Plugs

Susannah Mandel’s short story “The Monkey and the Butterfly” is in Shimmer #11. She also has poems in the current issues of Sybil’s Garage, Goblin Fruit, and Peter Parasol.

Sara Genge’s story “Godtouched” may be found in Strange Horizons.

Read Daniel Braum’s story Mystic Tryst at Farrgo’s Wainscot #8.

Ken Brady’s latest story, “Walkers of the Deep Blue Sea and Sky” appears in the Exquisite Corpuscle anthology, edited by Jay Lake and Frank Wu.

Archive for the ‘David Kopaska-Merkel’ Category

Do fish feel pain?

Wednesday, August 4th, 2010

“What if we’re just a recording? Or a simulation?” Donald skipped a disk of sandstone across the lake. It skipped five times before plunking in. A water strider dodged the stone and skated under the dock.

Denise squinted at her bobber. For a moment it had seemed to dip, but she had been distracted by Donald’s question. She looked at Donald, the sun dazzle on the water beyond him, and the trio of mallards by the far bank.

“Stop scaring the fish.” She sniffed the moist air, redolent of growth and decay. “This seems real to me. The water was cold when we swam this morning.”

Donald hitched around to face her. “No, see. What if you have a false memory of swimming, of being cold? Of course it seems real to us if we have programmed memories, and we’re no deeper than the simulation. We don’t know what we’re missing. Maybe the senses of real people are more acute than our own. Maybe the memories of real people are more vivid than ours.”

Denise laid the bamboo pole down on the dock and stood up. She put her foot on Donald’s lower back and shoved him into the water. When he came up sputtering she asked

“Cold enough for you?” Then she stepped back out of reach.

Donald spat water out of his mouth. “Doesn’t prove a thing. Maybe real cold feels much colder.”

“All these maybes and what ifs are fruitless. If we can’t tell the difference between reality and simulation then we should assume we are real. We’ll have more fun that way.” She reached a hand down to help him out of the water. She pulled him up, dripping, drew him close, then closer.

They didn’t even notice when the pole was pulled off the dock and slowly moved out towards the center of the lake.

.

“What if we’re just a recording? Or a simulation?”

End

Lizard People

Wednesday, July 28th, 2010

“Dad, the lizard people are staring at Timmy again.” Elle pointed outside. Timmy was playing under the azaleas. Across the street the lizard family stood in their living room, pressed up against the window.

“Lassie! Is Timmy in trouble?”

“Dad. Don’t do that.”

“They’re not staring at Timmy. They are just looking out at the world with wild surmise, or something. They are to be wondered at, not feared.”

“If you really feel that way,” Elle said, “invite them over for dinner.”

Her father took out his phone. “Good idea! I’m glad you’re feeling so open-minded.”

Elle face palmed. “Dad, no! I was joking. Sarcasm, you know? Don’t invite them over! They’ll eat Timmy, or … have bad table manners.” She hated it when Dad rolled his eyes.

Elle was on Facebook when she heard the doorbell. She looked out the window: the lizard people were at the front door! She started typing furiously.

“Elle! Dinner!” The lizard people were already at the dining room table when she came downstairs. Elle sat across from the older lizard kid. She said her name was Mary Sue.

“Pleased to meet you,” Elle gritted out.

“Would you like some broccoli?” Elle’s mother offered a bowl of broccoli and cheese sauce to the lizard woman.

“Of course she doesn’t, Mom,” Elle hissed. “Lizards are purely carnivorous.”

“Excuse me,” the lizard woman said, “that’s not strictly true. Many of our relatives subsist exclusively on fruits or vegetables. But broccoli gives me gas.”

And so it went. Elle’s father prattled on about harmony between human and lizard kind and how we would have so much to learn from each other. Timmy and the lizard boy both played with their food. Elle asked to be excused as soon as she dared. Her mother “invited” Mary Sue to go with her to her room. It was better than staying.

Elle didn’t usually have anyone in her room. Most of her friends, even the ones who lived in town, only saw each other on social media. So her room was a little… messy, even for a teenage girl.

“Sorry about the mess,” she mumbled.

“No problem,” Mary Sue said. “Sorry your mom made you bring me up here.” Elle shrugged. Then Mary Sue’s eyes went wide. “Green Day! A poster? Is it signed!?” She clasped her hands over her heart.

“My cousin snuck me in. She works security at the Civic Center. It was awesome!.” Maybe this was going to be all right. “You guys don’t… eat people or anything, do you?”

“Never anyone we know personally.”

End

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