Category: issue 8

These strange and wondrous events took place in ancient times, long ago, when the stars went rogue and the Caliphate was almost torn apart from the Oxus to the Nile.

Good morning! Rise and Shine! Good morning! Welcome the new day, my most enthusiastic students! Good morning, Belinda. Yes, I know that is a phrase Mr. Collins says in the mornings. Enthusiastic means you are excited about learning. He is not here this morning, so I thought I would say it for him. Gather up your sleeping mat and get dressed, please. Thank you.

“Papa,” the little girl asked him, “why is the ocean sideways?”

The shop only appears at midnight, when the curfew begins and the day ends. The streets are empty, save for the imperial soldiers. None of them approach the shop. Anyone in uniform gets turned away. Not by the shopkeeper, for it has none. That’s right. The shop has no keeper. As if by itself, every night it appears.

Holy tits, Brisdor, you are heavier than I could ever have imagined. I always thought of you as my scrawny little sister, but

The meeting was held in one of the bomb shelters left over from the water wars.

You begin this dream in the middle, as always, knowing that the merchant is named Nihtcargast and sells nightmares. He runs a claw through the porcupine-like quills on the top of his head. “Nightmares are burnt soft-boiled eggs, you see.”

It doesn’t exist. Not the Codex; of course it exists. Why else would I be floating over your head? I mean the perfect relationship. Even a perfect relationship is inherently flawed. You ask me why? Because humans are just that way. Give them everything on a platter and they begin to… well, abuse its value.

Some advice I’ve never heeded: whatever you do, whatever you do, avoid your mysterious neighbour and his glamorous parties. Here’s a better suggestion: he’s had all the advantages you didn’t, so go for it. See how the other 0.0000005% of the other half live.

The last Historian slips from between the pages of reality—a professional smile on their lips, one limb outstretched in welcome. “Hi,” they say, “I’m the Visiting Historian, here for the acquisition of the offered narrative. Could you please confirm your ticket…?”