Contributor: Robert Bates

- -
Michael Johnson sits alone on his bed staring at an old photo of himself and a girl at their senior prom.
“You should call her,” his older brother says, walking into the room.
“How long were you standing there?” Michael asks suspiciously.
“Long enough. Whatever happened to that girl?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know where she is.”
“Maybe you should track her down.”
“It’s been five years; I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want me back in her life. Anyway, seen any good movies lately?” Michael asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“You should call her,” Matt says persistently.
“I’m not going to call her,” Michael says defiantly.
“She was your high school sweetheart.”
“Was.”
“You need to call her.”
“I don’t even have her number.”
“She could still have the same one.”
“I highly doubt it.”
“Just try it!”
Michael finally picks up his phone and dials in the numbers. After what seems like an eternity, a familiar voice answers.
“Hey! Um…this is Michael Johnson,” he says nervously.
Matt watches his expression change from a look of blank nervousness to a slight grin.
“Yeah, I still live here.”
“You’re kidding?” Michael says, his expression changing to absolute shock.
“Yeah, that sounds great…groovy…interstellar,” Michael pauses for a moment, puts the cell phone down to his chest, and covers it with his hand so the girl can’t hear.
“Why am I talking like I’m from the seventies?” Michael quietly whispers to Matt.
“Just keep making words, you’re doing fine,” Matt assures him.
Michael raises the phone back to his ear and begins making more words.
“Yeah, see you at seven,” Michael says as he hangs up the phone.
“She’s in town?” Matt asks in a surprised tone.
“She’s in town!” Michael exclaims happily, beginning to pace around the room.
“That’s awesome! It’s six forty-five; you can pace later, go get ready!”
“I am!” yells Michael, rushing out of the room.
“I’m going to head out!”
“I’ll let you know how it goes!”
“I’ll be at the wedding!” Matt shouts as he walks out of the front door.
Michael changes several times, but finally manages to find some clothes that he looks decent in, and gets to the restaurant before she does. She walks in fashionably late at seven-fifteen and sits down at the table.
“You’re late, Sarah,” he says with a playful smile on his face.
“Well, I had two dates before you and they were both better looking,” she says with the same smile.
“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed at all.”
They order their food and are quickly served, but there is much more talking than eating.
“So, how is the love life?” Michael asks, scared to know the answer.
“Well, my boyfriend and I broke up a few months ago,” she says simply.
“What happened?” asks Michael, leaning forward in his chair.
“He turned out to be a girl,” she says with a smirk on her face.
“Why did it take you so long to find out?”
“You know how I am, I like to take things slow.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And that comment is why I’m letting you pay for dinner!” she says with a satisfied smile on her face.
“I’m so glad I found you,” Michael says sarcastically.
“You have a lady in your life?” Sarah asks quickly, side-stepping his sarcasm.
“Ah, yes, her name is Lafonda and we are getting married tomorrow,” Michael says with a smirk on his face.
“I know that’s not true,” she says bluntly.
“Because of the ridiculous name?”
“Because you get this stupid smirk on your face when you lie, it makes me want to kiss you and punch you at the same time. Plus, I know that I’m the only person who will ever put up with you,” she says, raising her glass.
“And I with you,” Michael says as they clink their glasses together.
“But your last statement begs the question, am I getting kissed or punched?” he says, finally feeling some confidence.
“Well, I guess you’ll just have to walk me home and find out,” says Sarah, winking at him.
Michael begrudgingly pays the bill and they walk outside into the chilly night air.
“So, where are you staying?” Michael asks her while putting his jacket on.
“Just up the street actually,” she says, pointing into the distance.
They walk up the white sidewalk and arrive at a rundown apartment within minutes. The paint looks like it has endured a war, one wall looks like it has been pushed in by a bulldozer, and another wall looks like it is trying to leave.
“It’s a…nice place you got here,” he awkwardly lies.
“Don’t patronize me, it’s worse than your dating life,” she replies smartly.
“I was just trying to be a supportive friend,” he says defensively.
“I know. You just suck at it,” she says while turning towards him.
She suddenly leans in and kisses him on the lips. She doesn’t say anything and walks right up to the door to go inside. But right before she enters, she turns around.
“It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while, life gives us a chance to fix something we messed up the first time,” she says, with a rare dose of sincerity.
Michael pauses for a moment, not really knowing how to respond to an overly sentimental statement like that, but he finds some words eventually.
“Are you saying you messed up?” he asks with a satisfied look on his face.
“Don’t push it,” she says, her smile coming back.
“I’ll call you,” he says with a goofy smirk on his face.
“You better,” Sarah says, walking into the house and shutting the white door behind her.
Michael tries to make sense of the weird interaction that has just occurred as he walks away from her house with a smile on his face and a strut in his step.


