Crazy Beat

The music thrummed and the people spasmed to the beat. They called it dancing. Martinez, observing from the shadows, thought it looked more like a crazed ritual or a medical disorder.

"Should we put a stop to it?"

Her partner shrugged his shoulders.

"Hard to believe this used to be popular."

"The dancing or the music?"

Martinez thought for a moment. "Both. Thank God it's been banned."

Her bosses at the enforcement authority feared the dancing would spread beyond the nursing home, but Martinez was certain no sane individual in the year 2045 would find pleasure in such deviant behavior.

Waiting

Everyone but Hampton looked down, eyes locked on tiny screens. Hampton’s expensive artisans of optimistic speculation could no longer sustain nervous conversation.

Hampton mindfully sipped tepid coffee. Ignoring his stomach breakdancing to the beat of butterflies, he savored a donut. He wanted to remember such simple pleasures.

Anticipation clung to them like static ready to spark and ignite...would it be fireworks or a bomb? A knock on the door shattered their reticent silence. A bailiff opened the door.

“The verdict is in. Court resumes in five minutes.”

Certain of nothing but his surreal limbo ending, Hampton stood, then vomited.

From Guest Contributor JD Clapp

Leading The Formation

I was the second-best dancer then. Mariza, with her long black hair waving down the front of a white cotton shirt, tucked into just-right faded jeans, controlled all of nature’s choreography within her. Her feet skimmed the floor, easy on the beat. Her arms and legs flexed to the rhythm, finding a kind of body paradise. But following her movements, memorizing and imitating, I became frustrated and discouraged. Until I realized I wasn’t destined to be a mirror. I would guide the expression of music I felt, becoming the lead dancer on that thin ledge, possessing my true 13-year-old self.From Guest Contributor Yvonne Morris

Yvonne is the author of the poetry chapbook Mother was a Sweater Girl (The Heartland Review Press). She has poetry and fiction forthcoming in Cathexis Northwest Press and Drunk Monkeys.

Dangerous Mission

As he lay in his bunk, even the gentle swells of the sea could not calm his anxiety. He had worked so hard to get here. He had learned map reading, sailed along the coast of Africa, and Ireland. It had taken years to secure funding for this voyage. He would not allow himself to fail now.

The last few days had been difficult. Rations were running low and the crew were restless. It had been seventy days since leaving Seville. Had he somehow miscalculated?

Suddenly Columbus heard shouting and running above deck. His heart skipped a beat: “Land Ahoy!”

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

The Grave

When the old man stopped and wiped his brow, the echo of his shovel continued for a beat. The grave wasn’t deep enough yet, but it was getting light. Every year for the past ten years, he was at the same beach, digging a grave. The digging took longer each year, but he never missed the day. Every year he buried a part of her. It became easier each year; piece by piece, he was healing. The ocean took the love of his life and each year he buried a piece of her favorite jewelry he knows she would want.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

In A Momentary Trance

Her gentle swaying at the intersection made him stop abruptly on the sidewalk. She wore large headphones that were cocked forward on her head. Her eyes were closed and her head moved from side to side as if caught in an otherworldly trance. Her hands tapped out a sporadic beat against her sides.

Her lips began to move slowly at first then increased in speed. He watched her with a growing anticipation that left him glued in place. Suddenly, her mouth opened wide and she vehemently sang out lyrics to a song he never heard before, but wished he had.

From Guest Contributor Zane Castillo