by Anna Madden Ashmoda flew through thirsty air. Her sky-blue scales itched but were impossible to scratch. Sands flowed beneath her wings like a dead sea, the surface broken by scales of sapphire, mossy green, and red like dried blood. She landed, exchanging scents with dragons she knew, pressing snout against snout. Undersized hatchlings cowered behind weary dams–too lean, with dull, cracked scales.

by Nicholas Stillman The humans drew closer. Eightspeck heard of their resurgence through the chatter of clicks and stirring shells all around him. His fellow giant crabs warned him in unison about a massive change in the Earth-space infrastructure. He scurried crabwise along the particularly dense cloud of ammonia ices, frozen water vapor, and ammonium hydrosulfide crystals which formed a dark and stable gas belt around Jupiter. It all vibrated beneath him with the collective panic of millions. A dense growth in his mind shuddered as well, for he had a lifelong predilection for the human language called radio. Humanity finally jolted Earth, and his eight legs, out of dormancy.

by Elizabeth Cobbe Welcome to Ocean Paradise Lagoon, LLC! Please read the following safety guidelines carefully before entering the lagoon. 1. Only swimmers age 12 and older may participate in our Luxury “Swim with Dolphins” Adventure Package. 2. While in the lagoon, you may interact freely with the dolphins. Those whistles and clicks you hear mean that a dolphin wants to use its powers of telepathy! Go ahead, relax into the dolphin’s long, soulful gaze, and allow your mind to meld with these good-luck creatures.¹

by A Humphrey Lanham With a soft clunk, the toaster landed on a sandy bluff overlooking the ocean. It flicked its pterodactyl wings just so, making the leathery membrane almost shimmer in the fading sunlight. It wiggled its toaster toes in the sand and sighed. It was a lonely little toaster. The only one of its kind. No one wanted it around. Humans screamed and threw things. Dogs barked. Wildlife fled. The other toasters gave it the silent treatment. (They were inanimate after all.) All the little toaster could do was travel the continent in search of a place to call home.

by Marie Croke They named me for the ground, for the metal and glows embedded within the lower recesses of the range: Dirt of CrystalSleep. They marked my forehead, in between my air holes, with a metallic-rich mixture that bestowed the blessing of the metal weaver faction. They had intentions for me the moment I hatched, before I’d even risen off the ground, sniffed my first redwood leaf or sung my first notes. Named for the mountain, blessed with strength, my tail fastened with many-pronged picks or double-plated maces, I was destined to be a metal weaver. And maybe that would have sufficed, had I not fallen from a woven…

by Lena Ng The sun bathed the river with its glow.  The water glinted back in merriment, flirting and winking to all that it encountered.  Time slowed and breathed, it meditated and did not hurry the hours away, but flowed onward as the river itself.  The reeds bent in the lilting breeze, murmuring sweet conversations and delicious secrets to their companions.  The larks sang intricate melodies, their joyous hearts shaping the lyrics.  The lavender air refreshed the spirit and was moderate in its mood.

by R. C. Capasso Arnold stood back, his chest heaving. “There. That’s it. Finished.” The rising sun cast soft light over his night’s work. His mother tried to be supportive.  “The individual pieces are beautifully constructed.” “And?” His expectancy made her throat constrict. “It’s just… ” “Say it.” Her voice was low. “They don’t connect. The gaps… ” He nodded. “Exactly!”

by Amy Clare Fontaine Griselda made dragons out of words. No one knew how. One moment she’d be hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously, only stopping occasionally to dip her quill or suck on it thoughtfully, her chin lifted and her eyes somewhere else. And the next moment, a blizzard would blast the door and windows open. A beast with icicle wings and a snowdrift tail and eyes like wistful memories of summer would roar into the room, gnashing teeth like sickle blades and thrashing through the walls.