Astynome, After, by Mike Allen

The Fates persist in fractal layers,the tapestry they weave spreads fingers, grips skeinsthe work itself a weaver,that winds yet another copythrough the warp, piling colorsuntil the shuttle gives riseto coils of minute artisans, who wind the reverse sidesof countless lives until the scene that draws me out arrives, threading stone and flesh, kings, priests and …

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Shuck by G.V. Anderson

No one, not even Bridget, could remember how it started, and yet by the winter term, it was common knowledge that she’d taken over the old smoking area and, for a price, would answer one—just one—question about the death of her friend, Samantha. Year Nines were especially bloodthirsty. Balancing on the threshold between childhood and …

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Drink to The Deadlands

By: Sean Markey, publisher. It’s coming up on two weeks since we launched The Deadlands. There was a lot of celebration around this new zine coming into the world, which I was excited to be a part of. I wanted to mark the launch by raising a glass–alcoholic or otherwise–to toast my beloved death mag …

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The Beginning

I had to have been about eight years old the first time I saw a dead body. My mom was travelling, and so I was left in the care of family friends. These friends worked for a funeral home and it was their responsibility to transport bodies. I remember them having a very serious conversation …

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Psychopomp, by MJ Cunniff

The amount of architecture requiredto ferry the dead must be momentous: train tracks of finely wrought silver runacross the shores by the black rivers, shuddering near each otherwith calculated blasts of power. Over the gray dust speed the carsof the dead; on the far bank she stands and cries where are you, far from the …

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