Contributor: Jake A. Strife - - I’m on my psychiatrist’s couch. He looks at me, tapping his fork on his plate. He always seems to be eating breakfast when I come in on Friday mornings. Normally he would eat a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. Today, I can smell sausage. I can’t help but wonder why, as he leads the guided meditation. “You have not seen monsters.” He begins, “The injury did not come from an ‘alligator mutant’.” I listen intently, wanting to believe him, but I know what I have seen and I can once again feel the claws that sank deep into my arm. “You are going deep within my friend. Look inside your soul. You see your father. He abused you, did he not? This was no different. This is where the injury on your arm came from.” Why is he telling me this? I expect him to be telling me something more positive. Before I can wonder...

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Author: Jake A. Strife

Contributor: Jenne Lee - - The sun was just peaking over the horizon of the Baltic Sea, glistening off the necklace Anna wore around her neck as her and Paul stepped out from the dark alley. The early morning breeze had the Swedish fishermen bundled up in winter clothing, yet the pair was dressed in thin material with bare arms revealing their pale grayish skin as they walked in the direction of the sea. Anna’s large dark eyes shifted from person to person as they hurried down the dock, her high heeled boots clanking against the wood. All eyes were on them as her brittle fingers pushed an errant strand of wig hair out of her face. The annoying material aggravated her, but removing it would only cause more suspicion. She smiled at the fishermen while her free hand clutched a charm that hung from the gold chain. Paul tugged on her...

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Author: Jenne Lee

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - In 1948 Booger McNulty's coal yard stirred constant gossip among the citizens who lived in the little bungalows on the narrow blocks in my far corner of Chicago. That was more than 60 years ago, a time when families took Sunday walks and went back home in time to hear Jack Benny on the radio. A Sunday walk didn't cost a cent, a price my parents could afford. My sister and I always had to tag along when my parents took their Sunday walk, and every time we'd pass Booger's place, I'd hear my mother ask my father what could possibly be on the other side of Booger's 10-foot fence. Hoping to avoid a conversation, my father would always say he didn't know but he believed it couldn't just be coal. Back then, every kid in the neighborhood wanted to climb that fence and look around. But Booger didn't tolerate...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Jerry Guarino - - There is no actual proof that there are more white Prius cars than any other model in California. Some estimates put the number at over two million. The hybrid car became so popular that Toyota began making personalized versions to match owner’s particular interests. There were models to match your college colors, cars with artwork laminate and even a baby blue and pink model to celebrate newborns. Tony and Barbara sat in the first table at the wedding of their son Jim. You might remember Jim from the time he took his shotgun trying to excavate that pesky rooster from his parents home. Now, he was betrothed to Dianne, the girl he first met in Sunday school, fifteen years earlier. They were a striking couple, Jim’s rugged good looks and Dianne’s classic beauty like the French statue she was named...

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Author: Jerry Guarino

Contributor: Eric White - - Michael was sitting on the living room floor propped against his over-sized stuffed dog, Floppy. It was Saturday morning so he was able to watch cartoons if he twisted the antennae just right. The bowl of stale fruit-loops sat undisturbed next to him when there was a loud knock on the front door of the trailer. Michael knew better than to answer the door. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. The visitor wasn’t going away. Michael tiptoed to his father’s room. His dad was passed out on the floor with the belt still around his forearm. Michael knew that it would be futile to attempt to wake his father. So he went back to the living room floor with Floppy and his stale fruit-loops. Just when he thought the visitors were gone there was a violent crash at the door, and all of a sudden three men stood in the door way. Two of them...

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Author: Eric White

Contributor: Malia Taylor - - Josh slammed the door to his truck, catching the tail of his shirt in it in the process. “Shit,” he muttered, quickly unlocking it and opening the door to release his shirt. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he neared the scuffed, wooden door. He could already hear the jukebox playing some old song by Journey, and smell the fried food and stale beer. Danny’s Pub was not a high-class joint by any stretch of the imagination, but it was where he’d first seen her. It’s where she hangs out, where he hoped she would be tonight. He cursed himself for taking so long to get ready – she usually went home before 11 o’clock and it was nearly that now, but he couldn’t show up looking like he’d just come from a construction site. Not tonight. Tonight was the night he would grow a pair and finally get her number....

