Digital Lights: 15+ Stories Inspired by Online Friends

By Coffee Quills

Okay, Short Stories, but What Genre?
All of them? A bit of a joke since I like to write in multiple genres, but in Digital Lights you'll be able to read science-fiction, contemporary paranormal, steampunk, ghost stories, and even alternate history and post-apocalypse. Come on in, pull up a short story, and enjoy!

What Do You Mean, Online Friends?
Yep! I'm lucky enough to be a part a several writing communities thanks to streaming 4thewords on Twitch (4thewords Dust Warriors, World Anvil's world builders + ASC, Writer's Workout, Game of Tomes, 31 Days 31 Stories, NaNoWriMo, and more) - the cool thing about streaming is that a creative community comes together, resulting in some interesting ideas and fantastic short stories! (This is also my way of saying thanks to everyone who comes and hangs out <3)

Fair warning: There is a possibility of any short stories collected here becoming a book or a series - there is a bigger possibility if you like it, tell me you like it/write a review, and therefore tempt me.

A collection of short stories generated by caffeination, friends, and all the little things that come together at the right moment to spark ideas.

Tags for Stories: neopronouns, found family, soul swapping, mad SCIENCE!, mostly happy endings (1 exception), ghosts, plant/human hybrids, coffeeshop, dreamscapes (Author's Note has tags for each story/chapters)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coffee Quills
• Release date: Aug 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201968113

Book preview

Digital Lights

15+ Stories Inspired by Online Friends

Coffee Quills

Copyright © 2022 by Coffee Quills

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people (alive or dead) or incidents, is coincidence.

Fair warning: There is a possibility of any short stories collected here becoming a book or a series - there is a bigger possibility if you like a story and reach out to tempt me.

Kat Betts is the editor for this collection, as well as one of the people who sparked a short story. Thank you for cutting down on the confusion, for highlighting all those important bits, and for showing me places where I could go different routes. If you're a fellow writer and needing editing for your speculative-fiction writing, find Kat at Element Editing Services. (I claim any remaining typos as mine. and mine alone)

The amazing graphic designers at Vibrant Designs made this book cover (it was a premade on their site and I fell in love with it immediately (so happy we'll be able to continue this theme and look for the next book!). They are a fantastic team and very friendly to work with, so feel free to check out all that they do!

Last, but certainly not least, the chapter header and ornamental break you'll see in here were designed by Real Life Design Covers. I thought I'd stumped them on needing something for a multi-genre collection of short stories, but the team came up with the amazing idea you'll soon see. If you're needing maps, or headers and breaks like I did, they'll help you find something that fits your book's theme.

image-placeholder

Author Note

If you'd like to dive ahead in the reading, feel free to skip this section. If you'd like to read about content notes, this is for you.

Content Notes: Overall the general rating of this book would be about PG-13: there's a bit of violence and war (nothing graphic), no sex, and a sprinkling of cursing. More detailed notes are made available here for each short story and are listed below in italics so readers can inform themselves and enjoy their reading.

A Touch of Sea Dew

Sprinkling Kindness Around the Roots: child neglect

Can You Stomach Politics?: mention of vomit

SCIENCE! And Feelings

And the Days Will Stretch On Forever: murder

The Experiment: nuclear bombs, war, mass death

Ghostly Chills for Summer Thrills: missing woman presumed dead

Lessons & Manners: vampire drinking blood

From the Mouths of Babes

A Good Defense

Draw Me Haunted: shooting/murder during the US Civil War

Purple & Silver

Finding Unicorns: slight physical violence

Still Sweet Rotting Peaches: family disownment, slight physical violence, pointed gun

To Have Wings: mention of machine injury, non-human prejudice, death of parents

Marsterra: non-consensual body modification for AI, deaths of parents

Evidence & Elementals: slight physical violence with mentions of accidental drowning, apartment fire, and arson

Contents

Introduction

1. A Touch of Sea Dew

2. Sprinkling Kindness Around the Roots

3. Can You Stomach Politics?

4. SCIENCE! And Feelings

5. And the Days Will Stretch On Forever

6. The Experiment

7. Ghostly Chills for Summer Thrills

8. Lessons & Manners

9. From the Mouths of Babes

10. A Good Defense

11. Draw Me Haunted

12. Purple & Silver

13. Finding Unicorns

14. Still Sweet Rotting Peaches

15. To Have Wings

16. Marsterra

17. Evidence & Elementals

Dedication

Afterward

Introduction

You're probably wondering what the heck this book is about. I mean, most short story collections have a theme, right? All fantasy, all sci-fi, all zombies, etc. Search for Pirating Pups as an example (I don't think you'll be disappointed), or get your solar punk in with Sunshine Superhighway. Oooh, if I mention the pups I also have to mention Cat Ladies of the Apocalypse – loved those stories!  

