Archive for Rated R

PodCastle 494: Folk


Folk

By Eden Royce

In a place beyond far, my braids are woven into the sweetgrass basket encasing me and I am surrounded by the scent of the ocean and its dead. A crack of light breaches my intricate prison and I shift, twist only a fraction, to take advantage of its brightness — there is no warmth from it.

I look at the pads of my fingertips. The flesh, bloodless, has been stripped away, and instead of muscle and meat, there is a network of twisting reeds, coiled, wound tightly into green-brown curlicues. Three of them in a staggered pattern like stepping stones in a garden. I touch my fingertips to my face and feel the prickly scrape of dried palmetto leaves.

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PodCastle 491: Bullets


Bullets

by Joanne Anderton

It had once been a sheep, and it wasn’t dead yet. A mangle of smouldering wool, scorched skin, and cooked meat, breathing in puffs of hot ash. Outrun by flames, tangled in underbrush, or crushed beneath a falling tree, who could tell? Everything was charcoal now.

I pull the mask from my nose and mouth and breathe the warm smoke in. Load the rifle, aim between what’s left of the poor thing’s ear and eye, and give it peace with the slow squeeze of the trigger. Try to ignore the shakes, the tears stinging my eyes. I’m soaked in sweat and covered in ash, but supposed to be grateful that I’m still alive. At this point, it’s hard to even give a shit that the house is still standing.

Thank god, mum. We thought you were a gorner this time.

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PodCastle 483: Thirteen Bullets

Show Notes

Rated R for adult themes


Thirteen Bullets

by Laurence Raphael Brothers

The stagecoach lurches to a halt in a clearing beside the road. Four wild-eyed black geldings rear up and whinny as the top-hatted stage driver cracks a whip over their heads.

“Nous sommes ici,” says the driver. “Cimetière. La fin de la ligne!”

The coach door slams open and the No-Good Kid clambers out, bleary-eyed, cursing, unsteady on his feet. His blond hair is tousled and mussed. He had to leave Albuquerque without his hat but it’s obvious what color it was because all the rest of his gear is white. Or it used to be white. Now it’s dingy with the dust of the journey. Not the best choice for hard travelling, but then he didn’t have much time to pack. His luggage consists mainly of card decks and empty whiskey bottles.

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PodCastle 481: What the Fires Burn

Show Notes

Rated R


What the Fires Burn

by A. Merc Rustad

It’s near dusk when VanDrake Tage Rannheim trudges into the city to meet a friend. He sticks to the lee of buildings, smog and shadow wrapping his coat. Don’t like a lot of attention. Can’t help it, mostly, but he keeps his greatcoat pulled closed to conceal weapons. Ain’t wiped the mud off the back sigil, either.

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