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Through the Cracks by Laurel Hanson

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Orphan Petra tries to survive in a space station where her kind are hunted. Image generated with OpenAI Petra hid in the darkness watching the jumbled stream of beings, both human and otherwise, milling in the central walkway. Sooner or later, it seemed, all the lost souls of the galaxy washed up in Under Haven Station to join those unlucky enough to be born there. When she spotted the shine of gold winking from a Verengian's flowing garment, she hesitated. Cloven-footed, with skin as dark as the mines, Verengians moved like broken dolls put back together wrongly, almost human, but just a little slantwise. They frightened her more than any other aliens. But then, everything frightened her. Still, gold was gold. Slipping onto the walkway, she threaded between the station hands and starship crews, cut a wide circuit around a group of Bellecti tourists in their unwieldy exo-skins, and merged seamlessly with a cluster of humans whose iridescent clothing told her they we...
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Agnes Unvirgin by Adele Megann

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In a fictionalised version of medieval Ireland, scruffy and absent-minded Agnes consults some curiously clairvoyant locals about how to become a saint. Image generated with OpenAI Once there was Agnes. She lived in a little village in Medieval Ireland. I won't bother to describe it, because you've already got a picture of it your head, a false one, as false as any with which I might provide you. Whatever. Our joint illusions have provided my story a setting. It's time to climb into this story together, and move on. So! Agnes. I know what you're thinking. What kind of Medieval Irish name is Agnes? (You weren't?) Agnes' biggest problem was not her name. Agnes's biggest problem was that she did not quite fit the medieval Irish village. Some might say that she was ahead of her time, but no, she was right there, in her time. Agnes was not a misfit in a blaring way. She was rather like someone whose buttons are not done up right. From a distance th...
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The Good, the Bad, and the Balloon Animals by Devin James Leonard

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Tammy Lynn Peacock and her brother investigate the grisly death of their trailer park neighbour. Image generated with OpenAI Me and my brother were drinking beers on our stoop, watching the police swarm Todd's trailer like ants on a dropped French fry, when a plainclothes cop wandered over and asked us if we were the ones who discovered the body. "Richard and Tammy Lynn Peacock?" I took a sip of beer and nodded. Richie answered with a burp, and the cop introduced himself as Detective Manners. Once he confirmed we were the ones who called it in, he asked us questions we'd already been asked and answered, and then some. "Did Todd have any pets? A dog?" Richie shook his head, said, "Nope." "You're certain?" "Todd was petrified of dogs," I said, adding that when we was kids, we owned a little ass-licking pooch no bigger than a bunny, and yet Todd would throw his hands up and back away from us as if we had...
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Merry Christmas, Harriet Francis by Forest Arthur Ormes

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Despite a troubled childhood, Harriet Francis fosters a fascination with horses that sees her becoming one of the first female jockeys, but she is plagued by misfortune and alcoholism. Image generated with OpenAI I remember a woman on a gigantic bay horse galloping effortlessly to the top of a ridge. She brings the horse to a halt. From the throne of her saddle, she looks down at me and waves. Then the soothing voice of my mother brings me back to the trees and grass surrounding us. "Horse," my mother says to me. "Horse," I repeat. My mother didn't last long after my father returned home from Vietnam in a box. I can never forget the sight of her lying on the couch, a plastic bag tightly covering her head. Sometimes I wonder if I am still waiting for her gaping mouth to offer those sounds of reassurance that once drew me into her waiting arms where I squeezed her soft dark hair between my childhood fingers. I liked it at my aunt's hous...
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