Selected Sci-Fi Anthologies

Diverse Short Stories that will interest you

A Cornacopia of Speculative Afro Literature

SteamFunk
African American Science Fiction
African American Science Fiction
African American Science Fiction
Samuel Delany's Stories for Chip

AFROCentric Short Stories

There are many black sci-fi anthologies available. This is a good place to start. Discover short stories with an AFROcentric flavor: Steamfunk, Sword & Soul, African Horror, Black Flash Fiction and other AFROCentric genres are available for the couragous reader. There are many black speculative fiction anthologies available now and in the works. The Free mailing list/newsletter is a good place to start. Sign-up now.


At Rest

By Stafford L Battle

I rested, leaning on the granite column and wall behind me.
Heavy footsteps thundered in the palace. Foreign voices shouted.
Hoarse.
Fearful.
Desperate.
I had bathed, attended to my most grievous wounds, and fully re-armed. I was completely aware that the battle had not gone as we expected. By treachery and sorcery, we found ourselves outnumbered 1000 to one.
My warrior brothers and sisters stood defiantly and only died after inflicting huge gaping wounds to the northern demon beast and its fanatical minions. Blood ran in rivers. Rivers became oceans.
Enemy soldiers are stumbling up the palace staircase. Clanging, clumsy dull-witted servants of the beast. Only their numbers were superior to us. They were lost, tired, wounded, and driven by the threat of slavery if they failed to obey their cold, white masters. Most of these soldiers would die soon, when they reached the top of the stairwell where I was guarding an empty royal chamber, enjoying perhaps my last mortal breaths.
I loved the smooth, cold stone on the bottom of my feet. I wished to see at least one more golden sunrise over the savanna. I wanted to enjoy a final hot, embrace with my wives; encourage my esteemed sons and daughters to complete their studies and become people of science and not war.
The enemy saw me, hesitated, bunching up on the stairs and shouting commands for more troops, perhaps, archers with deadly poisoned arrows.
My musket was armed but I depended more on sharp, molded metal to teach these dogs a lesson that they would take to their graves and all the way back to the icy glaciers where they were spawned.
The shield I carried replaced the old and battered one that I had to abandon in the throat of an invader; he was one of their esteemed, immortal, warrior gods.

Strange, that he had bleated like a common domestic goat when I slew him. I laughed as the enemy surged forward.