- - -

Read more »

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

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Robert Bates

Contributor: James Babbs

- -
Out there in the country away from all the lights the night sky littered with countless stars. I held her close to me and felt the pounding of her heart. When I kissed her on the lips and stuck my tongue in her mouth she sucked in her breath and I laughed. I kept trying to tell her how much I loved her but she acted like she didn't understand. I laughed again and pointed at the sky. I told her how fucking crazy it was with all the millions and billions of stars for someone not to believe there was another planet somewhere capable of sustaining intelligent life. Millions and billions of stars I said. That meant billions and trillions of planets. I told her how some of the stars we saw had died eons ago but they were so far away their light was only just now reaching us. It was strange I said. Something so long dead still shining so bright. Then I placed the gun against her head and pulled the trigger. She collapsed softly into my arms. I held her against me and felt the weight of her body. When I laid her in the grass I started to sing—

I see a red door and I want it painted black
no colors any more I want them to turn black--

I dug the grave among the trees where the dead leaves were thick like a layer of carpeting over the ground. When I was finished I walked the two miles back to my truck and sat in the front seat looking at the stars through the windshield. I told myself this would be the last time. The same way I did the time before and the time before that. I started the truck and drove to the Hideaway-this little dive bar out on the edge of town. I ordered a shot and washed it down with beer. It was almost closing time. One of the working girls sitting at the far end of the bar tried to catch my eye but I wasn't interested. I had a bottle waiting for me at home. I kept it in the cupboard above the stove. I really liked it in there. When I reached up there to get it the glass always felt so warm.


- - -
James Babbs continues to live and write from the same small Illinois town where he grew up. He has published hundreds of poems over the past thirty years and, more recently, a few short stories. James is the author of Disturbing The Light(2013) & The Weight of Invisible Things(2013).

Read more »

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

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: James Babbs

Contributor: Reese Scott

- -
He was born in a hotel. But of course he didn’t know it was a hotel. He didn’t know what a hotel was. He didn’t know what a room or a roof was. It’s difficult to create images without the help of words and since he had none he only went by what he was told. Which was very little.

Inside the hotel lived three other people. A young girl close to his age and two people who were older than they were. When the boy and the girl were alone they would talk about the difference between them and the other people.

The first thing the young girl said was,
“Do they move like that on purpose?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It looks like they’re always getting up in the morning.”
“Maybe they were just getting up.”
“That would make sense. But they look that way all the time.”

When it got dark they sat down at a table to eat. Nobody spoke and nobody knew what they were eating. It was just food.

A few weeks later the young boy handed the girl a note and asked her to meet him outside behind the green thing. He didn’t know how to pronounce what the green thing was or what it even was.

