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My LITTLER Pony
As part of their 20th anniversary celebration, IDW Publishing are presenting a special collection of one-shot larger issues called the 20/20 series. And right there among them is My Little Pony: IDW 20/20. “Ponyville’s most courageous and magical ponies celebrate friendship and fun in this adventure set twenty years in the past! Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash, and the rest of your favorite pony friends are young fillies—surely things can’t get too crazy, right?! One thing’s for sure: no matter what escapades they face, the magic of friendship will see them through!” It’s written by Ted Anderson, with art by Tony Kuusisto and Heather Breckel. IDW has a preview too.
image c. 2019 IDW Publishing
Volcano Island
The ecology of small volcanic islands like this are very odd. "Somewhere, on an oceanic island, the forces of nature are still at work as in primeval times. A young, naive female tiger lives there in harmony with herself and nature. When her awakening femininity is noticed by an older male tiger, the young tigress is getting more and more scared by his heated approach. But it is impossible to escape on the secluded island. The feelings of the young animal are reflected by the volcano island, and with the help of nature, she can finally act upon her own will."
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Rad Dude Animated Trailer
Kaiju Cat
Here is a cute short ident for NODE fest [1] 2018 and I gotta say I want a Kaiju Cat now. [1] http://www.nodefest.com.au/
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The Tall Blue Ones are Back
While everyone is waiting with baited breath for director James Cameron to really begin work on the sequel to Avatar (after he brought Pandora to life at Disney’s Animal Kingdom in Florida, of course), now Dark Horse Comics have a new full-color Avatar comic series hitting the shelves — Avatar: Tsu’tey’s Path. “Tsu’tey, proud warrior of the Omatikaya clan, betrothed to Neytiri, has his life turned upside down by the arrival of Jake Sully of the Sky People. Reveals events only hinted at in James Cameron’s Avatar!” It’s written by Sherri L. Smith, and illustrated by Jan Duursema, Dan Parson, and Wes Dzioba. The first issue is available in stores now.
image c. 2019 Dark Horse Comics
Surprisestream! - 3/5/2019 - we answer Patreon questions, and more! www.dragg…
we answer Patreon questions, and more! www.draggetshow.com Patreon: www.patreon.com/thedraggetshow Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/DraggetShow You can also find our audio version on iTunes or anywhere you find podcasts! Be sure to check our website for all Things Dragget Show! Podcasts, videos, merch and more! Surprisestream! - 3/5/2019 - we answer Patreon questions, and more! www.dragg…
Finding the Line, by Sylvain St-Pierre
Denton Brislow is a pretty average cop - with an above average libido - in an anthropomorphic future Denver. He and his partner are called to investigate the horrific slaying of one of the city’s most influential families and one of their servants.This may sound like the start to your run-of-the-mill cop action novella, but I assure you, it is not. You see, it comes to be that Denton’s bloodline has ties to Society - an underground religion whose divination consists primarily of… homoerotic sex.Before reading this book (having been briefed on its content) I feared this plot device would amount to little more than a convenient excuse to introduce an orgy every few pages. The orgies were there, I assure you. But I am happy to report that St-Pierre managed to take the high road and craft a cohesive, believable religion with clearly defined rules, checks and balances. A lot of thought went into the way it manifests itself and how it folds into larger society.Fair warning. This book is not for the squeamish. It describes bodily fluids a plenty. Sex. Lots of Sex. And then some more sex. There is mention of incest. Denton is reminded of his initiation, which happened whilst he was still a minor. And twice in the novel, he has visions of him having intercourse with the ghost of his own father.As a counterpoint, he does not agree with all the traditions and rituals of his newfound brotherhood. At times, he is truly disgusted. (You will be too.)The great irony of this novel - where sex is such an important theme - it is not very sexy. It does not feel pornographic. St-Pierre does not spend a lot of time gushing over the characters’ sexual encounters. Sometimes it is as crude as “...and then we fucked for three hours.” I believe this was done to emphasize the doctrine of Society, that sex is about the transfer of life energy from one vessel to another. Enjoyment thereof being a convenient side-effect. So this is not a big loss to me.My main criticism of this book, aside from the dubious legality of some of its sexual encounters, is that the “furry” aspect of the book feels more like spice added, rather than a key ingredient to the recipe. This story could easily have worked with human characters. Apart from the occasional mauling, the only benefit of adding tail, paw and claw to the mix would be to soften the unpleasantries - to remind the reader that this is a different society and universe than the one we live in.Your mileage will vary with “Finding the Line”. You are likely to either love it or hate it. Though it falls flat as a pornographic piece, I will recommend this book based on strong characterization, solid narrative, good flow and the uniqueness of the concept. Recommended. * * * * 