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Author: Malia Taylor

Contributor: Nicholas Slade - - I went into work to this circus that I’ve been at for over a year now. You see, I’m a kinker, or performer in circus talk, and I had pretty much done it all here. I’ve been a clown, a horseback rider, and even an acrobat. Our boss is Mr. Jerry Gorman, a veteran of the circus business. He’s as greedy as they come and a complete lunatic to boot. Always trying to be innovative, he’d ask me to do the craziest jobs. I never turned them down though, as they always seemed like a good challenge and luckily my skills always came in handy. Little did I know what he had cooked up for me that day when he called me into his office. I walked in to see Mr. Gorman with a big smile on his face. He seemed very pleased with himself. “Jean, I came up with a brilliant idea for tonight’s show,” he told me. “And what’s that?”...

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Author: Nicholas Slade

Contributor: April Winters - - I saw what took place the day four-year-old Katy Lynn Jamison disappeared. The sky a cloudless blue, spring had officially sprung on that still-crisp day. The little girl played alone in her front yard while the new babysitter and her boyfriend did who knew what inside the yellow house with the closed white door. On the fateful day, I watched as the green car slowed and turned onto Katy Lynn’s street, just as it did every day around the same time. But on that day it crept past the child’s yard before turning into the garage two doors down. The man got out, left his garage door open, and walked to the end of the driveway. He looked long and hard up both sides of the street, but it being a weekday, everyone was either at work or school. No one was about – except Katy Lynn. The man threw his cigarette onto...

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Author: April Winters

Contributor: Jerry Guarino - - They say opposites attract. Well, not in all situations. Sometimes people from diverse backgrounds are attracted to each other, only to find their differences leading to incompatibility. It’s like foods. Mashed potatoes and marinara sauce are great ingredients, but together they just don’t mix. Kelly Johnson grew up in the Midwest on a farm. Yes, she was a farmer’s daughter, but she left that life behind for college in Boston. Kelly and some of her girlfriends were in the North End for lunch one Saturday. “Oh Kelly, you have to try the pizza here, like nothing you ever had in Wisconsin” said her best friend Angela. “I’m ready. We have the good cheese, just not the sauce. I guess the sauce makes all the difference” Kelly replied. The young waiter walked toward their table as the foursome...

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Author: Jerry Guarino

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - "You need help in your garden, Grandpa?" Jack's only ten and eager to help so I have to say yes. He looks like Tom Sawyer. Sometimes I think his mother, my daughter, married Huckleberry Finn, when I look at my grandson. Yet she keeps telling me he looks like me. I seen no resemblance except for the red hair and the cowlicks. Years ago my hair was red. I still got the cowlicks. "I heard you got moles and voles so I came over to help. When moles get hungry, Grandpa, they tunnel for worms. That's how they kill your roots and bulbs." It sounds like his mother has been coaching him. She probably sent him over here so she can take a nap. Sometimes it's nice having them live nearby. Other times not so good. For all his good intentions, I know the boy can't help me with the moles and voles. He even brought...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Adam Mac - - Nguyen, known as Win, had lived in a small town on the outskirts of Halifax for nearly two years. He had work in the city, friends, and life was pretty good. His English, however, was still poor, he felt—native fluency being his standard. So, he took advantage of every opportunity to improve his English, and being a gregarious person, there were lots. Early on, some of the locals sniggered. Win wasn't stupid, and he knew he was the butt of many silly jokes, but he didn't care. Over time, his persistence won over even the surliest, old postmaster Ferguson, and the burliest, Chief Taggert. A quick study, Win got to where he could verbally diagram sentences during conversations, and this impressed a few, then intimidated some more, and ultimately annoyed everyone. He kept on doing it but only in his head. At...

