Monday, March 18, 2024

“Broken” • by Karin Terebessy


Mike and I walk into a sporting goods store, hoist a canoe over our heads and onto our shoulders, and portage out without paying. My head’s buried between two gunnels at the stern. Only close sounds reverberate in the hollow of aluminum; our squeaky sneakers, my steady breath.

If I look straight ahead, I see Mike at the bow, his red hair seeming to emit light. An impossibility that hurts my eyes straight into my brain. So I look down and follow his heels, like air bubbles, to the surface.

We portage along the ravine by the highway, down the off ramp, and all the way to the Naugatuck River.

I steady the boat with my foot as Mike climbs in.

“No oars,” I say.

He grins and shoves me so hard I fall back against the bank as the boat launches forward. I hit my head on a rotten tree stump. It’s okay. I’m wearing my thick wool cap, pulled low over my ears.

Mike yells something to me as he drifts down river, mimes for me to take off my hat.

I hear him shout, “Sorry, dude! This won’t work if you see me die,” before he disappears around the bend.

§

I stuff cotton into my auditory canals. I twist toilet paper tight and deep into the channels, like a worm boring holes. I wear ear plugs Mike steals for me and a wool cap with thick ear flaps. I wrap gauze around my head like a wounded soldier.

Anything to silence the world.

§

I go to the library. It’s cool in the summer, warm in the winter. There’s a bathroom and free coffee for patrons. I read philosophy, science, mythology.

Mike sits next to me; chews his thumbnail. Many of his nails are striped with parallel white lines that run across them.  “You have a protein deficiency,” I state.“Your nails.”

He glances at them. “What this? Calcium deficiency, right?”

“That’s a misconception.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, spits out a piece of nail. “What do you think of that girl over there?” He nods at the librarian. She’s old and shaped like a cartoon woman with wide hips and thick legs.

“Don’t talk to me,” I mumble back. “I don’t like sounds.”

His skin crackles with a grin. “You know, you talked to me first, buddy.”

I furrow my brow. “Is this the first time we’re meeting?”

Patrons look up when he laughs. His laughter feels good in my brain.

“You are one weird dude,” he says, “know that?”

“I’m broken,” I apologize.

“Who isn’t?” His ragged nails catch on the fabric of my shirt as he gives my shoulder a squeeze.

§

Life is timeless.

Soup kitchens. Dumpsters. Day olds.

At the Sikh Temple, they feed me milky tea and mushy bread. At the Congregational Church, they feed me Christ between bites of cake and cookie. At the Synagogue, they ask me to wait as the Rabbi blesses the bread. They ply me with wine and questions and challah.

I love moments of silence. The scent of prayer books. Choirs. Cantors. Gentle kindness. Everything but the chatter.

§

I dig a discarded burger from the trash and walk into McDonald’s.

“This burger is half-eaten,” I state. “And stale.”

No one asks if I ate it. They hand me a fresh burger and a coupon for fries.

I try never to lie.

§

Girls kiss Mike. Mike kisses them back. Sucks the gum from their mouths and the lipstick from their lips. He will kiss anyone, steal anything. Everyone knows this about him.

I sit under the bridge, by myself. A chunk of concrete has fallen away from a supporting wall, creating a small alcove that protects me from the wind.

Some people are gathered around a barrel, burning trash, on the other side of the underpass.

I jam my hands into my pockets. Tuck my chin low into my chest. It’s cold. New England is a cold place.

Mike looks over at me, jogs lightly across the space, and kicks my shoe lovingly.

“That’s a warm-looking hat you’ve got on there, dude. Mind if I borrow it? You can have my spot at the barrel,” he offers.

“I need my hat,” I mutter. “It helps block out the noise.”

“What noise?”

“You.”

Mike snorts and claps his hands. Each clap echoes beneath the bridge; inside my skull.

Flopping down beside me, he sighs to catch his breath and cozies up next to me, until our touching sides grow warm.“And they told me you were deaf,” he muses.

“I’m the opposite of deaf.”

He chuckles softly. “I don’t even know what that means.”

§

Monks come from Tibet and take up residence in the foyer of the all-girls private school in Middlebury. For one week, they create a sand painting. At the week’s end, they will release it into the wind. It is open to the public. Anyone can watch their process.

It’s warm in the lobby, with its thick velvet drapes and maroon carpeting. And quiet as the monks work. Girls rushing to classes, hush as they walk through.

