Ana Sun (pronounced “Soon”) writes from the edge of an ancient town in the south-east of England. She spent her childhood in Malaysian Borneo and grew up living on islands. In another life, she might have been a musician, an anthropologist—or a botanist obsessed with edible flowers.
Down the stretch of Halmtorvet before it becomes Sønder Boulevard, tourists towed their reluctant suitcases, navigating the urban obstacle course: cobblestone edges, narrow pavements, other tourists. If you weren’t careful, you could absentmindedly step into a cycle lane and risk...
Three evenings ago, we sat upon plump yellow cushions on the deck of the Dutch barge we shared, one boat amongst many others in our little commune upon the river. Together, we rode upon her bronchial tides, drifting upon the...
Mild salt scent from the estuary mingled with root-sweet of damp earth, giving birth to dark green flora. Curiously, a sharp note of fragrant spice sang in the air—food being cooked, somewhere nearby. Cumin? No, much more complex, a whole...
Her final letter to him must have been her shortest, yet in so few words, it said everything: "My most treasured, I can’t wait to see you." None of her usual Highspake flair, no flourish. Of course, I’d delivered the...
It had begun as the nice day off which had every promise of going right. Ria had just settled into her favourite chair to knit a new cardigan for herself, but all that changed the moment her circular needles snapped,...
The increasing roar of small, thundering wheels signalled to me that we’d arrived. “Youth Section,” I declared, blinking sand out of my eyes. I sat upright and brushed more sand off my sleeves, automatically reaching for the feel of worn...
I’d heard it first: a reedy melody slicing through the discord that emanated from the rubble. Zeroing in, I scouted its source, ignoring the crunch of my metal feet on cracked concrete. The city’s remains seemed to sag under the...
When the last petrol-powered car drove out of our London street for the final time, we cobbled a party together for the occasion. It might have been Skinny Harper’s idea, though given the unrestrained outbreak of home-made bunting strung from...
This flash-fiction piece was selected for Flame Tree Press' special limited edition newsletter for Glasgow WorldCon 2024, to the theme of "New Mythologies in Space". It was guest-edited by Dr. Allen Stroud with gorgeous cover art by Broci. I've made...
Anger in the body: a coiled snake, a raging wildfire. Anxiety in the gut: the doom-laden twist of a strangler fig. Em – I definitely wasn’t angry at her. If anything, my anger was reserved for myself: me, and my...
I peeled off my gloves, one finger at a time, making sure nothing on the outer surface touched my skin. The plants in my garden were less lethal than their original cousins in the wild, but still, one couldn’t be...
Flowering calendula, trans-Neptunian objects and other strange things. Hey there, Happy New Year! Across social media—both in my open and closed networks—friends all around the globe are sharing their best wishes, past year’s achievements, and this year’s goals. Staring out...