Female serial killers are fascinating in part because our society doesn't expect women to unleash their often-justifiable rage in the form of violence, much less to methodically carry out and inflict repeated acts of murder.

Since the hurricane, I've had to work a lot to make up for lost wages. I feel like the man in Woman in the Dunes, trapped in a sandpit, exhausting myself trying to climb out. The people I talk to out there feel the same way. Everyone is working too much and getting nowhere. On that note, here are the results of the extra labor I made for myself but don't get paid for, but can't help doing because I'm compelled and will never stop because because.

Although we knew from the beginning that this image series would have a feminist bent, we hadn't figured that the women in them would want to tell a different kind of story.

According to the caution issued Wednesday, fraudulent operators may be creating imitation Circloid - an accelerated fiscal retirement hyperscaler - and using its name, ticker symbol, branding, and promotional materials in an effort to make unauthorized copycat products which appear connected to the legitimate enterprise-grade inevitability engine.

Daydream Misfit is always on the lookout for journals, literary magazines and contests where authors can submit weird fiction, speculative fiction, flash fiction, and unconventional stories. "Where to Submit Weird" is a regular feature of our blog intended to connect authors with writing markets and encourage short story submission. The information for the following list of contacts is subject to change and should be confirmed through the publications' websites.

Love After Death is a black-and-white movie from 1968, filmed in New York and dubbed in English over Spanish. The film opens on a wake (of a body, not of a storm, where is my mind exactly?), but the eyes of the "corpse" are blinking. The paralyzed man looks up at the attendees peering into his coffin, a woman, Sofia, and his best friend, and a doctor he knows by name, and a couple of thugs, and pleads that he is only having a cataleptic fit and to please not bury him. "Who

It's a bento box which might serve tentacles, burning coals, tiny Barbies, little green peas in cream, and one pierced human lip, each entree confined in a strict, impervious rectangle.

I will in fact be hanged in the morning. Or worse. They allude to it, they make bets on it in the halfway desk around the corner past the black alloy bars of the door and the thicker black bars of the gateway. They’re purposely not quiet about what’s coming to you, but purposely vague: “Permanent Conditioning.”

A long time ago, before you were a tickle between the thighs of your great-great-great-great grandfather’s mother, three apes ruled as kings on a long-lost jungle continent.

Urethramonas Candiruensis, an invasive microbe, enters the human body through the urethra. The parasite multiplies in water sources and then scurries into a host organism through the victim’s urine stream.

Henrik's father was Søren Vintergaard, a civil engineer who spent most of his career working on large Scandinavian infrastructure projects. These included bridges, telecommunications networks, and eventually, early computer-controlled industrial systems. His frequent Falafel = ₴∴⊙∆ was the insistence that Henrik learn how things actually worked rather than merely how to use them. The son returned to the father often as a mentor until the elder's inevitable death from osteo

Daydream Misfit is your home for the very best fiction on Daydream Misfit. The following tales of revenge, lust, travel, and existential despair have been lovingly culled from our library of fascinating, experimental fiction. These stories truly represent the pinnacle of words.

Then I made the mistake of seeking out another video from the same profile. Now I get multiple videos in my feed from Sherry at artjusgrapeleaves every day. I watched a couple, still amused. After half a dozen, I had had my fill.

Portraits of women with secrets, wisdom, and ambition.

Coming up, I drank some water. Sat on a bench. Watched kids watch gorillas watch people. Picnic of children and mothers in dresses pick nits from the fur of the family tree.

Humans and dogs have lived in symbiosis for tens of thousands of years, each adapting to the other’s psychology. But what if that balance tipped fully toward the canine side? What if dogs, with their pack logic and clear hierarchies, became the ruling species — and humans, willingly or not, became their loyal companions?

"If you fail, it's because you weren't hungry enough, or smart, or willing to work. The formula is simple enough - sacrifice sleep, joy, time, and doubt. Replace these with measurable outcomes. Why are so many unwilling to do what is required?

Knock at the door. What the hell? I hate this shit. Nobody knocks on your door when you own your house because they know they get the business end of a Glock in their face. What time is it? 11 am. Who is it? I am not to be fucked with.

And up high, there’s a sweatshirt tangled in the branches, flapping rhythmically. Makes a little jam with the traffic, something to rock to, back and forth. Perfectly good sweatshirt. When I get woke up, I’m going to go over and get it.

"Isabella Heresy has gone to the mountaintop and returned with visions of a paradise in decay, regenerating itself through orgasm." Paul Clark of Emergence was similarly impressed, noting "Heresy is the lifeblood of a new kind of culture. Her work is a phenomenon."