Contributor: Ali Banner - - Daggitt cursed the Company protocol that tethered him to his partner. They swam into an underwater cave, separated by only ten feet of cord that attached to each of their suits through a special harness. Eleven dives and the Company decided he still needed a guide. “Keep your eyes peeled, Daggitt.” Roberts’s voice infiltrated his helmet. “Don’t wanna miss the tunnel.” He swam faster and harder than the rest of the crew and his knowledge of ancient artifacts was essential to the Company’s success, but Daggitt was better known for getting lost between the pub and the motel next door. “Just do your job so I can get the hell out of here.” Roberts smirked. Daggitt imagined the cord around his neck. Soon. The walls closed in, jutting masses of rock that threatened to crush them as they headed for an even narrower...

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Author: Ali Banner

Contributor: Katie Ashworth - - I stared out the window at the beat-up black clunker parked on my curb. Usually I could keep my emotions in check, but this time the tears spilled without much warning. Before my eyes the car transformed into the shiny, grand vehicle it had been in years long past. The street was no longer illuminated by flickering streetlights, but it was bathed in the sunlight of a summer day. The strength of the memory overwhelmed me. I grew 20 years younger. I was no longer looking out my window at the car, but bouncing next to it excitedly. My father was taking me for a drive. There was no planned destination, but I wore my prettiest dress and had my mother tie pink ribbons around my braids. As far as I was concerned, this was a very special occasion. My father opened the door for me, helped me up, and buckled me...

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Author: Katie Ashworth

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - When ancient Elmer was young and dashing and on the prowl, he would wait for a phone call about love or anger from someone important to him at the time. Over the years more than a few women had reason to call. Some were happy with Elmer and some were not. According to Elmer, more than a few of those women today, five or six decades later, take advantage of the new technology and Google his name in an effort to find him. Many want to confront him for past promises not kept. Some want to see him again if he's single, widowed or divorced. Others just want to see him again, whatever his marital status. The vote on him, Elmer says, is split down the middle. He fooled some of the women some of the time but the others never forgot. At age 80 he wishes most of them--but not all of them--would. "What can I...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: John Laneri - - Last night, my wife and I competed in a dance contest at the Grey Horse Pavilion. The event was one of those happy affairs in which we danced our hearts out before a panel of judges. The grand prize – now listen to this – was a whopping expense paid weekend to San Antonio along the River Walk. Jane was eager, her manner alive with energy as the sound of music greeted our arrival. We hurried inside, knowing that Jake the fiddle man was already performing his magic – the strings of his violin vibrating the best foot stomping music in all of West Texas. Once registered, we slid onto the dance floor and turned a couple of circles before settling into a slow waltz to draw us into harmony. “Your cologne smells great,” I said, as I pulled her close and nuzzled her neck. She chuckled softly, her face blushing...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Michael Fontana - - The wasp flew outside our door, his little pinprick legs hauling in mud for construction of a nest. I responded by breaking out the broom and attacking his pile of mud with the bristles, breaking it out of the crevice in our fireplace, scattering it to the ground and then spraying it with wasp killer for good measure. He then flew up into my face, extending a leg forward as if for a handshake before speaking. His voice was all gravel like he smoked a pack a day. “Charlie the Wasp, Mike. You don’t mind if I call you Mike, right?” “I suppose not. I let the kid at the deli do it. You’re no more offensive than him.” “Where you get off wrecking my house, Mike?” He was a lanky purple sucker, his wings whirling to keep him afloat in front of my nose. “What do you mean?” I asked. I was in my 40s,...

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Author: Michael Fontana

Contributor: Taran Washington - - To the new people we meet in our lives, we are all shadows. I understand that may be an unclear statement, allow me to shed light on it. . . no pun intended. When you first meet someone, you see their appearance of course. Hair, eyes, race, gender and so on; that is not what I mean though. The shadow I’m talking about is a mental shadow, a soul shadow. Simply put, the more you learn about someone, the clearer you can see them. Like someone in the dark who steps ever slowly into a defining light. Relationships grow, falter, and fade depending on how much you truly see one another. Has someone who you believed to know with fondness or disdain ever surprised you? For better or for worse your view has changed, their image, their shadow has faltered. That being said almost no one truly knows anyone else....