When they met, the young girl noticed the boy seemed to be scared.
“Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“Why are you scared?”
“No. I’m not scared. You're a girl.”
“Who told you that?”
“That you’re a girl?”
“Yeah.”
“Nobody.”
“Then how do you know I’m a girl?”
"I don’t. I just do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Am I right?”
“Yes. What did you want to tell me?”
“I saw something last night.”
“What?”
“The two.”
“What about them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t do that. You’re blushing.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I think it’s a big word for when your cheeks look red”
“So why are my cheeks red?”
“Because you’re blushing. What did you see?”
“I don’t know. I mean I don’t know if it was real. I think I was dreaming because I didn’t know anything or anyone.”
“What did you see?”
“Just two people like the ones here.”
“Did they look like them?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. It was dark.”
“Where were you?”
“I don’t know. Where they put the bed.”
‘You saw them in the bed?”
“Yeah.”
“What did it look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did it look fun? Were they laughing? Were they sleeping?”
“No. They weren’t sleeping.”
“Then what they were doing?”
“I don’t know?”
“What did it look like they were doing?”
“It looked like he was trying to hurt her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I think I was dreaming.”
“So what? So he hurt her?”
“I think so.”
“How can you just say you think so?”
“Because I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
“What hurts and what doesn't hurt.”
The young girl punched him in the leg hard.
“Did that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“So what were they doing?”
“Well. They were both in the bed. At first it was hard to tell who was in the bed. At first I thought the bed was empty. But then I could see what looked like one body move under the sheet. But then I realized it was two bodies under the sheet.”
“They sound like ghosts.”
“You think so?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hope they were ghosts.”
“So then what happened?”
“Then I saw their heads come out of the sheets so I could see their shoulders and faces”
“Were they smiling?”
“No.”
“They weren't smiling and they weren't sleeping. What does that leave?”
“I don’t know. But then it felt like a dream because I was suddenly right next to the woman in the bed. Maybe a foot away.”
“Did she see you?”
“No. Nobody saw me. It felt like I wasn’t there. Then the body of the man started to do something strange. I had never seen it before.”
“What?”
“I don’t know the words. Well you know how you hammer a nail into a wall?”
“Yeah.”
“It looked like that.”
“It looked like he was hammering a nail into the wall?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“It looked like he was hammering it into her.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he have a hammer?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened when he was hammering her with the nail?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see. The hammering was happening below the sheets.”
“But it wasn’t a real hammer.”
“I don’t know.”
“But it wasn’t a real nail.”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“I just stood there watching.”
“And what?”
“I watched.”
“You didn’t make any noise?”
“No.”
“What made you think he had a hammer?”
“Well every time he seemed to want to use the hammer on her he would lift his body up in a weird way. Like he was trying to swallow her and then it looked like he was using a hammer.”
“Where was the hammer?”
“Down here.”
“Down there?”
“Yeah.”
“Really. Was she okay”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“How am I supposed to know. I just stood there as he moved up hitting harder and harder until finally her face looked at me.”
“Did she see you?”
“No. It was like I wasn’t there.”
“What did she look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was she laughing?”
“No.”
“Then was she smiling?”
“No.”
“She wasn’t sleeping, you already said that. Then what was she doing?”
“Well. It looked like she was crying.”
“What’s crying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know that’s what she was doing?”
“I don’t.”
“Then why did you use that word?”
“I couldn’t think of any other one.”


- - -
Reese Scott is from New York. He is currently residing in California.

Read more »

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

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Reese Scott

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 it when it did. Three knocks that reminded him of heartbeats. Deano didn’t move. Three more knocks, each hitting him in the chest like a hollow-point slug.

Not knowing if he could take another three knocks, Deano pulled his old, creaky bones from the chair. He opened the door and just like he’d thought, what he saw was impossible. Ernie, that rat bastard, young as he was the day he died.

“Ya ain’t gonna invite me in, old man?” asked Ernie.

Deano's mouth felt like it was full of cotton. “S-sure, Ernie. Come on in.”

Ernie smiled and pushed by him. He made a show of looking around the living room. He pulled a pack of Pall Mall’s, no filter, from his coat pocket.

“Mind if I blow smoke, old man?”

“Um…”

Ernie rolled his eyes dismissively. “Not like it really matters to ya, huh? All eat up with cancer like ya are.”

He lit one of the cigarettes and took a long drag. One of the pictures on the mantle caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. A man, a woman, and two kids looking happy at a picnic. Ernie paid particular attention to the woman.

“Damn, Deano. She’s a hot little number, ain’t she?”

Deano went from scared to angry. “Put the picture down, Ernie,” he said.

Ernie smiled again. “Yeah, yeah, Deano. Cool ya jets. I was just pokin’ fun. Ain’t got a need for her kind no more.” He took a drag of the cigarette. “Have a seat, buddy. We need to talk.”

Deano was reluctant, but did as he was told. He sat down in the old recliner, the one his wife had bought him so long ago. It conformed to his body and made him comfortable. Tonight though, tonight it wasn’t so comfortable.

