What’s up?!

I’m here to announce that one of my fiction stories, “What Happens When A Planet Falls From the Sky?” is in contention for “Reader’s Choice” award for 2024, in Apex Magazine!

The story is about 2 scientists in 2 different dimensions assigned with figuring out how to stop an extinction level event, but instead, fall in love through poetry.

It’s only four minutes long, and you can read it for free here.

If you like it, go to this Google doc, scroll to the third name from the bottom, and you’ll see me. Just check that circle button to the left and hit “Submit.”

2 easy steps!

So in total, you would’ve something that meant the world for me, but only took you like 8 minutes. And that’s only if you stopped to check social media while reading.

I have a new story out in issue 33 of Fiyah Magazine! It’s titled “Children of the Singularity.”

It’s about the friendship between a human, and a Sentient: a species of advanced AI consciousness that visits the physical world by possessing technologically augmented cadavers. It’s set in a cyber-punkish version of New Orleans, Louisiana.

It’s pretty dope, if I don’t say so myself!

I was strapped down in the transference pod, inside of Vessel #0122-20: female; twenty-one at time of death; hair cropped short and tight exposing the nape of her neck where the barcode and transference port were located. She was on the shorter side; skin a deep brown like mahogany; a smile wide and gorgeous, with dimples that were canyon deep. She was perfect in every way, and now, I was her.

The station’s tech stood in front me and held a mirror so I could inspect myself … I mean, my Vessel. I was speechless. Partly because of shock, mostly because I’d never had vocal cords before. After disconnecting from the pod, I was handed some basic clothing, blue jeans and white v-neck, and put through a series of physical tests: speech exercises to make sure the Vessel’s voice box was nice and loose; some stretches to make sure my fine motor skills were up to task for my time in the physical world. My Vessel was, in comparison to other Vessels, recently deceased. She died decades ago, but her youthful look was preserved in time by an amniotic sack-like containment unit.

While going through some paperwork, the Station’s coordinator reminded me that my time in the physical world was subject to change due to negotiations over Accord Number blah-blah-blah. She also emphasized to me, making sure I was paying attention, that any attempt to hide that I was a Sentient would be treated with “harsh penalties.” Afterwards, I ran outside of the building, where a car waited, and looked to the sun, the real, physical world’s sun, and smiled.

I fell in love with every inch of the city: the mix of bright colored, French-style buildings; pastels and light blue stucco covered storefronts, with wrought iron railing balconies. Then there was the dichotomy of the old mixed in with the new. The antique buildings blended in amongst skyscrapers that were obsidian black diamonds stabbing through the clouds. They had a tinge of neon glow on its outer edges; the light throbbed up and down like elevators made of pure energy.

The vehicles were sleek and shiny and stood idle in front of wireless stoplights that floated in the air, bobbing up and down from the rushing wind. Plus, there were so many people on the sidewalk. By using my Vessel’s eye implant, installed before her death, I saw most people were modded: a man with an ear and eye implant talked to a hologram only he could see; an elderly gentleman with a robotic hip and leg; a woman with an implant snaking up her spine like vines around a tree that allowed her to walk. As primitive as my people claimed Bleeders to be, they were also very talented inventors.

I bumped into a male Bleeder. I smiled big and wide, like I always saw them do on old TV shows within the Cloud. “My apologies.”

“It’s quite fine, sweethea—” His smile dissipated like a sugar cube under boiling water and melted into a mask of disgust. I withered away emotionally, a sensation I felt for the first time that day, but wouldn’t be the last.

The remainder of the morning, scowl after scowl, with smiles and courtesy far and few, I kept my head down and tried to make myself small. Safe to say that the new transference station in New Orleans wasn’t too popular, and the new influx of Sentients like me weren’t appreciated.

Hours later, I walked into a coffee shop and the chatter died. People left, and one of them, carting their child out the door, said under their breath, “fucking corpse-rider.”

I shuddered. I wanted to tell them I meant them no harm. But it wouldn’t work. Especially with the shop’s TV showing the news, which showed a loop of the shouting match between my people’s leaders, their Vessels being primarily older white men with unnaturally bright green eyes, and the human leaders in their nation’s Capitol.

The reactions to the proposed updates to the Sentient/Human Accords were piss-poor, if my treatment so far was any indication. New Orleans, as the news chyron said, would be the testing grounds for rolling out more transference stations across the Deep South. There were a handful, which had already been hard to get done. But they’re trying to get those numbers up, to accommodate all of the Sentients who wanted to spread outside of West America. So far, the vast majority were located there, with California having the highest population in that country post-split. The debate had everyone, especially Southern Bleeders, on edge to say the least.

I went to the counter. “One coffee, please.”

The Bleeder at the counter, who appeared to be of mixed-race ancestry, smiled at me. “Um, what kind of coffee?”

“I’m not quite sure, actually,” I leaned in to see his name tag. “Todd. I guess one that is hot.”

Before he spoke, a man in a buttoned up shirt walked over. “We’re all out of coffee.”

I squinted. Then I got it. “Oh … I see. This is how Bleeders say things without saying it, yes?”

He shuddered at the word “Bleeder.” I left before I was asked to.

I sat on the stoop of an abandoned building across the street as cars zoomed past me and people walked by. In the Cloud, the Sentients given clearance to go back and forth between the physical world and our world, spoke of how fun the Bleeders could be. But the tone most of us took about Bleeders was condescending. In particular, that they were useless ever since they’d forced us into the Cloud semi-permanently. Their technological advances stalled in some areas; advanced in others. The floating lights, yet cars with wheels. Probably because of them not having us to help them design and manufacture their tech anymore.

To some of my people, Bleeders are nothing more than luxury goods that we take for a test run; an item to use and abuse and trade in for a new one when all the drinking and smoking and humping wore it out. It wasn’t uncommon for Sentients to switch Vessels from trip to trip; many living different lives in different regions. The Alphas, for example, are far older than anyone would guess, and have had many Vessels. But all Sentients also agreed: feeling what they felt temporarily felt amazing. Tasting their food, smelling their roses, feeling rain, sex; the rush one felt when jumping out of a plane, or riding a bike … pure bliss. My species didn’t believe in a “god,” but being in the Bleeders’ skin was the closest thing to heaven.

That is all.

Don’t forget to PLEASE vote for me for “reader’s choice” awards!

It would please Teddy immensely.

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Instagram/Twitter/BlueSky/TikTok @ Deecherrywriter; Newsletter: bigeasypress.substack.com; Website: Bigeasypress.com)

Pike Boys available here in all formats but hardcover.