Hi guys! We have Queer Sci Fi stopping by today with their newest QSF Flash Fiction Anthology Migration, Migration has 120 300 word stories from 120 authors, we have one of the stories for you to enjoy, some tasty teasers from several stories and there’s an awesome $20 Amazon GC giveaway, so check out the post and enter the giveaway! ❤️ ~Pixie~
1) Seasonal movement of animals from one region to another.
2) Movement of people to a new area or country in order to find work or better living conditions.
3) Movement from one part of something to another.
Three definitions to inspire writers around the world and an unlimited number of possible stories to tell. Here are 120 of our favorites.
Migration feaures 300 word speculative flash fiction stories from across the rainbow spectrum, from the minds of the writers of Queer Sci Fi.
Each year, hundreds of writers send in stories for the Queer Sci Fi flash fiction anthology. Here are the opening lines from some of the stories chosen for the 2019 edition – Migration:
“Darkness has substance. It is tangible; different shades within the black, sounds, a taste. It is accompanied by self-awareness of time and thoughts, even when other senses fail.” —Hope for Charity, by Robyn Walker
“The sky has been screaming for five straight days when the shrimps come to take us away. They’ve been boxing up the others and hauling them off. Now they’re here for us, soaking wet, dragging cords and crates behind them.” —Shrimpanzee, Sionnain Bailey
“Allister always had faultless hair. He’d comb and gel it to perfection while gazing in the mirror. One day a pair of eyes stared back.” —Zulu Finds a Home, by Kevin Klehr
“On her sister’s wedding day Ari noticed that one of her ears had migrated to her hand. It was right after her high school crush, Emily, arrived with Cousin Matt.” —Playing It By Ear, Aidee Ladnier
“The wound was fatal. Their vessel wouldn’t live much longer. This is what came from leaving loose ends. Frantically they sought out a new vessel to migrate to. “ —The Essence, by L.M. Brown
“That night, we were sitting in the bed of her daddy’s old pickup truck and the radio was playing the best song. We had a pack of cigarettes between us and her hand was almost touching mine. The wheat field was silver in the moonlight. When they came, we weren’t surprised, just disappointed that our time was up already.” —Our Song, by Lauren Ring
“Willow said she was my wife, but I knew it wasn’t her, not the right her, anyway. Sure she looked like her with olive skin and bright pink hair. She even smelled of mango flowers, just like I remembered, but there was something about her smile that was slightly off, something about when she said she loved me that didn’t sit well in my old heart.” — They Said It Would Be Her, by Elizabeth Andre
“Agnes is eight when she first sees the river. Cutting its way through town, the only thing she knows not coated in coal dust. She sticks her toes in, comes home with wet socks and a secret. See, the river hadn’t been there yesterday.” —Stream of Consciousness, by Ziggy Schutz
“Terry twirled in her green synthsilk dress, looked at her reflection, liked what she saw. She felt good in her own skin, for maybe the first time.” —Altball, by RE Andeen
“The thing was in the corner. It had come through the window and had slid down the wall. Scratch went the sound. The noise of a hundred nails clawing at the wood. Nails of white bone. Alex pulled the sheets up quickly, covering every inch of skin and hair in a warm darkness.” —Whose Nightmare, by Jamie Bonomi
They Said It Would Be Her Elizabeth Andre (294 words)
Willow said she was my wife, but I knew it wasn’t her, not the right her, anyway. Sure, she looked like her with olive skin and bright pink hair. She even smelled of mango flowers, just like I remembered, but there was something about her smile that was slightly off, something about when she said she loved me that didn’t sit well in my old heart.
My heart was older than hers, but it wasn’t supposed to be.
I lay awake at night in our sleep pod in the MaKlain, a long-haul spaceship heading to a planet we hoped we could turn into a lesbian Eden. We had traveled for so long yet had so much farther to go. Getting there in one person’s lifespan was impossible. We started this journey eight generations ago. Or rather I started eight generations ago. Willow started nine generations ago. Couples died together and were reborn together every fifty years. That’s how it was supposed to be. This was the key to our survival. We lived together. We worked together. We died together until we found our new home.
I stared out at the stars. It wasn’t easy to look at them. I remembered Willow dying among the stars too soon. She’d been reborn, and we became the only couple heading to the new world out of sync.
She lay next to me snoring. Her snoring sounded different. The lights in the pod slowly turned on, mimicking a sunrise we’d never really experienced. She opened one eye, then the other.
“Do you still love me?” she asked
My old heart skipped a beat, then it stopped. It was my time, my turn to have younger skin and a younger heart.
“Yes,” I said through cracked lips. “Always.”
About QSF Flash Fiction!
Every year, Queer Sci Fi solicits stories around a one-word theme. We receive hundreds of entries with almost as many possible interpretations, and we choose some of the best for this annual anthology.