Author
Rahul Kanakia
We Are Here to, in some Sense, Destroy You
We are tiny slugs the size of the tip of your pinkie, and we come in peace: all we want is to rent DVD copies of the final seasons of your fantastic historical documentary, Firefly, since the broadcast was interrupted when it reached us (and also the episodes were, we believe,…
The Spider
Razabad is a city of white stone and straight lines. This wasn't always true: for a time, migrants tried to put up wavy shanties in empty lots and build huts of corrugated tin that leaned against the stone pylons of underpasses. They tried to live inside cement cylinders and…
Because My Heart Is Pure
***Editor's Note: Adult story, with adult language and situations*** While I shower, I hold the golden heart-shaped pin in my left hand. I was wearing this pin when I first met James. Most of the pure-hearted get their pins at a support-group meeting. I ordered mine off the…
The Ships That Stir Upon The Shore
***Editor's Note: Disturbing, and a smattering of adult language*** The refugees drove west in a creaking convoy. Most of the cars were almost out of fuel. Many were on the verge of breaking down. The shoulders of the highway were littered with stopped and wrecked cars. Only a…
We Planted The Sad Child, And Watched
Though he would stand on overpasses and watch the sleek inhuman cars whirring past on the interstate underneath and wonder if there was a place on this earth more alone than surrounded by the tens of millions, the billions, of us, I was always with him. Long before he was born,…
The Black Spirits Which Rage In The Belly Of Rogue Locomotives
On the evening that Jack's mother became a robot, she was enmeshed in the cushions of a sofa as another Law and Order plot was poured into her, one dripping burst of photons at a time, twenty-four times per second. Her mind was ensnared, as per seven o'clock routine, by the…