she’d be held responsible for whatever effect my special talent would create. Upon myself, not upon others. I had been chained against my nature for reasons nobody deemed I should know.

I raged, simmering quietly. My anger had to go somewhere, and it turned to everyone around me. To our muse neighbor, first, who did nothing but ensure greatness in the City I wasn’t allowed to visit. So I wrote about her, mingling my misery with her own. In my tale, though, she’d remained by the architect’s side, growing more and more obsessed with the creations she could not see. In my story, she’d fallen off the highest clocktower, betrayed by her gift as I had been by mine.

Many acclaimed my writings, after I’d secretly sent them outside the valley. Many mourned and roared with me, the spawns of my imagination spreading wide, beyond the City and the borders of our lands.


When I was thirty-six, I wrote my final piece.

I hadn’t realized it, not in the beginning, what I was actually good at.

Not storytelling itself, because the tales of adventurous kittens and brave knights befriending dragons had been dismissed, one by one. No, what I had a skill for was death. Dished out in violent bursts or served in increments, whenever my protagonists suffered, the world rejoiced.

When I was thirty-six, I lay on the pavement, staring up at the Valley’s only clocktower, my assumptions confirmed. The world thought of me as an abomination. They feared and shunned. Abandoned.

They came for me, then, men in military uniforms, to escort me to the border. Nana told me, whispery and fragile against my ear, to wait for her. To be patient.

That rage, it boiled over, and I ran.


When I was thirty-eight, I found them. Hidden away high on a mountain slope, a small village of lost souls. Nurses of old battlefields, caretakers for the incurable, masters of funeral rites, executioners. Among them, arms spread wide, was Nana.

“Welcome home, child,” she said, face unweathered, smile unchanged.

She explained, then, how my skill had been discovered as a small child. How I’d been marked for isolation. We could’ve fled long ago, but she wanted me to grow outside the village, without the weight of our final resting place upon my shoulders. It wasn’t difficult to understand why she’d done it, why she’d kept it from me. Why I had to discover my fate on my own.


When I was forty-four, I wrote my second first-story. It was about a muse who sacrificed herself to inspire the creation of new medicine, but instead of her life, she paid with her gift.

Because, I realized, death is what we make it—an ending, a journey, passage to another existence, the tearing of a soul to shape it into something new.

My name is Amara and I am Deathless.

This is where my life begins.

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Flash: Science Fiction, Winter holiday.

Release date:  December 2019

Laura met Martha on the Eve, standing on the frozen shore of the river that flows through the entire virtual reality deck.

Anthology: Gay Apparel | A queer holiday anthology project collecting stories from all over the world. Includes contemporary, historical romance, space epic, weird western, post-apocalypse, gay, lesbian, trans, ace, neurodivergent, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, New Years, and some new holidays, too.

Editor: Rachel Sharp

How and where to get it: from the authors! To receive the anthology, donate to an LGBTQIA+ supporting charity of your choice (or if you want to support me directly buy me a coffee). Then send me an email with proof, what file you want (epub, mobi, or pdf). You can get it from me or other authors (see thread below)!

Out now! Goodreads | Twitter | Thread of authors

Peripheric Synthesized

Peripheric Synthesized

Flash story: Science Fiction, Space, Artificial Intelligence, Fictional Non-fiction, Time Travel.

Release date: September 2019

“The following annex contains an excerpt of relevant action logs submitted by the representatives of the applicant entity (see Annex 1) as described in Section 17, Par. 2 of the Sentience Recognition Code.”

Sci Phi Journal, Issue 3/2019

Out now! Story online | Issue 3/2019

Across the Mirror Lake

Across the Mirror Lake

Flash Story: Science Fiction, Space Travel, Portals, Transgender.

Release date:  24 July 2019

This story has received a Honorable Mention in Queer Sci Fi’s Sixth Annual Flash Fiction Contest.

“In the forest there’s a mirror. Taller and wider than the settlement’s largest shelter, it rises vertically like a paper-thin lake. The only way off the planet is through its rippling surface.”

Anthology: Migration

Publisher: Other Worlds Ink

Out now! Other Worlds Ink | GoodReads | Amazon Ebook | Amazon Paperback | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks |

The Firevault

The Firevault

Flash story: Fantasy.

Release date: 15 August 2018

This flash fiction piece is part of Paranatellonta‘s 5th anniversary. Twice a month, Paranatellonta publishes one piece of flash fiction (of exactly ten sentences) inspired by a piece of visual artwork.

The Firevault‘s inspiration artwork is provided by Fie, while Guidance by Minerva Cerridwen is the other half of this event (art by Ava).

Out now! Read it here.

Impact Preorder!

Impact Preorder!

Impact is now available for preorder!

A flash story pat of Queer Sci Fi’s Fifth Annual Flash Fiction Contest: A Little Bump features a world in which acceptance and tolerance are still things to fight for.

Estimated release date:  25 July 2018

IM * PACT (noun)

1) One object colliding with another 2) An impinging of something upon something else 3) An influence or effect on something or someone 4) The force of a new idea, concept, technology or ideology

Impact features 300 word speculative fiction ficlets from across the queer spectrum from the minds of the writers of Queer Sci Fi. Welcome to Impact.

A Little Bump

A Little Bump

Flash Story: Science Fiction, Time Travel, Lesbian.

Release date:  25 July 2018

This story has received a Honorable Mention in Queer Sci Fi’s Fifth Annual Flash Fiction Contest.

“I’m not throwing that at my boss.” Across the room, the Chief of the Android Affairs Department is making her rounds, back straight and tablet spotless.

“You have to.”

Anthology: Impact

Publisher: Other Worlds Ink

Out now! Other Worlds Ink | GoodReads | Amazon Ebook | Amazon Paperback | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks | Angus & Robertson |