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Author: Taran Washington

Contributor: Jessica Knauss - - “Good girl,” said Shelley, patting a Javan rhinoceros on her round rump. She pulled on long gloves, grasped the cartridge-sized ultrasound camera, and inserted her arm into Kunthi’s rectum. Kunthi had behaved just as patiently during the painstaking ultrasound and insemination attempt three days before, which had used up the last of their supply of male Javan DNA. Kunthi was twenty-two, about two-thirds the maximum estimated age of her wild counterparts, and had never given birth. Kunthi’s name, meaning “motherly” in Indonesian, had been an act of optimism that looked more pathetic every day. The Javan rhinoceros was the world’s rarest large land mammal. Pushed down by poaching, palm oil crops, and human settlement, after millions of years on Earth, Kunthi’s wild relatives numbered only thirty. She had...

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Author: Jessica Knauss

Contributor: C.L. Manion - - He had ink on his hands. I remember the way it crept through the grooves of his skin. The roots of weeds. It was just small spots, but unmistakable. And a loose-wrinkled shirt. Yellow or faded or not. It was a long time ago. The kettle screams on the stove. Tea leaves swirl in the chipped-china pot. An afternoon at home. Jenny asks if she can go play in the garden. Barely twelve. A tomboy. No interest in boys but that'll come soon enough. Go and play. Ma won't mind, Granny says it’s ok. Just like her mother, Jenny. All sports and bare knees. Jarred frogs and adventures. Comes from somewhere, I guess, but not me. I was never. But maybe that would have been better. He would ask me where things were. In my first real job as a library clerk I was full of poorly trained self-importance. Had I been a little...

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Author: C.L. Manion

Contributor: Ali Banner - - Hotel 14 wasn’t the classiest of places, but they kept the rooms neat and tidy and didn’t bother you unless you requested service at the front desk. Dinah liked that about them. They also didn’t ask questions, so it was a popular place for lovers to meet in secret. Hotel 14 washed their hands of anything that went on behind closed doors. Dinah liked that, too. At half past midnight, Dinah slipped down the east hallway hand in hand with Truman, both of their heads still swimming from the evening’s free-flowing champagne. They stopped in front of Room 108 and Dinah pulled the plastic keycard from her handbag. She handed the card to Truman, who swiped it through the scanner until the machine beeped in approval. Grinning, he took her by the hand and led her into the room. “Hell of a party, wasn’t it?” He loosened...

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Author: Ali Banner

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - "Sometimes Jesus walked around with a big staff, just like me," Mrs. Day says to herself as she looks at the frayed picture on her kitchen wall just above the little kitchen table. She cut that picture out of a magazine 50 years ago when she subscribed to Life and Look and Colliers magazines. "Jesus doesn't need that staff," Mrs. Day tells herself. "It was a sunny day in Jericho, the article said. I'll bet He used that staff to go up in the hills to pray. The Bible says He often left the apostles behind to go away and pray. I'd have kept an eye on Him if I was there." At 80 Mrs. Day is legally blind with one good leg. She has a staff of her own to help her walk to stores and then back to her little house. The staff is at least a foot taller than she is. It was a gift from a dead neighbor who was handy...

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Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Kristina England - - Jerry walked into the Midnight Boulevard Diner and sat down. 100 miles of road now between him and the past, he finally realized how hungry he'd been. A waitress came over and smiled at him. "You look like you need the chef's special today." He looked up and shrugged. He knew better than to smile. Smiling led to talking, perhaps friendship and, before you knew it, three kids your wife said she never wanted. The waitress nodded and handed him a menu. She went on to the next customer, her face more formal and reserved. Jerry looked at the menu, then blinked. He turned and beckoned for the waitress. She waved a "one moment" finger at him and took the other customer's order. Then she returned to his booth. "Yes?" "There's only one item on this menu." "Yes, that's our special." "But where's your...

