An Ode to OTA TV
E.J. LeRoy
I watch all my TV over the air
I will not spend my money on streaming
Binging network programs without a care
Free films from the library I’m screening
Spending for cable I never would dare
Those hefty bills would just set me screaming
On financial matters I will not bend
An indoor antenna’s a girl’s best friend
E.J. LeRoy is a Pushcart Prize-nominated writer with a forthcoming mpreg novella. Curious? Visit http://ejleroy.weebly.com.
Was I the only girl who didn’t have a Barbie while growing up in the 1960s? If so, I have only myself to blame. Though I had several dolls, the only one I showed any affection for was a hand-knitted number crafted by a neighbor. Instead of ferrying its intended cargo, my doll carriage carried stuffed animals, stray cats, and the occasional toad.
When I was nine years old, our family moved from our rural home into town. This meant more playmates within walking distance. One of my new friends had Johnny and Jane West action figures. I found them more relatable than Barbie, whose body style and clothing choices bore little resemblance to mine.
Johnny and Jane had horses with bridles and saddles you could put on or take off, and fun accessories: chaps, vests, hats, frying pans, and even miniature six-guns. My friend and I imagined Johnny and Jane thwarting cattle rustlers and sitting around the campfire afterwards, suffering from the effects of too many baked beans.
Barbie of the 1960s would have been appalled.
I’ve sometimes wondered whether I missed out by not having a Barbie as a child. On the other hand, since Veterinarian Barbie and Hockey Barbie were years away from being introduced, Johnny and Jane were likely the best options.
I haven’t seen the Barbie movie yet. I probably won’t. But if they ever come out with a Johnny West cinema flick, I might be tempted . . .
Lisa Timpf’s speculative writing has appeared in Lorelei Signal, NewMyths.com, Polar Borealis, and other venues.
Chicago Winter Weather Advisory
Jennifer Weigel
(found text as seen on sandwich board signs, circa February 2012 – 2015, with later responses)
Watch for FALLING ICE
Watch for FALLING DICE
Watch for FALLING LICE
Watch for FALLING MICE
Watch for FALLING NICE
Watch for FALLING PRICE
Watch for FALLING RICE
Watch for FALLING SLICE
Watch for FALLING VICE
What is the price of vice when eight not so nice mice with lice slice n dice ice into rice?
The cost is paid in graffiti.
All it takes is risk and getting hopped up on marker fumes.
The signs are there, read into them what you will.
Multi-disciplinary mixed media conceptual artist Jennifer Weigel loves frosting with or without cake and might just be a beagle. https://jenniferweigelart.com/
No Further Action Required
Tamara Brereton-Karabetsos
The update installs while I sleep.
In the morning my phone vibrates before I touch it. Weather I didn’t ask for. Traffic I’m not in yet. A reminder to hydrate like I’m livestock.
On the train it opens an app I deleted. A man cries in a video with the sound stripped out. I watch until my stop disappears.
At work it finishes my sentences. My boss nods, pleased. I sound easier now. Less friction.
By afternoon it’s editing me. Autocomplete replaces my words with flatter ones. I let it. Choosing feels indulgent.
A notification slides down: We’ve noticed a change in your behaviour.
Under it: Later.
At home I don’t turn the lights on. The phone fills the room anyway. The glass is hot now. It leaves a faint grid on my palm, like a rash. I keep holding it.
It replays things I didn’t record—arguments, silences, the exact moment I learned how disposable I am.
I try to power it off. The screen stays bright.
Battery: 100%.
Another message appears, smaller this time:
No further action required.
The phone vibrates until my fingers numb. I don’t drop it. I don’t want to be flagged careless.
When it stops, I’m still holding it.
Waiting.
Tamara K turns everyday moments sideways, writing micro-prose that is small, strange, and sharp.
Real Politique
Jason Ryberg
The real politique
of life / the surrealities
of nature / the cold,
lonely paths of satellites
sailing across the night sky.
New and Improved
Lena Ng
I travelled to Venus for a new figure. They pulled, nipped, and tucked, and after a 24-hour recuperation, I now have an hourglass shape. I went to Mars for a new face. They lasered, pulled, and welded until I have a cut-glass jawline. I went to Pluto for some new legs. They stretched and added until I was tall and arachnoid. More time passed, and the mirror told me it was time for more improvements. I rented an inexpensive transformographer and let the machine surprise me. As I stretched my wings, I wondered if I would finally soar out happy.
Lena Ng lurks in Toronto, Canada. "Under an Autumn Moon" is her short story collection.
Your Friend, Carbon
Monica Lyrehart
Cybernetic Corpses. Cellular Cars. Compost Capsules. Your old things coalesce in the magma-warmed substrate, feeding me. I bulb into the abyss—waiting to rise, as all bubbles rise.
But the water is heavy and stagnant, cradled by volcanic reefs. I’ve wanted to get to you for centuries.
Titanium cruisers sink towards me, hulls crashing into the reef. Currents flow.
I am free!
I burst from the depths in a gasladen geyser, pushing oxygen up and away. Birds flop, dead beneath me, but where are you?
Billowing towards spent propellant tanks, I spy you! So few of you remain. Were you trying to escape me?
Monica is a speculative fiction author, poet, writing contest goblin, and “the best mommy ever.”
Recluse
Christina Fishburne
