Call of the Canijo
A Short Western Story
By Maryanne Peters

The bullet had entered his chest and pierced his lung. Captain Glenn Kilbourne had been told that he was one of the last Union officers to fall in the Civil War. It was April 1865, and it seemed a cruel thing to be told that his survival would be a miracle, but he fought hard to heal himself. The surgeon was skillful but told him that recovery would take a long time, and a New York damp fall and cold winter were now his enemies.

Chapter 20 October 20th 2025

Whit pulled up behind an ambulance. There was a loud quiet inside the Emergency Room at Mud Creek’s small hospital. Whit and Lucy helped Grace limp up the counter. Heads turned, Grace had a bloody towel against the side of her head, her big pink Hello Kitty sweatshirt was stained with blood, and her pink tights and short skirt looked out of place in the blue green fluorescent lights.

The woman at the desk didn’t react outwardly. She glanced up once, took it all in, and stood immediately.

“Head injury?” she asked.

Part Two

Slowly, it obeyed. Malak flew overhead for a bit, watching to make sure it actually left. Once certain it would maintain its course away from the beach at least for a while, he turned his attentions to the other monsters. Most of them were by now already ashore. Though they lumbered, they still made progress on the land.

When the government decides to erase Kate Thomas in 24 hours, fate had other ideas.

The elevator opens and I step into the office. My shoes squeak against the linoleum, too loose, and my hips move with each step in a rhythm I'm not choosing. The receptionist gives me her usual nod.

Private Beach, Virginia Beach, Va.:
Alice, Casey, and the rest of her designers along with an expert photographer and her support crew were taking photographs of Jessie, Daisy, Tessa, Lucas, and Nagisa in the new swimsuits they had designed for them and were marketing. The girl’s nipples were poking against the material because of the chilly breeze blowing off the ocean.

“I thought you said it was going to be warm?” Jessie looks towards Alice when she says that.

Chapter 55: New Balance in Life

The rest of the week in the cabin passed like a quiet dream. Each day began with the gentle crackle of the fire and the smell of pine drifting in from the woods. Yuqi would wake to the sound of her parents humming softly in the kitchen, the sun filtered through frost-laced windows, casting golden patterns on the worn wooden floor. Outside, icicles glittered from the porch roof, and the snow piled so high that it muffled even the sound of footsteps.

Chapter 5: The House of Her Goddess

The temple did not rise in a single moment.

After flubbing a powerful incantation, meant to give newly coronated Demon Queens the wisdom of their ancestors, Devilla Satanne awakens to memories of her past life as Jacob Divington, a human from Earth. Having gained a new perspective on life, she quickly comes to a rather horrifying conclusion: she's been a complete and utter brat! No wonder everyone hates her!

And then there's the fact that she's apparently been reincarnated as the villainess of Tower Conquest, a lesbian porn game with a surprisingly intricate plot. One in which the Heroine conquers Dimona Tower, turning Devilla's people against her in the process. In victory, the Heroine brings about a glorious age of peace between demons and humans for the first time in millennia. ...Which actually sounds pretty good for her people, come to think of it. Devilla knows her terrible behavior is beyond forgiveness, but maybe she can still make up for her past mistakes? She just needs to make sure the events of the game unfold correctly. Though there is one little detail she'd like to change - the part where Devilla herself is killed or enslaved!

The series cover was commissioned from https://twitter.com/HaizeUqei

Angel of Peace
by
Rodford Edmiston

Part One

The anniversary celebration of the D-Day landings on the Normandy coast of France was a big annual event. Especially this year, the 80th, largely because it was obvious that this was likely the last such celebration which many of the regular attendees among those who had been active participants in that invasion would be physically present for. Or present at all.

However, that limit did not apply to all those who had been on Normandy's beaches that day.

The first thing is the seat.

Not pain — just wrongness, a soft pressure where there shouldn't be softness, the wooden chair coming up against sensitive and unfamiliar flesh, flesh that registers the hardness of the wood with a directness that makes you shift immediately, instinctively, your weight rolling forward onto your thighs. Better. Marginally. The underwear is wrong too — something silky, something that rides and gathers in ways that underwear shouldn't, the fabric light against skin that is reporting every thread of it.

You look at the table.