Rain

The rain pelted my windshield, and the wipers provided minimal vision. My heart pounded and my hands gripped the steering wheel. I drove at a slow pace and prayed the weather would calm down and hoped the next exit would be soon.

“Lilly, remember how terrible the weather was on our first date. We watched the raindrops from the restaurant window, and you commented on how nature can get angry at any time. That’s when I kissed you for the first time. Your raspberry lip balm tasted so sweet.”

I glanced at the empty seat wishing she were still alive.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Written Florida

The hospital counter balanced the consequences of Chloe’s belief in radiological.

“Poise Samuel. It’s dosage and daydreaming. Don’t slam this shut, there’s no ambush in it.”

Samuel’s reptilian wheelchair spontaneously defended his ego with a damp pelvis moan.

“You need to explore your obsession with maintaining haste.”

And then Chloe was behind him, creating an exit.

Outside the gravity of habit drew dated windows and naked brick into Samuel’s response.

“Chloe, you are the answer to a whistle.”

Her blouse threw out naked holes of laughter until the urban inside her tongue finished the joke.

“But you have no teeth.”

From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Miller

Exit Stage Left

A young lady reminded me of the theatre, a single spotlight illuminating an actor on stage; blackness all around except for her brightly lit face and dust particles dancing about, defying gravity as they floated in all directions.

I also thought about a woman, a wife and mother, watching television, a solitary figure in a dark room. Her life’s work was behind her, trying to distract herself from reality by watching mindless entertainment and wondering what people had to do with themselves when they weren’t doing anything else.

Now, I'm nothing more than that dust particle floating my days away.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

I Met A Man, A Most Remarkable Man

I met you at a time when the star of you was careening downward. Though in descent, due to illness, your radiance shone in your discussions of the band Rush, the literature of Chesterton, and your absolute love and skill at cooking. You were afraid of being an imposition, not realizing that giving me a chance to help you—during our fateful trip—was my chance to brush against your beauty, your deep, feeling heart. I am selfish; I want more. But I must wait, as your star has again swung into ascension, brightening this world even upon your exit.

For Tony Rome By Keith Hoerner

The Roundabout

We are on a holiday in Greece. Jim is at the wheel and I am navigating our return to Athens from Marathon. The roads are frantic and the drivers insane. We did not arrange for a GPS in the rental car, which was a mistake.

Suddenly we find ourselves at a roundabout. Jim asks tersely, “Which exit do I take?”

“Slow down so I can read the signs,” I bark back. “Is that upside-down Greek “y” an “L” in English?”

The meaning of the expression “It’s all Greek to me” makes sense now.

Six circumnavigations later, we’re on our way.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

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

Echoes

The crowd echoes in the distance. My feet are in position, and my hands above my head. Mozart plays as I gracefully glide across the ice. The judges eyes weigh on me as I prepare for my triple axel.

I take a deep breath and jump mid-air, landing perfectly on my left foot. The crowd roars.

I did my best, but there's still more skaters ahead.

I wave to the crowd and pick up the freshly bloomed roses. As I make my exit, my skate lace becomes loose, and I trip, hitting my head against the wall.

The roses fall.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Machiavellian Necessities Of A Woman On The New York City Subway

For the majority of Deb's daily commutes, she preoccupied herself with the most strategic seat location choice. She normally picked the open space closest to the door. She didn't like standing, when it felt like every male gaze pointed her way, or looking for less populated corners, where some old dude would inevitably decide it was cool to plop their sweaty ass right next to her or, sometimes worse, directly across from her.

Being near the exit provided the comfort of knowing she could quickly escape at any stop, should it ever become necessary.

This necessity was a weekly occurrence.

Try Again

He buys a supermarket flower bouquet and, pecking her cheek, gives it to his wife in the kitchen. She throws it in the trash can after he goes to work the next morning. Again. He buys white roses from the subway exit vendor, and gives them, with a hug, to his wife in the living room. Into the trash can after he goes to work. Again. He gives a pink potted orchid, expectantly, to his wife in the dining room. The orchid sits on a bedroom table the next morning when the wife lies in bed with the trash collector.

From Guest Contributor Gerald Kamens

Guilt

I wasn’t the only one at the metro station the evening one of the trains blew up. But I was among those who stood the farthest from the flaming train. I was among the lucky few who escaped unhurt. I was among those who smelt the burning flesh first. I was among those who saw the first streams of blood escaping the bombed coach. I was also among those who ran towards the exit as soon as the shock wore off.

And now I am among those who are haunted by the images of the passengers we could have saved.

From Guest Contributor Namitha Varma

Namitha Varma is based in Mangaluru, India. Her works have appeared in Sahitya Akademi’s journal Indian Literature, eFiction India, Hackwriters, MadSwirl, and Every Writer's Resource, among others. She can be reached on twitter via @namithavr.