Nothing

The engine gives out and we’re about to crash. I guide the plane as best I can and brace for impact. Then there’s blackness.

When I wake, Ted has a blank stare, and his head is twisted in an awkward position. He’s dead.

The bone in my left ankle is protruding from the skin and I’m having trouble breathing. I’m sure I’ve ruptured my ribs.

The door is jammed and I can’t walk. The airplane will soon explode and there’s nowhere to go. I say a silent prayer and close my eyes.

There’s a crackling noise, flames and then nothing.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sentinels

With the heavens above, eyes perceive blackness below. The silhouettes of lonesome silos dotting a barren landscape gives way to perceptions of ancient obsidian obelisks, sentinels erected by the offspring of some long-forgotten civilization, sating deities of seasons past.

Against a moonless night, one can appreciate the unencumbered band of the Milky Way, glorious gold and white light from hundreds of thousands of stars, blues, oranges and reds, sparkling beacons of potentialities adorning the night sky.

I repose beneath a blanket of starlight, and the encircling melody of coywolves lulls me to sleep as I long for dreams of you.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Dying Hearts

A nest formed at some point over thousands of years as eggs drift into the sea, carried by currents and tides. Birds with broken feet but wings spread wide, fleeing in flight from dying hearts filled with the blackness of obsidian inhabitants and their unforgiven. They mutate and break down within the lethal darkness from which it grows, blinded by ignorance.

Mothers must be on their guard in the warm calm of dawn, similar to the nights when they sense the fragile awakening of what is. And sometimes they forget the one thing they should never forget: everything is hungry.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Exit Stage Left

A young lady reminded me of the theatre, a single spotlight illuminating an actor on stage; blackness all around except for her brightly lit face and dust particles dancing about, defying gravity as they floated in all directions.

I also thought about a woman, a wife and mother, watching television, a solitary figure in a dark room. Her life’s work was behind her, trying to distract herself from reality by watching mindless entertainment and wondering what people had to do with themselves when they weren’t doing anything else.

Now, I'm nothing more than that dust particle floating my days away.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Mammoth

An airplane soars into the mammoth building, leaving a gaping hole. Blackness, dust, and papers fill the air.

Angels fall and my heart beats quickly not knowing what to do. I pace the floor with the others, stunned, quiet, unable not to watch. The sirens pierce our ears, and we stare at one another.

The phones ring with panicking family members crying that a second plane has crashed into the other building. I drop the phone when the fire drill alarms. The sky darkens and we head to the staircase not knowing our fate.

The World Trade Center is no more.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

New York Strong

I climb the subway steps into the abundant sunshine. The weather is warm and it’s just another September day. Or so I think…

Paper is floating in the air; the sky darkens and desks tremble. Nearby buildings disappear in clouds of smoke. I watch wide eyed from the fourteenth-floor window across from the World Trade Center. Screams are unbearable and angels fall with a thunderous thump to the ground. My heart pounds and I can’t breathe. I don’t comprehend the horror; the fire, blackness, death.

The towers collapse, but eighteen years later we're strong for the victims and their families.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Remains

Stephanie allowed her eyes to adjust as silhouettes gradually manifested in the murkiness of the cabin. Even this deep, the difference between dim ocean floor and the total blackness within the shipwreck was stark.

After a few minutes, she saw the safe's boxy outline in one corner. Her fingers delicately worked the dial, hoping corrosion had not ruined the mechanism.

Stephanie spied two spotlights through the empty window. The competition. She worked faster without a torch, one of the reasons her employer always came to her first.

The safe opened. Inside: nothing but remains.

The question: Would her pursuers believe?

My Grandfather's Pocket Knife

When he asked me to guess what he had in his pocket, I had no idea he was carrying a star. An honest-to goodness star, not some chunk of comet or a bit of dust.

I didn't believe him. When he opened his pocket, all I could see was a determined blackness threatening to pull me into its bleakness and never let go. He said this was a black hole, and after he explained the physics of it all, it seemed he was telling the truth.

I realized just how woefully unprepared I was for show and tell.