PseudoPod 021: Fetal Position


Fetal Position

by Joel Arnold


And now Rudy opened the box?s lid, his fingers responding to the familiarity of his name carved carefully into the top. He lifted the dried cord from it and placed it carefully in the water. It reacted to its new environment, expanding and uncoiling in the water?s warm comfort. He took a small penknife from his pant?s pocket and jabbed his middle finger. Small droplets of blood welled from the wound and he let them fall into the warm tap water. A few drops were all it needed.

The thing in the sink squirmed and writhed. He took off his shirt. Took a deep breath. Looked at himself in the mirror. Funny, the little surprises life tosses you, he thought.

PseudoPod 020: What You Wish For


What You Wish For

by Stephen Dedman


Mara looked at the pictures, and smiled as she transformed into a clone-copy of the woman. “Nice,” she said, “very nice,” then turned around and looked up at Roy from between her legs. “Is this what you had in mind?” she asked, her hands on her lovely rump, opening herself to his view. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe.” She giggled. “It’s even legal, and if it weren’t, I wouldn’t tell anybody. I won’t even scream, unless you want me to. Or do you want to spank me first?” He said nothing. “You teachers don’t get to do that any more, do you?”

“Why the Hell are you here?”

She looked innocent. “Don’t you know the saying? Never look a gift whore in the mouth.”

PseudoPod 019: Through the Many Corridors


Through the Many Corridors

by Douglas F. Warrick


It was weird, wasn’t it? Weird how little it impressed him. It was an alien world, after all, a whole new planet, a landscape that held only a vague familiarity with the world he’d been born in, the atmosphere he’d inhaled for twenty-nine years. Maybe that’s it. It was just congruent enough to orient yourself, to fool yourself into thinking you were okay here. Up was up, down was down, you could breathe the air. But you weren’t okay here. You were drawn into this landscape by a different artist using a different pallet and a different technique and you just weren’t okay here.

Art took the cigarette out of his mouth and pointed up ahead. “Chalkie.”

It was at the very edge of the road with its long doughy fingers wrapped over the top of the metal barrier. Its skin was dry, dusty, cracked and curling like old paint, and dull white like chalk. Its tiny black eyes were set deep into its face, which was long and snoutish and bald. Even when nothing on this planet seemed to reflect the glow of that big red moon, the bleeding moon, those eyes picked it up like deep black wells.

PseudoPod 018: Oranges, Lemons and Thou Beside Me


Oranges, Lemons and Thou Beside Me

By Eugie Foster


With fingers still lightly dusted with confectioner’s powder, Khloii reached for the I/O wire that would meld them together, letting them share the memories of the last eight years. As children, after their implants had been installed, the learning programs downloaded and processed, they had double interfaced mind-to-mind. Their minds so similar, forged together now by circuitry and wire, sharing sensation, thoughts, memories, and emotions, they had become closer than brother and sister, even twins of the same womb. They spent hours silently communing, at last not even trying to hide their obsession with each other. Sabin caught her hand before she could press the needle-thin plug into the port at the base of his skull. “You want to live eight years of war?”