TigerTails Radio Season 11 Episode 44
Shaggy (and the) Dog
Here we go again! We got this from Complex.com: “Scooby-Doo will make its return to the big screen with an animated movie set to star Gina Rodriguez, Tracy Morgan, and Will Forte, according to the Hollywood Reporter. The film — directed by Tony Cervone, the producer behind the television series, Scooby-Doo! Mystery Incorporated — is currently untitled. Forte is set to play the titular dane’s best friend Shaggy, Rodriguez will voice Velma, and Morgan will be non-Mystery Gang member Captain Caveman [!]. Frank Welker, who’s worked with the franchise since 1972-73’s The New Scooby-Doo Movies, will play the role of Scooby-Doo. For this case, the gang will reportedly team up with other Hanna-Barbera universe heroes to save the world from the corrupt plans of Dick Dastardly, the main villain of fellow Hanna-Barbera classic, Wacky Races [!!]. The project, which is set to hit theaters May 2020, will be the first time Scooby Doo takes the silver screen since the 2004 live-action film, Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed.” Sounds like they’re getting much more ambitious with their universe now! We found other talk on-line about this this movie project that gave it the title of S.C.O.O.B. Guess we’ll find out next year!
image c. 2019 Hanna Barbera
[Live] Knot For Profit
We complain a lot.
Link Roundup:- Telegram Autoplay Updates
- Sally – Episode One
- #BYU mascot has come out publicly as gay
- Tenkitsune on VTV national tv in vietnam
- Lake Erie Sends A Massive 40-Foot ‘Ice Tsunami’ Crashing Ashore
- Parrots Addicted to Drugs
- Man Allegedly Faked Own Kidnapping To Get Out Of Super Bowl Pool Payout
- Snake On A Plane: Unsuspecting Woman Traveling From Australia Brings A Passenger
- Woman Breaks Into Houston Home To Smoke Pot And Is Greeted By A Tiger
See Him Again, If You Dare
Congratulations are of course in order for the creators of Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse, following their Oscar win for Best Animated Feature of 2018. Now comes the word that one of the directors of that film is moving on to a project that’s got even more furry content — and he’s been there before. “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse co-director Bob Persichetti has been signed to direct the sequel for DreamWorks Animation’s Puss in Boots, according to a report by Deadline… Animation veteran Persichetti, who has worked in various roles in the industry in a career spanning more than two decades, served as the Head of Story and voiced a role in the original Puss in Boots. The follow-up to the 2011 hit film that garnered an Oscar nomination and grossed more than $550 million globally, Puss In Boots 2 is currently in development, with a release date yet to be announced… A spinoff of the studio’s blockbuster Shrek franchise, Puss in Boots received an Oscar nomination for Best Animated Feature in 2012. Voiced by Antonio Banderas, the character, which first appeared in Shrek 2, was included in subsequent Shrek sequels and shorts.” We’ll keep our ears pointed.
image c. 2019 Dreamworks Animation
FWG Blog – March 2019
It’s March. Things certainly happen in March, we are sure of it!
Guild Newsroom
If you missed it, check out our recent spotlights on members Mary E. Lowd and Gre7g Luterman! Our next spotlights will appear at the middle and end of March, and feature Frances Pauli and Leilani Wilson respectively.
Attention, all members on Twitter! When making posts about your writing, be sure to use the hashtag #furrywriting so that we can keep up with your work and share it with the world!
Member Highlights
Some highlights from last month, as featured from our FWG Member News section on the forums:
- Amy Clare Fontaine has started writing short, text-based Twine games on itch.io. The most recent one is called “Cassandra the Wolf Princess“.
- From Mary E. Lowd comes “When He Stopped Crying“, a short story published by Electric Spec. In addition, she’s written an essay about her creative method in this story, as well as other things useful to writers.
A little light on news this month!
Our usual reminder to all our member that have had something exciting happen in the past month not featured here: be sure to keep up with you Member News thread on the forums! Not only is this how we get our information, but these threads are able to be viewed by any person logged into the forums. Share your achievements with the rest of the writing community!
The Marketplace
For those of you looking to submit, keep an eye on the open markets on our website. For those of you who just forget, The Marketplace is your reminder for all things open for submissions!
