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The Sigh of a Shrieking Puff—Ria Rees

Alone on the dusty surface of Hortha, I hover using my jetpack and scan the ground for signs of movement. I keep low—I prefer hunting targets with my eyes rather than my scope. The terrain transitions from smooth brown rock to bright red mud, studded with tiny blue dots. Disengaging my thrusters, I land in a small puff of dust. I crouch, careful to avoid squishing the pulsing critters surrounding me—hundreds of them, spread over Gernam Crater's floor. They roll around and bounce off each other in a frenzy.  I pluck one from the group with my gloved hand. Startlingly blue, it’s somehow thriving out here on the sunny orange mudflats, with no camouflage. Its ball-like body throbs, and it struggles to focus on me with its singular eye. No limbs, save for a tiny flexible proboscis. I take my handheld scanner and lift my prize up to the sensor, waiting for the readings to tick on the screen. The blob pulses at me, an eye swivelling in a slimy socket. —Specimen Scanned—  A hologram o...

OUT OF OFFICE—Mark Cantrell

         The worst part of the situation wasn’t the missing building, Stan realized.   It wasn’t even that his job – and all his workmates – had seemingly vanished with it into the unknown.  No, it was that everyone out here on the street was behaving as if  nothing  had happened. That was the really  weird thing. Stan stared at the absence on the other side of the road. He’d only nipped out for lunch fifteen minutes ago. Now, Manchester One was  gone , all 20 storeys of it. It just didn’t make any sense. How the hell was he going to explain this one? Screw that, who was he going to explain it to? “Sorry I’m late, boss, only…” Yeah, right. He didn’t believe it either; not that the boss was in any position to complain. Stan staggered towards the pedestrian crossing; eyes glued to the point in space where his particular workplace had once existed. He neglected to check the lights and stepped onto the road; a blaring horn hurled him ba...

Del Sol SFF Review—Spring 2022

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

THE MESSIAH—PAVLE RUZIN

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 start...