“Girl in Blue Dress (1881)” by Sunil Patel.
Read by Khaalidah Muhammad-Ali.

First appeared in Fantastic Stories of the Imagination.

Her dress is composed of blues from ultramarine to cerulean, a cascade of hues resolving into one. She stands askew, her expression unreadable, her mouth a blur. The colors in her dress have not faded but her name has. He asked for it, once, but he did not write it down.

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“Mirabilis” by  Shannon Peavey.
Read by Jen R. Albert.

A PodCastle original!

No one’s really seen a girl turn to glass. It’s one of those things journalists make up when they’re bored, like the knockout game or the Russian heroin that rots your skin. They show these pictures of sick-pretty starving girls on the evening news, girls with slatted ribs and fierce eyes, and my mama clicks her tongue and I change the channel.

Meanwhile, Zola eats none of her peas.

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“Portrait of My Wife as a Boat” by Samantha Murray
Read by Graeme Dunlop.

First appeared in Flash Fiction Online.

She smells of linseed, of citrus, the oil that she rubs into all of the little tiny cracks in her face. When she leaves she kisses me and I taste the sea.

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The Gold Silkworm

by Tony Pi

When I first became keeper of the Spirit of Grass, she and I made a pact to never turn away one in need, whether they be rich or poor. Madame Ke was one of the rich.

She had heard of my skills in medicine from her sister, and asked if I would come to the Garden of Timely Rains. I accepted the invitation and arrived in the early afternoon, when the high sun gave glow to the garden pond and terraces. A servant escorted me to the Pavilion for Tasting Autumn Pears where a woman in her thirties awaited me.

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The Bee Tamer’s Final Performance

by Aidan Doyle

After my attempt to escape the circus fleet fails, the clowns imprison me in the hold of the asylum ship, along with the other performers who believe they aren’t real.

My legs are shackled, and I sit next to a slug juggler and a fortune caller. The slug juggler’s hands move in an unceasing blur as he keeps half a dozen painted sea slugs spinning in a swirl of impossible reds and midnight sea blues.

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Giants at the End of the World

by Leena Likitalo

It was the last caravan of the giant season. Though the United Company had already started to build the railroad toward the End of the World, the path of iron and wood reached only as far as Halvington. Unlike the other drivers, I realized that the era of salt wagons was coming to an end.

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James and Peter, Fishing

by Anaea Lay

James’s boots clanked against the dock planks as he strode out over the water. It was a quiet morning, the sun just breaking over the horizon, the water lapping gently against the dock supports. The loudest noises were the creaks of his ship shifting slightly in the gentle breeze. James took a deep breath, smelling salt and fish, and reminded himself that this was another morning in hell.

He settled down on the end of the dock, his tackle box to one side, his pail to the other. His prosthetic glinted in the morning light as he readied his fishing rod and selected his favorite lure. As he cast off, he spotted Peter at the horizon, late as usual.

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