Ernie sat down on the flower print couch opposite of him. He kicked his feet up. That smile was still on his face and every fiber of Deano’s being screamed in fear.

“Best remain calm, old fella,” said Ernie, all nonchalant. “Wouldn’t want the ticker to give this late in the game, now would ya?”

Ernie took another drag as he stared at Deano. The silence in the room was deafening.

“What do you want, Ernie?”

Ernie leapt to his feet. “Bingo, bango, bongo! Now that’s the million dollar question ain’t it?”

“You’ve been dead going on forty years, Ernie. I killed you myself.”

“There it is,” said Ernie. “There’s that realization. No foolin’ you, huh, Deano? You’re talkin’ to a dead man, the man you killed, and ya tremblin’ like a babe. You’re one cool cat, huh?”

The .38 special was in Deano’s hand and firing before he even thought about it, old habits being what they are. Three bullets ripped through the space between them, slamming into the other man’s chest. They pushed him back a bit, but he was otherwise unmoved by the action. Three holes in the t-shirt was all that marked the passing of the bullets. Not a drop of blood was in sight.

Ernie laughed. “You really didn’t think that was gonna do nuthin’, did ya?”

“I suppose not,” said Deano, lowering the gun, defeated.

“Now, you’re a smart man, Deano,” said Ernie. “I always said ya was smart. Ya was even smart the way ya got rid of my body. No one ever knew.”

Ernie crept towards Deano. There was no longer anything human in his movements. He was like a shadow, liquid and smooth.

“Ya had to know your sins would catch up,” he said.

“You’re not Ernie,” said Deano.

The smile left the other man’s face. “No, no I’m not.” His voice was flat now, no longer belonging to Ernie.

“Who are you then?”

The other man considered this for a moment. “I’ve gone by many names. Old Bones. The Shadow Walker. The Pale Man. Tonight I’m the Black Racer. Humans always have a name for me. My real name is what I am though. You know it. I know it.”

A fire seemed to light deep in the other man’s eyes. Deano was afraid. It was like looking into two tiny supernovae. It was like staring into creation and…and…

“Say it, Deano,” said the Black Racer. “Say my name.”

It came out a whisper. “Death.”


- - -
Joe Forrest lives in Phoenix, AZ where he holds down a boring old job. At night, he comes up with crazy stories in the hopes that one day he can do it for a living. He also drinks copious amounts of alcohol.

