June arrives with long light and quiet momentum, a month where the world feels both steady and on the verge of change. The air is warm, the days are stretched, and systems—natural and artificial—hum with purpose. It’s a time of full bloom and subtle shifts, where even small disruptions can carry meaning. In this space of calm surface and hidden movement, we welcome you to the seventy-eighth edition of the Flame Tree Fiction Newsletter.

Our theme this month is Benevolent Glitch - a dive into the moments when systems falter in just the right way, when flaws reveal new paths, and when something kind emerges from the unexpected. Thank you to all who submitted stories filled with quiet wonder and thoughtful reversals. Here’s to a June of clear skies, soft static, and the beauty of well-timed errors.
Congratulations to both winners of the June theme: Tina Crossgrove and D.L. Stille!

Wellness Protocol by Tina Crossgrove – A mining ship’s quirky AI begins making unauthorized but beneficial upgrades to its crew, blurring the line between care and control in deep space...

Paradigm Shift by D.L. Stille – A skilled mind-hacker navigates the vulnerabilities of a hyper-connected world, only to falter when faced with something unexpectedly human...

This month's newsletter features:

• NEW Myths, Gods & Immortals AND Gothic Fantasy Titles
• Flame Tree Myth & Fiction Podcast
• Original Sci-Fi Flash Fiction #1: Wellness Protocol by Tina Crossgrove
• Original Sci-Fi Flash Fiction #2: Paradigm Shift by D.L. Stille
• EXCLUSIVE Newsletter Subscribers Special Promotion
• Next Month’s Flash Fiction Theme

Paradigm Shift

D.L. Stille

You might think you’re safe. You’re protected by a wall, after all, a wall you made. A wall you constructed brick by brick with your lucky number and your mother’s maiden name and the year, make, and model of that shitty sedan you drove fifteen years ago.

I hate to tell you this—I really do—but that wall is less of a wall and more of a Jenga tower. Once I get my hands on one of those blocks, it all comes tumbling down.

I did it today, and all I needed was your cat: specifically, his oh-so-original name of Socks. A name so “inspired” that you’ve plastered it all over Instagram and TikTok and even Facebook for some reason because Socks is just so fucking important.

And I needed your birthday, but you gave me that one, too, posting about the trials and tribulations of being a Pisces. For some reason, it’s always a Pisces.

And that was it.

Upon inspection, you’re pretty harmless, though. You pay your taxes, you keep your promises, and, most importantly, your adoration for your cat is genuine. I’ll just make vegetables taste better, remove your fear of public speaking, and leave. You’ll never know I was here, chewing through the folds of your mind like a tender-hearted termite.

You’re welcome.

#

You aren’t safe either, Mr. Off-the-Grid.

You’re not on social media, and it’s the first thing you tell everyone, and not in a polite, “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t have Snapchat,” kind of way, but in a smug, holier-than-thou, “I-will-survive-the-Rapture” kind of way.

Except you’re not off the grid. For five years you raged on various forums about the Deep State hiding nano-chips in your Starbucks latte, but you had Encephalink installed?

After some digging, the reason reveals itself. That new AR-MMORPG has ensnared the attention of every Twitch streamer with the lure of its hyper-realistic graphics and its beguiling array of in-game purchases.

Augmented-reality gaming never harmed anyone, I guess. But your latest Reddit rampage reveals some seriously problematic views about women.

I’m going to make your lattes smell like piss.

And get your Reddit account banned. But I’ll do that the old-fashioned way.

#

You were supposed to be my last target.

And you were supposed to be an easy job: the airhead heiress, the trailblazer who had the earliest (and most vulnerable) generation of Encephalink installed at her egotistical technocrat father’s urging.

I’d been paid half upfront: which rarely happens in this business, not anymore, when there are bottom-feeders willing to do this kind of work for dirt-cheap with the unreliable aid of AI.

Your password wasn’t straightforward: stalking your Instagram page was a fruitless endeavor, as most of your black-and-white beach selfies had no captions and no hashtags. No gimmicks are required to maintain your extensive following, who would salivate at a blurry photo of a seagull had you posted it?

You had a Tumblr, which I’ll admit, was quite a left turn, especially since most of your posts were about an obscure, two-season science fiction drama. It made me like you, just a little. There was more to you than all-inclusive tropical resorts and European river cruises. You had taste.

Then I found your Wattpad account, which was not a hidden hoard of scandalous fanfiction, but instead, a treasure trove of verse:

The siren of old
is a wraith after souls
with no comfort, just dead man’s bones,
and the man long asleep
is trapped in the deep
and wonders why he’s alone.

Nothing revolutionary here: a trite metaphor, a story overdone and over-told, one I’d known too well: two imperfect people, unable to love what’s in front of them. Unable to cherish what they have already.

That was the problem with Encephalink. The human brain, generally, works just fine as-is: but then Encephalink made it better. It made colors brighter. It overlaid your sight with your step count and it warned you when it was about to rain. It made it so you were never alone with terrible, dark thoughts and always connected to a network of friends, old schoolmates, and the members of your mom’s bowling team.

So of course everyone wanted it.

And then everyone needed it. It became a security measure at airports. A payment method at the grocery store. A way for job interviewers to instantly absorb every single detail of your work experience.

And then I needed it, too. So I could do jobs like this. But this was going to be my last. Because once the world saw how dangerous it could be—how easy it was to flip a switch and warp your very perception of reality—everything would change.

That Wattpad account had an old email, a password that happened to feature names from that science fiction show.

I could see everything you saw. Feel what you felt. I felt the cool summer breeze kiss your skin; and tasted the sweet of the hazelnut spread on your crepe. I saw the salmon-colored umbrellas lining the patio of your favorite breakfast cafe; I heard the tinny laughter of the rosy-cheeked friend that sat across from you.

And I heard the click and whir of cameras.

One switch. One switch and the whole world would know, would see.

One more payday and I’d be the one sunbathing on Carribean cruises.

But then I thought about that silly Tumblr page, and those patently simple, but inexplicably haunting Wattpad poems.

And I decided, maybe stupidly, that I…liked you.

Liked, right? That was the feeling?

Whatever it was, I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t flip the switch. So I left.

#

“Daphne?” “What? Sorry.”

“I was just saying about Heidi’s baby shower….” “Yeah, I’m—sorry.”

“What’s going on?”

“Hacker.”

“Again?”

“Gen one. You know.”

“You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just the usual. Hack them back, make them love me. It’s a kindness, really. Some people are just so bitter. No harm in flipping a switch or two.”

D.L. Stille writes horror, thriller, and speculative fiction. Having grown up both in the New Jersey Highlands and the foothills of the Appalachians, she has a special love for mountains, forests, and autumn. Another one of her flash fiction pieces will appear in Maudlin House in June 2025. You can find her on X, Bluesky, and Instagram @DorothyStille. To learn more about D.L. Stille and her work, you can also visit her website: dlstille.com