King Of The Court

Every afternoon, Marcus ruled the court. Sneakers squeaked as he crossed defenders, launched impossible threes, and hammered dunks that rattled the rim. His friends groaned while commentators crowned him a legend. He knew every hesitation, every perfect release, every seam in the opponent's defense. He was lightning—untouchable, unstoppable, airborne.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd’s roar thinned to a mechanical hum. “Marcus, dinner’s ready,” his mom called from the kitchen.

“Coming,” he answered, while unlocking the brakes on his wheelchair, gripping the rims of the wheels and pushing himself back from his desk. Beyond the doorway, reality waits.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.

A Broken Glass

Flour, salt and baking powder. Margaret whips up a cake recipe as familiar as her own name. The whirring of the stand mixer comforts her.

Her mind drifts to Karl. They were late to an appointment. Brakes squeal. An impact. Karl’s head shatters the windshield.

As she pours the batter, a glass rises off the counter, picked up by an unseen hand. It hovers suspended in the air, the ceiling light fixture reflected inside.

Or is it Karl’s face?

Margaret does not move or breathe. The glass falls.

Broken shards cover the tile floor.

The glass, like Karl, is gone.

From Guest Contributor Heather Santo

Chase

Squealing brakes was the last sound Jonathan Perry heard. A red 1997 Ford Mustang slammed into him as he legally crossed at the corner of Matthews and 25th.

Seven blocks and 45 seconds later, the left leg of Kirsten Tolliver was shattered by a silver 2007 Honda Civic as she waited, ironically enough, for her bus to the hospital.

At Lincoln and 62nd, the Palmer family, James and Stephanie, their daughter Iris, and their half-Lab, half-Dalmatian Patches, were struck head on by the aforementioned Mustang as it merged into oncoming traffic.

This was the point at which the chase ended.