Posts Tagged ‘death’

PseudoPod 724: Flash on the Borderlands LIII: What Dreams May Come

Show Notes

“The Funeral Coat” is a PseudoPod original.

“Cherry Wood Coffin” first appeared in Apex on May 29, 2018

“Grave Mother” was first published in Vine Leaves Literary Journal and The Best of Vine Leaves Literary Journal, 2014.

Alasdair Birthday List (because why not, right?)
Story notes:
Spoiler

The Funeral Coat: “I wrote “The Funeral Coat” specifically for Pseudopod’s flash fiction contest. I remember seeing someone tweet about having a specific coat for funerals, which led to me brainstorming various “what if” scenarios. I also was interested in the origins of family traditions. Together, that sparked a whole mythos I wanted to explore. Some stories are grueling to write, like pulling teeth, but this one just bled out onto the page. It was a really fun story to write, and I hope write more set in this world someday.”

Cherry Wood Coffin: “This is a story that sprang from a prompt I read in Codex’s Weekend Warrior competition in 2017. Suddenly I was stuck with this very strong image of a talking coffin and wondered what the coffin would say or ask. The answer while pretty obvious didn’t clue me in on what the plot should be about, so I let the idea shimmer for a weekend and speed-wrote the story at the last minute in its complete form.”

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To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.


The Funeral Coat

by Lyndsie Manusos

narrated by Carlie Bergey


When I was five, my grandmother took me to Macy’s to buy my first funeral coat. It’s tradition in my family to have a separate coat for funerals. Something black, sleek, with sharp edges and elaborate buttons. A coat with high collars, to hide our pulse and the tender arc of throat to shoulder. By the end of the day I was crying, exhausted from trying on dozens of coats. My grandmother had to carry me out of the store with the coat she chose wrapped in tissue paper under her arm.

Grandmother bribed me back to calm with a frosted cookie at a nearby bakery.

“It’s a sensible matter,” she said while I stuffed myself. “Only wear it to funerals and on holy or sacred ground.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Different coats for different weather,” she said. “You wouldn’t wear a rain coat in a snowstorm. Don’t wear your funeral coat to a birthday party.”

Perfect logic for our family. Later on I discovered not every family took funeral coats so seriously, or even owned funeral coats, for that matter. Nor did people go to as many funerals as we did. (Continue Reading…)

PseudoPod 712: Flash on the Borderlands LII: You Know What You Are

Show Notes

https://junjiitomanga.fandom.com/wiki/The_Enigma_of_Amigara_Fault


The Boy in the Mirror

by Drew Czernik


Jack was four the first time he told me about the boy in the mirror.
Shannon and I were watching TV when we heard the scream from upstairs. I sprinted up to Jack’s room, sure there’d be blood, but he was fine. Physically, at least. He dragged me to his closet door, sobbing about the boy who was watching him through the mirror.
I looked at the mirror, saw the two of us looking back. I told him it looked normal to me. He shook his head, pointed at his reflection. “That’s not me” he whispered, “that’s him.”
That’s how it started. (Continue Reading…)

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PseudoPod 555: Four Hours of a Revolution


Four Hours of a Revolution

by Premee Mohamed


Rebels, like vampires, prowl by night, sleep by day; they are short on everything in the besieged city – bullets, socks, soap, bread – but mainly they are short of sleep, for they fight under starlight, hide under sun in secret places. And yet their enemies are most vulnerable at night when, like all good civil servants, they retire to their houses and lock their doors. Until they swap schedules neither side will eliminate the other.

So the revolution is easy enough to find as I whisper up the wall of the apartment complex, slide under the half-inch of space left by the open window. They will not open it further, even though the little boarded-up living room is intolerably hot. As it is, they sweat profusely in their sleep, even the lucky few shaded by the walls.

One has, deliberately I assume, curled up in an armchair under a poster reading ‘PUNK ISN’T DEAD BUT IT WOZ UP AWFUL LATE LAST NITE.’ On the poster, two men sleep in a train seat, cartoonishly rendered in hot primaries on a black ground. The rebel in the armchair echoes their pose, but instead of a tired friend she cradles a stolen police rifle, its distinctive silver finish oversprayed with matte black paint, the camera blocked with a glued-in coin. The police carry them proudly, counting on the reflected glare to carry their message far ahead of them; the rebels carry them only at night, counting on stealth.

It is this girl, Whittaker, in the armchair, in this war, that I am here to claim. In due time, as is her right and my duty. For I am Death.

(Continue Reading…)

PseudoPod 429: Flash On The Borderlands XXIV: Femmes Fatales

Show Notes

 

“The Lady With The Lantern” is a PseudoPod original. The lady with the lantern is a nautical folktale. This borrows the name, but re-imagines a very different spectre.

“The Bleeding Game” was first published online in the June 2013 issue of 713 Flash by Kazka Press.

“Making Paint As A Means Of Impermanence” is a PseudoPod original.


I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

La Belle Dame sans Merci, John Keats


The Lady With The Lantern

by Charlotte Nash


The mine called Callum in his tenth year. One morning, he was walking to school with the other boys; a pair of new shoes, a boiled sweet in his cheek. The next, he found a pick in his soft hand, and his feet followed his father’s to the cold, dark portal. (Continue Reading…)

PseudoPod 416: Punksnotdead

Show Notes

“It makes me uncomfortable to share this story. It was supposed to be one thing and it took a dark turn on me. It was inspired by the nightly walks my best friend and I take by the ocean. We’ve been taking the same walks for years. The coastline never changes but we do. I guess that scares me. That a minute ago we were twelve, a second ago we were twenty, and the coastline never changes.”


Punksnotdead

by Eric Czuleger


“Punk is Dead. He has twenty-four hours Left.”