• Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Fiction,  Short Story

    Nuclear Strawberries by Martin Chase

    As he shuffled ever-so slowly through the various avenues formed by these toxic, stinking ziggurats, his eyes swished about and mentally picked at appealing morsels of charcoal-smelling, singed rifle barrels, giant, radioactive roach talons with the look and smell of overcooked intestine, grossly-priced tablets that shot off hostile, acerbic-odored volleys of electric mercury, and the occasional, blackened skull or three, some clad in scalded, rubber masks, others laid bare and gloomily grimacing sans jaws. But in the midst of his last-minute window-shopping, the soldier’s ears captured the dull echo of an aching moan to his left. Turning towards the object of interest, the soldier gazed upon the thing it had…

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Fiction,  Short Story

    A Swimmer in Time Part 2 by Martin Chase

    Yet my head does not explode from the pressure of being overwhelmed all at once by everything that lives, breathes, flows, falls, and crumbles under a the light of a trillion suns. I, and the Odinic Travelers before me, whose memories are preserved within my own brain, have seen them all before in all our sojourns throughout the span of the universe. My cranium is stable for now, or so I think (is it?). Then, after being lost in a raging river of visions, and flowing streams of time, the courtyard cuts back to nothing. But should I be surprised at the stark transition to nothingness? For what is nothing,…

  • Fantasy, Sci-fi,  Fiction,  Short Story

    A Swimmer in Time by Martin Chase

    I have been to many worlds, many realms. I have travelled for years on end, and borne witness to things you would never believe, lest you feasted your own eyes upon them. The bloody skies of Ares III, where the White Dragons roam in rivers of mercury rain, and the lush, sea-jungles of Aquides, where sacred Lemuria and fish-men reside submerged, still flow vividly through my head like a bubbling stream of thought. My feet are forever restless, my tiny, silver rocket always in want of fuel, as I soar like a lonely comet across the vast, pitch oceans of time and space. In the confines my little argent vessel,…