Contributor: Joe Forrest - - Deano looked out the window as the old sedan pulled up. After all his years on the planet, he still appreciated a good car. His eyes weren’t as good anymore, but he knew a classic. When the young man stepped out of the car however, his stomach turned. The man stood and stretched. He looked like he’d just walked off the set of Rebel Without a Cause. His hair was greased back just like when they were kids. He pulled on an old jacket. Deano could almost hear the creak of the leather. The man ran a hand through his hair, followed by a comb. Then he looked straight at Deano. His eyes were cold, his skin pale, and you could tell he was full of ill intent. A real bad mama jama as they used to say. He made his way for the front door. Deano waited for the knock he knew would come. He wasn’t in a hurry to answer...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Joe Forrest

Contributor: Briauna McKizzie - - Sitting at gate D18, Maggie tried to keep her hands from shaking. She was breathing heavily and beads of sweat had formed at her temples. Suddenly, a woman with the voice of a rusting automaton placed a loudspeaker to her lips. “We apologize for the inconvenience, but Flight 388 has been delayed due to thunderstorms. However, the forecast promises clear skies soon, and we hope to have you landing at DFW no later than 2:15am. We appreciate your patience. Thank you for choosing Southwest Airlines.” The individuals waiting at the gate had varied responses. Some people rolled their eyes and voiced their disapproval of the airline’s inability to control the weather. The parents in the group quickly created makeshift beds on the seats around them and encouraged their little ones to rest. Meanwhile, members...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Briauna McKizzie

Contributor: Anthony Merklinger - - But sleep won’t come the whole night through... There is a rapping at the door. She turns her head from the bathroom mirror and listens as each knock fills the void in her apartment. “Marra!” calls a voice from behind the door. She refocuses her attention to the mirror. Behind the lipstick stains and fingerprints, there’s a beautiful young woman. The rapping continues. She picks up a stick of black eyeliner from beside the faucet and removes the cap. She inhales and tightens her face. “Marra,” says the voice again, “I know you’re in there.” She tilts her head and applies the liner. The rapping continues. She closes the cap and places the liner back on the sink. She reviews herself in the glass. When tears come down like fallin’ rain… She walks into the living room and lifts the needle...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Anthony Merklinger

Contributor: Robert Bates - - “Mark wants to beat your ass,” Julian had warned me at the beginning of the school day. More like Mark is going to beat my ass. Everyone knows I can’t fight. I sit in my seat wondering what will happen next. Julian sees my worried face and says, “Relax, I got your back.” The teacher walks out and I can feel Mark watching me. Rachel whispers, “It’ll be really funny if you win,” into my ear from her seat beside me. I turn and Mark is in my face. He pushes me and I instinctively push him back. He hits me. Then I’m on the ground. Completely disoriented. I wait for another punch to come but it never does. I finally regain my senses and get up to see Julian holding Mark with his arms pinned behind his back. “If you are going to do something, do it now,” he says, struggling to hold him. I hit...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Robert Bates

Contributor: Stephen V. Ramey - - It was on the anniversary of my son's death that I set out to right the wrongs in this world. I freed prisoners wrongly convicted like my son, for justice is the heat that burns my arteries. I shot the payday loan shark who collected interest on his interest, for fairness is the blue that floods my veins. I tore out the tongue of the liar who turned on him at trial, for truth is the beating heart that fuels a man. And now I lay myself upon Your mercy, Lord. Is it truly wrong, what I have done, what I mean to do? One bullet in the chamber, one wrongdoer left unresolved. Please, Lord, tell me that this is not a sin. Did You not see Your only son unjustly crucified? Did he not weep and beg you to intervene? Here, I'll spin the cylinder. Now it's truly up to You. Click. Click. Click. Please, God, show...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

2 Comments

Author: Stephen V. Ramey

Contributor: Yonathan Teferi - - The journey back home would be dreadful, for only I knew the ventures that awaited me. As a common worker, it was my sole purpose to fulfill my Queen’s commands, and this journey would serve as just that. Even if it was my first time away from the colony, I knew what needed to be done. I left the foreign tree, carrying the would-be final piece of a new parent colony. The responsibility weighed my body down, but us common workers have always carried the burden of our hierarchy. While heading back to the colony, I noticed a frail creature. Long legged, with a body smaller than mine, it headed in my direction. Eye contact was difficult, considering I had two and it eight. That foreign beast wouldn’t get a word out of me. My eyes betrayed my mind, and for a split moment, I felt lost in this world. My...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Yonathan Teferi

Contributor: Kristina England - - Danny and Joe hiked up the mountain trail. Danny nervously balanced from one rock to the next. Joe shook his head. "Pick up the pace, man." "Listen, I am accident prone and have asthma. I warned you ahead of time. Go ahead without me. I'll catch up." "No, you never leave another hiker behind. Besides, you aren't supposed to hike by yourself." "Says who?" "Says the official hiking association. Although, I suppose people do it." "I'd say so. Thoreau would have never written Walden Pond if he brought along a friend. It's the only way you get real peace and quiet." Joe sighed. "You know, I'm beginning to see Thoreau's reasoning." Danny stopped. "I have to take my inhaler. Wait, what was that? Oh my God, is that a bee! I'm allergic to bees. Well, I don't know if I am but I hear if you are allergic...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Kristina England

