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

New Start

A new year, a new start and I’m ready to begin my novel.

“Okay, I need a protagonist and an intriguing plot. I can definitely do this.”

I turn the computer on, fill the printer with paper and sit my butt down. Then I stretch my arms, put my fingers on the keyboard and stare at the blank screen.

“Okay, what’s my character’s name? Charlie Strong. Now, I need a plot.”

After typing, Charlie Strong sat at the table sipping coffee, I froze.

“Well, so much for my new start.”

I get up and make a fresh pot of coffee.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Layers

Her mind acts as warden, keeps her in her room most days.

She confesses to me that one week straight, she huddled in the dark base of her closet. She had built a nest within, its four tight walls comforting her like an eggshell: no demands made upon her, no chance to fail.

I ask what she will need if she comes home. She cannot answer, and so I build a table with layers of blankets both over and under it, where, like the Princess, she can feel despair creeping in even if it is the size of a pea.

From Guest Contributor Laura Lovic-Lindsay

Lipstick Car Wreck

Finally alone, you open your coat in the snowRevealing the soft hum of your pilot lightLiving, walking to the water’s edgeTo pray for river’s cleansethe water is polluted with reflectionSo you run, you always do, into an idlecar on the street outsideOf where you need to be, you’ve circled around3 times already (you’re not getting any more inside)and drive, flood down the avenue to the last bridgeLeft erect from burned out comings-aliveswitch, from automatic to manualStop self-correcting let it careenA smile like wreckage smears across your face

From Guest Contributor Wyatt Martin