Welcome to 2037. The future is not some bleak, post-apocalyptic wasteland. Oh, contraire. The world is exceedingly happy. Everything is good. All needs are met. Everyone is going to have a nice day. Originally published in April 2020 by Freedom Fiction.

Have A Nice Day

by DL Shirey

The cavernous assembly area is far behind me, but I can still hear the pleasant lilt of the repeated message, “Please face forward. Remove your hats. Keep the line moving. Thank you for your patience.” The voice isn’t robotic nor is it a recording. A live human is speaking with an amiable drawl, her words reverberating enthusiasm.

She is obviously enjoying herself. We all strive to be like her. It’s what I want, too. I look forward to my morning placement because I can’t wait to find my perfect job.

Before she started proofreading this story, I remember cautioning my wife that this one was quite twisted. So when I saw that there was an anthology looking for “body horror,” to be named Twisted Anatomy, I had to submit. Please do not venture into this anthology unaware: there are more than two dozen stories, some of which should be labelled with warning stickers. My story, “Under the Avatars” is right at home among them. Available for purchase on Amazon.

And check out my author’s page for other publications in which my stories appear.

Four or five years ago, on a trip to New Mexico, I went to a museum and saw an exhibit of paper clothing. Actually, there were more than clothes on display; many everyday objects were also represented—laptop, guitar, bicycle—all made from colorful crepe paper. They came from Vietnam, handmade in tribute to people for whom those objects held special significance. Now, I won’t reveal anything more, that would be spoiling the story.

Learning about this lovely tradition stayed with me and was the key to writing “Sunday Dress.” First published by the UK journal ink, sweat and tears in March of 2020.

Sunday Dress

by DL Shirey

Ileana loved to make clothes. Afternoons after school she sat at my worktable, arranging patterns like jigsaw pieces to fit a length of fabric. These skills I taught her, daughter of my daughter, because her mother was not around to do it. Ileana made better choices. Ileana was a good girl.

It pains me now to sew, my fingers stiff with age. I can abide with the ache for my granddaughter, imagining the light in her eyes when Ileana slips on the dress. Every year, come winter, I make her one for spring.

This piece was bare-bones from its inception. It started as a 50-word story for another publication and was rejected. So, I took a hard look at a revision, added a whopping 14 more words and voila. The good folks at Dreams Walking (RIP) published it in their second issue, back in June 2020.

Terminal

by DL Shirey

The push of air caused litter to rustle. Brakes squawked, water splashed up the curb. I looked up and saw nothing, yet still stepped back from the sidewalk’s edge.

“Don’t you know the rules?” a foul breath voiced, “Make way for exiting passengers.”

I waited, then a cold grip cupped my shoulder and shoved me forward. “Well, what are you waiting for?” it said, “Get on the bus.”

END

Here’s a speculative piece that’s a departure from my other stories. It’s told in the voice of an eight-year-old child. From his perspective, he may have otherworldly powers or it just might be his imagination. First published in February 2020 by Bewildering Stories.

Magic Nation

by DL Shirey

          My legs don’t work right. Mommy says my muscles are little-boy size and will catch up to me some day. I am eight and a half. Daddy thinks I should go out and play more, but it’s hard to keep up. I can run without my crutches on flat ground pretty good, but I still fall too much. Daddy takes me to the park a lot and says I don’t need to use crutches when I play on grass. He says Mommy’s right about sidewalks and streets, to always use my crutches or I can fall down and skin my knees.

          I have a wheelchair but Daddy hates it. He said that it will make my body lazy and to use the crutches and keep strong. When he takes me out on Daddy Weekends, he leaves the wheelchair in Mommy’s garage. He tells Mommy I get around good enough without it, but Mommy thinks I need it sometimes. Grown-ups are funny.