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“Love, Resurrected,” by Cat Rambo
This half-life dragged at her. She felt weary all the time, a chilled-bone sluggishness of motion that belied the quickness of her thoughts. It was not painful to breathe, but it was tiring, and she began to eschew it when alone and unworried about frightening the living.
“Playing for Amarante,” by A.B. Treadwell
Only as the song nears its end do I risk a glance at my audience. I see a movement behind Dr. Mesmer’s head. For a moment I think it is a trick of the doubled mirrors, that I’ve caught a glimpse of myself reflected from the other room. But reflections do not wear strange clothes. The man stands in the back of the room. His eyes are closed, and his jacket is torn. His head is bleeding.
“Breathing Sunshine,” by Garth Upshaw, from BCS #64
“You’re one of the lucky ones. We could put a mask on you, keep the particles out for a few days. You’d turn back into what you were before.” I moved closer to the fort and took another reading. The needle hovered over yellow. My tongue felt as dry as sand.
“In Memoriam,” by Alys Sterling, from BCS #38
I felt it, or rather Gaumont’s body did, and with such force that it took me a moment to throw it off, a sudden desperation not to see what lay beneath that heavy drape of fabric. Yet I watched eagerly as the hands drew back the folds of grey material to reveal a granitic face, human in form, but so frozen that its wrinkles might have been carved from stone.