Contributor: Gary Clifton - - Survival...Hell, that's all it ever was, really. The dirtbag and I were the only guys within six blocks of Boystown who weren't gay. I'd bought the shit, handed over the cash, then attempted a simple buy-bust. He pulled a pistol and in the struggle shot himself in the ankle. He lost a foot, got ten years, and DEA transferred me from Chicago to Dallas. I asked IAD if he'd shot off his balls, would it have been Detroit? Nobody laughed. I'm on the job five years, but when an agent is transferred, they put him to riding with somebody knows the streets for a month or so. I drew a guy like a toad with wings - totally useless. Ol' Hogan chewed this black-crap. When he drove, he spat regularly, coating the driver's side with a layer of black-crap residue. And he never heard a damned word said. He insisted on driving...

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Author: Gary Clifton

Contributor: John Laneri - - The summer after my tenth birthday was a turning point in my life. It happened on one of those warm summer nights when I realized that GI Joe represented the ultimate military man. For two nights, Billy and I had been trying to glimpse the new girls in the house next to his. Finally, after spending the entire day studying GI Joe comics, we were ready. The girls would not escape our mission. “Can you hear what they’re saying?” Billy asked, as he glanced over the bushes. “I’m not sure... hand me the binoculars.” I took them then crept to another bush, just as I had seen GI Joe do in, “Search for the Missing Platoon”. “What do you see?” Billy asked, as he edged beside me. “I don’t know. Everything looks black. I can't see squat.” In the distance, I could hear voices coming from their house. Through the...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Bruce Costello - - Douglas the black cat watches. With unblinking eyes and twitching nostrils, he probes the atmosphere around the meal table. His dear Shona has invited a perfumed woman to dinner. And Douglas is a very intuitive cat. On the mantelpiece a wisp of incense curls from a burner. “Will you ever try again?” Missy asks, leaning forward, blue eyes smiling beneath dark eyelashes Shona screws up her face. “I’ve tried enough,” she murmurs, gesturing with open palms. “Each time I hold a bit more back.” “Men hurt us,” Missy sighs. “But sometimes you have to take a risk in love.” “But not too soon?” “Of course not. When you’re ready.” Shona closes her eyes, wrinkles her brow, and shakes her head. A few minutes pass. Neither speaks. Celine Dion stops singing. “Shall I put the CD back on?” “Ok.” Missy stands and crosses...

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Author: Bruce Costello

Contributor: Jack Hill - - Vanessa and I sat in Taco Bell, a tray of chicken burritos and tacos in front of us, two diet pepsis and a pile of napkins and hot sauce packets - fire sauce. Vanessa stuffed a wad of brown paper napkins into her purse and smiled. I unwrapped a burrito and ripped the hot sauce packet open with my teeth. The brown sauce dripped down the side of the chicken burrito and over my hand and knuckles and Vanessa said she had to use the bathroom. She slid out of the booth and stumbled and knocked her soda over and the cup rolled off the table and exploded on the tile floor. Brown soda screaming everywhere, down the grooves, between the tiles. "Fuck!" Vanessa shouted. "Fuck! Fuck! God dammit!" "It's okay," I said. "They'll clean it up." Vanessa walked to the condiment bar and grabbed another fistful of napkins and...

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Author: Jack Hill

Contributor: C.J. Johnson - - He left his damp, small home and stood blinking in the morning sunlight. The forest was quiet and still , its calmness disturbed only by the chorus of birds and insects. It was so peaceful, yet dread and fear stirred within him at the journey he and his family had to take today. He raised his big arms overhead and stretched, growling as his stiff limbs burned painfully, the consequences of sleeping in cramped quarters. He tried to ignore his fear and enjoy the morning when his children suddenly came bursting out of their home, their loud chatter instantly shattering the peace and quiet. The boy was cringing and protecting his face as the girl held her fist up, her expression thunderous. He turned his back on them and mapped out the safest route for he and his family to take in his mind. It really didn't...

