It’s Come to Our Attention
Third Flatiron Anthology
Edited by Juliana Rew
Cover by Keely Rew
“It’s Come to Our Attention” from Third Flatiron Anthologies is about things that could be happening quietly, without a lot of fanfare, but which could still be extremely significant or make a big difference.
Visit a landfill to hear some real trash talk. Tag along with an alien agent here to save the earth from his hideout in the insane asylum. Bust a conspiracy to change the climate via mind control. Form an unhealthy attachment to your radio. Go down to the basement even though we told you not to. Decide on the pros and cons of immortality. Tell a librarian she would look really great without her glasses. Find out what’s at the bottom of the wishing well (besides coins). Indulge in a little illegal but highly satisfying genetic tinkering. Acknowledge the debt we all owe to French culture.
Fourteen international authors come together to scratch below the surface to unearth a world of hidden gems.
As one of the fourteen international authors, my contribution is Ice-Cold. Steve is sure that blizzards in June aren’t natural, but it’s not till his undercover activist girlfriend Claire uncovers a conspiracy that he discovers the enormity of what’s going on. Or the strangeness of the method the conspirators are using.
Excerpt from Ice-Cold:
Hugging the overcoat around me and ducking my head against the swirls of snow, I fought off the absurd idea I wanted an ice-cold beer. Why, for heaven’s sake? Even if it weren’t more the weather for steaming cocoa, I like beer coming out of the pump at a decent temperature, not half frozen.
It must be all those ads on telly. It seemed lately, whenever I switched the set on, some beer was being advertised and, regardless of the brand, it was always “ice-cold”. Good grief, was I really that susceptible to subliminal suggestion?
I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, but most people just grumbled that the advertisements were inappropriate in this weather. Then again, maybe they were automatically programmed according to the time of year. It was June, after all.
The wind’s icy sharpness sliced down the street at me, flinging snow at my face, as I pushed through the pub door and slammed it gratefully behind me. Suddenly, gloriously warm, I stamped and shook the snow off me before moving off the mat.
Claire waved to me from the bar, and my heart lurched in pleasure as usual. At least, it wasn’t really my heart that lurched, but I wasn’t complaining. Life was always exciting when Claire was around, and I could see from the eager gleam of her vivid green eyes that today was going to be no exception.
She kissed me with the enthusiasm she showed for everything and asked what I wanted to drink. Consciously resisting the urge to ask for an ice-cold beer, I got a pint of adequate ale instead and followed Claire to a table in an alcove.
“I’ve had a tip-off from one of my contacts,” she said when we were shielded from the rest of the pub. “I think this is a big one, Steve.”