Run Run Run

Last one home is a rotten egg.

Run.

Coach says if I make top two in the state I'll get a scholarship offer from every school in the country.

Run.

We saw red and blue lights flashing from the front yard at Kristi Fields' graduation party.

Run.

Becca asked if we were boyfriend and girlfriend now that we'd done it.

Run.

Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?

Run.

A knock on the door. Blood all over the floor, all over my hands, all over the knife. No one will believe the truth.

Run. Run. Run.

Man Out There

There was a knock on the cabin door.

Deborah looked at her phone. There was no service out here but it could still tell the time. 2:30 a.m.

The knock repeated, louder, more urgent. Perhaps someone was hurt. Or lost in the woods. But in the middle of the night, it wasn't her problem. She prayed for whoever was outside to just go away.

Deborah came to the cabin for peace and quiet. Now she was crawling on the floor as quietly as possible, peaking out the window.

Her worst fears were realized. There was a man out there.

Drunk

First, there's a moment when you are just crossing the threshold from complete oblivion, wrapped in blankets and darkness, to reemerge into the light of the living. You are not a person yet. You have no recollections or anxieties. This is probably what it was like right before you were born.

You don't realize you have a hole in your memory until you're halfway to the bathroom. How did you get home last night? Where's your car? Why is the floor slanting away from you?

You stare at yourself in the mirror and promise you're never going to drink again.

What The Stars Saw

The stars saw her face, someone who wishes wildflowers never died, thunder always accompanied rain, and the sounds of the waves were something that left the shoreline. Even the tears she shed when she thought it was only her and the items of clothes on the floor because the mirror just did not look right. The stars saw the smile she wore when he cherished her in the dark and the tears she lost when she was left to her own company on the worst nights. Some nights the stars were enough. Some nights, she wished they would do more.

From Guest Contributor Caitriona Mullenix

Wishful Thinking

As the Strawberry moon sets on the peak the sky shines bright like a diamond ready for its new owner. Spring weather in the Springs is springing but the cool breeze feels good on our cocoa butter infused skin. Your eyes bright like a newborn showing off their first smile and your touch soft yet warm like Vicuña. The record player sings the soft sweet sounds of “The Sweetest Taboo” with our feet's glued to the floor with no care in the world. Nights like this are longed for with breathtaking experiences, never ending memories but nothing like wishful thinking. From Guest Contributor Renee' Battle

Renee' is a student studying broadcasting and legal studies at Pikes Peak State College.

Undercover

The clatter of typewriters, especially Maryanne’s, echoes in the room. She’s pounding heavily on the keys to reach the deadline. It’s imperative she gets done before the other women if she’s to prove herself capable. She reaches the end and pulls out the paper. With quick steps, her heels clanking on the floor, she heads to her boss’s office.

“Well done, Maryanne. You’ve proven yourself. You’ll be going to France as an undercover secretary. Are you up for it? I can’t help you if you’re caught.”

Maryanne nods and waits for instructions.

She has no idea the danger she’s in.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Standish

Tyler unfolded from the blue compact. His knees hurt. He had suffered this torture for one reason: to keep Standish quiet...forever.

Ten years as a bartender at the Capital Club, the city’s most prominent private club, provided Standish with enough knowledge to end important careers, marriages, and lives. That knowledge became an opportunity. It needed to be stopped.

Tyler walked in, silenced gun in his coat pocket. Standish was behind the bar. A shot rang out. Tyler crumpled to the floor.

“Thanks, Joe,” Standish said, smiling. A man at the end of the bar nodded, finishing his bourbon.

“Anytime.”

From Guest Contributor Gary M. Zeiss

We Lost A Room Last Night

We found a house out on the dunes, beyond the golf course. The conservatory had crumbled already but soon a jagged fissure opened up across the living-room floor. Soon the front door burst from its hinges and other people started to show up. A tramp slept on the wrong side of the crack one night; he was gone in the morning but we didn't know where. You know we'll have to leave here soon, she said one night as she held me. Maybe head up the coast? I squeezed her back and we watched a window slip from its frame.

From Guest Contributor Geoff Sawers

Huff It Your Way

“They’re moving Poe from the County jail to the Big House in the morning,” Dink Delmonico, head of the notorious Delmonico Crime Syndicate said. “Grub, you and Chub are gonna’ bust him out tonight.”

“How, Boss,” Grub asked. “There’s only two of us and at least a dozen guards.”

“With these,” Dink said, putting two pesticide spray canisters on the table. “They’re filled with quick-acting knockout gas. One whiff and the guards will hit the floor like bags of horse manure. Just don’t spray Poe.”

“Right, Boss,” Chub said.

“Remember,” Dink said. “Go directly to jail, and don’t gas Poe.”

From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt

Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own, It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere, For Richer or Noirer, and Flash Wounds. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!

Bathroom Tile

‘Once upon a time someone tried to imitate marble with porcelain.

Understandable; humans have been artificially recreating nature since the cavemen. It’s our nature to synthesize.’

Arnold stood in the bathroom of his newly rented apartment, pondering its cladding.

A 12x12 tile covered the floor and all four walls. The same pink-veined beige tile, repeated 286 times.

‘But this imitation fails instantly due to the repetition. Nothing could be less realistic.’

He felt he’d been given insight into an anonymous tile designer’s mindset. He didn’t know how to interpret it, but he had a year-long lease to mull it over.

From Guest Contributor Olivia Rerick