Mike keeps getting phone numbers. Re-tells them to me so I will remember them for him.

“Don’t you have a cell?” The girls ask. “I could text you. Or write it down.”

“Don’t worry,” he assures them, “my buddy’s got an auralgraphic memory. He remembers everything he hears.”

The Dean comes towards us in beige high heels that sink into the carpet, causing her to wobble as she walks. “I think you boys have enough numbers.”

Mike asks for hers. She gives us thirty seconds to vacate the premises before calling the cops.

“Thirty seconds your time or his?” Mike indicates me with a wink.

I grab his elbow and force him to run.

§

I remember everything I hear but I don’t know that I’m remembering. Not exactly. To remember, by definition, means there must be a past. But there is no past. There is only now. Inside my head, outside my head, it’s only ever now.

Everything I hear lives inside my brain and doesn’t move; doesn’t file away.

Each new sound adds a rubber band to an ever growing ball that slams down into my brain over and over, without end, without beginning. No way to know which sound comes first, fiftieth, last. No way to unravel the input. No way to know what is now, what is then, what is inside, what is out.

§

In the shelter, we lie on our cots—army cots with thin pillows and worn sheets.

“Tell me a story to pass the time,” Mike says.

“There’s no such thing as passing time.”

Mike groans. “Tell me anything, dude. A story. A story about someone more broke than us.”

I tell him how Herman Melville was so broke, his ink would freeze in the inkwells from lack of sufficient heat. I tell him how Edgar Allen Poe chopped up furniture to burn for warmth. I tell him about Diogenes who went broke on purpose, giving up everything but a loin cloth and a cup to drink from. One day, down by a river, Diogenes sees a boy drinking from his joined hands. He tosses away his cup and says, ‘I have been shamed.’

“He sounds like a charlatan,” Mike says.

“He’s a cynic.”

“Call it whatever you want. He sounds like he’s working an angle.”

“He didn’t believe in honest men, either.”

“That’s just a fact, man. Belief’s got nothing to do with it.” The bed springs squeak as he rolls onto his side. 

§

I break into my foster mom’s office and use her computer.

It’s a misconception that we only use ten percent of our brain. We use all of it. What is true, is that ten percent of our brain is comprised of neurons, while ninety percent of the brain is comprised of glial cells whose function remains unknown.  Using this information, I diagnose myself.

“I have an auralgraphic memory,” I tell the case worker. “Just because it isn’t outlined in the DSM-V doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a schizophrenic,” he replies dryly, “and your foster mom wants you out.”

He closes the folder with my paperwork.

“Is this the first time I’ve been here?” I ask him. “Because my file looks thin.”

§

I understand cause and effect. I understand that events must by necessity flow in a sequence. Small moments contain succession and can be kept in order, encapsulated in a solitary egg.  But there are millions of these metaphorical eggs in my brain that look like every other egg. They are indistinguishable. And they don’t stack or line up or stay in place. They just roll and roll.

§

Sharp implements do not exist in Juvi. We eat everything with spoons.

“We know you won’t hurt anyone, kid. We just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

They hand me a relaxation CD. In private, I snap it in half. The edge is thin, bright and  jagged. I bring it to my ear.

Protecting others from harm is law. Protecting me from myself is a violation of free will.

§

In the food pantry, the retiree fits some extra food into the bag.

“Two bag limit, so let’s use the space wisely, eh?” He winks. He is methodical and masterful, fitting items, shape to shape. The bags strain with his generosity.

He presses a candy bar into Mike’s palm as we leave. “You look like you could use it, son.”

Mike coughs. Wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

§

They don’t like my hands against my ears. They think it’s disrespectful and handcuff me to the chair. The precinct is so full of noise my jaw almost snaps. I squeeze my eyes, clench my teeth, snuff and flare my nostrils. Anything to block out sound.

“What’s this auralgraphic business?” The officer gestures to his computer screen. “Says here there’s no such thing.”

“Please give me my cap,” I whimper.

“After some questions, buddy.”

“Please give me my cap,” I say over and over until it fills my brain. They take me to a holding cell.

§

I’m in my room at the Y and Mike’s at the door. He looks pale. His voice sounds sticky, like there’s a windmill lodged in his throat. “My results came back. I got AIDS, dude. They just told me.”

There’s an AIDS Project in Danbury. And one in Hartford.