Anyway… What is the underlying thread that brings Digital Lights together? The title is the best way I have to describe the amazing will-o'-the-wisps I've met streaming 4thewords (an RPG for writers) on Twitch. This whole thing started on July 21st, 2020, all thanks to Esongbird, who was doing World Anvil's Summer Camp world building at the same time I was.

I honestly wasn't too sure about this Twitch streaming thing at first, but it the starting point for Writer's CONduit (an online free-to-attend writer's convention), has given me writing consistency, and has added about seven more writing events to my yearly calendar. This book idea was started on the 1st year streamaversary, when I asked who would like a free short story, and my nefarious plan was to wait until everyone forgot, then release it on July 21, 2022 (I was a little bit late, whoops!). There are already plans for a second collection of short stories to come out on July 21st, 2023 (and I should have the timing down much better then).

Seventeen stories, ten genres (check below if you want to see the breakdown), and more friends than I ever could have imagined. Enjoy, and have a great timezone!

Alternative History: 1

Contemporary: 1

Gaslamp: 1

Horror: 1

Paranormal: 1

Post-Apocalyptic: 1

Sci-fi: 4

Steampunk: 2

Urban Fantasy: 4

Wyrd Fiction: 1

Chapter 1

A Touch of Sea Dew

image-placeholder

There’s something to the smell of coffee and tea that’s soothing. Rising to greet a day full of opportunities with a warm mug cupped in your hands, full of liquid energy. Ending a day from hell with a heavier weight on your shoulders, and the scent of lavender brushing those throbbing pain points at your temples. Everyone uses coffee and tea to accomplish what they want. I do, at least, and judging by all the traffic the café gets, so do most of the people in the city.

The good thing is that we baristas at The Magic Beans undergo training to help people’s everyday troubles—with a pinch of magic in all our offerings.

Are you going to make a choice, Juniper?

I shot Angie, my manager and teacher, a smile I’m sure looked sickly, but nodded all the same. A real-time bobblehead, that’s what I was. That whole bunk about coffee and tea being relaxing? It’s true, but certainly not to us when The Contest, capital T and C, was going on. This is where wizards were separated from witches, where potions were teased into being, written down for next year’s menu to be tested on lottery winners from the local community, where—

Juniper!

I jumped. My potion sloshed over my notebook, onto my black steel-toed boots, and puddled onto the black rubber mats beneath my feet; rose-colored smoke, well, rose, and I cringed. I darted a glance at frightened onlookers and the medi-witch pulling several health potions out of xyr bag. Even non-witches knew that heavy earthenware was used to contain strong spells, and the fact that they’d been taken out for my coffee translated into sharp rocks dropped down my gullet.

Angie, Angel to all others except her underlings, gave a slight cough and looked at the owl clock on the wall.

Five minutes to midnight. And now I had no potion. No notes. Just my brain. Great. There was no coming back from this, I was going to fail so hard they’d still be talking about me a hundred years later.

I froze, then snatched a small vial containing the pulverized remains of ibis bone. Clinked it back down on the counter. Grabbed crushed chocolate flower oil. Uncapped it and took a sniff of the sharp, concentrated scent.

Four minutes.

No. Not the chocolate flower oil.

I stepped back from the choices in front of me and clenched my hands. My brain was shouting at me in several voices: Mom’s tone telling me I just had to fortify and make choices, no matter if they were for better or worse. Dad was telling me to stop being so conflicted over unimportant things. Bren, my annoying-but-still-loved younger brother, was snickering and asking if I was just going to fail again by timing out.

Turning on my heel brought me back to the wood-polished coffee machine Angie had specially made for our café. Habit had me starting up an espresso shot.

Three minutes. Still no closer to a workable coffee-based potion. I sniffed, the aroma of brewing beans holding back tears for now. I was going to fail again, just like rain was made to fall every day from one thirty until three fifteen, as scheduled by the mayor.

I needed clarity. Focus. Where was the sea dew? That always helped me for a little while, gathering my clouds into shapes instead of the scattered wisps they normally were.

My shaking hands took out the espresso shot and looked for where to dump it. Cold brew! I took a glass of cold coffee and mixed the two of them into one stream, filling up the glass halfway. Then I plopped in one ice cube, letting the sea dew splash on it three times so it smoothly became part of the coffee.