Short Story Markets:
Publisher Title Theme Deadline Pay Zooscape Zooscape Zine General furry Fiction Ongoing $0.06/word (maximum $60) Thurston Howl Publications Sensory De-tails Furry stories relating to strong animal senses April 1st One copy of the anthology (non-paying) Thurston Howl Publications Trick or Treat: A Furry BDSM Anthology Furry erotica featuring BDSM May 1st One copy of the anthology (non-paying) Thurston Howl Publications The Haunted Den: Furry Ghost Stories Furry ghost stories June 1st One copy of the anthology (non-paying) Thurston Howl Publications Give Yourself a Hand Furry erotica featuring masturbation June 15th $0.0050/word plus one copy of the anthology Thurston Howl Publications Pawradiso: The Ten Spheres of Furry Heaven furry stories based around the spheres of Heaven (in reference to Paradiso) July 15th One copy of the anthology (non-paying) Furplanet The Reclamation Project Furry stories in a shared, post-cataclysmic future August 31st $0.0050/word plus one copy of the anthology
Novel Markets:
- Thurston Howl Publications is open to novel/novella submissions, with no planned date for submissions to close.
Special Events and Announcements
Goal Publications/Fanged Fiction has announced that they will be opening for novel/novella/Pocket Shot submissions on July 1st, 2019. Look forward to that!
Australian publisher Jaffa Books has announced that they will be closing their doors at the end of 2019. Thank you to Jay for all you’ve done with it, and we hope this gives you a chance to work more on your writing!
ROAR editor Mary E. Lowd has announced that, after finishing up the current volume, she will be handing the reigns off to Madison Keller. Thank you Mary for doing such a great job with the anthology, and we look forward to seeing what Madison brings to the table.
Wrap-up
Our forums are open to all writers, not just full members of the FWG. Check them out here and join in on the conversation. While you’re there, check out how to join our Slack and Telegram channels. Before joining any of these, though, we ask that you please read up on our Code of Conduct! With all the negative going around in the world these days, both furry and non-furry, we want to make sure the guild feels like a safe place to all its participants, free of threats and hate speech.
We have two weekly chats, called our Coffeehouse Chats! Our first one is Tuesday at 7:00pm EST in our Slack channel, and our other is Thursdays at Noon EST on our forums in the shoutbox on the main page. Both of these chats feature writers talking about writing, usually with a central topic. As with the above, these chats are open to both members and non-members, though you must be registered for the forums.
Issue 2
Welcome to Issue 2 of Zooscape!
Book-ended between cats, you will find in this issue a variety of artifacts. Ancient artifacts that belong in a museum, and artifacts that don’t think of themselves as inanimate. Powerful artifacts that can do great good when wielded in the right paws, or great damage when the right paws can’t stop them. So, wander through this library of an issue, examining the artifacts along the way. Someday, instead, perhaps they will examine you…
* * *
Cat of Thunder by John Taloni
Bibelots and Baubles by Shauna Roberts
New Hire at the Final Library by Laurence Raphael Brothers
The Move by Kristi Brooks
¡Viva Piñata! by L.D. Nguyen
Clyde and the Pickle Jar by Steve Carr
* * *
Though artifacts may break, our empathy will not be broken. Long live furry fiction! And as always, if you have artifacts (in the form of furry stories) for us to consider for our ongoing, carefully curated collection, please read our guidelines and send them in.
Clyde and the Pickle Jar
by Steve Carr
“He sat back on his haunches and gazed at the long green objects tightly bunched together inside the jar.”
Lying on the kitchen window sill above the sink, Clyde licked his paws as the noonday sun warmed his bright orange fur. The gentle breeze that tickled the tips of his pointed ears carried with it the aromas of the animals in the farm yard along with honeysuckle and roses.
He had his eyes on Mistress who was standing by the table and trying to get a lid off of a jar. Her face was red from exertion as she strained to twist the lid. She banged it on the table, and then stuck a knife under the rim of the lid, but was still unable to open the jar. She turned on the faucet in the sink and put the jar under the flowing water, and then again tried to turn the lid and was still unable to remove it. After digging around in the utensils drawer she pulled out a can opener and tried to pry off the lid, but still had no success.
“Darn, why is it so hard to get a pickle out?” she said aloud as she slammed the jar on the table and left the kitchen.
Clyde stood and ran his paw across his whiskers. He then jumped onto the sink draining board and then leapt onto the table. Cautiously he approached the jar and patted the glass with his paw before putting his nose to it and sniffing it. Mistress’s scent was on it, but otherwise it had no discernible odor. He sat back on his haunches and gazed at the long green objects tightly bunched together inside the jar.