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Author: C.J. Johnson

Contributor: Hanson Hovell Holladay - -     Hazy creatures stroll across the white walls of Norman’s vision. Like the conclusion of a masterful drama, each one-steps with slow, gentle grace – a faint beauty of hymns and choirs releasing through the silence. The creatures are like angels: mystical, guardian observers from the world of Humankind’s mythology and fantasy; pure peace.     Norman feels the eyes upon him. He can feel their healing, relaxing gazes over his mind and body. Their intention must be good, that he is certain of. Yet, he does not know these creatures. They move before him as enigmas, as mysterious entities unknown to time and space. Their presence and gaze inject pure bliss into his very being; and it is from this bliss that he begins:        ...

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Author: Hanson Hovell Holladay

Contributor: Miles Gough - - Can you believe it, I was a out getting fresh air. I know. I went out and didn’t even light up my smokes. I needed to cleanse my nostrils. I am the kind of guy that only sees the outdoors as a place to run through to get to the liquor store. As far as I can see, the natural environment is a placeholder until we can zone a few more cigar bars and mini-marts. But I have been working in the dangerous world of weaponized gasses and I just had to go out. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The birds need to shut the fuck up, but the outdoors is okay for a change of pace. Wouldn’t want it to do it that often, you know camping is not a four letter word, but its still pretty obscene. Yeah, I’ve been working in natural gas, but in a valid way. I ain’t helping the environment, I’m causing havoc, or at least...

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Author: Miles Gough

Contributor: Julie Lye - - The house had stood empty for years. It had once been a bright yellow house full of laughter and love, always busy with music or cooking smells wafting out of it, anyone was welcome, it was that kind of house, but that was many years ago now. Annie could tell you about the house, she had been a small girl when it was built and even though she was now one hundred and two years old she could recall it as if it were yesterday. Annie must have been about five or six when the men began to build the yellow house. She could still remember how very excited she’d felt and recalled how she would sit on the steps of her parents porch chin in hands watching with amazement. She’d never seen a castle being built and the workmen were always friendly, she often saw her Grandpa talking to them and very often they’d drop some...

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Author: Julie Lye

Contributor: Bruce Costello - - Once upon a time during the Nixon reign, two men stood side by side at a country bus stop. One was young with an ugly scarlet scar and a dreamy look on his face. The other was old and bald, wearing a scruffy ex-army coat and an intriguing hook where most people have a right hand. The young man with the scar, a history student, while continuing to face straight ahead, was twisting his eyes sideways and downwards, examining the hook as discreetly as he could. It was grey and fierce-looking, reminding him of an illustration from a favourite boyhood book: Captain Hook in a vivid red and blue pirate’s coat, wearing a black cocked hat with white skull and crossbones, holding an evil sword in his left hand while thrusting at Peter Pan with his horrible hook. The hook’s owner seemed about 70, unkempt, unshaven,...

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Author: Bruce Costello

Contributor: Jack Hill - - Heat rash burned in my ass crack. Thirsty for a diet soda and cigarette. I offered to buy a cigarette from three smokers at three street corners. Pity from being shot down sloshed in until I knotted my fists and stomped the eight blocks home. Black holes for eyes watched me step, knee bones popping. The coffee can in the kitchen lashed back at me, cutting open my thumb knuckle, when I jerked out a ten dollar bill. Aluminum molasses collapsed under my shoe after five or six attempts. The kicked remains clanked against the stove bottom. Sold out, the cashier said when I asked for Camel Wides. Camel lights, I asked her. Sold out, the cashier said. All the cigarettes are sold out for you, the cashier said. What, I asked her. I know you stole a six pack last week, she said. I shook my head. Leave my store, she...

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Author: Jack Hill

Contributor: Phil Lane - - Shea Stadium looms like a bloated, blue behemoth. Such strange hybridity results when two disparate heritages are mixed. How had the marriage of the old, storied Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Giants yielded this blue-orange monstrosity? I myself am the offspring of a classically trained pianist and a somewhat well-known poet, so I’m living proof that when you mix words and music, you don’t always end up with ballads. But it’s New Year’s Eve and I know I’m supposed to be a new leaf turning in an old tree or something. “Jimmy!” I can hear the voice even before I pick up the spastic cell phone which beeps, rings, and vibrates simultaneously, an alarm bell warning me of an encroaching domestic shitstorm. So this is love. It’s like a bloodhound with bionic senses. You can’t cover up your tracks or hide your scent...

