In the Vatican Museum, religious paintings you’ve seen in books all your life mix with modern religious depictions that have impressed some unknown cardinal. There, awe-inspiring classical statuary serves to remind you how much fuller… [more]
She can see it bruise the horizon, then erupt – like a mother striking a daughter, like the electricity between the surfaces of her palms, or between two women repelled. The storm rears, poised to… [more]
In the holofeed wall above the phony flickering fireplace, the fifteen-year-old Mira Mira sat in the defendant’s chair, listening to testimony against her. Yelena thought her neon blue skin undercut the way her lawyers had… [more]
I once drew an enormous cock on the wall of the Shettleston Community Support & Benefits Centre. I took great care rendering each hair poking from below the scrotum to the thick copse of pubic… [more]
A dozen colored spotlights, gaudy and grandiose, caressed Yelena Moulin. Glitter rained down upon her, caught like sparkling dust as it descended through the colored layers of light. The rest of the room was lit… [more]
If you’ve seen the cover of our book Nira/Sussa, you know that Doug Smock’s brilliant artwork shines in black and white.
The hardest thing about spending days underwater was keeping the mind busy.
A) I cried and he said it was fantastic. I asked him how it was fantastic. I asked him where in his fucked up mind did my situation intersect with the realm of fantastic, and… [more]
“My therapist says it all goes back to her. She was very doting, in a lot of ways. I was her wonderful, genius son. But she could turn on you in an instant. Criticize viciously.… [more]
One picture. This is all I have to prove my dad and I ever spent time together. He looked like a young Larry Hagman, and was wearing a fishing hat like Col. Blake. I’m about… [more]
In the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen against the snow and the mountains outside the living room’s glass wall, Yelena knocked on Mr. Pollard’s door. Veronique answered, clad as always… [more]
for Samuel Beckett 1 Come in, come in, the fog impatiently gestured. You rattled like echo’s bones when you walked. It was fashionable to die young and be pessimistic. 2 You were drunk all the… [more]
Yelena felt the latex surface of the couch beneath her. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t have any weight. She knew full well she had no skin or nerves to feel through. She reached out… [more]
I. Because it was the thirty-third anniversary of the overthrow of their old government, and because it, too, happened to be a red autumnal moon, and because the calf came out hindquarters first, complicating the… [more]
Yelena stood staring at the door to her den, thinking this isn’t right. She told herself that she must’ve opened the door all the way, then stepped back into the room to retrieve something, only… [more]
Watching People Burn, Julian Darius’s original historical screenplay, is now available on Kindle for 99 cents — and free to borrow and read for Amazon Prime members. The deadliest school massacre in U.S. history, its… [more]
Many of you know Doug Smock’s jaw-dropping original illustrations for our serialized online fiction The Many Lives of Yelena Moulin and for the cover of our book Nira/Sussa. We thought we’d showcase some of his other artwork.
“The Slave Factory,” a short book by Julian Darius, is available exclusively on Kindle for the low price of 99 cents — and is free to read for Amazon Prime members.
Closing the door, Yelena felt absurd, hiding from her mom in her own home. The room looked like an old-fashioned study, the kind in historical holofeeds, with a wooden desk and books printed on dead… [more]
here in wyandot county ohio a willow tree weeps at the woods in a bleeding jealous rage that he’s all the way out here and they are all the way in there step fathers and… [more]
Martian Lit’s first book, Julian Darius’s Watching People Burn, is now available for purchase. The original historical screenplay dramatizes the Bath school disaster, an coordinated terrorist attack in rural Michigan in 1927 that blew up a… [more]
Wilbur lay on his side, his wrinkly face pressed into a padded black helmet. The helmet’s soft leather interior concealed a large array of electrodes. His long tongue hung from his mouth and appeared stuck… [more]
You were once broken in two by the River Styx, and I pulled you from the iceberg and called you Father. To the left, down the Champs-Elysees, the children sing Christmas carols to jack-o-lanterns; the… [more]
A merry little vibration against her clitoris awakened Yelena Moulin. Jack, her psychiatrist, had recommended the device, which looked like a suction cup dangling on a string from a short straw and recharged itself on… [more]
For at least 113 years, humans have stereotyped Martians as invaders, as butchers, as sadists, as strange-looking monsters, and even as rapists of white women.