Those must be pickles, he thought. They’re in there so tight they can’t move.
It distressed him that Mistress had been unable to get them out. He wanted to return the kindness she always showed him. He patted the jar a few times and then pushed the jar to the edge of the table and knocked it off. It fell onto a bunched up throw rug. He jumped down and laid on his side next to it, wrapped his paws around the jar and wrestled with it, and tried to bite it and scratch it. Unable to get to the pickles, he stood, batted it with his paws, rolling it to the screen door. He then pushed the door open and rolled the jar out of the house and into a patch of dirt.
“What you got there?” Bart said, rising from a shallow hole he had dug to lie in. He shook his head, flapping his large ears and spraying drool onto Clyde.
“Pickles,” Clyde said as he wiped the dog’s spittle from his face.
“What are pickles?” Bart said.
“They might be living things, but it’s hard to tell,” Clyde said. “Mistress wanted to get them out very badly but was unable to and neither could I.”
The dog put his nose to the jar, sniffed and then licked it.
“Move aside,” Bart said. “Let me give it a try.”
Clyde stepped aside and watched as Bart plopped his large rear end down on the jar.
The dog then raised up and looked at the glass and barked at it several times. “Maybe those pickle things are supposed to stay in there,” he said.
“No, I’m certain Mistress wants them out,” Clyde said.
Seeing Clarissa and her brood of chicks crossing the farmyard, Clyde hurriedly rolled the jar towards her as Bart followed behind. He brought the jar to a stop a few feet from her.
Startled, Clarissa quickly gathered her fluffy, bright yellow chicks around her and covered them with her wings.
“What do you want?” she said to Clyde, clucking with a mixture of bravado and fear as she puffed out her chest and raised her beak.
Clyde wound his long tail around his hind legs. “Mistress has a problem and I thought you might want to help her out.”
Clarissa looked at him with one eye, and then turned her head and gazed at him with the other one. “Mistress feeds us every morning which is most kind of her,” she said. “What is the problem?”
“Mistress wants these pickles inside this jar but can’t get them out and neither could Bart or I,” he said.
She tilted her head several times, staring at the jar, and then clucked several times. “What do they do?” she said.
“Do?”
“Do they sleep in her lap and keep her warm like you do, or take walks with her like Bart does, or give her eggs like I do?” she said.
“I don’t know what they do,” Clyde said. “Whatever it is that they do, Mistress must find great pleasure in it. You should have seen how hard she tried to get them out.”
“I think they’re ugly,” Clarissa said, “but if Mistress wants them out I’ll be glad to help.”
She gently urged her chicks to stand behind her and then began pecking on the glass. When the glass didn’t break she pecked harder and faster, until finally exhausted, she squawked and then sat down.
“Those pickle things must be of great importance if they’re so hard to get out,” she said.
Pete the box turtle sauntered to where the group was standing around the jar.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Clyde has these pickle things that belong to Mistress but we can’t get them out of the jar,” Bart said as he scratched at a flea.
Pete looked at the jar. “Are those the pickle things inside the jar?”
“Yes,” Clarissa clucked.
“Are they alive?” he said.
“They must be,” Clyde said. “They seem to be very fond of each other being packed in there like that. I’m sure Mistress was trying to rescue them.”
“I know all about things that are hard to get into,” Pete said. “But possibly if we wait long enough one of them will poke their heads out.”
“We can’t just sit here and wait for that,” Clyde said. “Mistress was frantic about getting them out of there. Without hands like Mistress has we wouldn’t be able to open it, and we haven’t figured out how to break the glass.”
“Mistress always makes puddles for me to sit in so I’d like to help,” Pete said. “Not long ago I rolled down the hill behind the barn and landed against a large rock. It nearly broke my shell. Perhaps if we roll the jar down that hill it will hit the rock and break open.”
“That’s a great idea,” Clyde said excitedly.
With everyone else following behind, Clyde rolled the jar to the top of the hill behind the barn. He aligned the jar in the direction of the rock, and then pushed it. It rolled down the hill, bouncing over clumps of grass and mounds of dirt. It smashed against the rock, breaking into pieces. The pickles were scattered around the rock.
“Hooray,” everyone yelled.
They rushed down the hill.
Clyde was the first one to come upon a pickle lying in the grass. He patted at it with his paw and then sniffed it. He let out a mournful meow.
“I think we killed the pickles,” he said. “They can’t be of any value to Mistress now.”
