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.

by Michael H. Payne Staring at the computer screen, I blink, but the picture there doesn’t change.  I give it a few more blinks just to be sure, then I shift my gaze over to Meredith, sitting on the edge of the bed and tying her shiny black shoes.  “Mare!  This doesn’t make any sense!” “It’s the internet,” she says, her nimble fingers not slowing in their lace knotting.  “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

by Avra Margariti There once was an evil witch— No, a ragdoll raven— No, a family of crows unlike any other. Yes. Better. This is, after all, a love story. * * * A figure perched on the Eye of the Needle, staring at the rosy sunset swirls across the sky. If only she could grasp the correct thread of storytelling, of memory. Down below, her sharp eyesight clearly made out the human settlement despite the sheer distance separating their realms. The thatched roofs of cottages and huts peeked out through the gossamer mist. Trees and grass, valleys and woods. Scythe-bearing workers bent over cornfields as they wrapped up the…

by Brent Baldwin An unnatural flash of lightning cast Baroch’s silhouette across the prairie dirt. He waited, power trembling within him until the disc of the sun touched the horizon. His power unfurled, racing over rows of green corn and taking the wind with it. The weight of his years bent his shoulders into a slump. Was a time he could have cast a dozen summoning spells and hoed a field after, but those were distant memories.