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Namakemono by Kelly Murashige

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Kaede feels estranged from humanity, but considers whether she could attract a mate. Image generated with OpenAI According to the internet, there are two genera of sloths: those with three digits on each forelimb, called three-toed or three-fingered sloths; and those with only two digits on each forelimb, called two-toed or two-fingered sloths. Why toes and fingers are considered interchangeable, Kaede has no idea. A toe is not a finger. She cannot type with her toes. She has, however, seen videos of a very talented artist who, after losing her arms, became very adept at using her toes to hold a paintbrush. Kaede could spend the rest of her life studying art, with the full use of her hands, and still never create anything of worth. Something else about sloths: When a female sloth enters heat, rather than searching for a mate herself, she simply sits in a tree and screams until a male finds her. This scream is not dramatic. It is not hysterical. It is straight to the point, as if to say...
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How To Mourn Your Body by Ewa Gerald Onyebuchi

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Ogechi watches her own funeral rites and remembers her life, love, family, and the choices that preceded her death. Image generated with OpenAI Day 5 You stare at it for a while, your pathetic body, splayed out on a mat with frayed edges. Until you catch an amoebic dent on the white, silky gown your body was forced into, a gown that doesn't reach your ankles. You hunker down and try to reach for the dress, to wriggle your body out of it, but you watch your hands catch the air, clasp together. The dent is splashed across your abdomen, and it is obvious. But obvious to whom? Perhaps nobody cares about a stained dress on a corpse. Even if nobody noticed the stain, your mother should have seen it, should have grimaced when she saw it, an oddity on your body. Had she forgotten how clean you used to be as a child maturing into a teenager? How you paused on the side of the road when she spotted a stain or a tear in your dress, her voice layered in mock-observance, and almost immediately ...
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Where Did You Pick Me Up by Wei Bo

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Zoe Ellison, marketing consultant at an advanced robotics company, begins to suspect the company is keeping secrets from her. Image generated with OpenAI "Lately, the robot at my place has been acting a little strange." "How so?" "How do I put it..." I stirred my drink, searching for the words. "It's like it's developed the ability to learn on its own." Julian looked genuinely interested. "In what way, specifically?" "This morning I asked it to make me a cup of coffee, and it went ahead and added two creams." I took a big gulp of my iced lemonade. "But I'm absolutely certain I never once told it to put two creams in my coffee." For half a second - no longer - something cold and clear moved through me, the way a fish turns over once in deep water and is gone. I don't drink coffee, the thought said. Then it was gone, and I couldn't think why I'd thought it, since of course I drank coffee; I dran...
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