Contributor: João Cerqueira - - When Jesus and Magdalene began to cross the sunflower field they met a group of boys, squatting before a rocky outcrop. Covered with lichen and moss, the rock gave off a greenish hue that contrasted with the garnet sweater of one of the boys. Magdalene guessed they were between ten and fourteen years old. “Look, these country kids can explore nature at their will. City kids know nothing of this fun and games in the open air,” she said tenderly. Jesus said nothing, but left the path to go to them. Eager to establish contact with healthy youngsters who didn’t need Playstations to have fun, Magdalene followed him. She could now tell that this was lively play, because she could hear laughter. As she approached, the guffaws increased. At that instant Magdalene wanted to be a child again, to join this group...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: João Cerqueira

Contributor: Bruce Costello - - Another sleepless winter night. The sky is huge from my veranda, the stars luminous, the moon near and motionless. The trees are buried in slumber, not a movement, not a sound. The fields, bathed in silver, stretch to the hills with here and there the gleam of a pond. It’s hard to believe that nature can be so still. The stars gaze down with tenderness, as if there’s no unhappiness and all’s well in the world. They say you should close the clinic door and switch off to the voices of the day. I was a high flying psychotherapist, well-known and in demand. I thought I was forever. But my brain became a sponge for the pain of troubled people. Day after day with patients, night after night with a troubled husband whose needs I failed to satisfy, whose constant, punishing putdowns were badgering me into...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Bruce Costello

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Paddy didn't want to go to his wife's family reunion. He told her that in the same nice way he had told her in years past so as to avoid other reunions over the many years they had been married. Hilda had always given him a pass, telling her relatives his job required that he stay home. After he retired she'd tell them he wasn't up to the trip--a case of the flu or something. No one ever believed her but many were happy not to have Paddy there. It wasn't that he caused a problem. He just stuck out among the Ottos and Hanses. He would forever be an Irish interloper at a German family reunion. But this time Hilda was adamant about Paddy going with her. "Everyone's getting older," Hilda said, "and we should see them before someone else dies." Hilda was right, of course, Paddy had to admit, as she usually...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Donal Mahoney

Contributor: Robert Forehand - - The light blinds me. It always does. I wait for the accompanying migraine to stop before I blink open my eyes. Mattress. Pillow. A bed. I'm under the sheets. I swing my unfamiliar legs out and to the floor. Painted toenails touch the carpet fibers. Shapely, shaved legs. Wearing panties. Nothing else. Breasts. I'm a woman this time. I flex my thin fingers. Glossy, acrylic nails glint in the morning light slipping through the curtains. An evening dress lies crumpled on the floor. I glance into the mirror upon the dresser. A beautiful stranger stares back at me. Lush, black hair. Captivating auburn eyes. She takes care of herself, this one. Not a bad looking body to wake up in. A soft snore catches my attention. A man lies next to me in bed. Sleeping. Judging by his clothes lying scattered...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

1 comment

Author: Robert Forehand

Contributor: Marc André McAllister - - I could not see her, though I knew she was near. Come closer, I pleaded. You will have to come for me, she answered. You know I can’t. Please come to me. She was silent. Please. I need you now. I’m so empty. I sensed her move closer. I felt her all around me. Her warmth without and within. Soothing me. Is this what you wanted? She asked. Yes. But you’re not real. No, I am not. And then she was gone. I was alone again in the darkness. - - - Marc André McAllister is a French-American author currently living in Northern California where he is completing a B.A. in Philosophy. He relies largely the cross-cultural experiences of his youth as inspiration for his fiction. He keeps two blogs, one featuring artwork at lookingglassscene.blogspot.com, and another that deals with the ethics of Transhumanism...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

1 comment

Author: Marc André McAllister

Contributor: Matt Pearce - - I woke to the screaming. My mother’s pleading in answer to my father’s shouting. They were at it again. I knew it was hopeless to try to sleep. Every angry word by my father reverberated through the house. I sometimes could see the rafters shake with each rise in pitch. I could imagine the spittle being sprayed out by his screaming throat hitting my Mother’s face, sticking to her like evil ooze. Dribble she could not wipe away without facing further abuse. Ever since he lost his job last month at the car factory, spending any kind of money turned him into an unstoppable monster. Last week, the sink clogged and my father was forced to call a repairman. For the last few days he had been repeating, “We can’t afford it,” and when he looked at me as he said it, I could imagine his hands squeezing my throat in...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Matt Pearce

Contributor: Tod Connor - - "Let's make love, Rebecca." "I will not. You don't dip into the honeypot by simply asking, that isn't the way the game is played. You must complete the stages, and the first one is eye lock." "I thought it was hard cock." "Not in my book. If you don't qualify for some good eye lock then the game ends then and there." "And there are other stages?" "Of course. The next stage I call moved by sound. Your lips must make noises that please my warm places or you're outta here." "Is that it?" "Of course not. The final stage, and the most important I might add, is mystery. Your eye lock, combined with your noises must create movement without pattern, endless potential that stimulates like a wild garden." "And then, after I succeed in completing these three stages, then you will invite me into the sacred temple?" "Not...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Tod Connor

Contributor: Donal Mahoney - - Tim Murnane had been lying in bed and staring at the ceiling of his hospital room when a strange woman suddenly walked in. A mature, nice-looking lady, she wasn't a doctor or nurse. She was dressed in her Sunday best--a voluminous skirt, puffy white blouse he could almost see through, and a pill box hat. He hadn't seen a pill box hat on a woman since Jackie Kennedy was in the White House back when he was a young man. This woman, however, was carrying a Bible, not an elegant purse. "Mr. Murnane, my name is Ophelia Barnes and I wonder if you might be willing to give me a few minutes of your time. I understand you recently had an operation." "I did indeed," said Tim. "They took out my appendix and my gallbladder, too, when they found it was bad. I'll be here awhile longer while they run some other tests. At...

Read more »

These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Donal Mahoney