The Color of My Home is Red Like an Apple – Evan Marcroft

The color of my home is red like an apple. That is what God told the father of all my fathers, who told all their daughters, who told me. I do not know what an apple is, only that it is sweet and red like my home. My name is Anan. I have lived as long as nine suns, and I have always served God. When I was a baby, my father was chosen to …

Another question for Evan Marcroft

Q: If you could have any super power, what would it be?

A: If I could have any one super power, I would want the ability to experience alternate realities at will. While I do love being a writer, I often find myself wondering at all the opportunities I passed up to pursue that life. The world is full of more people than I will ever be able to meet. There are too many things for me to possibly do in just a hundred or so years. I wouldn’t necessarily want the power to fulfill any dream I might have, but rather the ability to pursue any dream I cared to, with all the ups and downs that chase would entail. The best part of any journey is going there, after all. Plus, I might uncover an alternate reality where I have other superpowers too, so really there’s no downside to this.

Evan Marcroft’s story “The Color of My Home is Red Like an Apple
in Metaphorosis Friday, 29 March 2019.
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More about Evan Marcroft

Evan Marcroft is a half-blind yeti-person with a sideways foot and an allergy to the sun. When he was a child he dreamed of writing important works of Earth-shaking beauty and settled for writing fantasy and science fiction instead. He currently lives in Sacramento California with a cat and a loving wife who foolishly believes he’ll someday make real money doing this. You can find his other works at Pseudopod, Strange Horizons, and Mirror Dance, as well as here at Metaphorosis. You can reach him on Twitter at @Evan_Marcroft and contact him for any reason at

Evan Marcroft’s story “The Color of My Home is Red Like an Apple
in Metaphorosis Friday, 29 March 2019.
Subscribe now for e-mail updates!

The Little G-d of Łódź – Evan Marcroft

On September 6, 1939, a Rabbi and Kabbalist named Yitzchok Falk sets fire to the Great Synagogue of Łódź. “The Germans will burn it anyway,” he tells his apprentice they drag a body out of the trunk of his car. “Let it burn without victims, and for a good reason.” The boy, Max, who holds the feet, only nods. They carry the body in and lay it out in the prayer hall. It is a …

A question for Evan Marcroft

Q: Have you ever wondered whether ideas are thought waves directed at you by an AI supercomputer located in the distant future?

A: I can’t say I have, until now at least. Supposing that’s true, I can’t help but wonder if we’re a form of story-telling to them. If our brain activity is directed by intellects beyond our observation, if what we say and how we respond to it is all decided by some other entity, if what we dream and what we do to pursue those dreams is decided by any amount of authorities at least one less than our eight billion, then are we not like characters in some vast story called Earth Circa 2018? I imagine those supercomputers tuning in to some time-piercing TV program to see how this million-year narrative is progressing, what plot twists are unwinding in this eleventy-billionth episode of Mankind. I picture a fair number of fans writing the producers complaining about plot holes and melodrama beloved characters dying unfairly. If that’s the case then I guess I hope that I’ve got someone funny writing the character of me, because if I’m going to be just one mindless side character out of billions with no agency or free will of my own, then I at least want to have some good lines.

Evan Marcroft’s story “” was
published on Friday, 2 November 2018.

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