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 of Generation Y took the opportunity to take an uninhibited amount of “selfies”.
However, the only person who actually smiled at the turn of events was Maggie. Glancing at her watch, she looked around for a moment before leaving the waiting area and walking down the terminal toward the shopping and dining area.
It was nearing 10 ‘O clock and all was quiet. Janitors were walking slowly from bathroom to bathroom, and small groups of people were waiting at various gates. Only one restaurant was still open. A bar and grill with more than six TVs, each playing a different program.
Standing outside the entrance, Maggie fiddled with her hand before walking inside of the bar. She sat on a red stool next to a man wearing a silver Rolex. He didn’t even look up when the pretty woman sat next to him. He only continued to stare at his iPad that was resting on the counter. The muscles near the left corner of her mouth contracted upward as she looked down at the web page the man was on. His fingers were slowly scrolling down the web page for Rolex. He had just stopped to look at a gold one with a green face, when the bartender with the name “Alex” stitched into his shirt came up to Maggie.
“Would you like something to drink?” He asked her.
Maggie looked up quickly. “Um, I’m not a big drinker. What should I get?”
The bartender shrugged. “Most girls like vodka cranberries.”
“Well, that sounds perfect. Vodka cranberry it is.” Maggie grinned like a child with a treat.
“Okay…” The bartender stared at her raising an eyebrow. “Can I see your ID first?”
His eyebrow remained skeptical, as he examined the Texas driver’s license.
“Thanks.” He said handing back the license.
When he came back with her drink, Maggie had stopped spying on her neighbor and was staring at the TV instead. The Weather Channel showed the billowing storm that kept Flight 388 grounded.
“Here’s your drink.” He handed it to her and their fingers touched for a moment longer than necessary. She looked down and smiled as he finally released the glass.
“Thank you.” She said.
Alex looked around the bar. Most of the occupants were either deep in conversation or gathering their things to leave. He leaned against the counter clearing his throat, which caused Mr. Rolex to glance up, assess the situation, and move to a cluster of lounge chairs deeper within the bar.
“Are you headed home?” Alex asked politely.
“Mhmm. I was here for a business trip. I’m a marketing advisor.” She brought the drink to her lips while keeping an eye on the stranger.
“Do you enjoy that?”
“You know I actually don’t care for cranberries, but I needed the liquor.” She set the glass down, empty.
He smiled, “I meant your job.”
“Well, I’ll put it this way. Do you enjoy your job?” She returned.
He hesitated before answering, “Only on nights like this one.” Before she could make any type of response, he barreled on, “So…Texas, huh?”
“Yeah. Texas.”
“Do you like it there?”
“I like it about as much as I like my job.”
“Why don’t you move, go exploring…follow your dreams?”
“I’m 35 years old.”
“Exactly…” a brief silence ensued. He continued, “Well, it sounds like you need break from your life. Let me get you another drink on the house.”
Three rounds of drinks and several jokes later, a stoic announcement interrupted the short-lived flirtation.
“Attention passengers of flight 388, please come to gate D18 to begin boarding.”
Maggie bit her lip and opened her mouth as if to speak, but the words remained inside her.
“That’s you isn’t it?” He asked.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Well, it was nice talking to you.” The word “nice” hung like a vapor over the room.
Maggie stood up, reaching down for her bag. She placed the brown leather strap over her shoulder and her body sagged in response to the weight.
“Goodbye.” She reached down and touched his hand.
“Goodbye.”
Maggie turned and walked away. Reaching the gate, she pulled out her phone as she waited for her group to begin boarding. There were seven notifications for missed messages.
“Shit,” she whispered. Maggie began to type a response to the messages but stopped suddenly to reach back into her pocket. She pulled out a simple gold band and put it on her ring finger. Exhaling, she typed a response.
“Sorry, honey, it’s been crazy and my flight was delayed. Don’t wait up. I’ll see you and the kids in the morning. Love you.”
By the time her section was allowed to board, only the middle seats were open. Tired, Maggie chose the first vacant seat available.
“Hello.” A man’s voice greeted.
Maggie looked up startled. It was Mr. Rolex. She smiled in response, and the wedding ring burned like a brand on her slender finger. Yet, Mr. Rolex didn’t seem to mind the jewelry… he already knew it wouldn’t be an issue.


- - -
Growing up in more than seven states, I have become a woman with a lot of stories in her soul. My goal is to tell authentic stories that will make readers laugh, cry, and think.

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 from the turntable.

“Marra,” says the voice.

She puts on a pajama robe and tightens the belt around her waist.

“Mar-”

She opens the door.

“Thank you,” the man says, lowering his clenched fingers to his side. He stands back and reviews her.

“Well?” she says.

“I, uh… I need your rent money.”

She tilts her head. “I thought...”

“Not this time.”

“You say that every time,” she says, running a finger up his torso.

He tightens his posture. “No. I need the money.”

“I don’t have it.”

“What do you mean?”

She loosens her belt.

“Look, Melissa…”

She wraps her left hand gently around the back of his neck. Her fingertips nestle in his hair.

“Melissa…” he says.

She presses herself against him.

“Stop!”

He pushes her against the doorframe. “That’s it. I can’t do this anymore. You have a week to clear out.” He wipes his mouth and walks down the hallway.

She looks up at the ceiling and exhales like a teapot ejecting steam. She runs her tongue against the inside of her cheek and walks into the room.

A gust of wind surges through the hallway and slams her door shut. The needle on the turntable falls.

You’ll walk the floor, the way I do…

She walks to the turntable and snaps the needle off.

Static fills the void in her apartment.

She removes her robe and collapses onto the air mattress. Her body fills the sweat-stained sheets.

A pigeon flies onto her windowsill.

She stands up and overturns the mattress. She grabs her pillow and swings it across the coffee table, knocking capsules of lipstick and fashion magazines across the room.