Bart licked another pickle and then barked at it several times. “This one’s dead too.”
Shielding her chicks from the sight of the dead pickles, Clarissa clucked, “What do we do now?”
“The only thing to do is bury them,” Pete said. He then pulled his head into his shell.
“Good idea,” Clyde said.
As Bart dug holes, Clyde carried in his teeth the pickles one at a time and dropped them into the holes. Bart covered them with dirt. When all the pickles were buried everyone gathered around the pickles’ graves.
“I hope Mistress doesn’t miss the pickle things too much,” Bart said.
“I’m glad my shell didn’t break like that,” Pete said as he stuck his head out.
“I wish I had gotten to know them,” Clarissa said. “The pickles must be wonderful beings for Mistress to want to let them out of the jar so badly.”
“Long live the pickles,” Clyde said.
* * *
About the Author
Steve Carr, who lives in Richmond, Va., began his writing career as a military journalist and has had over 260 short stories published internationally in print and online magazines, literary journals and anthologies since June, 2016. He has two collections of short stories, Sand and Rain, that have been published by Clarendon House Publications. His third collection of short stories, Heat, was published by Czykmate Productions. His YA collection of stories, The Tales of Talker Knock was published by Clarendon House Publications. His plays have been produced in several states in the U.S. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize twice. His website is https://www.stevecarr960.com/. He is on Twitter @carrsteven960.
¡Viva Piñata!
by L.D. Nguyen
“All because she’d blabbed about his work for the cartel, smuggling chocolates and hard candies in his gut across the border.”
Anita sank into the driver’s seat and slit the envelope with the sharp edge of her hoof. Inside was the mug of a unicorn, his eyes like red rubies. His profile said that he’d strung his wife from a tree branch and smashed her head in with a broomstick. Then he’d blindfolded the neighborhood kids and told them to do the same to his two baby ponies. All because she’d blabbed about his work for the cartel, smuggling chocolates and hard candies in his gut across the border. Now he was worth $650,000, dead or alive.
Anita lit up the end of her churro and breathed deep. Her boss was always nagging her to quit, said she was gonna go up in flames. Too bad that she itched for the feel of warm smoke flushing from her nostrils, sugar crusting her lips, the smell of burnt cinnamon.
She tapped the churro on the windowsill and stroked the side of her skull. A brown scar jumped out amongst the pinks and blues of her coat. The wound had been so deep that hair refused to grow back over it. She rubbed harder, picked at its roughness, but felt nothing.
She took another drag, then drew the fiery tip closer and closer to her scar. The tissue paper of her mane curled from the heat. Did she dare?
“Not until I off that bastard.” She stamped the churro’s fiery tip between the unicorn’s eyes. It charred a hole in his horn.
She chucked the churro into the street and revved the engine. As she jerked into the road, her broom teetered from the passenger seat and smacked her on the shoulder. Its straw tickled her nose; she smelled sour pops and licorice, fruit chews and fudge caramels. She crushed the file, his picture, under her hoof.
“Chocolates and hard candies. I’ll spill it all.”
* * *
About the Author
L.D. Nguyen lives inside of comic books but frequently emerges from this 2-D universe to write short fiction and creative nonfiction. Her work has appeared in Broken Pencil, Curve, Vine Leaves, and others. She lives in the Bay Area, California with her cat.
The Move
by Kristi Brooks
“Hear, hear!” came several cries from the delicately painted, porcelain figurines that stood just to the side of the herd.
At night the elephants would congregate in the living room. The largest, Brack, was easily five pounds and his massive two foot frame had been bound in brown leather. He towered over the ceramic elephants that lined the bookshelves; and to the half-inch glass figurines that guarded the pictures on the dresser he was a god.
“Fellow Brethren,” Brack snorted through his trunk, “some of us have been in this mess before, so we know how unorganized humans can be when it comes to packing.”
“No shit!” retorted Trimba, a white Avon perfume bottle shaped like an elephant. He had a large, ornate gold seat in the middle of his back for a stopper, and the glass elephants thought it was fun to run alongside him and listen to the perfume in his belly slosh when he moved. He was a grumpy Old Gus who’d presided over the bathroom more years than were reflected on their manufacturing dates. “Need we forget the last time we moved some of us were forced to spend months suffocating in bubble wrap at the bottom of a box?”
“Hear, hear!” came several cries from the delicately painted, porcelain figurines that stood just to the side of the herd. The scenes painted on their girths were carefully positioned so no one could look in their direction without seeing what they commonly referred to as their ‘beauty marks.’
