My Darkest Colors

At night my darkest colors show. Sometimes I grow weary, afraid you can't stand the glow.

Darkness comes in many different shades. From fear, paranoia, self doubt and anxiety, the lightness from me fades.

Just as self realization kicks in, and I ponder how much more can I take? A warm calm from light comes through, and my heart begins to wake.

As the light and magnitude begins to grow, the spectrum of colors from light to dark begins to glow.

I begin understanding now, so diverse and ubiquitous, and limited was my vision before. Forgive me I never knew.

From Guest Contributor Crystal Bauer Feldman

Emigration 2.0

The latest Derry crowd had established quite a community inside Grianan Fort, refugees from a Northern Ireland under British administration, ostensibly governed by a partnership of Republican and Unionist parties.

Tory privatisation of social housing, using the ubiquitous Brexit scapegoat, had only been introduced three years before a combination of it and repeal of benefits had forced Jimmy’s family, and thousands like them, across the border.

He pitied those who hadn’t escaped the shutdown..“Lights out!” Someone called from the ramparts.

Pointless warning. One way in and out. Guards knew the drill.

Jimmy reckoned they’d have a week’s grace.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

The Postcard

I sit in the beaming sunlight reading Tim’s postcard from France repeatedly.

“Callie, I met a beautiful French woman and we’re in love. I’m not coming home.”

My sweat drips onto the postcard leaving smudge marks. How could he do this to me? I’m so aghast, I throw the postcard on the grass and my dog Bentley whimpers as I kick the lawn chair across the yard, hitting the neighbor's fence.

“Hey, watch it, Callie! You’ll break my fence,” Charlie yells.

Before I have a chance to answer, I look at the postcard and chortle. It’s full of bird excrement.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

China

A friend asked, “Alyssa, do you think you’ll travel next year?” From deep within, without previous forethought, I knew. “Yes, I’m going to China!” I positively proclaimed. A week later I confided in a mentor at a local fair about my revelation but that I felt some doubt. We entered an exhibit room. Two handmade Chinese dresses stood at the entrance. Intrigued, I inspected them. The seamstresses had sewn their names on the insides of the collars. The first said “Alyssa” and the second said “Faith”. I heard a voice say, “Alyssa have faith.” Months later I traveled to China.

From Guest Contributor Alyssa Welch-Minaker

Alyssa is an online MFA writing student at Lindenwood University. She lives in North Africa where she reads excessively and plays with words. Visit her blog at alyssaminaker.wordpress.com

Rabid

Sally sits at the dining table, scooping a spoonful of cheerios.

Her dog, Willow, begins to growl viciously. “Willow, what’s wrong?”

Willow snarls, revealing his sharp teeth. Drool dripping onto the floor. His eyes fixated on her. Ready to kill.

“Mommy! Daddy! Something is wrong with Willow!”

Minutes pass.

Sally’s parents run into the kitchen to find Willow is on top of Sally. His jaw locked on Sally’s leg. Ripping the flesh off. Blood gushing. Sally screams in agonizing pain.

Her father grabs the shotgun from the bedroom.

He takes a shot. Willow falls.

Sally is free, but bleeding heavily.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

Alexa spends most of her time writing fiction and poetry. She is the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of three online literary magazines. She is obsessed with Disney and Jurassic Park. Her work has been featured in Pomona Valley Review, Better than Starbucks Magazine, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Halcyon Days, Grotesque Magazine amongst others.

Hell's Kitchen

We were the grounds crew at a minor league ballpark in the city. “I was about a hundred feet away. He lifted the gun and just...” Gerry looked away.

“That’s never happened to me,” Harry thought. “What do I say?”

“I ducked for cover.” He wiped his face and squatted to give his knees a break.

“Most of those people in that crowd...They don’t know. They live in the suburbs and they just come in for the game.”

“POP!” The shot came from the houses beyond center field.

“I gotta get outta this city,” Gerry said. “Any way possible.”

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Off Her Rocker

Annette sits in her favorite rocking chair, by a big window. A gloomy afternoon.

She cradles her dead baby in her pale arms. Hair as white as a ghost. Lips cracked and bleeding. Her body fragile and weak.

She sings a familiar tune. Rocking back and forth, as if trying to put the baby to sleep.

Her watch beeps. Medicine time. She throws the bottle out the window.

The Devil calls her name. She stops her singing. Her body freezes.

“He made me do it. He made me do it. He made me do it…” She repeats.

The devil exists.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

Surfing

He enviously watched the surfers ride the waves. Their sharp turns and steady footing made him feel shame at this own failed attempt on the water.

A small boy of no older than twelve maneuvered gracefully on a wave that would have had him running for the safety of the beach. A group of people enthusiastically cheered and clapped for the boy, who had a large grin on his face and pumped his fist in the air.

He watched this for a moment before angrily getting up from the sand and walking away vowing to get back on his board.

From Guest Contributor Zane Castillo

Invasion

Crowds of strangers gather to see an unfamiliar lightning storm. The thunder roars and howls as the storm grows angrier. The ground begins to shake and rumble. Lightning bolts strike near and far.

What was once a quiet town was now invaded by alien-like creatures. So small, yet full of razor sharp teeth. They leap from one victim to the next, craving the taste of human blood. Their bodies growing by the millisecond.

Their nests all around. Cone-shaped and green. Clumped together. Millions of babies hatching. The human race dwindling by the minute.

The invasion has just begun.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

Alexa is an Undergraduate student at the University of California, Riverside. She spends her time writing fiction and poetry. Her work has been featured in Pomona Valley Review, Better than Starbucks Magazine, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Halcyon Days, Grotesque Magazine, and Blood Moon Rising Magazine amongst others.

Stars

I sold myself like some cheap thing you find on sale in a store or in the market. It wasn't until a year later I realized what I was made of: stars in our universe. I was one in a million of them. My mother wove my hair on a Sunday singing a song, then she told me, 'Ola, do you know what you are made of?' She smiled. 'Stars in our universe,' I said. I was broken, hurt, used, and thrown away, but I found my way back. I found my value, I found my peace, I found sanity.

From Guest Contributor Oghenemudia Emmanuel