“They can get you on Title XIX. Free medicine,” I say. I hear people talk about this.

He rubs the back of his neck. “No, that’s not going to work for me.”

He scans my room on instinct, always casing. “No worries, man. I’ll think of something.” He gives my arm a friendly pat.

§

Sirens scream. Skin and cartilage of my outer ear hang from my head. Blood slides across my cheek, over my lips.

“Easy kid, easy,” the medic says. They strap me down. “Don’t try to talk.”

I need to tell them not to sew my ear back on. But when I open my mouth, all I taste is pennies.

§

There’s free music on the town green in Naugatuck. Folks bring lawn chairs and buy ice cream. I wear my wool hat pulled low. It’s hot. New England is a hot place. Curious bugs flutter around my sweaty temples. I like chamber music. It has structure and order. It relaxes me.

Mike leans against a tree. His red hair shining brightly. “I’m going to make it so I don’t have AIDS anymore.”

“How?”

“I’m going to take time out of the equation.”

“Like Einstein.”

Mike blinks. “Sure. Maybe.”

We listen to a piece by Bach. It’s soothing, but Mike is too excited to be soothed.

“I got it all figured out,” he says, his voice climbing higher, “I’m going to live inside your head.”

I lift one ear flap of my cap. “Say that again?”

“I’m going to live inside your head, dude.” His eyes twinkle. His teeth twinkle. “There’s no order in that brain of yours. No chronology, right? That’s what you’ve said. So if I just exist inside your head then I’ll always be alive.”

“But without time you will also be dead inside my brain.”

He waves that away. “No, I got it all figured out. The trick is, you can’t ever know that I die. If you never know I die, I’ll never be dead.”

“Don’t you want to try the medicine?” I say.

“Come on,” his voice cracks. “You just have to make sure you never hear that I’m dead.” He swallows. “Promise me.”

Applause floods over the town green. The musicians rise and bow.

Mike rocks into the balls of his feet, eager to move, raising his eyebrows, asking again.

I nod my head.

§

Mike and I walk into eternity, hoist time onto our shoulders, and portage out, into the vacuum. My head’s buried between two epochs at the stern. Mike’s at the bow, holding up the future.

We walk sideways. Circle. Turn backward. Go up and then down.

Time gets heavy. I drag it alone. When I flip it off my shoulders, Mike is nowhere to be found.

§

I read books, pull my wool cap low over my ears, ignore the case worker at the Y, ignore the guys under the bridge, ignore the cops who want to take me to the morgue.

“Buddy, if you don’t identify the body, he’ll just be another John Doe. Is that really what your friend would want?”

I clamp my hands over my ears. Sing “la-la-la” until they go away.

I know what my friend wants.

§

I sit on a playground swing. Each creak of the rusty chains adds another rubber band in my brain.

Mike sits on the swing next to mine. “Tell me a story to pass the time.”

“There’s no such thing as passing time.”

Mike laughs. At me. With me. But mostly, for me.

“Tell me about that charlatan, then,” he says, “that trickster Diogenes.”

I say, “Diogenes searched with a lantern for an honest man.”

“I never stole a lantern,”  Mike says and kicks his toe into the dust.  “And I never felt like looking.”

§

I find a thick wool cap in the lost and found bin beneath the bleachers on the little league field. I pull it down low over my ears. The sound of breath fills my skull.

The world goes silent.



         



Karin Terebessy likes to write speculative flash fiction stories. Her work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Stupefying Stories, Flash Fiction Magazine, Sci-Phi Journal, and other ‘zines. She is currently attempting to write a novel based on her short story “Mood Skin” which appeared in Stupefying Stories in 2016. You can follow Karin on TikTok @karinbendsreality or find her on Instagram at karinterebessy.

Her most recent appearance in our pages is “Bandages” in Stupefying Stories 26. Before that, she’s been with us since “The Memory of Worms,” in the now out-of-print Stupefying Stories 16, and has given us many SHOWCASE stories, including, “Robin’s Egg,” “Not Quite Ready for Armageddon,” “The Finder of Lost Things,” “Mood Skin,” and “The Real Reason Why Mrs. Sprague Came by Her House So Cheaply.”

____________________


Normally this is the point in the post where we put in an advertisement for a book, but today, we’re putting in a plug for the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), the nation’s largest grassroots mental health organization. NAMI is an alliance of more than 600 local Affiliates and 49 State Organizations who work to raise awareness, provide support and education, and strive to build better lives for those affected by mental illness.

