Del Sol SFF Review

Moon Shadows,  Puppies from Hell,  Nano-Tats,  A Wolf at the Door,  Greedyfuckheadism, Beast of Shard,  Possessive Pearls,   Bird Woman,  Chatty Bots,  Hybrid Killer,  Anger Management THE MESSIAH —Pavle Ruzin DRAWN TO FREEDOM —David O'Neill FLASH FICTION --Ed Taylor -Short Film about Seeing -Speculative Fiction -Wolf House IT DOESN’T LIVE ON THE MOON —JB Toner LILI --Baden Campbell THE KYPTONITE BEAST —Suleiman Agile Buhari    THE BIRD WOMAN AND THE SILENT MINORITY -- Elinora Lord ABANDONED CITIES, DRY RIVERS -- Victor Kreuiter THE SUBJUGATION OF HUMANITY -- Charles Joseph Albert NIMBY --Sidney Stevens INTERVIEW WITH THE CHATBOT --Craig McEwan

It was the third day of their fourteen-day long fishing trip when Jeremiah pulled the Pearl out of the waters.  The sixth of May was a windy but overall pleasant day, which was surprising for that time of the season. Early in the morning, the Sun had risen and found a relatively small, three-person manned fishing boat  Anointed Lady  snuggled between the waves. Jeremiah was on the deck, stretching and blinking at the waking sun. He had trouble sleeping, ever since the accident involving his daughter happened back on the mainland. Late at night, he would fall asleep, and early in the morning, usually before the sunrise, he would get up, somehow making himself functional with as little sleep as he had. Deciding not to bother his shipmate, Matthew, Jeremiah started pulling the box-shaped traps from the bottom of the ocean. The catch was miserable at best, with barely a few crabs per pot. Next to last was empty, making Jeremiah curse under his breath. Half-heartedly, he started pulling the

Xanthe sipped her coffee as she eyed the dragons. They climbed the wall, seeming to curve sinuously around invisible poles. Some of the dragons were black and white, some were coloured and gaudy, some shared the long and square snouts seen in the classical Chinese dragons, while others bore the sharpened snout and piercing eyes of the westernised dragons. She let her gaze drift across the wall to the section with all the women on, skipping over the coy smiles set in beautiful faces, the mermaid tails or devils’ tails, until her eyes settled on the one that held the only picture she cared about, the wall with the eagle’s picture. She felt a small thrill when she looked at it. The eagle had deep, black eyes, set in a sharp, aquiline face that seemed to stare right at her. Glorious wings rose up either side of a feathered, golden body, with dangerous looking talons, ready to grasp what was in front of it, pointed straight at her. This wasn’t just a picture of an eagle on the wall, it was 

SHORT FILM ABOUT SEEING   A cow and horse, then a sudden flurry of small horses—ponies. Sioux boys up, but old enough that legs almost touch the ground, bareback, with whips.  They gather at a fence staring back across the continent.  What they see is eclipse, a shadow passing slowly over the light, till the sun is a black crescent, or the headlights are gone.  Now it's a searchlight, a finger poked into sweat lodges.  They huddle in there, chanting, pouring water on the rocks.  Piling on the skins. The vision is sharp, feathered, silent.  There is howling.  They dream the dark, and it's too dark.  So, they howl until they can see red clay, water, water birds.  Then they are the birds, high over.  And the wind from their wings dissolves the smoke of darkness.  Light grows back, and there's a world, human beings and animal beings and plant beings, and a little cool water to splash on the faces, to drink.  Boys on ponies cock their heads, looking back at the long ground rolli

There was a fire in space. The bone-white rock and soul-black sky were gashed with crimson as the U.S. ship  Prospice  glided down, retrorockets blazing, to the lunar surface. Smoke and dust billowed up and hung, nearly weightless, like pillars to commemorate the landing; but the massive engines gave no roar—no murmur—of a triumph. The flare of color faded, and the silence stayed. Bob Evans, mechanic, squinted out the porthole. “Gad dang it, Baruk, how the hey d’you land so close to the airlock without hittin’ nothin’?” Rivka Baruk, pilot, peeled off her aviators and said matter-of-factly, “Same way I do everything, Bob: like a badass.” “All right, people.” Tim Farmer, only person present with a gun, gave a brisk hand-clap. “Let’s suit up and get in there. Joe, you hang close to me, all right?” “The penis mightier than the sword, baby!” Rivka cracked a smile. “I think you mean  the pen is , Joseph.” “I like my way better.” Joe N’Donza was a journalist with  Rolling Stone , and he acted