cover by sukiyakii
~*~
The Conquests of Dr. Victor Alazon, by Kikuchi Makoto (菊池 誠)
Tourniquet, by atarashii merle (新思メルル)*
The Heart of the City, by Dr. Noh
The Stone Fox and the Bloody Hands, by shukyou (主教) and Tsukizubon Saruko (月図凡然る子)
Stealer of Hearts, by Kim Chee (沈菜)
The Unicorn Man, by Takiguchi Aiko (滝口アイコ)
El Presidio Rides North, by Domashita Romero (地下ロメロ)*
Worse Than Rats, by Noel Oliver
Bright Mouths, by shukyou (主教)*
nothing under my skin but light, by Nijiiro Sumi (虹色墨)
The Painted Face, by Amai Tonken (甘い とんけん)*
The Soldier and the Sea, by yabamena
Unidentified Friendship Objective, by Ogiwara Saki (荻原咲)*
Consumed, by Meame Kannouteki (目飴 官能的)
The Emperor’s New Handmaid, by hcolleen and Osoimaru
Altair, by Yamanashi Moe (山梨もえ)*
The Small Door, by Kaerutobi Ike (蛙跳び池)
The Lonely God, by Ozawa Ayaka (小澤綾香)*
Possession, by Yume Arashi (夢 嵐)
Love Will Tear Us Apart (or, The Modern Pygmalion), by Tsukizubon Saruko (月図凡然る子)
*illustrated
—
Close Your Curtains, by The Winter Cynic
Menashe, by Bluejuice (青液)
~*~
“We will each write a gay story,” said the editors; and our proposition was acceded to. There were remarkably many of us. Some noble authors began sweet tales, fragments of which will no doubt be printed at other times, in other places. Others, more apt to embody homoerotic ideas and sentiments in the radiance of brilliant imagery, commenced tales founded on the experiences of young men early in the first bloom of love. Yet others had some grotesque ideas about grisly monsters, punished in sexy ways for their transgressions—what exactly those were always varied—things very shocking and wrong of course; but when the men were reduced to worse conditions than the renowned Victor Frankenstein, the authors were obliged to despatch them to the tomb of the Capulets, the only place for which they were fitted — and even that not always in a wholly binding fashion. The illustrious editors also, stunned by the sheer volume of prose, speedily assembled to categorize the multitude of offerings.
I, the Editor-in-Chief, busied myself to curate this collection—a collection of stories to rival those which had excited us to this task. An issue which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature, and awaken thrilling horror—one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish this thing, this thirty-third issue would be unworthy of the Shousetsu Bang*Bang name. I edited and edited—vainly. I felt that blank incapability of invention which is the greatest misery of editorialism, when dull Grammar replies to our anxious errors. Is the issue ready yet? I was asked each morning, and each morning I was forced to reply with a mortifying negative.
Until at last, on this very morning, the issue came.