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Author: Phil Lane

Contributor: David Macpherson - - A guy at the bar let the girl go. Tells us she was hot, she was tight, she was worth drawing on a fresh piece of good paper. He tells us she was into him, she smiled and fluttered and hummed desire. When they met for designer hot dogs and Fresca, he gave her up though. “Drool was coming out of her mouth,” he says. We don’t get what he means. “So was she really hungry,” one of us asks. “No,” he says. She wasn’t that bright. Dumber than a bagful of poorly chosen metaphors. “I need a smart girl. A girl who can talk and not just talk. She got to have thoughts about politics. And a job that does more than pay the rent. “So after the restaurant I said goodbye and that’s it.” We married guys see this a minor sacrilege. For we are casual sex rubberneckers. We are tourists in the land of promiscuity. We take...

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Author: David Macpherson

Contributor: Peter McMillan - - Lately, he hadn't been feeling himself. Overworked, burnt out. Covering for this person then that one. Pulled in all directions. Spread thin and stretched beyond his limits. It was standing room only on the morning express train, and he stood wearing a freshly-altered suit with the back of his head mashed up against the roof of the car. In twenty years riding the train, he'd never been so cramped. From his vantage point, he could see the little heads, tucked behind newspapers, chattering away on the phone, or retreating behind shuttered eyelids and pulsing earbuds. At Union he realized he was stuck and couldn't easily dislodge himself. Twisting his broad hips and long legs to the edge of the aisle, he watched upside down as the passengers shoved under and past, paying him no more mind than they would...

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Author: Peter McMillan

Contributor: David Strong - - Habit assists her. Founded upon an irrepressible indulgence to sanctify the past, she picks up the black ceramic pot off the stove and surveys the room. Strewn newspapers carpet the dirt floor; a bony, spindly cat weaves in and out of the kitchen table’s legs purring for its morning meal of cheese and whatever other scraps inevitably fall. Satisfied that all is in order, she pours a cup and sits on a cracked oak chair, creaking perilously above its head. Nonplussed, it meanders from one leg to the other to ensure as much patronage as possible. Today it’s Gruyère and toasted crackers. Askance, she spies a dark purple binding on the fourth shelf. The gold embossed title has long since faded into the rusty lettering seen on the fishing trawlers swaying back and forth down at the docks. “There it is,”...

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Author: David Strong

Contributor: Eric Suhem - - Bill sat on an overstuffed bag of feathers, beaks, guts, spleens, stomachs, livers and eyes. He could hear the faint chirping and quacking emanate from the chair. He was in his den clicking at the television remote control feverishly, wisps of smoke rising. It was 6:02 p.m., and he finally settled on Channel 38 University of the Air, Sky and Galaxy. On the screen, a man was sitting at a wooden desk in front of a blackboard in a stark room. Suddenly the man at the desk, and the blackboard disappeared in a big ball of light that was filling the television screen. “Bill!” it roared, “you are not what you think you are, you are a stream of energy coursing through a body, a vessel, a shell. You are like me!” said the ball of light. The quacks and chirps from the chair began to get louder and Bill snapped, “Ssshh...

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Author: Eric Suhem

Contributor: Pranas Perkunas - - I opened the door one morning to a new world. For the first time, the homeless cats weren’t crying; they asked me if I was hungry. The neighbors' demented dogs refrained from barking against their too-short leashes; instead, they sang sumptuous strains of ancient mermaid songs. I arrived late for work, but my normally severe manager just laughed, clicked his heels, and crooned this little ditty, Here's a check that should tide you over for a few million lifetimes or so; you can stay and groove with us, or you can happily go. I surveyed the scene behind him, which consisted chiefly of a bevy of my now-lovely co-workers, their collective youth restored, and their formerly unfortunate features reformed to fit their individual tastes. An Asian, cosplay princess shining among the others beckoned to...