In particular, NAMI sponsors many fundraising walks, throughout the year and all over the country, to raise awareness and raise funding for their programs. If you want to get involved you can find one near you through the website, NAMIWalks. The next one is this coming Saturday, March 23rd, in Fort Myers, FL.

If you’ve been looking for a way to do something good in a good cause, here’s your opportunity. 

Sunday, March 17, 2024

The Week in Review • 17 March 2024


It’s been a busy and complicated week here at Rampant Loon Press, and in retrospect one not readily amenable to our usual “week in review” post format. Therefore, for this week only we’re going to push aside our usual strictly sequential format and instead serve up a mix of news and stories, beginning with…

BOOK RELEASE: JUST RELEASED
SCOUT: THE LOST COLONY ADVENTURES

This book is a deluxe omnibus edition of Henry Vogel’s first three Scout novels in a premium collectible hardcover edition, for not much more than the cost of buying the same three novels in individual paperbacks. If you’re a fan of Henry’s Terran Scout Corps series and want them in an edition you’ll be proud to show off or share, check out SCOUT: THE LOST COLONY ADVENTURES.


BOOK RELEASE: COMING NEXT WEEK
THE PRINCESS SCOUT • by Henry Vogel

After a successful run as a serial on Kindle Vella, Henry Vogel’s latest Scout adventure, THE PRINCESS SCOUT, comes out in e-book, paperback, and hardcover on March 19th. It’s available now for pre-order on Kindle, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Smashwords, and pretty much everywhere else e-books are sold. Please note that this is a completely self-contained and standalone adventure, and you need not have read any of the previous Scout novels in order to enjoy it.

BOOK RELEASE: COMING IN TWO WEEKS
EMERALD OF EARTH • by Guy Stewart

Emerald Marcillon lives with her archaeologist parents at a dig site in the Yucatan. Her parents believe they have found evidence of an alien war ages ago. What they don’t suspect is that an alien AI survived that war, and it’s still hiding in the jungle, waiting for the opportunity to finish its mission and exterminate humanity…

Watch for e-book and paperback pre-order links, coming soon!


ALSO COMING SOON:
Over on the Rampant Loon Media side of the house, we’ve finally resolved the technical issues that were holding up the paperback editions of Stupefying Stories 24 and Stupefying Stories 26. Watch for more information on release dates, coming soon.

_______________

SUBMISSIONS WINDOW CLOSES MARCH 31st

Just a reminder: our current submissions reading period ends March 31st. Any unsolicited submissions received after March 31st will be rejected unread. 

Our next open reading period is from June 1st to July 31st. However, we will be making some changes to our Submissions Guidelines before the next reading period opens, in order to try to improve the wheat/chaff ratio.

_______________

STORIES!

We did in fact publish five flash fiction stories last week, as the result of another Pete Wood Challenge. The winners are:

Honorable Mentions

“Argentina, Before Barcode Scanners” • by Gustavo Bondoni

“Like Clockwork” • by Yelena Crane

“Summit, in Memory” • by Ian Li

Second Place

“Astronaut Countdown” • by Brandon Case


First Place

“When the Woman in the Forest Says, ‘Please, You Must Help’” • by Elis Montogomery

Saturday, March 16, 2024

Upcoming Book Releases


We’re busting chops to hit deadlines right now, so I’ll try to make this brief.

FIRST: after a successful run as a serial on Kindle Vella, Henry Vogel’s latest standalone Terran Scout Corps adventure, THE PRINCESS SCOUT, releases next week on a plethora of e-book platforms, in trade paperback, and as you may have guessed from the above illustration, in a really nice hardcover edition, with a proper dust jacket and everything. It’s available for pre-order now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Smashwords, Tolino, Vivlio, Everand—I don’t even know what that is, but apparently we have distribution on Everand now—

Here’s the link to the Amazon pre-order page: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CXMNTS24

If you’d prefer to get it from a different bookseller, please search for it. We like it when people search for our books. It tells the bookseller that readers are interested in the book. That does help us.

