Hope

Rachel’s hands icy cold and legs so frail she could hardly stand, she gagged from her own body odor. The babbling of the malnourished became constant and she tuned them out. Her skin was riddled with bug bites, her teeth loosed from lack of nourishment, and her lips craved water. Rachel’s crime was being Jewish, and the suffering had only begun. She didn’t know where the train was going, but knew it was bad.

In the last minutes of her life, when she and the others breathed in the noxious gas in the dark enclosed chamber, she adhered to hope.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Coda

He followed the familiar tune through the fog: strings, horns, that impossibly sweet voice. The gloom lifted to reveal the girl, singing her heart out under the spotlight, invisible orchestra in accompaniment. He cried tears of joy, felt love, and also something not quite love.

"You sing it to me every night in my mind. But it sounds so much clearer now. Why?"

She smiled sadly. "Can't you guess?"

*

"Is he dead?" The reporter watched the killer's body inside the execution chamber.

"Yes."

He peered closer. "What does he have to smile about? He murdered that girl right on stage!"

From Guest Contributor Clay Waters

A Termination At Jaguar Tree Conditioning

“You ordered the wrong humidifiers, Eckersley. We’re letting you go.”

Eckersley blinked disbelievingly. Nineteen years in data entry and supply procurement.

As security was escorting him to the exit with his belongings, Eckersley abruptly broke free and fled to the (HEC) Harsh Elements Chamber.

Their company was based out of a biodome in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania where they simulated extreme jungle, desert, and arctic conditions to test the constitution of military grade radar equipment and software.

Sealing the doors behind him, his elusive promotion finally at hand, he sprinted confidently into the dunes and vanished—smiling—into a quicksand pit.From Guest Contributor Thomas Fitzgerald McCarthy

The Other Side Of Obsession

Nothing was as he remembered. Not the walk, with the chipped and uneven flagstones, nor the dusty, desiccated garden, nor the house itself. The two decades had ravaged the property and Stephen immediately regretted its purchase.

As a youth, his mother brought him here on Saturdays. He'd sit in the chamber to the rear of the kitchen reading library books, hoping the owner's children failed to notice his presence.

The Packards had long since moved on to a much more modern estate. It seemed he was still trying to catch up in a race only he knew they were running.