PROXIMA BOUND by Davi Mai.

Humanity’s last hope rests with the colonists aboard the generational starship Attenborough. Bound for Proxima Centauri, a thousand years away. Catastrophe strikes when a reactor meltdown cuts off those in the ship’s front from the rear. Two factions must now struggle to survive.

With four hundred years still to travel, we join a plucky teenager, named “Thief”. She’s found a way through the ventilation system, around the radioactive core of the ship and into the front sections. Thief brings back vital components that might help the rear-dwellers connect the ship’s computer. …


The infamous Ward 9, where the most deranged stories are kept away from sensitive eyes. Here you’ll find content that might offend. Imagine any trigger warning you can — it’s likely to apply. Even our janitor doesn’t venture onto ward 9, and he’s a nutter! You’ve been warned!

Click here to enter Ward 9 if you dare!

Click here to return to the main Asylum.


I emerge from the vortex, swirling into physical and mental being as I find a host. A female.

No vision yet. I can only feel.

My emergence has pushed this host’s mind into a subconscious state, giving me partial control of her body. The surroundings shimmer into view as I receive input from her optic nerves. We’re in what appears to be a changing room. From the look of her clothes, she’s a nurse.

I don’t want to interrogate her memories, to reveal her backstory. Messing with them will give us both a headache. And I don’t care about backstory…


What happens when the afterlife’s mailbox is full?

PART ONE: By Davi Mai.

In the last moment of his life, before his car smashed into the oncoming truck, two thoughts occurred to a very drunk Ricky Chambers. The first, “Well, I’m glad I didn’t pay the car off”, seemed nonsensical given he was about to die. He would not be around to enjoy the money he hadn’t spent.

The second thought flashed through his mind when he glanced in the rear-view mirror.

“Who’s that hot chick in the back seat?”

The woman that appeared in the backseat mere seconds ago…


Submit your story to Tales from The Asylum. We prefer those stories that live on the edge. Transgressive, Quirky, Scary, Erotic, Funny. And any combination thereof. But all genres accepted! No minimum or maximum length. Please ensure story is proofed and free of basic grammar problems. Other than that — there are no rules. In the Asylum, the patients run amok!

There’s USD$20 to be won each month.

You retain all rights to your work.

Any earnings you make from your story being read on Medium, are yours. Please join Medium’s partner program to qualify for those. That’s between you…


“Watch out for Annabel, she’s really anal about everything.” I remembered the advice clearly, as Team Leader Annabel strode through the kitchen towards me.

She could have been in one of the company’s commercials. Her uniform fit perfectly. Immaculate in every way, the golden arches on her black shirt pocket glowed. Her matching pants had creases you could cut yourself on. How did she make polyester do that? She passed the fry station, lifting a basket out of the oil and silencing the alarm with a slap of her hand. She didn’t even break her stride.

I noticed, with some…


“Watch out for Annabel, she’s really anal about everything.” I remembered the advice clearly, as Team Leader Annabel strode through the kitchen towards me.

She could have been in one of the company’s commercials. Her uniform fit perfectly. Immaculate in every way, the golden arches on her black shirt pocket glowed. Her matching pants had creases you could cut yourself on. How did she make polyester do that? She passed the fry station, lifting a basket out of the oil and silencing the alarm with a slap of her hand. She didn’t even break her stride.

I noticed, with some…


“The next act is ready, Mr Morris.”

Penny, the talent agent’s prim and proper secretary handed the clipboard over to her boss.

“Seems to be a family affair,” she whispered.

Mr Morris grunted, looking up from the clipboard as the house lights dimmed.

An elderly gentleman, dressed in magician’s attire marched onto centre stage. He stood peering into the empty old theatre.

“Well, get on with it, man!” Mr Morris grumbled from the font row as the pause became awkward. “You’ve bought your whole family, it says here. What is it you all do? Just another family magic show?”

“Ah…

Davi Mai

Short story writer. Fantasy, sci-fi, transgressive. I lack a filter but try to make stuff fun.

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