by Voima Oy
The woman at the phone store handed Henry back his phone. "I'm sorry," she said. "That model is obsolete. You need an upgrade."
"But I don't want an upgrade," he said. "I want Stella back. Our messages are gone! It's like I lost her again."
"Of course," she smiled in sympathy. "But the new Time Machine option can give you your wife back, and more. Just set the time and place. You can go there whenever you like."
He was thirty again, eating an avocado outside on a breezy summer day. A girl sat beside him. "I'm Stella," she said.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at VERStype, Paragraph Planet, Molotov Cocktail--Flash Worlds, The Cabinet of Heed, Burning House Press, and 101 Fiction.
Follow her on Twitter, too---@voimaoy and #vss365.
Upgrade is part of 101 Fiction issue 25.
Showing posts with label Voima Oy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Voima Oy. Show all posts
Sunday, 15 December 2019
Monday, 10 June 2019
Tuscany
by Voima Oy
Light flashed on his ruby ring. You make me look handsome, he laughed. I can see why you're the talk of Florence. Yes, I'd like another portrait. My new young wife.
The new young wife was shy and obedient. She would meet him in the afternoons. You have beautiful eyes, he said.
My husband will be pleased with the portrait, she said. Could you paint the background just for me? Paint the fields of Tuscany. Paint two lovers under a tree. Paint your name and mine in the leaves, and two birds flying free. She smiled. He will never know.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at VERStype, Unbroken Journal, Molotov Cocktail – Flash Worlds, The Cabinet of Heed, Burning House Press, Paragraph Planet and 101 Fiction.
Follow her on Twitter @voimaoy and #vss365
Tuscany is part of 101 Fiction issue 23.
Light flashed on his ruby ring. You make me look handsome, he laughed. I can see why you're the talk of Florence. Yes, I'd like another portrait. My new young wife.
The new young wife was shy and obedient. She would meet him in the afternoons. You have beautiful eyes, he said.
My husband will be pleased with the portrait, she said. Could you paint the background just for me? Paint the fields of Tuscany. Paint two lovers under a tree. Paint your name and mine in the leaves, and two birds flying free. She smiled. He will never know.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at VERStype, Unbroken Journal, Molotov Cocktail – Flash Worlds, The Cabinet of Heed, Burning House Press, Paragraph Planet and 101 Fiction.
Follow her on Twitter @voimaoy and #vss365
Tuscany is part of 101 Fiction issue 23.
Sunday, 10 March 2019
Perfume
by Voima Oy
"Between the lines of certain old maps, the scent of that flower lingers."
Her name was Carmen de Luna, a professor in the botany department. She recalled her trip up the Amazon, the heat and mosquitoes, a mansion in the jungle hidden by vines and white flowers. There was a jaguar sleeping on the sofa in the living room, a carpet covered with butterflies.
Later, I looked for the map in the college library, but I became lost in a labyrinth of numbers.
I thought I heard the rumbling of a jaguar.
I thought I could smell her elusive perfume.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at VERStype, Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail--Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
"Between the lines of certain old maps, the scent of that flower lingers."
Her name was Carmen de Luna, a professor in the botany department. She recalled her trip up the Amazon, the heat and mosquitoes, a mansion in the jungle hidden by vines and white flowers. There was a jaguar sleeping on the sofa in the living room, a carpet covered with butterflies.
Later, I looked for the map in the college library, but I became lost in a labyrinth of numbers.
I thought I heard the rumbling of a jaguar.
I thought I could smell her elusive perfume.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at VERStype, Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail--Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
Perfume is part of 101 Fiction issue 22.
Saturday, 8 December 2018
Salt
by Voima Oy
A stone spoke to me on the beach, round and warm in my hand. It turned into a figure of sea breeze and mist.
I was a sailor, he said. Now I'm a ghost of a man. But once I knew a girl in Lisbon, brown eyes and short bobbed hair. What I wouldn't give to hold her again. I wanted our kisses to last forever. But that was years ago!
He touched me, and I could feel the salt on my face. I remembered the bright water in the sun, as my heart rose and fell with the waves.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail – Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
A stone spoke to me on the beach, round and warm in my hand. It turned into a figure of sea breeze and mist.
I was a sailor, he said. Now I'm a ghost of a man. But once I knew a girl in Lisbon, brown eyes and short bobbed hair. What I wouldn't give to hold her again. I wanted our kisses to last forever. But that was years ago!
He touched me, and I could feel the salt on my face. I remembered the bright water in the sun, as my heart rose and fell with the waves.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail – Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
Salt is part of 101 Fiction issue 21.
Sunday, 2 September 2018
Luna
by Voima Oy
The girl with the moth eyebrows, they call me. Yes, my eyebrows are like furry caterpillars, like dark moths on my forehead.
I was always a nocturnal creature. I love the neon and streetlights. I love the moon in the mulberry tree, the garden in the moonlight, the fragrance of the moonflowers, their upturned faces.
