In the dream, within her dreamworld, I tried to see how far into Victoria’s past I see. And it was what wasn’t there that stood out. There were memories, and more memories of Victoria’s than I could ever remember exploring before. I could actually follow my Victoria back a bit further now in her mind, before I could remember ever having dreamed of being Victoria, though not all the way back to when I first invented Nancy before we had even started school. But this Victoria, the one who I grew up being in dreams, was not, no way, no how, the same as alt-Victoria that I brought into the world the other day. Even if she had some of the same personality traits, it was clear that she followed a different path.

Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Morgan said just above a whisper, her voice cracking as she leapt to her feet and sprinted for the door.

I awoke, in bed, on Thursday, July 27, as Victoria, beside and intimate with what I expected would be Jody’s body. But when I tried to get Jody up, I couldn’t feel him at all in my mind. There was only Victoria. When I looked at the body in the bed beside me, I saw he was blond. Who was he? I roused my bedmate and got a better look at him.

Ladies and... gentlewomen? Anyway.... HERE WE GO AGAIN. It's a new story. I've been developing this for about 2 months. It's set in the same town as my last novel, Mud Creek. But in in 1994. The characters in this story are 20 something geeks, gamers, outcasts, wannabe satanic warlocks, and witches. It will be somewhat darker and grittier then Mud Creek. As usual consider this a preview, warts and all. I'm using a rotating 3rd person POV.

The annual planning folders are on my desk when I arrive - Dave's doing, the account list already pulled, the prior year actuals flagged for comparison. October means the revenue forecast, account by account, the coming year projected against the current year's performance. I open the first folder and start working.

The loose shirt manages the morning. Not perfectly - when I lean forward to pull a folder from the stack the fabric shifts slightly - but nothing that evident. The jacket stays on the chair.

In the dream, I was there with Mona, and I went straight to the point.

“What I’d like, if you can do it, is a portal between my home in Alaska and my dream-home in the world Nancy lives in. My home is two doors down from hers. Um, no, I shouldn’t call it a portal because of the Portal People. Let’s say a doorway.”

October. The light through the bedroom window is different from the summer light - lower, more amber, the trees along the street turning. I've been watching this from this window for six years. First autumn in this body.

I sit in the Target parking lot for four minutes before I go in.

The calculation happens here, in the car, engine off. I'm going to walk into the store and go to the women's section and stand in front of a wall of sports bras and buy one. More than one, ideally. I know what I'm looking for in general terms. I don't know my chest measurement. I know I take a large men's shirt. I don't know if that translates to anything in the women's activewear section of a Target.

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Nancy revealed the surprising fact that she remembered her time at home alone the days she wasn’t here the last week, though she didn’t remember any such time before that. Specifically, she remembered starting her period on Monday. Until now, she hadn’t remembered any specific event from any time I wasn’t dreaming about her, though it seemed like she implicitly knew some things that she should have known if she grew up at the same time as and down the street from me, even if her house was at an imaginary address on my street.

The pool is busier at seven than it would have been in the afternoon - the family rush, kids in from a day of sightseeing, a few couples, a group of men at the far end who've brought drinks from the bar. The air thick with chlorine and sunscreen and the noise of an enclosed pool space, shrieks bouncing off the tile.

I'm in the trunks I've owned for years. They fit differently now - the waistband sitting on hips that have moved, the fabric pulling across the seat, the legs gapping at the inner thighs where the crotch expects geometry that's no longer there.

The character in my dreams was not as common as Nancy or Victoria, but I was still quite familiar with her. Mona was a witch, a sorceress, whatever. A woman who did magic using a magic wand.

Subject: Welcome to Your Future, Lewis Chambers.
FROM: Clarity Academy Administration (No-Reply)
TO: L.Chambers_Scholar2026@ClarityPrep.edu

Welcome to the Spectrum of Excellence!

Congratulations, Lewis; your academic record and psychological aptitude scores have placed you in the top 2% of your cohort! At Clarity Academy, we don't just educate; we refine.

Your Digital Onboarding is Complete:

The Student-Link ID: Your Student-Link ID is your passport to the future! This ID is tied directly to your phone and your choice of wearable (Watch, Ring, or Athletic Shoe Tag) and grants you access to authorized student areas as well as cashless payment at the Student Union and Cafeteria. Ensure that your parents have thoroughly read the school’s Privacy Policy—in short we will never sell your data or spy on you! This closed loop NFC system is strictly for your convenience!

The Precision Wardrobe: Your "Scholar-Standard" attire has been sized based on your submitted scans. Remember: A clear mind begins with a clean silhouette!

Focus. Precision. Perfection: Clarity.

Where the Sunflowers Grow
By
Rebecca Anna Coleman

-10-
The First Phone Call Home

I decided not to venture into the “Eden Cafe” from the outside looking in. I could see two dozen white men in greasy overalls gathering around a few broken down tables. No doubt they were holding a fellowship breakfast for the local branch of the Ku Klux Klan. And by no means did I want to be the guest speaker or be invited to semi-weekly cross burning. I'll take my chances somewhere else.

Acidalia XXVI

By Amanda D.

Friday oct 9th

The Sisters compound 10:52amPDT:

“AAAAIIIEEEEEEEE…….”

Robi turned quickly in the direction of the sound as the unexpected scream pierced the ever-present noise of the infirmary.

“What the fuck was that?” Warren called from a couple rows away as he looked up from the patient he was attending.

I wake before Emily. Grey light, the room quiet. I lie there for a moment and take stock - the lower back ache that's been there for five days is gone. Not reduced, gone. The heaviness behind the sternum still faintly there but lighter, beginning to clear. Something has shifted overnight.

I get up and go to the bathroom.

The next day comes with a heaviness I don't recognize at first - not the cramping, which has mostly eased, but something underneath it. Behind the sternum. In the legs when I stand. I eat breakfast and drink coffee and it doesn't lift the way tiredness lifts with caffeine. Just sits there, systemic, the whole body running slightly below its usual output.

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