Happiness In Heaven

I walk down the abandoned streets as the slightest beam of light begins to brighten the unlit sky. The brisk wind forces a stubborn tear to stream down the side of my cheek and crystallizes from the absence of warmth. In the fog filled skies of New York City, I take my last exploration before I restart my life. I stumble down the stairs that stand before me and I make my way into a desolate tunnel that fills with light the longer I wait. A loud horn echoes. I guess now is my time to fly away from here.From Guest Contributor Lilia Onstott

Lilia is an English student at Pikes Peak Community College. She spends her free time by allowing her mind to express itself within many artistic fields, like writing, photography, and music.

Thanks For Asking

You ask me what my faces mean, if I trust people, what I think of you. You ask what I think about everything. You are amazed by what I see. How I can feel what’s invisible. Through miles and miles of walks, the no-destination drives, the not-so-torturous library hours, you keep listening to me, even when I’m quiet. I’m amazed that you can hear me over the sounds of our beautiful, loud friends, who think attention is inevitable. I trace my hand on paper: a habit. You copy on the other side: an unbalanced coin. Two sides of separate things.

From Guest Contributor Grace Coughlin

Grace is from Buffalo, New York. She is currently a Senior at St. John Fisher College, majoring in Psychology with minors in English and Visual and Performing Arts. She has 100-word stories forthcoming in Eunoia Review and Otoliths Review.

Theodore’s Halloween

Ten-year-old Theodore sat in front of the window and watched the trick or treaters. A boy dressed as Dracula flapped his black cape and his fangs glowed under the streetlight. Theodore took a sip of cocoa and listened as his mom wished the children a ‘Happy Halloween’ while they chortled and chose their favorite candy.

His mom placed her soothing hand on his shoulder before walking into the kitchen to prepare their dinner.

Theodore finished his hot cocoa, pushed his wheelchair in front of the television and stared blankly at the screen until his mom called his name for dinner.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Fool Moon

It was his initiation day. Just the thought of what was to come turned his stomach upside down, yet having to transform with the entire family watching was a nightmare.

When the time came, he followed the trail through the forest. They were already there, waiting in silence. His parents came for a moment to speak words of encouragement, then joined the others in the circle.

He took a deep breath then looked above him at the night’s sky. He saw the moon rise from behind the crest, silver and round, and he heard himself howl. Something inside him began.

From Guest Contributor Ioana Birdu

Shine

Scrub scrub scrub the floor. Make it sparkle. Make it beam. Kneel on the floor, wash the tiles. Use the rag. Soak it up. Use the brush. Clean the cracks. Use the sponge. Get rid of the spot. Quick. Go quick. Before they come, before they notice. Faster. Go faster. Before it smells, before it stains. Scrub scrub scrub. No! No, there is still red! Pour more bleach. Make it shine. There should be no trace of dirt or dust. No trace of blood or guts. Ah! Finally. Clean. Shiny. Spotless. No one will know. Now, deal with the body.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Hulmes

The Last Voyage

Our 93-year-old dad, without his hearing aids or even his three-pronged cane, still managed somehow to give everyone the slip, sneaking off to Monte Carlo Night down in the cellar of the dream factory, where he coolly turned over his hole card and won the pot, after which he started back upstairs, but on the way, and despite struggling for breath, charmed a roller derby queen on a royal visit out of her skates, so instead of ever returning to his rooms at the assisted living boarded a ship they say was built in the same shipyard as the Titanic.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Cemetery Sentiment

in this silent graveyard,no one mentioned death.the hair on my arms stood at attention,like soldiers in the cold war.temperature below freezing,any moisture turned into iceand fell onto his eyelashes.just before midnight,we grabbed a bouquet ofplasticyellowroses.he quivered from the cold,but his smile never faded.vows spilling from his lips,like a waterfall made of his soul.his nose was cold against mine,after the final words of our connection.pulling away he looked at me,a shimmer in his eyes,knowing,that forever,he will always be mine.

From Guest Contributor Neyalla Ryu

Death Camp

Aviva Blonheim stepped onto the train with her parents. As the German soldier closed the door, he chortled. Aviva, only ten years old, didn't understand why Herr Hitler hated the Jewish, and as she glanced at her people packed into herds, unkempt, smelling of sweat and urine, she became more frightened. She tightly clutched her mother’s hand.

Upon arrival, they were led in groups to a small room. Aviva realized something bad was happening, and her parents collapsed, unresponsive. People clawed the walls to no avail.

As the poison gas entered Aviva, she grasped her throat and collapsed into darkness.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Wild Geese

Geese rise from campus soccer field, into falling evening. Wings flutter in unison. No stragglers.

You should be on the way home. But you watch, transfixed, weight of homework, aloneness sliding from consciousness.

The geese honk, harsh, soothing, moon on their wings. You like to think it’s joy, that they sense the vastness of unfettered space. They don’t give a fuck about the observers and voyeurs below.

You wish you could join. Fly, part of a team. They fly farther and farther, still calling. Don’t look behind.

All too soon, night engulfs them. You stride home, feet heavy, treading constraint.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, "Strangers," was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work is forthcoming or has been published in Microfiction Monday, Unstamatic, Maudlin House, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.

A Termination At Jaguar Tree Conditioning

“You ordered the wrong humidifiers, Eckersley. We’re letting you go.”

Eckersley blinked disbelievingly. Nineteen years in data entry and supply procurement.

As security was escorting him to the exit with his belongings, Eckersley abruptly broke free and fled to the (HEC) Harsh Elements Chamber.

Their company was based out of a biodome in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania where they simulated extreme jungle, desert, and arctic conditions to test the constitution of military grade radar equipment and software.

Sealing the doors behind him, his elusive promotion finally at hand, he sprinted confidently into the dunes and vanished—smiling—into a quicksand pit.From Guest Contributor Thomas Fitzgerald McCarthy