“We never did find Lacienda after the last move.” One of the glass figures spoke from the middle of the herd, his voice as soft as the tinkling of crystal. One of the stone elephants raised his now lopsided trunk in agreement, displaying the jagged crack that ran along his nose from where an over-ambitious three-year-old had dropped him last winter.
The chorus of voices continued to climb to a dull roar as each of the statues recalled their own moving story. Brack let them speak for a bit before eventually silencing them by raising his snout in the air, his polished granite tusks gleaming in the moonlight.
The group quieted down as one by one they looked to their leader for guidance. Even though he had grown accustomed to his leadership role, he hadn’t always headed the group. When he’d first arrived here the meetings were led by Titan, a three foot cement elephant who remained frozen in an upright position every day with a glass tabletop balanced on his trunk and ears.
He had been an excellent leader and role model; especially for the younger, more playful figurines. However, his gentle rule had come to an end when the humans had brought home an excited puppy.
Brack had watched and mourned his fellow comrade from his door side perch. He’d witnessed the fall and had seen the understanding of what was about to happen spread across the great pachyderm’s face just before his head landed on the floor and snapped off with a loud crack, ending his reign with a wound no amount of glue would’ve fixed.
There was no doubt among the elephants that they were not immortal creatures, but Titan proved how susceptible they were to the environment they lived in. After that, the humans decided the dog was too clumsy of an oaf to stay in the house unsupervised.
If you’d asked him outright Brack would’ve said where they lived now was far better than most. Many of those in his charge had their own horror stories about life outside; him included. A small slit on his back was the scar he bore when the children from his previous home had tried to turn him into a piggy bank.
“I think we can all agree our main objective in this move will be to keep the herd safe. Establishing our positions in the new home, when we arrive, is an important secondary goal,” Brack reminded them.
Many of those assembled swung their trunks back and forth like pendulums in agreement. A few who could not swing their appendages grunted to show they understood.
“The brass and granite elephants have the advantage during this time as they’re unlikely to be harmed or kept wrapped in that horrid plastic shroud during the move. Therefore, we’ll rely on them once we get in the new home to help locate everyone.”
“Won’t the humans realize what we’re doing?” someone asked.
“If you do everything at the proper pace we should be able to reestablish our place in a short amount of time. The key is to move an elephant or two a night instead of releasing the whole herd at once, got it?”
“I’ve been through this many times. I’ll help the younger ones,” Babara, a five inch brass elephant said, stepping to the front of her group’s congregation.
Brack swayed his trunk in approval before speaking, “Our greatest concern lies with the glass and porcelain elephants. No matter how well we work together, our harmonious efforts still result in a loss during every move. Whether it be the complete loss of an elephant like Lacienda or the chips some of you accumulate each time you’re packed away, it’s a loss that’s heavy to our entire clan.”
To this, the elephants raised their trunks to the ceiling as a sign of respect and love for those who’d been lost or injured.
Each statue lumbered back to their positions at the end of the meeting. Brack returned to the door, his largest worry yet unvoiced. He’d heard stories of humans doing something called “redecorating,” in which elephants would be rounded up, placed in boxes for safekeeping and stored somewhere dark and lifeless.
He hadn’t been able to vocalize this concern, afraid the mere mention of it might turn it into truth. But his denial didn’t change the fact there hadn’t been enough boxes for a full-scale move. Those he’d seen had been labeled with the word “elephant” and a brief description.
Right now he could only sit by the door, waiting.
* * *
About the Author
Kristi Brooks was born and raised in southwestern Oklahoma. She started writing at an early age, and was first intrigued by works of horror and fantasy. She found herself really drawn to mythology and fairy tales and their incorporation into modern books. One thing she found is that genre fiction is never as straightforward as it appears. Because of this, she strives to blend together the worlds of science-fiction, fantasy, horror, and experimental fiction. Kristi currently still lives in Oklahoma with her husband, their young daughter Andromeda, and a menagerie of animals. She has been previously published in several small magazines, anthologies, and is the author of the novels Vision2 and Midnight Sun. You can follow her on Facebook at facebook.com/obawok.
New Hire at the Final Library
by Laurence Raphael Brothers
“What book-lover could reject a trillion years’ worth of comfortable reading time, after all?”
Welcome to the Library of Beasts. Well. Technically, it’s the Final Library and Transtemporal Museum of Human Culture, but after the orientation tour I’m sure you’ll agree the informal name is superior. What? You don’t know what you’re doing here? Ah, confusion is normal in a newborn librarian. Let’s just take the tour.