Two minutes. What else would I want for focus? My fingers plucked bacopa extract and sprinkled it into the coffee, which I stirred widdershins nine times, my heart beating in time with the clinking of metal against glass.

A sprig of rosemary would add to the presentation, plum and mossy green contrasting against the dark brown in a lovely, complementary way.

One minute.

I frothed a dollop of whipped cream and made a smiley face onto the top of the glass of coffee. Nothing was ever wrong with using imagery to promote a positive feeling, and as I loved pointing out to my friends, with the word mage in it, it was already a part of witchcraft.

The owl hooted and I stopped. Dropped the utensil from my hand. Maybe . . . maybe if I drank it now, I’d know how badly I’d failed, and I could figure out what to do next year. I could be calculating instead of crying in front of all these people—a dark hand latched onto my wrist before I could touch my glass.

Time’s up, Juniper. Angie took it from me and carried it to the judges, then came back. That was smart of you.

I looked up into her round face, searching for the scorn I knew had to be there.

I’m not lying about your accomplishments. I never do. You had a problem, figured out how to solve it, and finished your test.

But . . . I didn’t have enough words to explain my feelings. I just made myself a drink. I couldn’t make one for my customer.

You chose to do that.

I shook my head.

I chose to . . . I stopped. I had. I had chosen how to help a person, who just happened to be me. The ingredients were to make a concentration potion. Even with the presentation, I had made a choice. Huh. I wasn’t sure if, or what, I was supposed to be saying right now, but thankfully Angie continued.

Some people can see a stranger and sense what they need. She smirked. That’s my focus, and it’s something I look for when we’re hiring new baristas.

I nodded at that. Angie was a poster witch. Every day she looked as if she was magic come to life, reading auras and having drinks ready for customers before they’d ordered. I’d never been able to do that, which meant I was relegated to people who wanted a non-magical cup of whatever. A bit confusing to me in general; if you didn’t want a magic drink, why would you come into a witch-based café? But after working for a while, I learned some people made their own, others felt they didn’t need the magic at this point in their lives, a few more had jobs that required them to be potion free, and so on and so on.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to the present.

You’re different. Your choices are based on your own feelings, and you help by first seeing what would aid you, and then transferring that to others. She chuckled. We’re going to need to change up the menu a little. I’ll still be there to serve people what they need, but you’re going to be an asterisk.

I shook my head.

Flux. I think I’ll start you out with your moods, even if that means we’ll have to change the daily offering probably by the hour.

She shot me an amused look, honey-brown eyes dancing with excitement.

Drink by Instinct. I like it.

Drink by Instinct. The name made me smile as well, a little part of my brain screaming in happiness, a smaller part whispering that what she had said made sense, but another section wondering exactly what the difference was going to be between our blends and marking that for future conversations when I would need to ask Angie for better examples.

However, there was one thing I understood. When book knowledge and studying are erased by panic, in the end, everybody trusts in their instincts.

Chapter 2

Sprinkling Kindness Around the Roots

image-placeholder

Istood at the large window behind my desk, gently spraying the small cherry blossoms at the tips of my fingers. There was still about five minutes before Zein would arrive, and I wanted to be in as good a mood as possible. I hated firing people, and that was the only outcome which would happen here, so I was currently basking in the sunlight. A little spritz of moisture, and then I would end my self-care session with a few droplets of GreenGro. The herbal supplement was legal, and though it was a drug, I saw it more as a type of coffee made for plants than anything else.

Three minutes. I turned to make sure the flowers on my back received enough natural light as well. The outfit I wore today allowed me to show off most of my blooms and blossoms. To remain calm and keep the sun’s serenity inside me, I went through my current favorite flowers and why they made me happy.

The hibiscus tucked behind my right ear, with its soft red highlighting my glossy black hair. A zephyranthes minuta—a flower I’d needed help to identify, but which meant happiness and joy—grew from the crook of my left knee, which had been smashed in a car accident. I liked how the sprig wrapped around and smiled up at me with its pink-and-yellow floweret face. Last, but certainly not least since by this age I had more blooms than fingers and toes, was the lush, purple crocus nestled in the hollow of my throat, the scent a lovely way to wake up.

One minute. A knocking came, and I had to bite my tongue to stop from saying Nevermore.

Come in! I called out, moving with my normal limp to stand behind the low mushroom stool at my desk. The door opened, and a young sprout of twenty-six stepped into the room, a small trail of detritus following him. The poncho-like garment he wore hid most of his flowers, but that was the way of youth. My generation had worn very little, determined to show off the genetic manipulation our parents had kept hidden, and it looked as if the generation