Glorifying Terrorism: An Anthology
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Glorifying Terrorism is a 2007 science fiction anthology edited by Farah Mendlesohn, which was compiled in direct response to the Terrorism Act 2006. Every story in the anthology has been specifically designed to be illegal under the Act's prohibition on any publication "indirectly encouraging the commission or preparation of acts of terrorism," including "every statement which glorifies the commission or preparation (whether in the past, in the future or generally) of such acts," and in fact the anthology's introduction begins with the explicit statement that "(t)he purpose of the stories and poems in this book is to glorify terrorism."
a fixation,I grumble.I dont like that word,makes it sound like Im stuck in one place. Yes,it is,he says.Youve said it yourselfoften enough.Weve all got something,some thing that defines us.I dont kill.You help your pals.The first time I died,my dad was trying to make me kill him,and I wouldnt do it.He pushed it too far trying to goad me into cutting his throat and I died begging him not to make me do it.You died looking after your pals.And look at us now.You ?gure it out. I can see
he was not annointed I have taken up arms against Gorgion,and led the struggle,striking from the shadows and our gathering strength.Now that Gorgion has annointed himself,he is the legitimate king,and his name must be entered in the lists ofkings that lies on the High Table in the Sanctuary ofHatheria.And our actions,my comrades, could be given an ugly name. IfGorgions name be entered into those lists,let it also be said that his reign was short!Aleta cried,and the comrades cried with her
gentleman down to his smalls, lads. Whats that beside the teacup? Aknife and fork,laid on a white nap kin. The men uncuffed him,and made him strip to the bold tartspushup bra and lacy thong.They found the concealed weapons:his cosh,his knuckles,the dismantled plastic gun in the false-bottom ofthe duffle;his make-up bag ofammunition.They said he didnt understand the terrible beauty that had been born,out ofthis last grotesque flowering ofthe national pride ofthe UK,but today he would serve
no nonsense.The Sluice Masters lived mainly in Sector Two,close to the Main Filtration Centre.Its to do with the sluice network,Fareis would have said.The Sluice Masters can channel the water wherever they want.But Ordith,more circumspect,had said nothing.She was no longer sure she might trust her mother. The square was crowded,now,men and women pressing up to the Pump Station Gates.Some ofthem held papers,blotchy with cheap ink and rain.Prices and taxes:Fareis had said that this protest
each corner ofthe room flared to warn the staff to stay put standard operating procedure in case ofpotentially violent protest. Security didnt want panicked hospital staff underfoot. Time to start,then.She began the process ofpulling out the Cabral babys nasal cannula. A Roshaun Shaw, son of Bea and Tamarr Shaw. 11 days old. Suffers from sepsis with organ dysfunction in the kidneys and liver. Bea liked being pregnant.Pregnant meant nine months ofnot having to worry about her damn