june-2026

Tell me—where do you go when you dream?

Is it crowded and chaotic? Or maybe quiet and generic?

I could never quite put words to my dreams’ settings for most of my life. Then my wife died. After that I guess it became her Life’s (Death’s?) Mission to be my ultimate Dreamscape Tour Guide.

Once vague, nebulous settings transformed before my eyes—a vast myriad of colors, sights, and sounds saturating the expanse with a strange, other-worldly beauty I had never conceived. Bustling metropolises, cozy villages, rolling hills stretching out for miles—this place was truly alive, more ‘real’ than real life.

Her favorites were the antique shops, filled with intricate and infinite maximalist delights. She’d take me by the hand and, together– we’d glide through those endless waves of strange shelving and narrow pathways in search of incomprehensible treasures.

In an instant—a small, unassuming jar managed to catch her eye. As she reached for it, my flesh shiveredand stiffened.

“Don’t touch that.” I barked out. She laughed.

“You don’t own me!”

A lump formed in my throat.

We watched in horror as the jar slipped from her hand and danced through the air—spinning and spiraling until shattering on the floor beneath us.

A black puff of smoke rose from the shards, instantly swelling into a massive storm cloud.

She fell as the cloud enveloped her, becoming as hollow and cold as the day we buried her.

“You break it, you bought it my friend,” the shopkeep called. “That Nightmare is yours.”

Sy Power is a non-binary writer of speculative fiction, focusing on the surreal and absurd.

He had followed his four brothers into their wasteland in search of survivors. Before him and his steed lay empty streets and silence.

The world was now dark and still, save for the flickering pinprick of hope that dotted the horizon; a sign of lingering humanity. He tugged his steed's reins and marched onward. How he longed to extinguish that light with the bleak winds he brought forth.

And yet, there was no need to make haste; the work of his brothers continued to diminish the survivors as he drew near, for their hearts already knew his name was

Despair.

Sam Lesek believes that drabbles deserve more love. Find her @samlesek.bsky.social

“I seen a Martian at Walmart,” Herschel says, walking into the farmhouse kitchen.

Marsha don’t stop snapping beans. “Ain’t no Martians,” she says. “You been drinking.”

This isn’t a question.

Herschel remembers the spaceman’s knowing green eyes, three glowing orbs reading his thoughts like the Sunday paper. He goes back to the bedroom, gets his gun like the alien told him to do.

“What you doing, you damn foo–?”

Marsha head disintegrates mid-thought.

Herschel hadn’t pulled the trigger, didn’t need to. His mind did all the dirty work.

Back to Walmart to see if the spaceship part was true, too.

Moira writes weird stories and pretends to be a rat on the internet. @moirariom.bsky.social www.ohmoira.com

"You offer mere liquid as tribute to your conquerors?" The alien's lamprey mouth pulsated disdainfully at the carafe.

"This is Earth's most treasured beverage," Dr. Manjhi replied.

"Ha! A species that surrenders via doctor - a researcher! - would overindulge in liquids. No warrior's vigor."

But the research of Dr. Manjhi, allergist, might yet save Earth.

"Coffee's bitterness brings vigor," She said, like she knew. She never drank coffee; allergies.

The warlord sucked down lamprey sips.

His tentacles shuddered and coiled.

"What causes this? Poison?" The warlord spluttered.

He choked. He wheezed. He asphyxiated.

"It's the tannins," Dr. Manjhi murmured.

Gabrielle Bleu writes luminous science fiction and fantasy. Find more of Bleu's work at gabriellebleu.com.

I was so beautiful, once. I'd glistened, dripping lazily off the leaves of exotic plants. 

Now, they tear down the rainforests. 

I'd sparkled in the sunlight, frozen in the Antarctic.

But their fossil fuels are melting the glaciers.

I'd provided them ample food and drink within my pristine rivers and oceans.

And yet, they throw their garbage in me.

I should be appreciated. Protected.

I'm the key to life.

Instead, the humans just waste me, poison me. Neglect me.

But no more.

I'll teach them all a lesson. Let’s see how they fare when I retreat deep into the earth where they can’t reach me.

I’ll destroy them, they way they tried to destroy me.

Then, the Earth can begin anew.

Katie Dee is a lover of microfiction from Nashville, Tennessee.