The Stories

By Les Wicks

sfgenreSubsistence was more an aspiration for the Village, harangued as it was by a gnarly mountain range and a contentious climate at the edges of the continent. A passing traveller once commented it was godforsaken.

At first the Villagers thought it was the sun itself come to calamity... something so vast, awful and pretty was beyond the imagination of even the most moonstruck tiller of soil in this place where dreams were slightly frowned upon. The silver enormity crashed into a nearby slope previously remarkable only for its particularly cantankerous goats.

By Wes Parish

sfgenreI saw my death at lunchtime in the Aleppo marketplace. It wore my dead bride Sarah's face — she had been killed by mortar fire while finding food for us.

Terrified, I hurried to my boss and begged time off to go to Isfahan on family business. He understood that I needed to escape the fighting: I didn't need to mention that. Reluctantly, he agreed. Unfortunately, by that stage there was no safe route out of the city and no safe route anywhere ...

By Kate Krake

sfgenreNight wallowed in stagnant heat and sleep left Cascade Street, defeated. Mars stretched out on his small bed and fought for rest. The fan churned the air above him. No breeze came through the open window, just swarms of little black glossy bugs that tapped against the walls. He blinked in the dark. With every rotation he waited for the fan to come down. Cut. Slice. What a mess it would make. He blinked again. Sweat glued him to the sheets, and the old woman upstairs started to dance. A foxtrot, a rumba, all thumps and pounding as she waltzed around her lounge room with her long-dead lovers.

By Ed Errington

sfgenreSo, are we all concentrating?

The year is 2016. From far beyond our solar system a fleet of alien craft makes its way at great speed to Earth. Their intention towards humankind — unknown. Are they coming to strip Earth of its resources? Some think they are. But maybe, just maybe, their opponents say, alien intentions are peaceful. Indeed, many people of the peaceful persuasion believe the aliens’ sole purpose in coming to Earth is altruistic, to share their advanced technology.

By Alex Creece

sfgenreUluru, womb of the world.

It was here that bunyips in utero emerged from an iridescent horizon to kick up dusts of dusk and breathe gusts of mystique and fertility upon an arid land. Sanguine sands nurtured newborn fauna and ripened the wrongs of the past. The colours of twilight danced like phantoms as the earth eclipsed its sun. One could lavish themselves upon a wellspring of heritage, hallowed tales, and — in her case — hubris.

By Matt Wofford

sfgenre...the stairs lead away into the dark beneath that decrepit mansion that lies upon an ancient moor steeped in history and folklore. There are tellings of old things that ruled the land, things that died out long before humans first put pen to pad and began to record what happened to them. “Rubbish, poppycock,” you think to yourself. Yet that minutiae of primitive fear that exists in the collective conscious of all humankind cries out, “Stop! Go no further you fool.”

By David Scholes

sfgenreCanberra, Australia, 2069:

“We immobilised one of them yesterday,” said the Territory Police Commissioner, “but it self-destructed.”

The Chief Minister scowled. “Any idea who sent them, or why?”

“No idea,” said the Commissioner, “We traced the feed to various virtual servers on the deep web. Those servers are no longer online, but there are bound to be others. Where the information goes after that is anyone’s guess, but we’re following up some leads.”

“Extra-terrestrial?’ enquired the Chief Minister.

By Ron Schaffer

sfgenreJesus Christ returned to earth on a cold November morning. He did not arrive as many might have expected, for he landed in the humblest of locations —  the parking lot of a Walmart in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. The second coming fell the day after Thanksgiving, otherwise known as Black Friday. Across the United States, it marked the start of the Christmas shopping frenzy.

Jesus rose from the ground, resurrected behind a row of shopping carts in the middle of the parking lot. He stood dazed and confused, wondering where he was, until his eyes lit upon a sign on the street nearby: “Welcome to Bethlehem.”

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In The Next Issue...

Coming In Issue 217

The Real Dream World
by David Scholes

Fortune Favours The Brave
by Benjamin Hayes

Home Of The Gods
by Garry Dean

Going Away
by Mark Tremble

In Space No One Can Hear...
by Laurie Bell

Inaugural Broadcast Of The Children's Cooking Show: A Transcript
by Wes Parish

Yesterday And Today Are Tomorrow
by Andrew Massey

His Favourite Dance
by Paul Sheringham

AntiSF July 2016



Speculative Fiction
ISSN 1442-0686

Online Since Feb 1998

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Holmberg - July 2

Echo Filtration - by Darren Lipnicki


Horologium Dwarf - July 9

Dobbin The Wonder Horse - by Tony Owens
Firelight - by Laurie Bell
The 21st Century Curse - by Caroline Sambridge
Don't Touch My Stuff - Panel presentation/discussion at Contact 2016 (Liss Caldwell, Peter M Ball, Cat Sparks) Part 1


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To Slay A Monster - by Allan Wilson
Original Thought - by David Scholes
Don't Touch My Stuff - Panel presentation/discussion at Contact 2016 (Liss Caldwell, Peter M Ball, Cat Sparks) Part 2


Integral Sign - July 23

At Least He Didn't Blame The Dog - by Bob Cartledge
Held - by David S. Golding
Don't Touch My Stuff - Panel presentation/discussion at Contact 2016 (Liss Caldwell, Peter M Ball, Cat Sparks) Part 3


Keenan's System - July 30

The Belated Eulogy Of Mittens The Cat - by Melina Anderson
Postmortem Copyright and Mainchance Granddad - by Wes Parish
Don't Touch My Stuff - Panel presentation/discussion at Contact 2016 (Liss Caldwell, Peter M Ball, Cat Sparks) Part 4


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