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Rennact

Journal entry 31 Aug 2126

I hate Fifth Sundays. Especially when I'm in charge. The Rennact went well, despite Bro. Tellic being an emotional mess. This is his third pregnancy and you would think he would be used to it, but I found him weeping in the baptismal font like a silly baby. He was curled up on the tiles watching bcasts to his visual cortex of his last birth. I talked him into joining us and finally he did, but I wish his wife would keep a better eye on him. We all know what he's like when he forgets his Natalex®.

Science fiction
Short (1001 to 7,500 words)

Rational Man

He was a dream of philosophers ancient and new, the stuff of robot apocalypses and zombie fantasies, driven not by Need or Desire, by Hope or Despair, but by stark Causation and inevitable Outcome. 

Apocalyptic
Horror
Magic realism
Scriptural
Weird
Flash (1 to 1,000 words)

Auld Lang Syne

There was this girl and, oh, what a girl! I don’t mean that in any whoa-babe-any-man-would-be-glad-to-have-you-in-his-blanket sense of the term. I mean I liked her a lot for who she was and who she was turning out to be, and I would have been glad to hitch my horse to the same wagon and cross any prairie you chose with the gal—warts, babies, dust and all.

Science fiction
Short (1001 to 7,500 words)

The Perils of Mantis

Mantis was helpless, though he gnashed his mandibles and lashed his baggy sleeves. The thunder godling plucked him like an unguarded aphid and swallowed him into an airless belly ripe with twisted light.

 

"Daddy," said the nine-year-old, "today I caught a mantis. They're very rare. I put it in a tin with some leaves and a weevil, but it hasn't eaten yet."

"Hmm," said the father.

The sky sieved a torrent, drip by drip.

"Let's go downstairs to the parking lot and get umbrellas, then we'll go on to the school."

 

Magic realism
Flash (1 to 1,000 words)

The Street Child Protection Agency

Loosh was of age and he wanted a divorce. When his parents asked why, he said, “I don’t have to tell you, but I will.” When he’d told them, his mother said, “Are you sure about this, dear?” and his father said, “You ungrateful little—!”

When the conversation was over, Loosh called his lawyer, who arranged lodging for the night and set aside half an hour to meet with him the next day.

“That boarding house stinks!” Loosh commented when admitted to his lawyer’s cubicle the next morning.

Dystopian
Science fiction
Short (1001 to 7,500 words)

Toward a Mormon Speculative Fiction e-Collective, Part I: The Charlatans of God

In the first of three guest posts (on Dawning of a Brighter Day) leading up to the launch of a proposed website dedicated to displaying and developing talent in Mormon speculative fiction, project instigator Mark Penny waxes poetic over the role of speculative fiction writer as disciple of Christ in the community of Zion. To participate in a discussion of the project, click here.

About LS Magazines

Lowly Seraphim e-Zine

Someday, people will want a regular digest of the higher quality fiction and poetry on Lowly Seraphim. When that day comes, we'll be ready.

Someday, people will be willing to pay for such a digest. We'll be ready for that, too.

 

Lowly Seraphim Fanzine

Someday, people will want a regular digest of the higher quality fan posts on Lowly Seraphim. When that day comes, we'll be ready.

Someday, people will be willing to pay for such a digest. We'll be ready for that, too.

There Shall Be Time No More

They did not so much waken as find themselves to be. They remembered. A ship. A journey to a star. The quiet sleep, tended by machines. Were they still dreaming? But it had been no sleep of dreams. When they closed their eyes, they were five, each separate in a bed of ice, watched separately by a brain of dancing light: heartbeats and breathing—distinct, joined only in purpose, not in mind.

Assab had quarreled with Whitaker. Stratova had lusted after Hung. Kaku had brooded by himself, one of them, but apart, never open to their hearts.

Science fiction
Short (1001 to 7,500 words)

A Saving Vision of the Night

Praise God, whose is the might. If any should read this, be it known, when I returned from evening prayer, the last of my life, I found a man standing in my room. His skin was blackened and he smelled of smoke, but when I looked closely I could see his face and stature were my own. Upon his chest he wore a flaming sword.

Dystopian
Paranormal
Science fiction
Supernatural
Short (1001 to 7,500 words)

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