By day, I wear silk and wool. Am I a girl dreaming she's a moth, or a moth dreaming she's a girl? The nights are getting longer, now, and the moon is a light in the window. I fly through the holes in my sweaters.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail – Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
The girl with the moth eyebrows, they call me. Yes, my eyebrows are like furry caterpillars, like dark moths on my forehead.
I was always a nocturnal creature. I love the neon and streetlights. I love the moon in the mulberry tree, the garden in the moonlight, the fragrance of the moonflowers, their upturned faces.
By day, I wear silk and wool. Am I a girl dreaming she's a moth, or a moth dreaming she's a girl? The nights are getting longer, now, and the moon is a light in the window. I fly through the holes in my sweaters.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal, Vignette Review, Molotov Cocktail – Flash Worlds, Burning House Press, and The Cabinet of Heed.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy and #vss365.
Luna is part of 101 Fiction issue 20.
Sunday, 3 September 2017
Murmuration
by Voima Oy
One day a voice spoke to him. Make her an angel. He had never attempted such a thing before, but he made a stone angel for his daughter, Molly. It was clumsy and lumpy, but how she smiled to see it. Soon, the back yard was filled with angels, big granite ones and little marble ones. She could see them from her window. Then came the day their wings unfurled in flight. One by one, they circled, upwards. A miracle, a murmuration of angels! How Molly would have smiled to see it. He wept, and the angels wept with him.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found in the Flashdogs Anthologies and online at Angry Hourglass, Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal and Vignette Review.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy.
Murmuration is part of 101 Fiction issue 16.
One day a voice spoke to him. Make her an angel. He had never attempted such a thing before, but he made a stone angel for his daughter, Molly. It was clumsy and lumpy, but how she smiled to see it. Soon, the back yard was filled with angels, big granite ones and little marble ones. She could see them from her window. Then came the day their wings unfurled in flight. One by one, they circled, upwards. A miracle, a murmuration of angels! How Molly would have smiled to see it. He wept, and the angels wept with him.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found in the Flashdogs Anthologies and online at Angry Hourglass, Paragraph Planet, 101 Fiction, Unbroken Journal and Vignette Review.
Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy.
Murmuration is part of 101 Fiction issue 16.
Sunday, 11 June 2017
Serving
by Voima Oy
You missed a spot, he says. I say nothing, keep wiping the counter. He's the worst boss ever, a demon, a low-ranking demon fallen from demonic grace. Once, I surprised him in his office; I heard voices, I thought he said come in. There was something on his back, something black with claws, a long red tongue winding around his throat. It's our secret. I won't tell a soul, and he lets me take a day off now and then. Sure, he's jealous of my freedom, but what can he do? He's stuck here, like me, serving time in hell.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, Visual Verse, 101 Fiction, Sick Lit and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy
Serving is part of 101 Fiction issue 15.
You missed a spot, he says. I say nothing, keep wiping the counter. He's the worst boss ever, a demon, a low-ranking demon fallen from demonic grace. Once, I surprised him in his office; I heard voices, I thought he said come in. There was something on his back, something black with claws, a long red tongue winding around his throat. It's our secret. I won't tell a soul, and he lets me take a day off now and then. Sure, he's jealous of my freedom, but what can he do? He's stuck here, like me, serving time in hell.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, Visual Verse, 101 Fiction, Sick Lit and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy
Serving is part of 101 Fiction issue 15.
Sunday, 5 March 2017
Loihi
by Voima Oy
Once there were gods on the mountains, living above the tree line in the cold air where nothing else survives. I have seen their palaces in the ice. The light so bright it blinded me.
In the sky is set a frozen palace, the moon, where they say a goddess lives. Each night, we watch her changing face.
I know a goddess who lives in volcanoes. Her heart beats beneath the waves. She is Loihi!
I will find her in the new land, where the lava meets the sea. Hear my prayer! Loihi, my love, I sing only to you.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, Visual Verse, 101 Fiction, Sick Lit and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy
Loihi is a part of 101 Fiction issue 14.
Once there were gods on the mountains, living above the tree line in the cold air where nothing else survives. I have seen their palaces in the ice. The light so bright it blinded me.
In the sky is set a frozen palace, the moon, where they say a goddess lives. Each night, we watch her changing face.
I know a goddess who lives in volcanoes. Her heart beats beneath the waves. She is Loihi!
I will find her in the new land, where the lava meets the sea. Hear my prayer! Loihi, my love, I sing only to you.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, Visual Verse, 101 Fiction, Sick Lit and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too— @voimaoy
Loihi is a part of 101 Fiction issue 14.
Sunday, 30 October 2016
Sweet
by Voima Oy
This time of year when the light is sharp and the dark comes early there is a thinning of the veil between the worlds. It shimmers, a spider web caught for a moment in the porch light. A plastic bag becomes a ghost.
All their houses are dressed up for Halloween. They give candy to appease the dead.
I still keep his silver ring. If I hold it close and speak his name we will dance together tonight.
I will hear him whispering sweet words in my ear as the children shriek, "Stay away. Stay away from the witch house!"