She stumbles and breathes heavily.

A second pigeon flies onto her windowsill.

She walks into her kitchenette and opens a box of cereal. She tilts the box and a wave of Cheerios crashes against her face. She opens the fridge and empties the remnants of a carton of milk into her mouth.

She stumbles around. Her feet crush the cereal against the floor, and milk trickles down her legs.

A third pigeon flies onto her windowsill.

She takes a vase of flowers and throws it against the wall. The glass shatters and the flowers spill onto the floor.

There is a rapping at the window.


- - -
Anthony Merklinger is a full-time undergraduate student pursuing a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree at Full Sail University in Creative Writing for Entertainment.

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 Mark three times with my left hand then he elbows Julian and breaks free. He charges at me and before I can react his fist connects with my jaw.

I wake up with Rachel in my face.

“That was pretty funny too.”


- - -

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 me a sign. Anyth--


- - -
I live in beautiful New Castle, Pennsylvania and my work has appeared in various places, including Apocrypha and Abstractions, Prick of the Spindle, Gone Lawn, and others.

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 tree was my world. It was rare for my kind to travel alone, but this mission only required a single worker. Although it was only a single item that was asked to be retrieved, I could’ve benefited from an accomplice. The world was larger than my colony, and only in the face of conflict could I come to terms with that.

Approaching the tree, I headed to the base where my colony was located. The colony was massive, divided into multiple satellite-colonies, with a governing parent colony where my Queen was located. I headed down a gallery that I personally carved out, to the parent colony. The gallery, which was usually dense with worker ants, was as vacant as the neighboring nests that housed the eggs.

I held a key piece that was required for our colony to completely flourish, but upon my return, there wasn’t a single worker around. The missing piece to an extension of our vanished society, carried by me, a common worker. I was a single worker, alone in an empty colony, exposed to any threat called upon me. Fear struck my core and rattled my senses, causing an unexpected panic attack.

The moment I exited the colony, I knew what had happened. Occasionally, meaning every few years, the colony would become threatened by a foreign beast. I couldn’t help but imagine that eight-eyed creature reeking havoc on my home, on my people.

I ventured away from the colony, in search of the others. I still carried the key item on my back, in hopes of still pleasing my Queen. If that opportunity still awaited me.

I felt a drop of water on my antennae. The velocity of the impact informed it was rain. Without a proper colony for shelter, I was as vulnerable as the tall grass protecting the dirt underneath.

In the distance, I could see the eight-eyed beast. He was up in a foreign tree, spinning something together. Whatever it was, it stopped the incoming rain. I crawled up the tree cautiously, for I knew what monstrosity these foreign creatures could cause.

I approached, slowly edging myself under the creature’s contraption. It worked as well as I observed. The creature fixed himself next to me, all eight eyes examining my fragile exoskeleton.

“Get away from me, you foreign beast,” he said.


- - -
Yonathan Teferi is a writer that is currently enrolled at Full Sail University. Originally from Buffalo, NY, he currently resides in Orlando, Fl.

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 to dust..."

Joe held his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

"A baby armadillo!"

Danny was sucking at his inhaler and flailing one arm at a mosquito. He exhaled and stopped moving.

"What do we do?"

"What do you mean? I'm going to pick him up."

"You're what?!"

Joe looked at the armadillo, which returned the same curious look. Joe walked slowly over clucking his tongue. Before the baby armadillo could prepare itself, Joe reached down and picked it up. That's when the poor thing let out a scream.

"Rrau! Rrau!"

The screaming got louder as the animal twisted and turned in his hand, fearing an impending doom.

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," he said putting down the scared animal.

He heard the sound of tree branches snapping and turned around. Somewhere in the distance he saw Danny flailing down the mountain.

He sighed. "Hope he looks out for snakes."

The armadillo grunted, then shuffled away into the woods.


- - -
Kristina England resides in Worcester, Massachusetts. Her poetry and fiction has been published in Gargoyle, New Verse News, Linguistic Erosion, The Story Shack, and other magazines.

Read more »

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

• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 
• 

0 Comments

Author: Kristina England