Contributor: Chris Sharp - - Reilly had not worked in any accounting capacity since his seizure last year. Over this period he kept going with temp bookkeeping jobs, though they paid less than a third of his usual professional cash-money. If his experience had been a stroke – what he’d first assumed – there was no clue to it in the CAT scan he’d taken. The stroke theory had holes in it from the very beginning, even before Reilly went into a hospital. At 32, he felt much too young for retirement issues such as apoplexy. First and foremost, he enjoyed first-rate blood-pressure and cholesterol counts. If he had only experienced some unprecedented epileptic activity, his medical exam had found no source or remnant of it. Reilly had finally settled on “exhaustion theory” to explain his blackout event. He concluded his exhaustion...

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Author: Chris Sharp

Contributor: Samuel Pugh - - For a boy of 8, it wasn’t unusual be scared of the dark … Mum and Dad always left the hallway light on, the comforting sound of their TV programs creeping up the stairs, somehow softening the darkness, making it less claustrophobic. But they didn’t understand; not really. Every night was the same. He’d stare fixedly into the light, concentrating on the sickly orange glow until sleep finally overtook him. But one night, the light went out. Panic gave way to hysteria; the dark seemed to be wrapping around him, consuming him. With a voice laced with anxiety, he called out for his Mother. Mummy didn’t come. He pulled the duvet up, over his mouth, his nose, and called again; louder this time. No reply. There was something there, in the darkness. He could hear things talking, chattering, whispering about him....

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Author: Samuel Pugh

Contributor: Tómas Jónsson - - James came from a lineage of infidelity. As he lusted after his colleague, he wondered if his feelings were a genetic trait equivalent to his predisposition for high cholesterol. To further deny responsibility for his actions, James surmised environmental influences were as much to blame for his new desires. James knew of countless affairs among his colleagues, neighbors, and societal elites. Unlike the politician cheating with a young lobbyist, James’ had no fear of his wife learning of his disloyalty through the tabloids. James worried that some form of electronic data would expose his subterfuge. And again, surrendering to his environment, and despite the near promise of enabling his own destruction, James could not deny his desire to create an electronic footprint. In the privacy of his office cubical...

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Author: Tómas Jónsson

Contributor: Marco Scibelli - - The ice cream truck was plastered with stickers of the treats held inside, pasted over other stickers from the years gone by. On the hood, a mock metal ice cream cone was displayed, and it always bothered the driver; it looked sharp and scary. He didn’t want it flying through the windshield in a collision and killing him. The truck cruised steadily up the slight incline, with the plains of sage forming a downstage for the beautiful, jagged mountains that punctuated the background. If this was a play, the stage crew did a nice job on the set design. The driver was an unimpressive man of ambiguous age, but he wore his white uniform well and he kept his hat neatly pressed to always have that paper-boat look in perfect form. He gripped the wheel lightly, just enough to make sure the van didn’t veer off course...

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Author: Marco Scibelli

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Remember, a blind man can see things a sighted man can't. So let me tell you about her and then you can tell me whether I'm right. The first time a man meets her, his eyes flicker and dart. Desire, an appropriate reaction. The first time a woman meets her, her eyes pop out and coil on her forehead. Envy, another appropriate reaction. Today, who can blame either? Today, who believes the canard about the true, the good, the beautiful, in theory or in a woman? I never believed it till the day that I met her. And you won't believe it either unless you do what I did---frisk her for flaws that will allow you to live as you are, as you were, as I was when I met her. As for me, I'm no longer the same. Perhaps you can help me. My cane and my dog are no help in a matter like this. The day that I met her, I...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Kristina England - - Samantha pushed at the lid again. “Let me out, Jason. Let me out.” Jason looked at the box and sighed. Last time he let her out, she went to the next man’s garden and ate all of his berries. Jason looked out the window at the horizon - a collision of lavender, pink, and gray. He glanced at his breakfast, uneaten on the table. “Okay, but do you promise to behave?” Samantha sat down in the box, pulled her knees up to her chin, and said nothing. Jason lowered his head. “Then I can’t let you out.” “But I’m hungry.” “I can give you some fruit.” “I don’t want your fruit.” He bit his lip, looked at the sun exploding outward, his mouth salty with daybreak. Jason walked over to the box, pulled out a key, and opened it. Samantha smiled and climbed out. “When you’re done eating, don’t come back,”...

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Author: Kristina England

Contributor: April Winters - - Judy has pink hair, tattoos, and multiple piercings. She’s always been the family embarrassment, and they’ve never appreciated her uniqueness. There was a time when she tried to conform to their way of thinking, but it gave her migraines. Her sister, Lisa, said Judy had better learn to be a famous rock star because no one would hire her looking the way she did. Thanks to Judy’s gift for baking mouth-watering desserts, Lisa was wrong. The owner of Bob’s Bakery hired Judy the second he tasted her double-fudge torte. In your face, Sis! * Two weeks ago Judy got fired. Her boss didn’t find the humor in the cupcakes she’d decorated as masturbating monkeys. “Oh my God,” he screamed. “Don’t you know these are for a kid’s birthday party? Now what am I going to do?” Judy looked perplexed. “It’s nothing they...