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Author: Kristina England

Contributor: John Laneri - - At this particular moment, I’m standing in the kitchen near the stove over a large pot of water, feeling my emotions reach the boiling point. “That’s ridiculous,” I say to her a bit too passionately. “What’s wrong with moving home and living with my mother,” she says, as her eyes flare with anger. “She doesn’t yell at me when the pasta pot boils over.” Maria’s a strong willed woman. It’s in her blood. She’s of Italian-American descent like me. And yes, we’re having an argument. In truth, Maria’s a good person – short, bouncy and usually fun, except when we’re in the kitchen together. That’s when she turns into a different animal. Me… I’m Mario, Maria’s husband – the most frustrated person in the world. Today, I’m trying to teach her to cook. I’ve been at it for months, and she still doesn’t have...

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Author: John Laneri

Contributor: Ali Banner - - Flying always made her nervous. It wasn’t so much the soaring through the clouds thousands of miles above the surface of the planet as it was the rough takeoffs and even rougher landings, especially with the ever-looming possibility of crashing into desolation, miles away from help or hope. Either way, she preferred to travel on land despite death-by-automobile being statistically more likely than a nosedive into a remote mountainside with nothing but the airplane tail jutting from rocks in a cloud of billowing smoke. Her lacework was the only thing that soothed her nerves and took her mind off what was sure to be certain doom. This flight was more nerve-wracking than usual. Not only was the weather deteriorating by the minute, a dense cloud that threatened snow hanging thicker and thicker, but she was traveling...

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Author: Ali Banner

Contributor: Eric White - - “You can’t do this,” said the wiry man across from me. He spoke in Russian. It was sloppy, and his accent was almost comical. “Please, Mr. Oswald, let us speak in English. It is, after all, your native tongue,” I said, and poured myself a drink. “I’ve already told you. I’m more than willing to denounce my American citizenship. I can help you,” he said in English. “I’m sorry, Mr. Oswald. That is just not true.” The man was taken aback, but he knew better than to raise his voice. All he did was squirm in his seat, and glance around the mahogany office. “I’ve already proven that I could be one of your agents. I’m the perfect spy.” I nearly choked on my drink. “What’s so funny? I’ve taken all the tests. I’ve proven I’m more than capable.” “Why do you want to be a spy for the Soviet Union, Mr. Oswald?” “What?” “Answer...

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Author: Eric White

Contributor: Meagan Lindsay - - It is the end of winter once again. I do not want to go back again. I have come to dread the months that I spend with my mother, Demeter, surrounded by the verdant greens of spring and summer. I pat Cerberus on the head as I pass him, heading through his gate and up the stairs back into the mortal world. It is a long and torturous climb, made to ensure that no mortals escape death's clutches. I find myself thinking of my husband, almost wishing he could come with me. Even if he could just join me on this climb, it would make things more bearable. He may be arrogant, often cold, and some would say greedy (I say confident in his abilities to get what he wants), but when he is with me, he is also fiercely passionate and extravagant with his affections. I remember the first time I saw him. It was at the...

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Author: Meagan Lindsay

Contributor: Matthew Luhrman - - The wind chime above the front door didn’t work. If I’m honest, none of the furnishings I placed in the crooked craftsman on Eagle Street could chase the gloom away. I remember buying the chime. I’d seen them dangling above the neighborhood porches, decorating the homes of lifers with blooming families. Weren’t the soothing chords supposed to create a sonic seal around my home, a protection from ghouls, inner demons, or familiar ghosts? Meredith was one of those ghosts. Even the memory of that light pigeon laugh always humming behind her teeth still poked at me. She always made quick decisions, and although we had picked the house together, I didn’t get a good enough look. Sure I did the customary walk through, but I didn’t really look. If I had, I might have seen that the house was a stranger that would...

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Author: Matthew Luhrman