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Author: Pranas Perkunas

Contributor: Carmen Tudor - - Jenna had grabbed at Doug throughout the entire lights-out ghost tour. The historic mansion’s darkened halls and passages hadn’t affected him at all, so Jenna’s continual grabbing of the back of his shirt caused grimaces the tour guides put down to horrified excitement. They smiled with satisfaction each time the look passed over his features and congratulated themselves on a job well done. The admission price didn’t cover an actual haunting experience; that was left up to the ticket holders. “Let’s get some photos. The kids will love them.” Jenna seized Doug’s arm and pulled him toward the fountain terrace as the rest of the group followed the guides along the path to the entrance gates. Doug rolled his eyes and followed his wife. “Maybe we’ll get an orb or something.” “Maybe.” Shivering in his padded...

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Author: Carmen Tudor

Contributor: Gary Clifton - - "Fifth Girl Found Butchered In South Dallas County" the headline blared. Homicide assigned McCoy and Harper the series of brutal murders, all with similar touches of indescribable cruelty and sadism. The bodies showed signs of cannibalism. They lifted a DNA trace on the last kid and damned if they didn't get a hit on Charlie Bob Sneezel, called "Snark", with priors for child molestation. They should have known better, but before arresting him, they sweated him at his mama's house. Snark, textbook arrogant, squinted his gouch eye and blurted, "Mama always said little girls was dirty." "But tasty?" McCoy snapped. Harper, big, tough and never without a nasty cigar recommended they pull of the suspect's head. McCoy, a rather rudderless oaf, thought instant...

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Author: Gary Clifton

Contributor: Thomas Pitre - - Stovepipe is a big, loud man, with a heavy school ring that he taps on the table as he punctuates each of his talking points. Blah, blah, blah, tap, tap, tap. Blah, blah, blah, tap, tap, tap. Stovepipe’s ring is bigger, heavier and more ostentatious than the Fisherman’s Ring worn by Pope Benedict. Stovepipe used to do security work for a computer outfit in the Southwest. It was a middle management job, but if you listen to his description, he has it embellished to the point that you might believe he ran the place, and half the state’s security personnel. He was one of the first to get a carry permit for his 9-millimeter, and he wears it everywhere. I’ve seen him bending over to start his lawnmower, and it was tucked into the small of his back while he mowed his lawn. Stovepipe’s wife is a big woman....

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Author: Thomas Pitre

Contributor: Gary Clifton - - Neighbors called it in. They hadn't seen the old woman in the faded house at the end of the street for several days. Dispatch said her granddaughter, Ida, ten, lived with her. When nobody answered the doors, Jackson, a graying old-timer, slipped the front lock with a Visa and stepped in. Forelli, a rookie, followed, pistol in hand. He motioned her to holster it. The house smelled of mildewed clothing and rotten potatoes. Jackson had a rep - elephant hide tough and never flustered by someone else's suffering. He could handle anything. Ida, pale and perhaps forty pounds, with sunken, morose eyes which appeared incapable of smiling, sat beside Grandma's bed, reading aloud haltingly from a Bible. "She's tuck sick," the child looked up. "Cain't eat." Forelli coaxed Ida out of the room. She clutched a filthy,...

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Author: Gary Clifton

Contributor: Stephen Hernandez - - I was diagnosed with liver cancer on Monday 7th July 2002 at 4.45 in the afternoon. I looked out the surgery window as the Doctor gave me the news. It was cloudless and sunny outside. People were walking past the hospital in shorts and Hawaiian shirts, happy to feel the sun on their backs, whilst this man in a tailored suit was quietly telling me the reasons for my death sentence – hepatocellular carcinoma, HCC or liver cancer to you and me – the Big C. I had three months. Afterwards, a male nurse escorted me to a ward where I was to spend four days undergoing fitness tests to see if I would survive a liver transplant. A long shot I was told, but my only chance of survival if there was one. After four days they decided I was. I wasn’t particularly surprised at that, after all, keeping in...

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Author: Stephen Hernandez