Words for Thought: Short Fiction Review
Welcome to another Words for Thought! The weather is warming up here in the northeast and the days are getting longer. It’s a time of change and transformation, so fittingly, these stories are all about transformation—literal, physical change, a change in perception or one’s frame of mind, and sometimes both. As always, there are spoilers ahead, so beware.
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“In Absentia” by Suzan Palumbo, published in The Dark in February 2026 (https://www.thedarkmagazine.com/in-absentia/), is a lovely exploration of complex grief, the loneliness of mourning someone before they’ve died, and changing a relationship with one’s parent after death.
For almost two decades, the only presence of the man partly responsible for her existence had been the lingering anxiety caused by his eviscerating words and the mildly acidic taste of abandonment at the bottom of her throat.
After her father’s death, Asha reflects on their relationship, or more accurately, it’s lack. She barely knew him, but some part of her remains curious as to whether he would approve of her and whether they might have learned to love each other somehow. Even though he wasn’t present in her life, she still wants closure and decides that deliberately inviting a haunting might provide her with just that. She seeks out his grave and invites his spirit to follow her home, but in the end, she doesn't allow him to cross the threshold into her home, just allowing him enough of a glimpse to see the impact his absence had on her.
The story is bittersweet in its exploration of the parent-child relationship, and how that relationship changes with death. Palumbo’s story perfectly captures the change Asha goes through after her father dies. Even though she is already an adult, she grows up a little bit more, as only upon her father’s death does she fully become herself, moving beyond the need for his approval and beyond the instinct to define herself by his absence or presence.
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“The Doll Problem” by Angela Liu, published in Nightmare Magazine in March, (https://www.nightmare-magazine.com/fiction/the-doll-problem/), is an effective piece of flash fiction that explores the way relationships transform over time, as well as the fragility and discomfort of human bodies.
I want to tell them: bodies are ugly, unreliable things. Vomit-shades of pink or brown, smooth or dried out, freckled and cigarette burnt and cut with imperfections like the too-shimmery “FINAL SALE” outfits in the dingy backroom at JAS Lucky Mart on Roosevelt Avenue where my aunt buys all her clothes.
Liu uses the haunted doll trope to explore friendship, gendered expectations, growing up, and the fear of death, as three friends contemplate a mysterious doll that may or may not contain a ghost. The narrator is both fascinated by the doll and afraid of it. It brings up memories of her uncle’s death and how easily human bodies can fail, but also memories of her friend Kathy’s grandmother and how she used to give them both dolls as gifts, implying without outright saying that dolls with their porcelain perfection model what girls should be, while also preparing them for motherhood.
While Kathy got rid of the dolls as soon as she could, the narrator kept hers, pitying them. The difference in their reaction seems to point toward a moment of the girls drifting apart from each other, their friendship changing even further now that they are older and Kathy is dating Yuki. But it is a doll that brings them back together again as the very ground beings to crumble under the force of the haunting. Liu manages to pack a lot into a short space, and it’s nicely done.
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“Crowdfund Your New Citizen Body: A Performance” by Bogi Takács, published in the December issue of Baffling Magazine, (https://www.bafflingmag.com/issue-twenty-two/crowdfund-your-new-citizen-body-a-performance), deals with a more literal transformation, blending science fiction with a touch of body horror.
You can’t go planetside without changing, but you can’t change without dozens of crystals, and you can’t get the crystals without convincing citizens to give them to you—it’s not precisely a trap.
The piece straddles the line between prose and poetry, following a performance artist who is seeking citizenship for themself and their lover on a planet that requires humans to transform their bodies in order to withstand the atmosphere. To fund the transformation, Judit takes all the necessary crystals at once, and invites the public to watch the incredibly painful changes wrought upon their flesh.
As with Liu’s story, this one is brief, but packs in a lot into a short space. The story can be read as a commentary on the healthcare system, and how many people resort to crowdfunding to literally save their lives. The story can also be read as a commentary on the assimilation often expected of people considering immigration, in this case making the change very literal, as well as physically painful. Adding a further layer, there is transformation within the text itself, as editorial comments are woven throughout, the changes either rejected, accepted, or commented on in turn by Judit.
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“Moss Senses” by Beth Goder, published in Flash Fiction Online in March, (https://www.flashfictiononline.com/article/moss-senses/) deals in both physical and mental transformation as Agata sets out on an alien planet, looking for her missing crew mates.
When Agata steps out of the spaceship, she sinks into moss up to her knees. Moss clings to her legs, full of softness, gifting her a gentle chill. With a fierce push, she rejects this indulgent touch, pulling back like a tiger slipping out of a cage, because she needs to search for the others.
The story is full of gorgeous sensory detail as the moss slips into Agata’s thoughts, trying to understand her, and then bringing her to her lost crewmates. It offers all three of them a kind of transformation, into one being, joining with it and each other—thinking each other’s thoughts, feeling how each other experiences the world. Agata both craves this closeness and transformation and fears it as well, wanting to retain her sense of self, or at least the option of being a singular being again. The writing is lovely, and like Takács’ piece, it also straddles the line between prose and poetry.