Contributor: Kristina England - - Diane leaned into the counter, stared at her reflection in the microwave. She rolled a plastic cap along her palm. The cat pounced into the room. She was always a pouncer. So light of foot, so happy. Diane smiled half heartedly as the feline rubbed against her leg. She walked over to the back door, opened it, peered out at the trees. A tumbler skirted the yard, then flew inward and landed on the porch about five feet from her. The pigeon poked its head around. Diane immediately felt the cat’s eyes narrow. She put her body in the door as a stopper. The cat stuffed her face in the back of Diane’s knee and began to nudge her repeatedly. Domesticated. That was the tumbler. Her cat - not as domesticated as she would have liked. But the same could be said about Diane. Of course, more unique was the...

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Author: Kristina England

Contributor: Madeline Dyer - - Time goes ever so slowly when you're on your own. When there're no clocks or radios. When you're trapped in perfect daylight forever. You don't even know whether time itself still exists. It, like so many other things, could've just been forgotten, lost, hidden away. Pure white daylight. It's everywhere. Permanently haunting me. I run. It runs. I hide. It hides. It is me and I am it. Time is my only companion. But time heals, right? That's one of the sayings that I remember... One of the sayings that's very much still alive within the pristine, clean abyss that is my world. They say that with time I'll have forgotten what it was like to be human. They say that I'll be content with this: the life of a Time-Walker. They lie. They all lie. I will lie. It sounded exciting, at first. They told me all...

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Author: Madeline Dyer

Contributor: Madeline Dyer - - Stars are beautiful things. They just sit up there all day, sparkling and twinkling, watching us. Thousands of them, like little angels, guarding the earth. Powerful. Mesmerising. Beautiful. Just like you. And their colours! Pure beauty. I gaze for hours at them. And their energy! The power just drips from them, slowly, slowly disappearing until everything's gone. Until they ceased to exist, and you begin to question your own memory... That's something I've been doing a lot. I've seen the way people look at me. The way their eyes scan me. They think I'm mad. Even the dogs think I'm mad. Maybe I am... who knows? Who can be sure of anything in this world? Stars are the only friends I have, now that you've disappeared. Disappeared... You promised that we'd always be together. Remember that night in Avonally?...

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Author: Madeline Dyer

Contributor: David Macpherson - - The YMCA swim class had a strict philosophy on how to teach five year olds the ancient art of swimming: laps. Swim laps of the length of the pool back and forth and you will learn to swim. This made little sense to my five year old brain. I will learn to swim by swimming? Was this how they taught fighter pilots? Surgeons? Did you just give them a scalpel and all the patients they could want and wait for brilliance to occur? We learned kicking and the arm movements, they just didn’t teach floating. Some kids in class, like Mike Anderton, could do those laps like he was a fish. But who cared about that little know it all with the perfect posture and designer swim goggles with the prescription lenses. I wasn’t like him. When they proclaimed it was time for laps, I went hand over hand on the edge of the...

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Author: David Macpherson

Contributor: Michael A. Withell - - “How do you do, Mr. Moo?” Silence. Bovine ignoramus? Nothing more than a mosquito to the majestic brown beast, squeeze and feel him burst between two bloodhungry fingers. Stop, shy away from the lair of the impotent lips; flaccid wet mouth stalking minus a moo (a coo) for how to you do? “I'm very well, Mr. Moo”. Unregistered. “Care to join me in the tea room for my morning brew?” Nice tea there he's heard; not too bitter and you can admire your face in the convex face of the spoon (convex?) Shiny with no salty stain of sodium. (Lingering crumb hanging from the corner of its mouth). Thudspreadgrasp. The gate was locked and its eyes remained empty; convex globes of light that only appeared to reflect, deflect, (direct) consciousness into the eyes of the beholder. Diffuse (defuse) the lock and let...

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Author: Michael A. Withell

Contributor: Jim Clinch - - Sully hauled on the line and swung the empty trap onto the deck. He cursed out loud. It was late, the water was rough and the stone crabs should be moving and filling up his traps. They weren’t. He re-baited with mullet, many years past noticing the stench, and tossed the trap back over the side. He was alone. It was windy but clear and the moon provided enough light to work by. Normally he’d have his friend Carl along, but Carl’s cousin got arrested for cutting a man in a bar and Carl had to go to the Sheriff’s Office to deal with it. Sully pulled a pack of unfiltered cigarettes from his flannel shirt and lit one expertly in spite of the wind. The cigarette was slimed with fish guts from his fingers, but he didn’t notice and wouldn’t have cared if he did. The small boat pitched and rolled as the outboard...

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Author: Jim Clinch

Contributor: Marc Nash - - Ein: The war hero was adorned like a Christmas tree. Gold piping and brocade ran down from his shoulder like poison ivy. Multicoloured banded ribbons of military decorations distended across his breast like chromatography analysis. One empty sleeve of his uniform lay against his chest just below, pinned in place by a medal. The silver branches of its star echoed the shape of the shrapnel that had originally caused his arm to be severed. He gave a salute with the hand of his lone arm. Sechs: The Hindu deity had six arms. In one was the ubiquitous wheel, symbol of the perfect creation of the cosmos. While another carried a fearsome pronged trident. A third cupped a snake, seemingly slithering free from her grasp. A fourth had a lotus bud sitting in the palm of the hand, offered up to the heavens. The fifth...

