Proposal

The EMT says everything will be okay while the ambulance siren blares in the background. I’m in and out of consciousness and not sure what has happened. The last thing I remember is getting into my car to drive to Ally’s house.

Every inch of my body hurts, I’m tired and so cold. I can’t move because I’m strapped to a gurney. I wish the pain would go away.

Someone with a deep voice speaks to me. "Stay with me, man, don’t go.”

Where would I be going? I can’t move.

I remember. I was going to propose to Ally.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

So Lonely

Enlo's shallow breaths barely inhaled enough oxygen to maintain consciousness as he summited. Another goal accomplished. He surveyed the crests of the tallest mountains searching for some meaning to it all.

His assistant had urged he take a selfie, but he decided a photograph would only remind him of the futility. This expedition was meant to refresh him. All he felt was the impotence of the air around him.

Enlo Tuffin was the richest man in the world, and surely the unhappiest.

He started his descent. Nothing left but to punish the world for the misery it had brought him.

Death Is The Last Frontier In The Simulator

To be stuck in a simulator of the gateway project is weird, to say the least. How do I know I am not alive? I watch as people die and come back to life. Meaning? Bob Barker. I assure you he died several times. MeatLoaf in 2014 wrecked his car, killing him only for him to die again elsewhere. Maybe death is not what one would expect.

Maybe consciousness continues until it meets an ending in some sort of programmed book outcome. The book of Enoch might be truth. We all live until our own personalized ending of hell fire.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

The Island

Emmett had one wish, a quiet place to call his own.

He found his island floating above the planes of a fractured, blackened Earth. A small, dark place, untouched by the sun as it hovers with a dizzying presence. This place does not feel like it belongs to the world that Emmett knows, but it has been here since time began and will continue even when the sun collapses, when all life on Earth ends.

It contains nothing except itself (nothing but pure consciousness), for this is space without form or substance, and it is a terrible sight to behold.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Clinging To Hope

The crew is swept out to sea by the powerful waves. I hear their screams as they are drowning, and it’s haunting. The captain died by a blow to the head and it’s every man for himself. I jump into the deep ocean and grab onto a piece of debris. As I’m floating, I hear distant cries of the men still onboard the ship. They are sinking and clinging to the railing. I’ve known these men for years. I hold on tightly and pray.

In and out of consciousness, my head is weary, and my stomach growls.

Help will come.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Dig

A woman’s voice beneath the ash and rubble signals me. I tell her to keep talking and follow the sound, digging, my hands and arms aching.

“We’re almost there,” I say, gasping, dripping sweat and thirsty.

One of my workmen approaches. “Ben, she won’t survive long if we don’t get her out soon.”

“Keep digging,” I say.

An image appears and to my stunned eyes, I see a protruding stomach. She has lost consciousness and is covered in earth. I get her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.

I take the shovel and begin digging for the next victim.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Watching Me

Her eyes flashed with mischief in the warm street light. Green, full of longing, on a young fall night. Her hand merged with mine and then her breath drew short--and I felt nothing.

In a moment I saw myself in the third person, a cold drifting observer. Helplessly I looked, unaware of my own consciousness, merely seeing--there she was, running her hand down his face, soft voice muffled as through wool. Her fingers brushed across his cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned forward. Their lips moved together and apart, and the moment passed.

I had missed it.

From Guest Contributor Caleb Woodman

Caleb is an aspiring spiritual writer studying at Pikes Peak Community College.

Wild Geese

Geese rise from campus soccer field, into falling evening. Wings flutter in unison. No stragglers.

You should be on the way home. But you watch, transfixed, weight of homework, aloneness sliding from consciousness.

The geese honk, harsh, soothing, moon on their wings. You like to think it’s joy, that they sense the vastness of unfettered space. They don’t give a fuck about the observers and voyeurs below.

You wish you could join. Fly, part of a team. They fly farther and farther, still calling. Don’t look behind.

All too soon, night engulfs them. You stride home, feet heavy, treading constraint.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri.

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two Honorable Mentions from Glimmer Train, his story, "Strangers," was nominated for The Best Small Fictions. His work is forthcoming or has been published in Microfiction Monday, Unstamatic, Maudlin House, Door Is A Jar Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.

The Lake Of Shadow

The traveler had spent his entire day trekking through the woods until he came upon a lake. As blue as the sky this lake was; he could see his reflection as if it was a genuine copy of himself looking into his own eyes.

He decided that he would take a swim in this beautiful lake that seemed to hold mysterious shadows in the depths below the translucent blue glow. It was a refreshing feeling as he entered the lake. But after only minutes, did the mystical glow engulf his consciousness, and his body sank into the shadowy depths below.

From Guest Contributor Gabe Mancino

Cramming For Midterms

Back against the wall, arms at my sides, and my heart pounding in my throat and toes, I closed my eyes and let him explore the soft wetness of lips, the tight reluctance of tongue. My fingernails dug into my thighs, the way love, or maybe obsession, forces its way into the folds of your brain, seeping into your consciousness and taking over everything you thought you knew about yourself.

I surrendered, flat, still, and unendingly insecure. I hated him.

He caressed my hair and my face. The ground gave way, an unexpected and fragile molehill, and I found myself.From Guest Contributor Stacy Gorse