Contributor: John Laneri - - Sheriff Matt Carson first noticed the bicycle when he saw it roll past the town square and turn down a dirt road toward the church. Continuing on, he made his way past storefronts and along quiet tree lined streets. Morning walks were a part of his routine, the activity just another of the many duties that kept him familiar with the happenings in Neverton, a small community along the cattle trail to Fort Worth. Near the church, he spotted the Reverend Armsworth walking aimlessly about the churchyard, reading from a Bible. “I see you’ve got a new protegee,” the Sheriff said, as he stepped in the minister’s direction. The good Reverend adjusted his glasses and looked up. “I hope the boy isn’t causing trouble.” “No, No” the Sheriff replied. “I noticed a young man on a bicycle near the town square. I figured...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Gary Hewitt - - There is no possibility of return. A hypnotic refulgent light dances ever closer. ‘Keep looking ahead.’ A burning flavour escapes nearby. The head remains still and eyes are wide open. Several clicking sounds begin and white fire pulses into the line of sight. Hands tighten. No sense of pain, yet nausea rises. ‘You’re doing well. Just keep staring ahead.’ Liquid is dashed into the eyeball. Blinking is impossible. The eyelids are fastened. A figure in a green mask peers inside. A swab follows and scrapes across the pupil. ‘Try not to look away.’ The Arabic voice reassures. A black bulkhead is removed and jettisoned to the left side of the face. ‘We’re half way through the first procedure. Now just like before, keep looking ahead.’ Teeth clench. Star Wars begins again. The same words...

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Author: Gary Hewitt

Contributor: Amin Hosseinioun - - You were shutting the door behind you when I told you to stop. I told you I still loved you. Told you how your departure crushes me; but you went anyway and that's ok. It is your life and I couldn’t make you stay. I am just telling you in this letter one thing. Don’t ever come back, because if you do so, I will throw you into my grinder. Your appearance in my life made me so happy. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. But I didn't force you to come, you came all by yourself and now you left me for someone else. I am sure you are making him happy too. I am sure you have turned his life over too. You know why? He is a friend of mine. It is all good, but I know something. If you ever come to my way, if I ever see you, I will grind you both; you and your lousy partner. Or maybe I just Kebab...

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Author: Amin Hosseinioun

Contributor: Zachary Zuccaro - - Looking through the binoculars, Samuel Malato could faintly see his own brain. To his horror, there was a cockroach in the very center slowly eating its way out. There was only one thing to be done – he ran to his bathroom and grabbed a pair of tweezers which he pushed into his ear. Pain shot through his head, blood dripped from his earlobes, but he knew that he had to remove the cockroach at any cost. With a final shove he pushed the tweezers deep into his brain. The entire community was stunned and appalled that such a wealthy, respected, and friendly man committed suicide with a pair of tweezers. It was beyond comprehension. - - - Zachary Zuccaro was born November 9, 1989 and grew up in Lynchburg, TN. He is currently studying mathematics at the University of Pittsbur...

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Author: Zachary Zuccaro

Contributor: D. Robert Grixti - - It had seemed like nothing but a mundane bedroom. “Is this it?” Haversham asked, producing a notepad from within his coat. “Yup, that’s the one,” the proprietor said cheerfully, gesticulating with his arm as if he was a game show host revealing the grand prize. “Now, don’t be fooled by how it looks. We keep it maintained ‘cause of hotel standards an’ all, but it’s definitely haunted.” “Right,” Haversham said, consulting his notebook. “Well, we’ll soon see, I guess.” He stepped into the room and surveyed it. It was adorned with the typical fixtures of a motel room: a standard double bed; two cheap bedside tables beside it; a small black and white television sitting on a cabinet opposite. There was a door in a corner that opened into an adjoining bathroom. It was all well kept, and aside from the fact...

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Author: D. Robert Grixti

Contributor: Tyler Fleck - - I woke up on the asphalt. Through groggy eyes I noticed the small neon droplets falling and bursting as they hit my body. I rolled over onto my back and looked up at the liquid sky that stretched out above me, it was like an infinite explosion of lava lamps looming above, raining down on the planet in an ugly way. The earth had been sucked into a great glory hole in the sky, the streets ran rampant with cross dressing fortune tellers and drag queen virgins of the night. The prostitutes and proud practitioners of paralyzed lives sharing the corners with yesterdays youth, panhandling nostalgia to fill a pez dispenser prescription. This was the new earth. I struggled back onto my stomach, with tear ducts flooding from the luminescent smog polluting my pores. I pulled a piece of black tarp over my body to...