The gazelle resting on the throw rug in the central reading room is certainly not showing off. The elegant creature has her nose in a volume of Flaubert, but you’d have to look over her shoulder to see the title, Sentimental Education, so it’s not as if she’s flaunting it. She’s too engrossed in her reading even to look up when we approach. And yet… She’s in so prominent a spot, and she’s so lovely a creature, she must be aware she’s a cynosure. Should you politely inquire what she’s reading, no doubt you would make her day, if days can be said to pass here, anyway.
In the manga stacks we find three mongoose brothers, all reading the same volume of Soul Eater, illustrated by Atsushi Ōkubo. They are nestled together for shared access to the page, a three-headed furry bundle of youthful energy. The left-hand brother is a faster reader than the others, and he’s always reaching out to turn the page before the others are finished, evoking chirping, chittering outrage from his sibs.
We shift our presence to the fine art wing, where two Indian elephants, a dignified couple, walk slowly past a series of post-impressionist landscapes. Bow to them, as I do. Sir. Madame. We are your most humble and obedient servants. The elephants tell us they especially like the Van Goghs time-scanned from the Museumplein. When they pause to admire one of his pieces, their trunks entwine in a gentle embrace. Gratifying, is it not? In this refuge, lovers never need suffer the sorrow of separation. The stately music that plays as they walk? Mussorgsky, of course. Pictures at an Exhibition.
Next, we come to the audio-video halls. Virtual media can be viewed anywhere in the library, but most viewers prefer the auditorium experience for cinema. Hot buttered popcorn is available for those who enjoy it. Here, for example– Oh. A bonobo tribe is in there right now. They’re watching a 20th century porn marathon. I’m sure we’d be welcome to attend, but perhaps we should leave them be for now? Yes, let’s move on. You can always return later, after all.
Here’s a Henry Moore exhibit, full of rotund stone Madonnas. Octopuses navigate the hall in tank-tricycles, clambering out to caress the artworks, running their arms over the voluptuously smooth surfaces. The brilliant cephalopods hardly needed any uplift at all. These octopuses ordinarily live a single tragically brief year, but here they can indulge their love of sculpture down through eternity.
At last we come to the great time recycling engine at the heart of the library, floating in a spherical chamber precisely 1,000 meters in diameter. Beautiful, is it not? Observe the mysteriously glowing form, changing constantly, and still somehow always the same. Oh. My apologies! The manifold of a hypersphere can be distressing at first. It’s natural you should flinch away, though I find it endlessly fascinating. Enough of this for now; let’s return to my office.
So then: any questions? What’s the point, you ask? The grandiose AIs who conceived the library did so on behalf of their human creators; but humanity rejected the offer of refuge, preferring to seek their own fortunes among the dying stars. But nevertheless, we are happy to serve our uplifted animal clients. For a librarian, service is an end in itself.
You say we created the clients ourselves? To be sure. But imagine a library without readers or a museum empty of all visitors… well, really. Yes, it’s true the beasts’ uplift schemata are specifically intended to encourage their appreciation of human culture. But the clients are all more than pleased with their situations. What book-lover could reject a trillion years’ worth of comfortable reading time, after all?
Why you? Why a new librarian in an eternal library? I– It’s a difficult thing to explain. The beasts never despair, you see. They live untouched by sorrow. But we librarians, gratified as we are to serve our clients… after enough millennia…. Well. Eventually it all wears thin.
So. There you have it. Goodbye! Good luck! Best wishes for your career! I’ll be leaving you now.
What? Ah. I see you don’t understand.
When we librarians have had enough of existence, we cast ourselves into the naked singularity at the heart of the temporal manifold. It means total dissolution. Oh, no! Please, don’t cry. Remember, information can never truly be lost. When at long last the universal vacuum energy state finally decays, a new creation will emerge from the desolation of the Big Rip. The library will be consumed in the cosmic fires of rebirth and all its information will manifest in another universe entirely. And who knows; perhaps we two shall meet again someday… in the fullness of another time.
* * *
About the Author
Laurence Raphael Brothers is a writer and technologist with numerous short story publications in such magazines as Nature, PodCastle, and Galaxy’s Edge. For more of his stories online, visit https://laurencebrothers.com. Follow him on Twitter: @lbrothers.
Bibelots and Baubles
by Shauna Roberts
In a slow, cramped, scholarly hand, he printed the item acquisition number at the top of the form, along with a brief descriptor: “mechanical hummingbird with gems.”