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, Visual Verse, 101 Fiction, Sick Lit and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too – @voimaoy
Sweet is part of 101 Fiction issue 13.
This time of year when the light is sharp and the dark comes early there is a thinning of the veil between the worlds. It shimmers, a spider web caught for a moment in the porch light. A plastic bag becomes a ghost.
All their houses are dressed up for Halloween. They give candy to appease the dead.
I still keep his silver ring. If I hold it close and speak his name we will dance together tonight.
I will hear him whispering sweet words in my ear as the children shriek, "Stay away. Stay away from the witch house!"
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing can be found online at Paragraph Planet, Visual Verse, 101 Fiction, Sick Lit and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too – @voimaoy
Sweet is part of 101 Fiction issue 13.
Sunday, 5 June 2016
AVI
by Voima Oy
Under the ice of Enceladus, there is an ocean. What life might live there, with no need of the sun?
We built a robot named AVI (Autonomous Visual Interface). She would go where humans could not. We thought there was no fear in AVI, or wonderment, no capacity for loneliness or love.
AVI saw things beyond our visual spectrum, as she swam in the cold and black. She sent back images of auroras, tentacled lightning, bridges not designed for us.
We saw the flickering of enormous creatures. AVI followed them into the darkness, toward the lights of their distant cities.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the Western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing has appeared in Visual Verse, Paragraph Planet and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too – @voimaoy.
AVI is part of 101 Fiction issue 12.
Under the ice of Enceladus, there is an ocean. What life might live there, with no need of the sun?
We built a robot named AVI (Autonomous Visual Interface). She would go where humans could not. We thought there was no fear in AVI, or wonderment, no capacity for loneliness or love.
AVI saw things beyond our visual spectrum, as she swam in the cold and black. She sent back images of auroras, tentacled lightning, bridges not designed for us.
We saw the flickering of enormous creatures. AVI followed them into the darkness, toward the lights of their distant cities.
Author bio: Voima Oy lives on the Western rim of Chicago, near the expressway and the Blue Line trains. Her writing has appeared in Visual Verse, Paragraph Planet and Unbroken Journal. Follow her on Twitter, too – @voimaoy.
AVI is part of 101 Fiction issue 12.
Sunday, 6 September 2015
Comrades
by Voima Oy
She was holding the book when she heard from Marcel, warning her of the impending raid. All she had was in her black bag – the book, a pen, a sweater, ID cards.
No, don't think about the sunny little room, the bookshelf, the begonia in the window, sharing coffee with Andrea. All that was gone, smoke and rubble in the street.
Andrea was waiting at the coffee shop, Marcel at the safe house. Friends would help them out of the city, through the sewers, past the border guards. She had everything she needed. They would write their own future, together.
Author bio: In real life, Voima Oy lives on the western edge of Chicago, near the elevated line and the expressway. She writes about all sorts of things.
Twitter: @voimaoy
Comrades is part of 101 Fiction issue 9.
She was holding the book when she heard from Marcel, warning her of the impending raid. All she had was in her black bag – the book, a pen, a sweater, ID cards.
No, don't think about the sunny little room, the bookshelf, the begonia in the window, sharing coffee with Andrea. All that was gone, smoke and rubble in the street.
Andrea was waiting at the coffee shop, Marcel at the safe house. Friends would help them out of the city, through the sewers, past the border guards. She had everything she needed. They would write their own future, together.
Author bio: In real life, Voima Oy lives on the western edge of Chicago, near the elevated line and the expressway. She writes about all sorts of things.
Twitter: @voimaoy
Comrades is part of 101 Fiction issue 9.
Sunday, 21 June 2015
Jade
by Voima Oy
Here on this world of dust, I wear a piece of green. Canadian jade from Vancouver, where the Pacific crashes against the cliffs. I found the pebble on the beach, before we left for Mars.
It's red here. It is a world of one colour, filled with dust. It flavours our coffee. We eat it for lunch. It's a topping on our salads, grown in the hydroponic tanks, under the artificial sun. Zucchini and green beans grow well here.
We have grown apart, Alan and me. His brown eyes scan the ridge in the evening, watching the sunset turn blue.
Author bio: In real life, Voima Oy lives on the western edge of Chicago, near the elevated line and the expressway. She writes about all sorts of things.
Twitter: @voimaoy
Jade is part of 101 Fiction issue 8.
Here on this world of dust, I wear a piece of green. Canadian jade from Vancouver, where the Pacific crashes against the cliffs. I found the pebble on the beach, before we left for Mars.
It's red here. It is a world of one colour, filled with dust. It flavours our coffee. We eat it for lunch. It's a topping on our salads, grown in the hydroponic tanks, under the artificial sun. Zucchini and green beans grow well here.
We have grown apart, Alan and me. His brown eyes scan the ridge in the evening, watching the sunset turn blue.
Author bio: In real life, Voima Oy lives on the western edge of Chicago, near the elevated line and the expressway. She writes about all sorts of things.
Twitter: @voimaoy
Jade is part of 101 Fiction issue 8.
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