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Drabblecast 396 – Trifecta: Losses & Sacrifices

Cover for Losses and Sacrifices Trifecta by Cesar ValtierraThis week the Drabblecast brings you three stories about shipwrecks, murder, and Nazis. It’s a Losses and Sacrifices Trifecta!

“Seven Losses of Na Re”

by Rose Lemberg

This is a brooding look back on things taken, things lost, and things always remembered.

Rose Lemberg is a queer, bigender immigrant from Eastern Europe and Israel. Their fiction and poetry have appeared in Lightspeed‘s Queer Destroy Science Fiction, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Uncanny, and many other venues. Rose’s work has been a finalist for the Nebula Crawford, and other awards. Their novella The Four Profound Weaves is forthcoming from Tachyon Press. You can find more of their work on their Patreon: patreon.com/roselemberg

Story Excerpt:

My life is described by the music of mute violins. When my
parents married, my great-grandfather, may the earth be as a
feather, ascended the special-guests podium, cradling the old
fiddle to his chest. “And now the zeide will play the wedding
melody,” they said. “A special blessing,” they said, a sgule, a
royal blessing. But the bow fell from his fingers.

“When I had Eyes, I Didn’t See”

by Anna Yeats.

Anna Yeats is a writer, publisher, and editor living in North Carolina with a houseful of wildling children and far too many animals. Her short fiction has appeared in Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, Daily Science Fiction, and Mslexia. Anna also publishes Flash Fiction Online.

Her story for us today is chilling tale about perception, murder, and an old, creaky elevator.

Story Excerpt:

I had eyes once.
Before the Lift-man came.
Now I have knobs, smooth and black and round as pegs. I touch them with my fingertips and try to remember what it felt like, having eyes. If I push one knob in, the other one pops out like the elevator buttons used to do.

“The Sepulcher Out of Sea”

by Eric Shattuck

A seaman marooned in a haunted land, struggling to maintain control of his crazed crewmen and their new, dead captain.

Eric Shattuck is a freelance writer living in Charleston, South Carolina. His work has been published in The Nottingham Review, 99 Pine Street, The Molotov Cocktail, Gone Lawn, and the Kentucky Review, among others.

Story Excerpt:

When the gale has finished tearing at us, and the hull has ceased its moaning, we head abovedeck to find our warship cradled in the boughs of an enormous tree. There is no sign of the fleet, no hint of sea. There is scarcely anything to be seen through the steaming fog which surrounds us.
 
The captain is lost—swept overboard without a sound, and with him the boatswain and two of the gunnery crew. As quartermaster, command of the Lanfranco falls to me. The next morning, I resolve to throw down the rope ladders and scout our surroundings in pairs. Yet no sooner do we set out than the cry goes up; the boatswain’s body is found.

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Drabblecast Useful Objects KFHDay

Drabblecast 373 – Trifecta: Things We Made

Drabblecast Useful Objects KFHDaySato lay on the cement floor of the workshop in a pool of his own blood and tried desperately to get Kuro-4’s legs working again. The robot, in turn, tried to deal with the gaping wounds in Sato’s smashed leg and pelvis.

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Cover for Drabblecast Locked Boxes Trifecta by Carly Lyn

Drabblecast 360 – Trifecta: Locked Boxes

Cover for Drabblecast Locked Boxes Trifecta by Carly LynI didn’t kill God; we should clear that up right away. I just captured him and put him in a little box.

It sounds harder than it actually was. Hannah helped me make it. Her dark, sad eyes so serious and focused behind the wire-rimmed glasses she always wore, her slender fingers tracing the passages from the Bible. A long time ago, God gave instructions on how to build a tabernacle for him to inhabit. That story made us wonder: if the infinite can be confined to a building or a tent or a room, then why not a box?

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Cover for Drabblecast Unnatural Growth Trifecta, by Declan Keane

Drabblecast 359 – Trifecta: Unnatural Growth

Cover for Drabblecast Unnatural Growth Trifecta, by Declan KeaneMy twin brother had been a dry-eyed baby, and he grew into a dry-eyed boy.

“Yaakov, why don’t you ever cry?” I asked him the day we buried my uncle’s family.

He shrugged. “Maybe you carry all the tears for both of us, Anna.”

I thought he might be right. In the past month I had cried again and again. I had wept through the night of hiding in the root cellar among the onions and potatoes and jars of pickled vegetables, my face buried in our mother’s skirt. We emerged in the morning to discover the Cossacks had burned down the barn with all of our animals trapped inside. I cried again for the goats. We didn’t even know yet that our cousins down the road had suffered the same fate. Our two older siblings took their turns calming me, but I took the most comfort from Yaakov’s stoic face.

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Cover for Drabblecast Trifecta by Unka Odya

Drabblecast 357 – Trifecta: Embarrassing Personal Problems

Cover for Drabblecast Trifecta by Unka OdyaIt looks like a quantity of strawberry jam squeezed into a cheap polythene shower cap. Even down to the darkened pips and the intimation someone’s attempted to pick it up and squished it in the middle. Clint adjusts the telescopic sight and tilts his head, upping the magnification, but knocking the thermal readout to the off position. He can feel the heat from here, so it’s safe to say that the temperature is outside the usual parameters.

 

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Cover for Drabblecast episode 345, Cat With Blue Fur Trifecta, by Bo Kaier

Drabblecast 345 – Cat With Blue Fur Trifecta

Cover for Drabblecast episode 345, Cat With Blue Fur Trifecta, by Bo KaierA collection of stories from the Cat With Blue Fur Writing Contest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Cover for Drabblecast episode 339, Trifecta 28, by Brent Holmes

Drabblecast 339 – Trifecta XXVIII: Offbeat Afterlife

Cover for Drabblecast episode 339, Trifecta 28, by Brent HolmesThe ghost in my attic is Margaret, but she lets me call her Margie. She was seventy-six years old when she died, and now that she’s a ghost she sits in her rocking chair day and night, holding a tiny baby in her arms. The baby rarely moves and almost never cries. His name is Gavin, and he is thin and wrinkly and covered in fine brown hair. Funny looking, as preemies often are, but sweet nonetheless. Margie keeps him wrapped in a blanket of cobwebs, which I think is disgusting. I’ve always hated spiders.

 

 

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