Fifteen Minutes

After a lifetime of deception, a sense of purposelessness persisted. Trapped in darkness, Sarah faced tests, time lost all meaning, hunger gnawed, and survival was vital. Guilt spiraled into self-blame. A presence loomed, with fear gripping her. A hidden cave, a reward, reality slipping, and power and control are beckoning. Uncertainty and choices lead to dark paths. Sarah complied, fearing the unknown. Urgency and the cave's depths awaited. A dangerous allure, dread mounting. Unease, an invisible stalker, the crunch of footsteps. The weight of a gaze, fear, and defiance entwined.

"I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to win!"

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Deep Dive

She lies nestled upon the seabed, in the depths almost beyond the sun; she calls to me, drawing me in ever closer since I first saw her.

Last time I dived, we almost touched fingertips, but I was forced to come up for air, empty-handed, so to speak.

Every time I’ve gotten near to her since—three times now—I’ve woken up flat on my back upon the pier, with Mitch giving me resuscitation and mouth-to-mouth.

Next time, I’ll reach her; I’ll dive when the lifeguards change their shift on the harbour wall—Mitch won’t stop me again.

She’s waiting for me there.

From Guest Contributor Andrew Anderson

Andrew (he/him) is a writer of fiction from Bathgate, Scotland. His work has previously been published by National Flash Fiction Day Press, Sampson Low Ltd., Selcouth Station Press, The Drabble, Black Hare Press, Eerie River Publishing, Paragraph Planet, Steering 23 Publications, and Blood Song Books.

Afterthought

Suddenly aware that he might at any moment glance down at her waist and thereby notice the steely tip of the long-handled knife that was peeking out of her shoulder bag, not truly obtrusive, but visible enough nonetheless, with its dark, coagulated blood and a few long strands of blond hair clinging stubbornly to the blade, she deftly angled her lithe body so that the sheriff’s green eyes bore rather unmistakably into the depths of her cleavage, swaying and full of promise, beneath the silky crimson blouse she had tossed on in the morning as a now greatly appreciated afterthought.

From Guest Contributor Jody Hart Lehrer