Six stories this week, from Clarkesworld, Apex, and Night Shades. I’m gonna do this every Friday-ish, so if you are:

• A pub who regularly posts free-to-read stories, or
• A writer with a free-to-read story or stories posted this week, or
• Another fan with a lead on more free-to-read stories …

Drop me a line and I’ll happily add to the list. 

2026-05-24: Paper Airplane Poet, by Sheri Singerling, at Clarkesworld

Normally, Tillie didn’t mind being the object of everyone’s gaze. But today, the crowd loitering in the street wasn’t drawn to her orange-red curls or her height or regalness. They weren’t viewing her with lust or envy or simple admiration. Today, they were eyeing her with sympathy.

Also available in audio.

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 2026-05-25: Aly, by Grace Chan, at Clarkesworld

<It might be good for you to take a new route,> said Aly.

Xavi jogged out of his tenement building. He joined the stream of lunchtime runners pounding the flagstones of the riverside promenade. Ethereal boats floated over their lustrous reflections in the Yarra River’s crystalline projection. The thin struts of the climate-control shield divided the sky into bright blue squares.

Also available in audio.

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 2026-05-28: Decimation Circles, by Raahem Alvi, at Clarkesworld

Layla was bleeding out.

Her neurons began to supernova and transmute into a new electrical form. A maglev of old memories zipped past her. She was thinking about that one time she saw Anderson’s face explode.

Also available in audio.

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 2026-05-28: The Scent of Memory, by Zhao Haihong, at Clarkesworld

The bus jerked, waking Shijun. The Greyhound was speeding down a wide North American road.

What am I doing here?

Also available in audio.

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2026-05-26: In Your Diminishing Tongue, by Indigo Rue, at Apex Magazine

Throughout millennia, I have consumed many words. I devoured the mammoths’ savory nouns, grazed upon the smoky verbs of mycelium. One word I remember with particular clarity is chi-chiq’i, which means sun-warmed stones in the language of shorebirds.  

Learn the word for “the invitation to chase a crab.”

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  2026-05-28: breathe out, breathe in; breathe out, breathe out, by Meagan Kane, at Night Shades

Whenever Tammy is alone, she collapses to the ground, head thunking against the pavement or carpet or wooden slats. She stays solidly still. Her eyes move but her eyelids do not. Wherever her wrist bends, it holds.

Happy reading! Support your favorite authors! Support your favorite pubs!