LACKINGTON'S

speculative prose

Salt and Cement and Other Denials, by Sara Saab

Alexander on the East-Looking Face I feel her pheromones nearly always, flavouring the salt breeze. The waves daub at us and daub at us and we gleam wet in the … Continue reading

April 27, 2016

Sui Generis, by Y.X. Acs

1. Natalie and Andrew Temple lived in a beige townhouse in the southwest corner of Green Estates, with a deep ravine snaking along the perimeter behind their property. 2. Though … Continue reading

April 27, 2016

Manapolis, by Natalia Theodoridou

  “Spleen felt like glass. Lung was molten stone, stomach was handfuls of sand, liver was wet cement. Intestines, whitewash. Heart, clay and dirt and straw. Blood was paint and … Continue reading

April 27, 2016

Under Dead Marsh, by Julia August

SCENE 1. SILENCE. VOICE #1: To begin at the end: It is summer, searing sandstorm season on a night rusty-ripe with glass domes glacial under dead sands, the planet-walkers topsy-turvy … Continue reading

April 27, 2016

The Spider Tapestries, by Mike Allen

The azure star spider injects ink when it bites, an umber venom that paints the veins if the skin has paled enough, that steeps the brain in a fire of … Continue reading

January 20, 2016

Gallery, by Mathew Scaletta

Hi. Alright, so… Three loves. Three and only three, got it? Well, maybe four, if I count myself, but I suppose I wouldn’t be standing here, talking to you, about … Continue reading

January 20, 2016

Song of the Krakenmaid, by JY Yang

The krakenmaid invaded Fennel’s dreams unasked. Deep in the treacherous REM landscape she appeared, sliding through her vast seawater tank, short silver hair waving like anemone fronds. Fennel watched the … Continue reading

January 20, 2016

I Am Winter, by Robin Wyatt Dunn

I am winter’s coil, or anyway am set beneath it as I walk down Hunter’s Alley into the deep of Monrovia. I am a hunter too, so the name is … Continue reading

January 20, 2016

Pillow-Talk of the Late Oneirocalypse, by Vajra Chandrasekera

—not how it started nor how it ended, but somewhere in the middle of the first week, I must have opened the door in my dreams and gone through it … Continue reading

January 20, 2016

The Skinner of the Sky, by M. Bennardo

Scrape— Scrape— Lessig suddenly paled, the thick red wine swirling in the bowl of his goblet as his eyes darted to the open window, his ears vibrating horribly in the … Continue reading

July 29, 2015