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: John Laneri - - Tyler Jackson first visited my office several years back complaining of headaches. Since then, I've treated him for various problems, none of which were serious. Generally, his complaints have been stress related, which I gathered went along with his work as the Chief of Customs in the Houston area. One afternoon several months ago, after examining a rash on his arm, he asked, “Hey doc, would you be interested in doing examinations for the customs service?” Tyler was a big man with a confident attitude and a lean fit body. “What kind of exams? I asked curiously. Scratching at the rash, he went on to indicate that the customs service periodically used physicians to perform physical examinations on arriving passengers. He specifically indicated that he would want me to examine people who were suspected...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: William Panara - - It was sunny the day they imploded my grandfather. He was 93 years old, wrinkled like a walnut shell, and had gotten the letter saying it was time. My whole family went to see it happen. We had our cameras so we could record the event. I still watch the video every now and then, in slow motion, dragging out those few seconds like a singer holding a note. The day before, the doctors had gone in and fitted him. Liquid explosives were placed around his pelvis, up the bridge of his spine. He showed us the stitches and said he couldn’t feel the nitroglycerin inside him, the same way a person can’t feel their kidneys or pancreas. My dad was proud and hugged him. Most people get their letter in their 80s, and he’d been able to last until 93. He’d gotten useless later than the others, retained some semblance...

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Author: William Panara

Contributor: Rohini Gupta - - The voice is a child’s voice, high and shrill, asking a question. She shifts restlessly in her dream, knowing she has dreamed this many times before but unable to hear the question. In the morning she always wakes up confused and frustrated. She knows it is important. The urgency is growing. She must answer and she must do it soon. But how? She is so distracted that she spills milk and scatters grains of sugar. Her husband does not notice. They are not talking these days. They barely look at each other. They live in separate worlds. She is resigned to the silence, it is simpler than the loud arguments and that brutal word, divorce, bandied between them like a tennis ball, first in her mouth, then in his, then back again. But there is an invisible line that both are afraid to cross, and the argument ends...

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Author: Rohini Gupta

Contributor: Cheryl Anne Gardner - - It had finally hit the triple digits, and the beach looked like a garlic pizza with roasted humans on top. While I was snoozing in the sun, I had this bizarre dream of a glass lemon hanging in the air above my head as a waiter dressed in black tie towered over me reciting a menu in French. When I opened my eyes, an oily bohunk in a slinky banana hammock was standing over me. He was so greasy, he could have slipped, nipples first, into another dimension. He had a fistful of sand, which he proceeded to fling into my face. I spit some exorcism in pig-Latin at him, and he smiled, then asked me if I wanted to go dancing. I told him to "fuck off," so he left only to return five minutes later with a pina-colada that had an umbrella in it so huge that it eclipsed the sun. I really did want to go dancing,...

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Author: Cheryl Anne Gardner

Contributor: Quinn Tyler Jackson - - When he goes up on stage, he knows the audience is corked. They want to hear Cash; they'll tap their toes to that. They've heard it. They know it. They've already heard the Johnson Brothers' sets dozens of times before. But every so often, he sings Brel's "Amsterdam." English or French version -- it never matters. It's not what they wanted or expected to hear. It's about drunken sailors with a pocket full of money and a belly full of ache. It's the wrong song, to the wrong crowd. But nobody cares because their pockets are full of money and their bellies are full of ache. And as they wander home with their escorts in tow, they find themselves humming the wrong song to the wrong crowd. Even the street lamps shine unexpected refrains. - -...

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Author: Quinn Tyler Jackson

Contributor: Kip Hanson - - There were thirty-seven boxes in all. Stavros had counted them. His daughter’s blocky handwriting covered the side of each one: BOOKS, PHOTOS, JEWELRY in fat, felt-tipped marker, like incomplete tic-tac-toes. Four boxes marked ATTIC. He’d get to those later. This one said SUMMER CLOTHES. Summer clothes, winter clothes, clothes for every season, not to mention an entire box devoted to swimsuits and three to shoes. How does one teenage girl collect so much? “Jeannie, get in here.” No answer. He could hear her out there, pacing the kitchen as she yakked on that pissing cell phone. Why wouldn’t she come help? If she wanted to move out so badly, she could damned well participate. He'd told her to stack them in the garage, and warned against more than four to a pile. Yet here they were, stuffed into the hallway...

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Author: Kip Hanson

Contributor: Conrad Ridgestone - - I gaze at my hands. I only realize now that they are shaking. I further examine them and notice the fine lines of wrinkles gone unnoticed over the years sprawled across my hands. They are old. Veins are bulging, making them look worked and worn. I can’t stop the shaking even though I will myself to stop and I have a feeling of hunger deep in my belly but food is not its wanting but it wants. Wants him back. In my arms. In my heart. Alive! My eyes cloud over with tears and they fall down my cheeks. It’s like an inane ocean beating against a rocky shore. I think I’m all cried out but all of a sudden I feel overtaken by my grief and I hear myself start to sob. Weep. Whatever the fuck you call it. I’m choking on tears now. Literally crying out his name. I can’t even hear myself start to scream and I stutter....

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Author: Conrad Ridgestone

Contributor: Gary Hewitt - - Something wasn’t right. Charlie McCoy heard mumbling machinery in the depths of the ship. He glanced at the monitor begging for attention. He groaned when he saw the words fuel tank cracked and isolated under protocol 4821A. “Computer, remind me of protocol 4821A.” “Under protocol 4821A any fuel leakage regarding the fuel tanks initiates shutdown procedure of aforementioned apparatus. The user is advised to take the craft to the nearest registered repair facility as soon as possible or to await recovery. Furthermore it is advised that…” “Thank you computer, that’ll be all.” Charlie scanned the list of nearest repair stations. He cursed when he found the one hit. He pressed contact and waited for a response. “Hi, welcome to Barry’s auto cruiser rescue. Stranded in space? Repairs needed? Well worry not,...

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Author: Gary Hewitt