Owen Schaefer is a Canadian writer, editor and playwright living in the U.K. He writes fiction, speculative fiction, and breezy articles on writing, AI, and other nonsense. Attacks of poetry may occur.
More at owenschaefer.com
Twin Suns Burn in Silence
I am in the blue weeds west of Hamlet. Just below me, a cache of white gemshells glint between the fronds. I can see you, too, diving a dozen lengths away, your body blue-white in the filtered light of the suns, shoals of brittlefish darting between us. You turn to look at me, and we are mirrored there beneath the surface for a moment. You see the same thing I do: two boys, nearly men, long fins strapped to their feet. Kelp-weave diving skirts around their hips. Harpoons secured to thighs — yours on the left, mine on the right. Knives and bags tied at the waist. Brown hair pulled back out of the way. The S-shaped birthmarks on the chest, yours right, mine left.
The Euripides Requiem
(This story references depression and suicide) By the time we returned from the beach, the Earth was gone. In its place, an expanding ring of debris like a rusting sickle. We knew, of course. We’d known for months. But we hadn’t been prepared to see it. To really see it.
The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. It showed me a man that was tired and haggard, suffering the toll of his mother’s funeral. And that much was true. I was tired, and no longer able to face condolences from people who probably thought I was better off without her.