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Author: Adam Mac

Contibutor: Amanda Dolan Look at her, sitting outside talking to another client. What does that even mean? I can’t even focus on my video game, because she’s on the patio laughing at his stupid jokes. I’m unsure why we’ve been here for the past week; this is the longest we’ve stayed in a place like this. I hate it. This isn't home. This is one of Nanny's many rooms. We used to live in Calabasas. I had a playroom and toys that kept me busy while Nanny had work meetings with men. That little green room was my own personal space. Now, I stay in a new bed every few days. Nanny says we’re traveling to save money for a new house. She says the old house had too many problems, but I’m starting to think there’s more to the story than she’s telling me. I trust Nanny; I do. I know she cares about me. After all, she told me she would buy me...

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Author: Amanda Dolan

Contributor: Dustin Pinney - - All of it was in his head. Everything he’d ever seen, read, smelled, touched, tasted, heard, learned, remembered, forgotten, created, ignored, obsessed over, loved, loathed was there. All stuck in his head. Expanding, rubbing against the inside of his skull, it wanted out. He tried to tell everyone. Speaking was useless. Writing any of it down didn’t work. Any kind of art failed miserably. His entire life was stuffed into his head and he couldn’t share it. A migraine started thumping along his nervous system. The tiniest motion sent the world around him into a cyclone. That agony intensified to such a point that he was sure death was imminent. The day came when finally his life wore through the bone, punctured his scalp and oozed through to the real world. As it flowed, the opening spread. Light, shadows,...

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Author: Dustin Pinney

Contributor: Jerry Guarino - - October 23rd, 1976 (New Brunswick, NJ) - Tony finished his set at WRSU around 7pm. He would grab a quick dinner, then head over to the dorm for his gig as DJ to their party. Playing for college dances was better than being on the air; you don’t have much interaction when you’re alone in the radio booth. Here he could see coeds dancing and if he was lucky pick up a date. “Are you the DJ?” said the house manager as he extended his hand. “Hi, yes, I’m Tony, from the radio station. Good to meet you.” “You too. I’m George. You can set up on that small stage; we use the dining area for dancing.” “OK George. We’re going to start around 8?” “8 is good Tony. The music will signal people to come down from their rooms. But you’re going until midnight, right?” “Yes, usually, unless the crowd...

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Author: Jerry Guarino

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - It may have been the devil himself who prompted the kids in my schoolyard back in 1947 to chant "Patsy Foley's roly-poly from eating too much ravioli." At first, no one could remember who started the chant. Patsy, a sweet and ample child, was in the third grade. As happenstance would have it, I was in that same third grade, infamous already as the only boy wearing spectacles in our class. After I got the glasses, I had three schoolyard fights in three days to prove to Larry Moore, Billy Gallagher and Fred Ham that I hadn't changed a bit. You would think I would have forgotten their names by now. Not a chance. I didn't like being messed with in third grade. Since the chant would often begin and gather volume during recess, the nuns who ran the school eventually heard it and did their best to put a stop...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Andrew Stancek - - The greengrocer has taped photos of the new supermodel Twiggy, ripped from a fashion magazine, to his store window. My train leaves in forty minutes; my suitcase bulges. I stop to catch a breath, to admire the glossy beauty and peering inside the store through the grimy window I see a mound of oranges, not seen in Bratislava in months. The greengrocer must still be spreading the word to his cronies after a middle of the night delivery but they’ll be gone before the store opens at eight. I rap on the window, rattle it hard. My knuckles hurt but I don’t stop till a beer-bellied man with a three-day beard opens the door a crack and growls, “Closed, can’t you see we’re closed. Stop the goddamn racket.” “I’ll take five kilos of the oranges,” I say, thrusting a hundred-crown note at him. He steps back. “No...

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Author: Andrew Stancek