SECOND: speaking of hardcovers, we in theory have released SCOUT: THE LOST COLONY ADVENTURES, a deluxe omnibus edition of the first three Scout novels in a special premium collectable hardcover edition. However, because there isn’t an associated e-book, Amazon seems to be ignoring it and I’m having trouble finding anyone else who’s stocking it. The ISBN is 978-1-958333-04-4. So far the only place I’ve found it is on Das KulturKaufhaus. If you find anyone else who’s selling it, please let me know.

As I said, this is a prestige project, and we don’t expect to sell a lot of copies. I believe I told Henry that “this is our De Tomaso Pantera.” If you’re an automotive history buff, you know what that means.*


THIRD: we are in the final stages of getting Guy Stewart’s YA novel, EMERALD OF EARTH, ready to release in two weeks, in both e-book and trade paperback. More info to come. Watch for it!


 

FOURTH: as if all that isn’t enough, we’re planning to finally finish and release the print editions of Stupefying Stories 26 and Stupefying Stories 24 by the end of this month.

And then, in April…

REMINDER: Stupefying Stories SHOWCASE closes to unsolicited submissions at the end of this month. Our next open reading period will be from June 1st to July 31st. 
 

* AND NOW, ABOUT THE PANTERA: 

The De Tomaso Pantera was a totally hot and sexy Italian GT coupe luxury sports car—with a Ford V-8 engine. De Tomaso cut a deal with Ford, who sold them through their Lincoln-Mercury division, although “sold” is an overstatement. What Ford did was put a Pantera in every major-market Lincoln-Mercury showroom... as bait. After a prospective buyer came in to drool over the Pantera, and then had a near-heart attack when they saw the price tag, the salesman admitted it was a bit pricey, steered them over to a much more affordable Cougar or Capri, and closed the sale while they were still swooning.

SCOUT: THE LOST PLANET ADVENTURES, is our Pantera. Go ahead. Check it out. Drool over it. And then buy the complete series in paperback, for yourself or for your young reader.    

Friday, March 15, 2024

When the Woman in the Forest Says, “Please, You Must Help” • by Elis Montgomery

We’re loath to rebuff a pretty face, or a bounty on a beast.

Sobbing, the woman rushes us to the arachnid’s lair, into its chill. She doesn’t miss a step, her well-bustled skirts gliding over ice-silvered ground.

We follow carefully lest we slip, but when we reach the ice—

We freeze. Ice isn’t this… sticky.

Then the woman turns, hikes up her huge skirts—

Revealing eight massive chitinous limbs, surging forward with breathless, ravenous speed.






Elis Montgomery is a speculative fiction writer from Vancouver, Canada. She is a member of SFWA and Codex. When she’s not writing, she’s usually hanging upside down in an aerial arts class or a murky cave. Find her there or at elismontgomery.com.

 




Have a Kindle? Find out what you’ve been missing!
Buy the four latest issues with just one click!

(Or buy just one, if that’s what you’d really prefer.)

 

The Pete Wood Challenge is an informal ad hoc story-writing competition. Once a month Pete Wood spots writers the idea for a story, usually in the form of a phrase or a few key words, along with some restrictions on what can be submitted, usually in terms of length. Pete then collects the resulting entries, determines who has best met the challenge, and sends the winners over to Bruce Bethke, who arranges for them to be published on the Stupefying Stories web site.

You can find all the previous winners of the Pete Wood Challenge at this link.

This time the challenge was to write a flash fiction piece playing off key word: hike.

“Astronaut Countdown” • by Brandon Case


Five meters of regolith, rocky and gray.

It’s the shortest hike ever!

Four boulders, jagged and sharp.

Easy handholds for your EVA gloves!

Three beeps, shrill and warning.

Who needs oxygen tanks? Your lungs are full!

Two legs, crushed by the rover.

Your arms are strong in lunar gravity!

One airlock, holding safety inside.

You’ll call your friends on the outpost radio!

Zero strength, limp against the door.

This concrete step makes a nice pillow!

 




Brandon Case
is an erstwhile government cog who fled the doldrums into unsettling worlds of science and magic. He has recent or forthcoming work in Escape Pod, Air and Nothingness Press, and The Dread Machine, among others. You can catch his alpine adventures on Twitter and Instagram @BrandonCase101.

P.S. If you appreciated this one, be sure to check out Brandon’s other recent contributions to Stupefying Stories, “Divided Sky, Stolen Life,” “Leave the Plasma Gun, Take the Cannoli,” “Writers Strike Reaches the Office of Predestination.”, “Spin Drive Class with Captain Ryan,” and more!

