The Longest Honeymoon

Their friends joked they were going to have the longest engagement ever. Others whispered the wedding was never going to happen. This seemed to bother Sophia even less than it bothered Gabriel. They were both extremely happy the way things were.

The wedding had become something they almost never talked about, only when their parents brought it up. These moments occurred less and less frequently as it became obvious Gabriel and Sophia weren't interested. The suspicion became that one or both of them was getting cold feet.

Everyone was wrong. This wasn't the longest engagement. It was the longest honeymoon.

Why Do I Lose My Voice When I Have Something to Say?

Jo cleared her throat. She'd prepared for this moment from the instant an audience had been granted. This was a safe space to share her story, to give voice to all the degradation she'd suffered at his hands. She would finally see justice done.

Instead, when her time arrived and the judge called her to the stand, Jo found she was unable to speak. It was everything that she feared. Just like during the interrogation. At the inquest. During the trial. The truth was they'd arrived at this moment despite her many failures.

Maybe she didn't deserve justice after all.

Book Launch

“Congratulations,” I said. “I’ve been following your development.”

The honored author uttered an inquisitive “Oh.”

“I mean, as an author,” I clarified.

A young twenty-something giggled placing a copy of the new novel between us. She begged for a signature. I turned around to mingle with others.

“Wait, I would like to talk with you,” the author insisted. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“Nice line,” I responded.

“I admit, not original. But say...”

“We met an hour ago.” I smiled. “You’re the new next door tenant at Argyle Road. You handed me an invitation to this event. Remember?”From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals.

Girl In Nature

I read a story once about a girl in nature. A man was watching her ride her bike through a field of flowers. She was beautiful, so he stopped her. He frightened her, her fear frightened him, he panicked. He raped and killed her, strangling her in perfectly-rendered fragments, snippets of sun-burnished green, pale skin under cobalt sky, a tale of flushed mania and hazy recollections of doomed resistance. A beautiful life snuffed out in beautiful prose.

I don’t ride alone through fields. I’ll never taste the freedom that killed the girl. Another beautiful life snuffed out in beautiful prose.

From Guest Contributor Tara Campbell

Tara is a fiction editor at Barrelhouse and an MFA candidate at American University. Prior publication credits include SmokeLong Quarterly, Masters Review, Jellyfish Review, Booth, and Strange Horizons. Her novel, TreeVolution, was published in 2016, followed in 2018 by Circe's Bicycle. Her third book, a short story collection called Midnight at the Organporium, will be released by Aqueduct Press in 2019.

Especially In Alabama

The water's chilly for late August. My biology teacher says the lake retains the cold air from the night before, but I wonder why it doesn't soak in the heat of the sun during the day. Nature doesn't make sense.

Rebecca and Claire are arguing over whether bras and panties count as skinny dipping. It doesn't, no matter what Rebecca says. Claire decides I'm brave because I'm already in the water. But if the boys come they won't be able to see anything.

I've decided I don't care if they do. I wonder if that makes me a bad person.

Wear Me Down

The shavings scattered as he coughed, revealing how little actual progress had been made in the last thirty minutes. The brace still protruded from the floor enough to be noticed.

His wife's admonishments occupied him as he filed. It was always her way, whenever she made a mistake, to look for any way to shift the blame elsewhere. Better still if she could pin him as the culprit. So when she'd tripped on the uneven joining between the foyer and kitchen, she yelled at him. Who cares the house had come that way.

He'd given up fighting back decades ago.

The Bodies Are Piling Up

She killed another overnight. Now what, she thought, as she headed to the woods with the dead body. She had to be careful not to draw carrion eaters near her house, that would lead to other problems.

How many did this make, four, five, six? She lost count. Meaningless lives, they disgusted her. No one would miss them. Any of them. How many more would she have to kill before she could sleep soundly? She stopped and thought. Five dead, she was sure now, then proceeded to open the mouse trap and let the lifeless body fall to the ground.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

Tony

Tony sat on his Camaro at the corner of 14th and Lexington every weekend night, hollering at girls across the street. Some would ignore him but others flirted back. Occasionally, they'd drink Miller Lites in the backseat and heckle people coming out of the Vietnamese store.

After a few weeks, the girls started asking why he always picked the same corner. "Let's visit the City," suggested Jessica Rizzo. When Tony refused, she left for the bar with her girlfriends.

In reality, the Camaro had crapped out the day after he bought it and Tony didn't have the cash for repairs.

Dynasty

Scott surveyed the pieces, trying to keep track of the colors in his head. To his left, Evelyn sighed.

"It's no fun watching you stare at the board."

Scott didn't respond. Everyone was mad enough. They hated losing, and he'd won every game since arriving. Protesting it was all luck only increased their frustration.

He picked up the knight-looking character and moved it into the green circle. "How's that?"

"You win again. You don't have to be a jerk about it."

Scott smiled, embarrassed. He decided it was a bad idea to admit he still didn't fully understand the rules.

Never Forgotten

The eerie sound of rumbling and cries coming from the street as the day turns clouded with dust and debris.

Sirens blaring, chaos ensuing. A day of sadness and a city coming together in the face of tragedy.

The memory of falling angels and blackness in lower Manhattan as firefighters run to help the innocent.

Seventeen years later, the depth of emotion still consumes our souls.

Names read every year on the day, by a weeping family member.

Sleepless nights and sorrow for family still waiting to hear if their loved one’s remains are found, never forgetting September 11th, 2001.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher