Two of them tossed her apartment. There are two punishments in the last city: a fine, or death. So she smiled at him. A free 12-minute sci-fi story.
Three voices, one bookshelf — fiction and reflection in about twenty minutes.
Month: February 2026
A number-two pencil is the last private thing in the city. A woman brought the president a letter that was never hers. A free 5-minute sci-fi story.
A student jumped from the teachers’ lounge and broke both legs. He says the Black kid at the back lunch table told him to do it. A 30-minute read.
She sold what she had to buy into a seminary that teaches rather more than scripture. Then somebody handed her the laundry rota. A free 10-minute read.
Everyone has argued with somebody who just says no and will not explain the rule. Hers is the Lord of Death, and she is already dead. A 15-minute read.
There is a two-thousand-pound yak standing in the kitchen. The doorway is intact. Nothing is broken. She has somewhere to be. A free 15-minute read.
The family at the corner house has been evicted. As their wagon pulled away, the Black boy next door stood in the road and raised both middle fingers.
They say the president counts everything. Her assistant is named Madge. So is her head of security. So is her wife. A free 5-minute dystopian read.
They say he came to strip a dead planet for parts and sell it off. Nobody warned him about the sunsets. A free 20-minute science fiction short story.
There’s been a disturbance at the elementary school. The only Black student is being made to retake the exam. He must have cheated. A 10-minute read.