Author: translunartravelerslounge

The four of them clustered in a round booth at a midnight diner. Danae stirred her steaming, black-as-pitch coffee with a long, manicured fingernail.

On the outside, there was no indication that the warehouse down the street from my apartment stocked its shelves with books from parallel universes.

Hell was a hospital waiting room.  Ash’s mother gave their hand a squeeze. When they looked out of the corner of their eye to see her face, she gave them a tight-lipped smile.

One day, after several million turnings of the universe, the Afterlife’s Glorious Hospitality Crew’s traditional millenia-end satisfaction survey revealed disturbing news: they were considered rather anachronistic when greeting newcomers.

I was leaning against my desk in the Mars Dome cop shop, rubbing nano-repair gel on my prosthetic leg, when I caught the rookie staring at me. Or rather, staring at my leg.

Bright, pale blue light dimmed over M-360’s head as she sat in a steel pew of the church. Around her, everyone else in her neighborhood sat in wait for the sermon.

Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap… Chakra wanted to cover his ears, but that meant letting go of the paper in his hands. He had to keep reading so the tapping wouldn’t madden him

June’s missing and no one seems to care. No police report, no missing persons search, nothing. It’s been three months and her school should have sent a letter: a call, even. Mama and Baba haven’t noticed either. No one seems even curious why June hasn’t called, emailed, or even sent a letter. No one seems to know she’s missing except me.

The autopsy report confirmed Josh had died in his room on Christmas, all alone, of natural causes, and never having left his last breath. No, he held that one. A little too long. And, in the end, he decided to hide it for someone special in a place where it’d keep glowing, even in his… Continue reading Through the Merry-Go-Round, by Abhishek Sengupta

The scalpel made a clean, quick cut, dashing a bloody arc across the tiled floor. Its victim clutched at her throat, choking, spinning a half circle before collapsing, gurgling bloody bubbles. The killer smiled gloomily, raising the scalpel to his mouth to touch the tip with his tongue. “Never thought you’d have this pay—I mean… Continue reading Behind the Scenes, by Anya Ow