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Author: Marc Nash

Contributor: Gavin Wilson - - While waiting for his girlfriend he noticed the slim, nondescript volume on the library shelves. As he had little to occupy his time, or his mind, his hands made a decision for his brain and reached out for entertainment. Not really concentrating, he flicked idly through looking for pictures. He wasn’t normally much of a reader, preferring a good comic, so it was some moments before his brain, preoccupied with other thoughts, realised the pages in front of him were blank. He stopped and, concentrating more fully now, opened the book at random, finding an earlier entry in what looked like a diary. …Adam finished his toast, marmalade as usual, put on his red jumper and left the house, forgetting his library card which lay on the desk in the hall… Dry mouthed, Adam looked at his jumper, checked his wallet...

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Author: Gavin Wilson

Contributor: Michael A Perry - - “The last time I cried watching the news,” he says, looking over her shoulder at the open cupboard. “The last time was Katrina. The nine inch color tv. The last days of analog. Still have it in my basement. Useless now.” “And this time?” she asks. “50 inch plasma. You ask me, it seems less real. Too perfect. Too pretty. You know I used a fork to get reception on that old thing.” He stands up and walks over to the cupboard. He closes it. “Actually, sobbing is a better word to describe it. I sobbed. My wife, she didn’t say a word. But the look she gave me. Man, she always knew what to say without saying it.” “Did you sob this time?” She clarifies. He is looking up at the ceiling. A light is out. She had noticed this when they first sat down. He answers with his eyes. Outside she can still see the...

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Author: Michael A Perry

Contributor: Christopher T Garry - - Nothing but the soft hum of the ship's electronics accompanied Michael as he lay dreaming again. The crew's quarters were in almost perfect darkness. Glasses, water, a pen, a pill wrapper and a communicator all individually reflected the dim pinpoint lights that could be seen in the bedside console. He dreamed as he had every night since leaving the colonies months ago. In his bunk he was perfectly still with only his eyes moving from side to side under his lids. # In his dream he was looking for someone. Michael stepped from the train and looked about the platform uncertain of where exactly the boy had gone. Steam obscured his view of the platform, the train yard and industrial district beyond. The men were all in hats and there were a few women bundled against the cold. Soldiers lined the edge...

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Author: Christopher T Garry

Contributor: Ken Poyner - - It is to be the execution of someone. A crew of workmen have been building the fatal platform for nearly a month. Good government work. No benefits, due to it being a temporary job – but each could apply for a full time position, if they stand out and someone retires. We might see one of these platform builders inspecting imported fruit, or performing same-day civically approved surgeries. It is to be the execution of someone. A small start up company has been gluing flyers to trees and telephone poles, and was putting them into mailboxes – until one of the constables told them that mail boxes were for mail and they would have to put a stamp on anything they stuffed into anyone’s mailbox. So they left the excess on car windshields, dumped a sheaf of them into the town fountain, folded them into the coin...

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Author: Ken Poyner

Contributor: Carly Berg - - I wasn’t allowed in my friend Journey’s house because my parents thought the Hoolihans were trash. They had six kids, and two of their girls had kids of their own. They all crammed into an old rent house. Her parents were always drunk and out of everything they needed. It was the funnest place in the world, though. Dad said, “An orchid will not bloom in a garbage dump, Susan.” Mom said, “What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want people to think you’re a tramp?” Even Miss. Selena, our maid, tsk-tsked at me. To other people my mom was tinkly and gay and we laughed ourselves sick listening to her on the phone. “She is tinkling!” I tittered. “She is gay!” Journey screeched. Well, that made me a little mad, that’s my mother. Miss Zita closed her window when we stopped at her magazine stand after school, ever...

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Author: Carly Berg

Contributor: Aaron Levy - - Before I went to the farm, I was fat as fat can be. My friends called me heavy, my parents said I was physically challenged, but the monkey bars told me the truth – you be fat, man. I was five years old and just over 500 lbs., none of it was muscle, but my family took me everywhere like a rabbit’s foot and I loved being out in the public with my bathing suit. I was fat happy, a happy fat and blind fat, fat as fat can be kind of fat. Like a brand new house, fat as a house I was, a house that had no upstairs cause the fat in my legs had squashed my cartilage so that my knees were just fat bone on fat bone. A house that had only one room, a ranch house with only one room and no uncomfortable corners to stuff away my fat ass. Sometimes you couldn’t see the middle of the room because I was in the way. Like fat...

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Author: Aaron Levy

Contributor: Gavin Wilson - - 15th March 2012 – Laboratory Diary of Dr Mark J Solomon This will probably be my final entry in my lab diary for this experiment. We have found the cure; the cure for all known diseases and poisons! After decades of research and experimentation, I have proved that the universal antidote was possible with a simple demonstration. I confirmed it in front of the panel, by the simple expedient of injecting myself with a variety of horribly virulent diseases and poisons that should kill any normal man within days; or, in the case of some of the poisons, within minutes. I sat happily in my environmentally safe cell for a week, and then sent out blood samples for checking. They were clean. Barring accident and old age, it would appear that I am near invulnerable. 18th March 2012 – Personal Diary I am invulnerable,...

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Author: Gavin Wilson

Contributor: Brandon Barrows - - “Thirty-five is not enough!” Kayla scrunched up her face and pouted, transforming from a pretty, newly-eighteen, young woman into a little girl once more. Eve sighed, closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead all at once. She is your daughter. She is still a child. You love her dearly. It had become a mantra of sorts over the years. “Kayla, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” “A what?” Picking up her needlepoint and settling into the nearest window seat, Eve sighed again, almost silently. “Never mind. It’s just an expression.” “Mother!” “Look at it this way, darling: thirty-five is more than you had this morning, isn’t it?” “Yes, but-“ “How many did you have when you woke up today?” “None, but-“ Eve smiled on the inside. Maybe it was petty, but she loved shattering the girl’s tantrum logic....

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Author: Brandon Barrows