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    The Dark Issue 3: The Dark, #3
    The Dark Issue 3: The Dark, #3
    The Dark Issue 3: The Dark, #3
    Ebook52 pages51 minutes

    The Dark Issue 3: The Dark, #3

    By Jack Fisher and Sean Wallace

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    About this ebook

    The Dark is a quarterly magazine co-edited by Jack Fisher and Sean Wallace, with the third issue featuring all-original short fiction by Helena Bell, Steve Berman, Douglas Smith, and Benjanun Sriduangkaew.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPrime Books
    Release dateFeb 9, 2014
    ISBN9781497743984
    The Dark Issue 3: The Dark, #3
    Author

    Jack Fisher

    Jack Fisher was born in Washington DC into a large, loving family that nourishes creativity at every turn. He grew up on a steady diet of comic books, movies, and Saturday morning cartoons. That diet gave him an active imagination, one he channelled into writing. He began writing at age 16 and hasn’t really stopped since. He quickly developed a soft spot for romance, often writing fan fiction of his favourite fictional couples. Eventually, he graduated to writing stories about couples of his own creation, with a heavy focus on heated passion and powerful intimacy. He is currently single and lives just outside of DC. He is still a self-professed comic book lover and all around sci-fi geek while striving to refine his craft in any way he can.

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      Book preview

      The Dark Issue 3 - Jack Fisher

      THE DARK

      ISSUE 3, February 2014

      Dream Flight by Douglas Smith

      Worse Than Alligators by Steve Berman

      Zeraquesh in Absentia by Benjanun Sriduangkaew

      Burial by Helena Bell

      Cover Art: As You Wish by Tullius Heuer

      ISSN 2332-4392.

      Edited by Jack Fisher & Sean Wallace.

      Cover design by Garry Nurrish.

      Ebook design by Neil Clarke.

      Copyright © 2014 by TDM Press.

      www.thedarkmagazine.com

      Dream Flight

      Douglas Smith

      A crystal shadow soared unnoticed over steel-glass city cliffs, flickering through visibility in a summer sun. As it passed the towers, a tremor rippled its length, breaking the rhythm of great wings. The change had begun.

      Fear rising, it scanned rooftops for the nearest landing spot then swerved toward a building marked by a white H on a blue square. The roof rushed closer as it flailed at humid air. Its talons caught on the roof edge, and a scream like breaking glass escaped it. Tripping, it ploughed across the roof, diamond-edged plumage slashing deep gouges. A small duffel bag held in a claw flew free.

      An air vent at the far side finally stopped it. Its faceted body faded again from visibility, reappeared for a wing beat, then shifted into a smaller, more recognizable shape. Lean but muscular, the naked body of a young woman lay in the creature’s place. Raven-black hair scattered over pale shoulders as she struggled to rise, only to collapse again, darkness taking her.

      Lilith Hoyl awoke shivering, a smell of tar in her nose and the setting sun in her eyes. Slumped against the exhaust vent, she picked at the pebbles and dirt imbedded in her skin. Nice landing, Hoyl, she thought. Real smooth.

      She rose, scouring the roof until she spotted the bag. Removing briefs, bra, jeans, a Tragically Hip T-shirt, and Teva sandals, she dressed.

      Once more, she had flown too long, flown past the point of exhaustion. That had been stupid. But in bird form, her human memories grew dim. As the Hoyl, the Crystal Angel of the Heroka, she could beat this world away with her wings. Beat away his memory. Forget what they had done to him. Forget that she was alone—again.

      Chirping broke through her melancholy. She looked up to see a feathered temple of life spiraling above her. Smiling, she raised her arms, and they fluttered to her hands and shoulders and around her feet. Birds of all kinds and sizes and colors, predators and prey, singing her praise. She smiled. Thank you, my little ones. Today I need some friends.

      The cacophony dropped. A lone sparrow’s voice made her look down. It hopped away, then looked back. Lilith reached with her mind. What is it, child? An image flowed back, flavored with pain and fear. She projected calm. All right. Take me to her.

      On the far side of the roof, a female sparrow lay quivering, wings spread, head twisted. Lilith stilled its fear with her mind, then picked it up, smoothing the layered softness of its feathers. Entering its mind, she shared its memory and agony, flew with it between city towers, felt its confusion, the impact against the window, its struggle like her own to reach this roof.

      She directed the functions of its body to start the healing process as best she could. Removing a sweatshirt from her bag, she gently placed the bird on it, folding a sleeve over it for warmth. She filled a Styrofoam cup with water from a puddle, so the bird’s mate could feed her.

      The mate perched on her shoulder. She projected hope to it, and he nipped at her ear lobe, making her laugh. Hopping down, he settled on the edge of the sweatshirt and closed his eyes.

      May not

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