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Apex Magazine: Issue 14

Apex Magazine: Issue 14

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Apex Magazine: Issue 14

84 Seiten
49 Minuten
Jun 30, 2010


Apex Magazine is a monthly science fiction, fantasy, and horror magazine featuring original, mind-bending short fiction from many of the top pros of the field. New issues are released on the first Tuesday of every month.

We are a 2012 Hugo Award nominee for Best Semiprozine!

Short Fiction
“Artifact” by Peter Atwood
“Shrödinger’s Pussy” by Terra LeMay
"Here We Are, Falling Through Shadows" by Jason Sanford
"Those Below" by Jeremy C. Shipp
"End of the Line: A Puzzle" by Susannah Mandel

"Going Woodo" by Colleen Kimsey
"Wisdom" by Lydia Ondrusek
"Eclipse" by Robert Borski

"Editorial Dispositions: Saying Good-bye, Waving Hello" by Jason Sizemore

This issue of Apex Magazine was edited by Jason Sizemore.

Jun 30, 2010

Über den Autor

Jason Sizemore is a writer and editor who lives in Lexington, KY. He owns Apex Publications, an SF, fantasy, and horror small press, and has twice been nominated for the Hugo Award for his editing work on Apex Magazine. Stay current with his latest news and ramblings via his Twitter feed handle @apexjason.

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Copyrights and Acknowledgments

Editorial Dispositions Copyright © 2010 by Jason Sizemore

Shrödinger’s Pussy Copyright © 2010 by Terra LeMay

Artifact Copyright © 2010 by Peter Atwood

Here We Are, Falling Through Shadows Copyright © 2009 by Jason Sanford (Originally appeared in Interzone, Issue 225)

Those Below Copyright © 2007 by Jeremy C. Shipp (Originally appeared in Love and Sacrifice: Touching Stories About Sacrifice, 2007, Zen Films)

End of the Line: A Puzzle Copyright © 2009 by Susannah Mandel (Originally appeared in The Daily Cabal, July 9th, 2009)

Going Woodo Copyright © 2010 by Colleen Kimsey

Wisdom Copyright © 2010 by Lydia Ondrusek

Eclipse Copyright © 2010 by Robert Borski

Publisher/Editor-in-Chief—Jason Sizemore

Senior Editor—Gill Ainsworth

Graphic Designer—Justin Stewart

ISSN: 2157-1406

Apex Publications

PO Box 24323

Lexington, KY 40524

Each new issue of Apex Magazine is released on the first Tuesday of the month. Single issues are available for $2.99. Subscriptions are available for twelve months and cost $19.95.

Table of Contents

Editorial Dispositions: Saying Good-bye, Waving Hello

Jason Sizemore

Shrödinger’s Pussy

Terra LeMay


Peter Atwood

Here We Are, Falling Through Shadows

Jason Sanford

Those Below

Jeremy C. Shipp

End of the Line: A Puzzle

Susannah Mandel

Going Woodo

Colleen Kimsey


Lydia Ondrusek


Robert Borski

Editorial Dispositions: Saying Good-bye, Waving Hello

I suppose I should be teary-eyed. After all, this is my last edited edition of Apex Magazine for the foreseeable future. The past five years have been a wild roller coaster ride, that’s for sure. I can remember opening that first box of Apex Digest issue #1. The digests smelled like success to me (oh, the irony!). Going to my first convention and having writers like Brian Keene and Tom Piccirilli tell me that producing Apex Digest was a great service to genre fans. And through the magazine, I have met some of my best friends and some of the brightest and most supportive people on Earth. The joyous occasion of becoming an SFWA-certified market still rings fresh in my memory. Finally, there was the heartbreaking (but necessary) decision to move the digest to an all-digital format.

And yet, I can’t feel anything but enthusiasm and knowing I’m doing the right thing by stepping aside. It helps knowing that somebody as awesome as Catherynne M. Valente will be taking the helm and running the show. I anticipate some mind-blowing work coming out of Apex Magazine in the years to come.

For now, enjoy this beefy July issue. Veteran author Peter Atwood presents a work of thriller-SF. Terra LeMay, in her first professional publication, shows us that even the law of physics can’t prevent love. There’s a whole slew of poetry, three reprints, and if you visit our website, an audio production of Terra LeMay’s story.

Till next time!

Jason Sizemore

Shrödinger’s Pussy

Terra LeMay

I am you, and you are me. We haven’t met, but we will, in some months. Then again in a year. More frequently after that for a stretch, though it doesn’t last. Or perhaps we never meet. Or just that single time, which was (will be) both meteoric and ephemeral.

Except I remember that weekend and you don’t.

I remember them all. All the moments. Even the ones you forgot, and those which never happened. They are all here, in this one place in my mind (in your mind).

Our time together was (will be) catharsis for you, but I will fall in love, like a spaniel. The world cracked open the day we met (or another day, in another place), and we became one. We have always been (will always be) one. We stand in two places at once, two times, two dimensions. We are separate. But I am in your head, in my head.

We grew up on either end of the same street. We both had grapevines growing in our yards. (Have you heard?) Yours in front by the mailbox, ours hidden like a naughty secret next to the fence out back. We only had three blocks between us, go figure, but the road stretched all the way from Antioch to San Juan, spanning a continent, spanning the ocean, spanning a million, million miles. Or only a millimeter.

It took too long for us to find each other. (Sometimes we never do. Sometimes it is too soon.) Once we had, we were inseparable. Except when we fought. Or never meet.

You always walked the difference between our houses, even though the hill between us was almost too steep to climb. I rode horseback (or drove a car) even though going to you is always downhill. Maybe it wasn’t laziness. Maybe it was precognitive thought—(Photons in two places at once, two times, two different dimensions, two heads, two minds, two hearts. Twins, inseparable even apart.)—the truth already, so subtle, so soon, so obvious.

Maybe it’s only common sense, the knowledge that once I’d gone downhill to find you, I’d have to return the way I’d come, and that hill was always too steep to climb.

Sometimes we met (will meet) in the middle. Halfway up the hill for you, halfway down for me. We’ll sit in the gutter next to the mailbox with the ugly plastic flowers zip-tied to its flag. (I stole one of those flowers, sun-yellowed and cracking, once when you were gone. Maybe you never noticed, or maybe the flowers were bright and new when you looked at them. Maybe

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