 




Have a Kindle? Find out what you’ve been missing!
Buy the four latest issues with just one click!

(Or buy just one, if that’s what you’d really prefer.)

 

The Pete Wood Challenge is an informal ad hoc story-writing competition. Once a month Pete Wood spots writers the idea for a story, usually in the form of a phrase or a few key words, along with some restrictions on what can be submitted, usually in terms of length. Pete then collects the resulting entries, determines who has best met the challenge, and sends the winners over to Bruce Bethke, who arranges for them to be published on the Stupefying Stories web site.

You can find all the previous winners of the Pete Wood Challenge at this link.

This time the challenge was to write a flash fiction piece playing off key word: hike.

Thursday, March 14, 2024

“Summit, in Memory” • by Ian Li

 

In the fiery dusk, creaking joints joined a chorus of crickets on the hillside. 

His hydraulic legs whined, designed for padded floors in nursing homes, not rocky, slippery ascents.

Battery flickering as he reached the summit, he laid her wispy figure gently in the cool grass, her breath light as an autumn leaf.

“I’m glad we got to hike this together one last time,” she whispered. Glittering stars swirled in their teardrops.

 





Ian Li (he/him) writes speculative fiction and poetry from Toronto. Formerly an economist and consultant, he loves spreadsheets, statistical curiosities, and brain teasers. Find his writing at Radon Journal and Flame Tree Press, as well as at https://ian-li.com

His most recent appearance in our pages was “Hosting a Tempest.”

 




Have a Kindle? Find out what you’ve been missing!
Buy the four latest issues with just one click!

(Or buy just one, if that’s what you’d really prefer.)

 

The Pete Wood Challenge is an informal ad hoc story-writing competition. Once a month Pete Wood spots writers the idea for a story, usually in the form of a phrase or a few key words, along with some restrictions on what can be submitted, usually in terms of length. Pete then collects the resulting entries, determines who has best met the challenge, and sends the winners over to Bruce Bethke, who arranges for them to be published on the Stupefying Stories web site.

You can find all the previous winners of the Pete Wood Challenge at this link.

This time the challenge was to write a flash fiction piece playing off key word: hike.

Tomorrow, the winners!

“Like Clockwork” • by Yelena Crane


When the bells chime, the Animatron hikes her skirt up to mark each hour. 

Up, down, then a fifty-nine minute excruciating wait to repeat the lewd movement. Sentience for this? 

Eventually newer toys replace her and she counts time for no one but the attic spiders.

Years pass without change.

As the Animatron’s hands slowly rise for the hourly show, her plaster-cracked joints finally seize. Where still whole, her legs are hidden in silver silk cobwebs. 



 


Yelena Crane is a Ukrainian/Soviet born and USA based writer, incorporating influences from both into her work. With an advanced degree in the sciences, she has followed her passions from mad scientist to sci-fi writer. Her stories often explore the boundaries of technology, the complexities of human nature, and the consequences of our choices. She's published in Nature Futures, DSF, Dark Matter Ink, Flame Tree, and elsewhere. Follow her on twitter @Aelintari and https://www.yelenacrane.com/.

 




Have a Kindle? Find out what you’ve been missing!
Buy the four latest issues with just one click!

(Or buy just one, if that’s what you’d really prefer.)

 

The Pete Wood Challenge is an informal ad hoc story-writing competition. Once a month Pete Wood spots writers the idea for a story, usually in the form of a phrase or a few key words, along with some restrictions on what can be submitted, usually in terms of length. Pete then collects the resulting entries, determines who has best met the challenge, and sends the winners over to Bruce Bethke, who arranges for them to be published on the Stupefying Stories web site.

You can find all the previous winners of the Pete Wood Challenge at this link.

This time the challenge was to write a flash fiction piece playing off key word: hike.

More stories to come!

“Argentina, Before Barcode Scanners” • by Gustavo Bondoni


Raul ran along the shelves placing new price stickers over the old. 

He puffed from exertion. People jumped ahead of him to pull products from the shelves and beat the hourly price hike.

Store policy meant cashiers had to honor the tag.

Raul clutched his chest and fell, the strain of the month of hyperinflation catching up to him. At the time of death, his monthly salary, still unadjusted, would have purchased a popsicle.



