A monster emerges from the shadows. He is followed by another, and another, until the world is inhabited by new beasts of its own creation. This anthology incorporates stories from various genres and timelines, exploring what makes us who we are.
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I wander the ancient garden. Passing the king, I smile under the shade of my hood.
"Grimier than you were last century, no?" My voice is hoarse. "The years eat us all."
He does not reply, that cylinder man—a heavy and lifeless stone sculpture. His head looks like the top of a gothic spire in the Vatican, and his crown's points have eroded to nubs. I pass His Majesty and appreciate that he rivals me in height but not wits, him being no more than a plaything. I move away from him and toward the queen, nodding at her as I pass, then shooting the rook a glare, and finally stopping in my tracks before the pawn.
These immense chess pieces occupy the garden as quiet sentinels. Vines have wrapped around a few of them, and unrelenting time has dulled the rocky edges.
"You're my champion," I tell the pawn.
He, like the king, offers no answer.
The game is ancient. Many have died playing. Nobody has ever won.
I loop my arms around the pawn and heave him from the black tile under him to an empty one near it, and he comes along quietly.
No protest.
He is but stone.
Then I wait in the filth.
Nothing.
Looking up, I blink, the heat draining from my face until I throw up my arms, quiver, and scream: "Your turn!"
And the clouds part as God reaches down.
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