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Author: Tyler Fleck

Contributor: Chris Wilkensen - - I was standing in front of twelve Korean teenagers. I was their writing teacher, but their behavior made it seem like no adult was in the room. Most of the kids were talking to each other in their native tongue, except for one. He never talked. Then, he asked me a question. Just before, I was trying my hardest to quiet the students down. I wanted them to like me, so I didn’t yell at them. Sometimes, I felt more like a guidance counselor than an English instructor. Reading essays about poor kids getting belted for bad grades. I couldn’t find it in me to yell at these students. If the students weren’t chatting, they were asleep. They would tell me they were too tired to study. I could understand. School was seven hours a day. After-school learning institutions were nearly three hours a day. And they...

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Author: Chris Wilkensen

Contributor: John Laneri - - Sheriff Matt Carson was into page two of the Brazos River Weekly when his Deputy, Jasper Martin, a young man with light hair and a freckled face, returned to the jail house, his lanky body dropping casually into a chair. “The main street looks quiet,” Jasper said, as he swatted at a fly. “Not much happening – just a couple of scrawny girls standing in front of the saloon.” “Lets hope it stays quiet,” the Sheriff replied. “I’d like to enjoy the newspaper.” Jasper watched the Sheriff turn a page. “What are you reading?” The Sheriff glanced his way. “It's an editorial about the dangers of carrying hand guns. Makes some interesting points about irresponsible people.” “Ain’t nobody gonna take my forty-five!” Jasper said quickly, his eyes bulging. “Relax... nobody’s talking about taking away your hand gun....

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Jon Wesick - - A werewolf and a vampire sat on a ratty couch watching a black-and-white, Boris Karloff movie on TV. Their looks weren’t unusual, just two guys in their twenties. Though it was almost 10:00 AM, neither had shaved. “So what do you want to do, today?” the werewolf asked. He was stocky, maybe 210 pounds, with frizzy, blonde hair the length of his forearms and he wore red, plaid pajama bottoms with a moth-eaten, blue T-shirt. The vampire also dressed sloppily in SDSU running shorts and a gray hoodie. He was thin with pretty-boy features, piercing blue eyes, and skin too pale for someone with such dark hair. “I don’t know. What do you want to do?” The vampire sipped coffee from a Garfield mug. “We could get some virgins to fall in love with us and then refuse to have sex with them until we’re married.” “Boring!” “How...

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Author: Jon Wesick

Contributor: D. Robert Grixti - - It’s been a hard day. I throw my rucksack to the ground in relief and take a seat next to the fire. A particularly large rat is roasting in the flames, but it’s still a ways from being done, so I reach for the yellowed paperback laying on top of my sleeping bag and begin perusing it in the flickering light. “That book again?” Across the campfire, Rowan looks at me curiously, taking a break from watching our dinner cook. “Seriously Jess, what’s with it? You’ve read it at least twenty times by now,” he says. “Do you see anything else to do around here?” I reply coolly, glaring at him and then returning to my well-read book. “I don’t think cinemas or amusement parks make very good business these days, do they?” “Whatever,” Rowan says in exasperation, going back to watching the rat revolve on its spit,...

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Author: D. Robert Grixti

Contributor: Michael Wen - - As soon as Brad added the purple powder to the kylix a filmy white vapor began to ooze out of the top of the shallow bowl. He began the chant, struggling to reproduce the exotic syllables denoted by the ancient script. At the fifth repetition tiny strands of the smoke began to separate, swirl and weave. After the tenth one a pair of bulbous compound eyes could be discerned. He stopped chanting after the twentieth time and prostrated in front of the altar. The smoke formed proboscis began to twitch and a buzzing voice at once inchoate and thunderous streamed into Brad’s ears. “Again? Have you no better use for precious Black Sea purple Operculum powder than to court repeated rejection?” “Hear me out, Lord Beelzebub, for I offer not the same exchange as before. I am aware by now that my soul is not...

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Author: Michael Wen

Contributor: Chris Sharp - - Terrible! Terrible it is to receive an original Christian LaCroix nouveau dress shirt from Paris by the hand of a loving Auntie Mame, only to have it explode on his neck in the men’s room. His Auntie Mame – she was really his Aunt Mary – had no idea his neck had grown into a 17 incher since she last found a shirt for him. He gritted his teeth and growled in front of the men’s room mirror, but it was no help in getting him to get his top button to cooperate under his tie. John Bousque III flinched when his manager Mort stepped up to stand right beside him in the restroom mirror. “Our conference begins in ten minutes,” said Mort. “What’s the matter with you, John?” “This shirt costs hundreds of dollars, but the idiot top button won’t close under the tie.” “Maybe you should lose some weight.” “I have ten minutes...

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Author: Chris Sharp

Contributor: Jessica Morrow - - There’s a scream, a shudder and a quick jolt. She’s in trouble, and my only thought is that I have to help her. But where is she? She can’t be gone too far. I’d only seen her half an hour ago. I wish my dad was here, or my friends from school. They’d be far more useful than me right now. I’m worthless. I have to be. How else can I not be able to help her? I try to make my way through the darkness, wishing for the clarity so many people took for granted. I would do anything for it. I'd be able to save her! But here I am, as useless as ever. The screams begin again. This time it’s closer, and my heart begins to pound. I find myself leaning down, not by my own control. I feel excitement, and I’m confused as to why I feel it. I’m scared! I want her to be safe, free from the evil in this house, but here...

