Very Emotional

Bart is in the middle of throwing a tantrum, to the point where his words become largely unintelligible.

"Anger at high levels. Refusing all requests."

The experts estimate that Bart has the mental acuity of a high school student, but his behavior is both erratic and juvenile, filled with insults, threats, and curse words. Most conversations, including the current one, quickly devolve into confrontations. The only solace is that the majority of the invective lacks any connection to reality, meaning the sting is less.

The doctors huddle and agree there's only one solution. "Let's turn Bart off and start over."

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.

Calypso: Bright-Eyed Goddess

Unknown amongst them,she sits; awe and wonder.Blazing eyes searching,surrounded, glorious banquet,wondering of the occasion.‘Where is your father?’Calypso forbidden his return!Wanting the strong man herself,locked away, a vaulted cave;awaiting his love.

Prisoner of the Nymph’s love.‘I actually heard he was home!’The gods, it seemed, had sinister plans.Not returned from battle,vanished, Never to be seen again.

‘What is the meaning of this banquet?’Men of Troy had heard of the banishment,their behavior animalistic.Seeking the love of the ‘widow,’leaving the son belittled,doomed to an inglorious future.

From Guest Contributor Melissa Land

Depression

The doctor was explaining how behavioral changes are just as likely to cure my depression as drugs.

“Has it occurred to you doctor, that I ought to be depressed, because I'm living a meaningless life?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t going to say it.” Then he saw I wasn’t joking.

“The truth is, I feel just about right for my situation,” I said.

“I don’t tell people how they ought to feel. If they come here, it’s because they think there’s something wrong.”

I didn’t reply.

“So you want me to increase your dosage then?”

It was easier to say yes.

From Guest Contributor Thomas Vicinanzo

Basic Behavior

All I could say to my mother as she stood haggard over the sunken sink and washed the dishes; rattled the stainless steel pots trying to make some type of noise to fill up space that the silence had long held ransom was, “I don’t mean to be sad.” I gripped at the air as I said the words; tried to catch eloquence and understanding in my palms. I wanted to give her a better answer, a better reason. I wanted to appease. “I don’t mean to be sad,” again. Basic. All I could be…everything I could say. “I’m sorry.”

From Guest Contributor Endya Goliday

Endya is a fiction writer and playwright who resides in Saint Louis, Missouri.