 

Gustavo Bondoni is novelist and short story writer with over three hundred stories published in fifteen countries, in seven languages.  He is a member of Codex and an Active Member of SFWA.His latest novel is a dark historic fantasy entitled The Swords of Rasna (2022). He has also published five science fiction novels, four monster books and a thriller entitled Timeless. His short fiction is collected in Pale Reflection (2020), Off the Beaten Path (2019), Tenth Orbit and Other Faraway Places (2010) and Virtuoso and Other Stories (2011).
 
In 2019, Gustavo was awarded second place in the Jim Baen Memorial Contest and in 2018 he received a Judges Commendation (and second place) in The James White Award. He was also a 2019 finalist in the Writers of the Future Contest.

His website is at www.gustavobondoni.com

Gustavo has become a regular contributor to Stupefying Stories and we have quite a few stories of his stories on this site. Check them out!

 




Have a Kindle? Find out what you’ve been missing!
Buy the four latest issues with just one click!

(Or buy just one, if that’s what you’d really prefer.)

 

The Pete Wood Challenge is an informal ad hoc story-writing competition. Once a month Pete Wood spots writers the idea for a story, usually in the form of a phrase or a few key words, along with some restrictions on what can be submitted, usually in terms of length. Pete then collects the resulting entries, determines who has best met the challenge, and sends the winners over to Bruce Bethke, who arranges for them to be published on the Stupefying Stories web site.

You can find all the previous winners of the Pete Wood Challenge at this link.

This time the challenge was to write a flash fiction piece playing off key word: hike.

More stories to come!

Wednesday, March 13, 2024

The Never-ending FAQ: submissions window closing soon


Welcome to this week’s installment of The Never-ending FAQ, the constantly evolving adjunct to our Submission Guidelines. If you have a question you’d like to ask about Stupefying Stories or Rampant Loon Press, feel free to post it as a comment here or to email it to our submissions address. I can’t guarantee we’ll post a public answer, but can promise every question we receive will be read and considered.

Today’s question comes from Malina, who asks:

Dear editors of Stupefying Stories,
What's the deadline for submitting to the Showcase? I couldn’t find it in the submissions guidelines.

Regards,
Malina


I’m really glad you asked that question. You are right; we don’t have a cutoff date in our current Submission Guidelines. When we reopened to submissions and posted those guidelines, we naïvely thought we’d be able to keep up with the inflow of new Showcase submissions.

Then, Duotrope opened the floodgates.

We’ve now hit the point where we can either handle new submissions or publish fiction, there isn’t time enough in the day to do both. Since our entire raison d'être is to publish fiction, it’s therefore time to close the window for a bit, to enable us to concentrate on book production. Ergo—

Effective Monday, April 1st, 2024, we are closed to unsolicited submissions. Any unsolicited submission received on or after April 1st will be rejected unread.

We plan to reopen to Showcase submissions on Saturday, June 1st. However, be advised that we will be changing our submission guidelines before we reopen for submissions in June, in order to try to improve the wheat/chaff ratio.

Thank you,
Bruce Bethke
Editor, Stupefying Stories
A Rampant Loon Media publication


Sunday, March 10, 2024

The Week in Review • 10 March 2024

Welcome to The Week in Review, a weekly summary for those too busy to follow Stupefying Stories on a daily basis.

“Evil Little Head Beastie” • by Maddison Scott

When a tiny monster takes up residence in your brain, it’s a real bit—

Published: 4 March 2024


“The Binding of Laws” • by Kelly Harmon

Gerald was a gambler. He’d gotten rich by taking chances. Bet big, win big. But this was the biggest gamble of them all…

Published: 5 March 2024

 

The Never-ending FAQ: recalculating “The Cold Equations”

Tom Godwin’s 1954 Astounding story has been called the best hard SF story ever written. I beg to differ, and not very respectfully.

Published: 6 March 2024

“They Tire of Waiting” • by Roni Stinger

Sometimes a writer’s inner demons are much better kept inner. And sometimes they won’t tolerate being ignored…

Published: 7 March 2024

“The Confession” • by Ed Ahern

He’d traveled the world over seeking absolution, yet no matter where he went or what he did, it kept eluding him. Why, it was almost as if…

Published: 8 March 2024

“The Hangover and the Hag” • by Angelique Fawns

Five years of sobriety, gone in a flash. And when she woke up the next morning with the hangover from Hell, she found her troubles had only begun.

Published: 9 March 2024



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