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Author: Jessica Morrow

Contributor: Alessandro Cusimano - - Wendy's obsession with Hollywood was born in a motley bungalow, where all the plans begin to jell. In the still of the night, Wendy get up with a jerk, dreaming of a trip to Temptation, odds and ends, jeopardies, jests, strait jackets and phony excuses! Wendy took off a little time this summer, but her vacays didn’t exactly resemble the exotic escapes of Hollywood films: because she never managed to get perfectly tousled beach hair. Obsessive thoughts make Wendy feel nervous and afraid. She tries to get rid of these feelings by performing certain behaviors. Due to these thoughts, Wendy may, for example, wash her hair repeatedly. Performing these behaviors usually only makes her nervous feelings go away for a short time. When the fear and nervousness return, she repeats the routine all over again....

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Author: Alessandro Cusimano

Contributor: Matt Micheli - - The cigarette smoke. The pile of dishes in the sink and atop the surrounding counters—stacks of them. The empty and half-empty beer bottles scattered throughout the house—I count one, two, three, four, and so on, until I lose count after thirty or so. The warm breeze from the outside sneaks through the tiny holes in the front screen door that probably should be closed but never is. I try and imagine the sound of small birds chirping outside, bathing in the morning’s golden sunlight, but I can’t. The TV’s volume is turned up as loud as it’ll go and is still muffled by the yelling, the crying, the words, “Fuck You” and “I’m gonna leave your ass,” and “You’re nothing but a whore,” and “Go ahead,” and “I dare you,” and “You won’t,” and “You don’t have the fucking balls,”—all the typical terms I’ve gotten used...

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Author: Matt Micheli

Contributor: Zachary Zuccaro - - Lauren's dream had always been to visit the Library of Congress. She loved books – their appearance, their odor, their covers, the sounds of the pages turning. Of course Lauren had been to libraries before – she cherished the quiet atmosphere, the rows and columns of books, the veritable temples of human knowledge and imagination. Then one day Lauren's dream became a reality, she finally got an opportunity to visit the Library of Congress – the largest library in the world. The tour guide led her into an 8'x8' prison cell. A laptop lay on a small desk in the center of the room. “What is this!” Lauren exclaimed, appalled. “Oh, you didn't hear?” the tour guide replied, “The library was renovated – this was deemed more efficient than the old system so the library was moved here – isn't it amazing?” Lauren...

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Author: Zachary Zuccaro

Contributor: Scott Harmon - - The business meeting was going great. Everyone along the shiny black table had gotten along and it looked as though we were all going to be billionaires. There was one man however that hadn’t said a word. He was the new guy. I hired him out of a Burger King because I thought he was brilliant. Call it one of those hunch things. In his short career he had said very little. He seemed to always have a steely intensity in his eyes. I was having some doubts about him. Anyways, Mr. Johnson had just made a side splitting joke. We were all in riotous laughter. After it died down, there was a moment of silence. That’s when it happened. The new guy spoke. He raised his hand shyly and said “Uh I know this doesn’t have much to do with the meeting, but I was thinking we should start a new Mexican restaurant chain called...

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Author: Scott Harmon

Contributor: Tim Gerstmar - - It was really awful what happened to her, wasn't it? I mean, if you could have seen it. If you could have seen what had been done to her. That was Cherrie though, and she had a right to do whatever she wanted. That was just the way she was, and if she liked living the way she did, then that was her business. I'm not about to get on her case. Anyway, I can outline the whole thing for you a bit, at least what I understand about it. It needs the right approach. I really cared about Cherrie in my own way, and I want to get across how horrible it was what was done to her. Picture a girl alone on the elevator. There is the cold hum of the building, all those apartments, all those people, and yet so much isolation. The lights flicker in the elevator, and then it stops on the fifth floor. The key turns in the...

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Author: Tim Gerstmar

Contributor: John Laneri - - Several years ago, I inadvertently contributed to the murder of a man named Jason Stone. My involvement started with a phone call. It was the urgency of Jason’s tone that compelled me to get out of bed and tackle the weather on a dreary winter night. Actually, I had never met the man, but his wife had been a longtime patient of mine. And, from what I could determine, she was having a severe anxiety attack associated with palpitations and hyperventilation. For no particular reason, I elected to make a house call. It seemed an easy enough task – an hour or two of work then back to bed. Hysterical people, I knew, were often difficult to control and getting her to an emergency room could become an impossible task, especially in the dead of night. My situation started when I turned onto his street and drove...

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Author: John Laneri