Crazy Beat

The music thrummed and the people spasmed to the beat. They called it dancing. Martinez, observing from the shadows, thought it looked more like a crazed ritual or a medical disorder.

"Should we put a stop to it?"

Her partner shrugged his shoulders.

"Hard to believe this used to be popular."

"The dancing or the music?"

Martinez thought for a moment. "Both. Thank God it's been banned."

Her bosses at the enforcement authority feared the dancing would spread beyond the nursing home, but Martinez was certain no sane individual in the year 2045 would find pleasure in such deviant behavior.

Dancing With The Boss

“Listen...it’s that song where, in the music video, he picks someone from the audience and starts dancing with her.”

“He has better songs.”

“Did you know she became his wife?”

“You got it wrong. She’s an actress.”

“What do you mean?”

“Before she became famous for her role in that sitcom, she appeared in commercials and music videos.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to, but check him on the web, search for his wife and check her picture.”

“...”

“It isn’t the same one, is it?”

“Could I have been wrong all these years?”

“Looks like it.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

Dancing Hands

She talked with her hands. It was comical.

The more animated she became, the more her hands flapped and fluttered through the air.

We teased her, had her sit on her hands, which practically made her mute.

She’d laugh then and poke our ribs, call us stinkers, and her hands danced as she did.

I didn't make it back in time. I would have if I didn't stop.

The bill wasn’t even due.

I was stalling, but stalling what?

My return to her bedside? Her last breath, or both?

When I got there, her hands were at her sides, spent.

From Guest Contributor Linda Chandanais

Through The Looking Glass

I opened my eyes and saw everything in a new light. The worries of the past few months seemed to have just vanished into thin air. The constant throbbing pain in the back of my head was now gone. I felt like dancing and singing at the top of my lungs. Suddenly I heard some raised voices and the sound of weeping. Intrigued, I walked a few paces and entered the room from where the sobbing came. There was a woman in a blue dress crying, looking at something on the bed. I glanced at the bed and saw myself.

From Guest Contributor Madhavi Agnihotri

Homage To Discworld King

The tall caped figure dismounted the midnight horse and negotiated cracked paving to knock on nondescript door.

Bright dancing eyes and grey beard yanked it open. “Well?”

Taken aback, Death cleared his throat. “HELLO.”

“Bugger ‘HELLO’, what kept you?”

“UM!”

Author pushed past the cowled figure.

“ER… DON’T YOU WANT TO DRESS?” Death waved a skeletal digit at the grimy T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops.

Author pointed his beard aggressively. “That would be rather pointless now, wouldn’t it?”

Death sighed and followed the little man to the waiting steed. He was sure he’d forgotten something.

“OH YES.”

He raised the scythe.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

Wavestar Bang

He lost her, but not as he thought: not to the cancer, or a car accident, or to some art student.

She was dancing alone to Wavestar in the dark, only the nightlight of the stove touching her naked toes, her knees, her swishing hips. She spun, hair whipping, neck caning, hands flying like children playing through the twilight air of the highway with the windows down, wrists like autumn leaves whose time had come.

She became transparent, translucent, spinning faster and faster, and glitter evaporated from the feet up, a tornado of silver steam.

He fell right through her.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

After graduating with a BA in English from Vassar College, Brook landed her first paid writing job as a reporter for a small-town Colorado newspaper. She left it to travel to India, where she fell in love, got married and canceled her ticket home. She and her husband Gaurav write freelance articles for dozens of publications, including Outpost, Ecoworld and Little India. In 2013, they launched www.BluePlanetJournal.com, which she edits and writes for. She also teaches writing at a community college, is earning her MFA in Writing at Lindenwood University, and is writing a novel.

The Incubus

When misery left, I missed it dearly. Numbness arrived in its place--an evil lurking miles below sorrow.

Then the Incubus came. His fingers soothed me, dancing like spiders across my back, before plucking me from my flesh.

Exquisite melodies escaped his mouth instead of language. I understood every word.

He held me on his fist, soaring me to gloomy, lilac clouds. My body quaked, and it began to rain.My thoughts fluttered like butterflies. He captured them; sang my own song back to me.

Sadly, he was just a dream; but the Incubus cured me, bringing back my misery.

From Guest Contributor L. Michelle Corp

At First Sight

It begins innocently. His eyes meet hers from across the room and suddenly everything feels different. The blue and green lights swirling overhead seem brighter somehow, the bass booms deeper, and the voice escaping from the speakers is now the voice of an angel. The crowd weaves back and forth, splits open, then creates an unencumbered path between them.

He is mistaken about all these things, of course – a glance is sometimes just a glance – but he won’t realize this until it is far too late to save his heart from the inevitable crushing pain that accompanies first love.

From Guest Contributor, Dan Slaten

Company

When Bill and Melissa arrived home, they found that every floor in their house had been covered with clover. The couple was understandably frightened.

Reports had been circulating for weeks of belligerent leprechauns running loose in the city. It had been dangerous for them to even leave their home, but Bill had insisted they'd be safe at the park.

It may have been Stockholm syndrome, but having the leprechauns in their home didn't seem so bad. There was plenty of whiskey and dancing, plus they were granted a few minor wishes.

But after 600 years, their company has grown quite tiresome.

Genie: The Musical

So Naomi found this old lamp in the attic. When she was cleaning it off, a genie appeared and granted her one wish. Before anyone could stop her, she wishes for her life to become just like in a musical.

That's all well and good for her. She's married to a handsome tenor (though I reckon he's probably gay) and every dramatic moment in her life gets played out in song form.

I, on the other hand, never get to say (or sing) anything. I'm just the guy in the back trying to keep time during all the dance numbers.