Accessing the Future: A Disability-Themed Anthology of Speculative Fiction by Joyce Chng, Nicolette Barischoff, A.C. Buchanan, Sarah Pinsker Page B

naked body into the bed with him. But he murmured in joy when my hand found his chest, and I held him tight and cried with relief and fear in equal parts.
    I was home, I had Marcellus. But my house was stolen and my partner was a felon, so both were things that the state could take away.
    “How was it?” he asked, half-awake.
    “It was work,” I said.
    “Fucking work,” he mumbled. His eyes closed and he snored in that way he always did, endearing and soft.

“Julienne the Technician” by Fabian Alvarado
    Previous Page:
    A woman who has no arms is positioned in front of an open mechanical panel. In the lower right corner, there is a circular window that looks out on to a planet. The woman appears to be floating in zero gravity. There is writing on the wall behind her that has an arrow pointing left and the partially obscured words, “Gate B2—.” The woman has long hair tied in a ponytail and is wearing a hard hat with an insignia on it, a harness around her upper body (which is attached to a clip on her left side, holding her in place), a jumpsuit that ends at her ankles, and toe-fitted socks on her feet. Between the toes of her right foot, she holds a small computer board. A cut piece of wiring hangs down around her left leg, held in place with her left toes. She is looking down with concentration as she works.

The Lessons of the Moon
    Joyce Chng
    1. Sea of Rains
    Waxing, waning, dark moon, crescent, full—
    like rain that comes and drench
    the desert of my being
    water
    the bare sand, caress the skin, grow seeds.
    2. Sea of Crises
    Blame the fullness for the insanity that comes
    like the crack of lighting or the giggle
    of a child at the sight of buffoons
    balloons
    staying afloat at the sky,
    subject to the whim of the wind.
    3. Sea of Tranquility
    I hope to remain calm—
    consistent, sure as the tides
    and as violent as rip currents that pull me
    apart,
    tear me inside out,
    outside in.
    4. Landing
    Landing, hoping to land,
    that’s all I want, all I desire—
    Landing.
    I have been storm-tossed, thrown away, pulled apart:
    terra firma, solid ground.
    Land now, just land.
----
    I am staring out of the window, at the colors that sweep across the sky, the pinks and the oranges and the red and the rare streak of purple. They cover me, the patches on my chest going up and down. I am awash with colors, swimming in them. I am alive.
    My IV drip feeds me, giving me the salt and glucose. My mouth craves the feel and texture of food. Oranges. Apples. A fat juicy medium-rare steak so red that the blood blends with the caramelized onion sauce. Glasses of wine, water and fruit smoothies. Quivering red jellies gleaming like pure ruby, tasting of fine plum and grape liquor. Food, glorious food. Hard to eat when your taste-buds hate you and your intestines reject food straight away.
    They are saying that I am changing. Like the moon. I am so low in energy now, the dark moon, that I can only lie on my bed and stare at the colors. Sometimes, I am in my waxing phase, energy coming back—and when I am full, I can do so many things. I write. I dance. I cook. I move. My garden of green and red chili, of rosemary and mint. Then I crash and I am back to square one. My limbs feel like weights. My joints ache and my pain synapses are on fire. I am brought back to earth. I am changing. Into what form, I am not sure.
    I am not changing into a phoenix, for sure. The thing running in me isn’t some mythical bird due for re-birth. The thing inside me is some insidious beast, sometimes tame, sometimes vicious. All I can do is to chain it down.
    Now I am earthbound.
    They want me in a Pod, so that I can live further and enjoy more years. I am not sure I want to fly a Pod and fight bad aliens in space, where physics still work and there is no sound. If my body fails, the surgeon tries to reassure me, be patient, this disease needs patience, I will have a new body and I will be a warrior. A good cause. I am fighting for something