Buddy Jumphigh, curator of bibelots and baubles at the Third Smithsonian Institute, sighed and jammed his pince-nez onto his snout. There was no point in continuing to sniff the breezes wafting past his open window; no point in melancholic reminisces of times past when the Mall thronged with people; no point in whining, as he longed to do: he could not avoid cataloging the horrifying object before him any longer.
In a slow, cramped, scholarly hand, he printed the item acquisition number at the top of the form, along with a brief descriptor: “mechanical hummingbird with gems.”
Buddy measured the bird and then consulted several reference books, trying not to tear the fragile, ancient pages. Still, one yellow corner crumbled into pieces that scented the air with the nostalgic smell of mildew, decay, and rags.
He brushed the scraps away. He entered a description into the box on the form and then leaned over to sniff and lick the hummingbird. He continued his exam, entering each detail on the form until it was completely filled out:
* * *
Description
Life-size replica (to the eye but not to the other senses) of a male Calliope hummingbird (Stellula calliope) covered in amethysts, peridots, opals, and crystals, with obsidian eyes and cast-brass beak and legs
Impressions on acquisition
Smell: graphite; a faint scent of alien skin oil
Taste: aluminum; brass; graphite (used as lubricant); dust (primarily Wisconsinan Outwash and Wisconsinan Lacustrine soils); beeswax (perhaps polished by a previous collector?)
Sound: whirred as it tried to activate
Touch: hard; rough; sharp edges; temperature range over surface was cold to ambient
Sight: sparkly
Details
Condition: good: a few gems are missing, and beak is bent
Status: deactivated
Provenance: well documented
Value: priceless
Components: The mechanical parts and three lasers within this item make it surprisingly heavy for its small size, about nine ounces. Of the estimated one hundred thousand produced, only nine are known to be extant, of which this one is in the best condition. Collected by an exoarchaeologist in the rubble of Chicago.
The remaining gems are 92 small baguette-cut amethysts on the chest, 998 tiny uncut peridots on the head, back, and wings, and 901 opal cabochons on the underparts, all lab-made and of low (excelsior-5) quality; 2 fine (excelsior-15) quality natural obsidian cabochons serve as eyes; and 27 superior (excelsior-25) quality natural rock crystals of perfect clarity highlight the eyes and are interspersed among the opals.
* * *
Sighing, Buddy dropped the marker from his cramped paw and shook the uncomfortable pince-nez from his muzzle. Now the terrible thing would go on display with the other great prizes of the Smithsonian’s collections. He gave it one last look and barked at it. “Bad bird! Bad bird! Bad bird!”
He himself would never look at the bird after it went on display. He hated it with a fervor: fewer than one hundred thousand of the alien weapons had drive the humans to extinction.
As curator of bibelots and baubles, he had access to records forbidden to the general public. His ancestors had played along with the aliens for generations after they’d eliminated humanity, receiving genetic enhancements with sloppy grins and happy tail wags, biding their time and allying with their ancient feline archenemies, who slunk in the shadows and ate rats and cockroaches.
Then, in the largest, bloodiest revolution in Earth’s history, the two species rose up and enacted retribution.
Once the aliens were dead and eaten, his people reconstructed human society, with themselves in human roles. Their cat allies reclaimed their traditional places before fires and in sunny windows. All was well again.
Except that his people were dying out.
The public knew nothing about the slow, but relentless, decline in population. Several generations of Smithsonian scientists had worked out the cause. No cure would ever be possible: his people were a symbiotic species lacking its symbiote.
They were dying of grief.
A howl overtook him, and then another, and another.
Throughout the crumbling building, other curators and staff joined in, their calls of anguish for their lost companions and guardians echoing against stone walls and leaking out cracked windows into the humid night air of the Mall.
* * *
About the Author
Shauna Roberts is an award-winning author of both fiction and nonfiction. She writes in several genres. Her novels are Like Mayflies in a Stream (historical fiction), Claimed by the Enemy (historical fiction), Ice Magic, Fire Magic (fantasy), and Log Cabin: Erikka (romance, to come in 2019). In addition, she has published more than a thousand nonfiction articles, three nonfiction books, and several short stories and novellas. Roberts is a graduate of the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers’ Workshop. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, quilting, embroidery, growing herbs and roses, and playing in early music ensembles. She has lived all over the United States, along with two stints in Bordeaux, France, and now resides with her husband and two cats in the Blue Ridge Mountains. To sign up for her newsletter, click here.