The Ascent

The door heaves open. Light floods me while darkness retreats inside me. The guards shove me outside my cell. On the stairs, my heart beats like a war drum. One step. Two. Many more. While my chains gently clink. At the summit, I look down and the people cheer. I see their mouths moving but I can’t hear a sound. All I hear is my panicked breath. As they take off my chains, the darkness escapes. I feel so light that I lose the ground under my feet. I smile, in the twenty-five meters that separate me from the abyss.

From Guest Contributor Davide Risso

Davide grew up in Italy, but his itchy feet led him to live in Ireland, Germany, the United States, and travel around the globe. Scientist by training, writer by passion, rock climber by vocation, his fiction has appeared in Flash Fiction Magazine, RumbleFish Press, Literary Yard, and Cranked Anvil among others.

Desert Tide

Millions of years ago, this desert lay at the bottom of an ocean. The sand I'm walking on is the crushed bones of our ancestors, lost to time except for the polynucleotide chains twisted inside of us. Their collective memories have been encoded inside me. Had they not lived and died, I would not exist.

The desert stretches out of sight in all directions. It might never end for all I know. Even if I could arrive at the other side, how would I know I was there. You never know when you've reached the end. You can only guess.

Houdini

I heard a story once about Houdini. He took a flight on one of the first airplanes as part of a promotional stunt. Houdini was to be chained in the cockpit and the pilot would jump out in a parachute. He'd then have to escape the chains and land the plane safely. He'd never even flown before.

The plane ended up crashing, and both the pilot and Houdini were killed, with Houdini's corpse still chained up. But then a week later Houdini was spotted performing at the Regent Theatre, Salford.

I suspect that wasn't the real Houdini on that plane.

You

Run.Feet crush the leaves; waves of terror crawl your spine.Slide.A tree – a savior! Red drops drip down from your ears to the ground.Crack!Terror returns like an old friend. It seems now is your end.Look.A challenge beckons you. Leaning around the bark, you peak into the clearing.Empty?Before you can contemplate, a hand wraps around your throat.“Missed me?”The version of yourself you keep locked away smirks at you.“I’m afraid of the dark.”The clearing dissipates as you are released.Clink!Chains now hold you down.“I don’t want to disappear.”

From Guest Contributor Sydney Clark

Ophelia Takes A Bath

Ophelia under the water; kneecap mountains poking out dwarf the dipping hills of her breasts. The ragged, brown seaweed strands of her hair move gently as her hot kettle sighs ring around the steam-shrouded bathroom.

She finds brash or delicate things expose her madness—the rough lyrics of a Pogues’ song or the fragrance of a flower bomb. Silver chains on her thighs, bright relics of dejection, shackle her to the past but aren't enough to save her. So she piles his words as pebbles on her heart and in this way she doesn't float away—at least not today.

From Guest Contributor Adele Evershed