Deep Slumber

Every part of my body ached; and my hair was pasted to the pillow from sweat. My lips were dry, yearning for water, but I couldn’t drink with the tube down my throat. I’m in the hospital, but what happened?

There’s movement around me, but it’s just a blurred mess. My head feels as if it was struck with a hammer, the pain shooting down to my neck.

I heard voices.

“She needs surgery to remove the swelling. Sarah suffered severe head trauma in the accident.”

Is that a doctor?

Slowly I’m being moved and sedated into a deep slumber.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Sledgehammer

Bill had never been so in love. Kristen was to a woman like a sledgehammer is to a hammer. He was grateful that she felt the same way.

He proposed after six months of dating. She said yes. Everyone that knew them said after the first time seeing them together that they were perfect for each other.

They decided to write their own vows. Kristin told a story about telling her grandmother right before she died she'd just met the man she was going to marry. Bill told the sledgehammer analogy.

That's when she realized they were making a mistake.

Passing Time

Quibble was lost in the reality of glass days. Each day was formed and spun and left to cool, and once it cooled, Quibble and the world lived it. Ended days stood around the world like satellites. While the focus of reality was each newly cooled day, the older days could be tapped for hints and clues and prophecies that could step forward into the design of the current day. An industry of gnomes sprang up, ready to point out which past days most likely would help in navigating this day. Quibble accepted their advice, held his tiny hammer hidden.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

Delusion

As he nailed the boards over his windows one by one, each pounding of the hammer reinforced his decision. The world was about to die.

The sad part about reality is there can never been any ironclad certainty. Civilization was coming apart at the seams, an obvious fact if you just looked around. But people said he was crazy and chose to ignore all the warning signs.

He felt sorry for them. They had fallen under the mass delusion, and they would not be prepared for the end times. Perhaps his pity would be some solace as they all burned.

Impact

At the base of an apartment tower, lies a fresh corpse. Police arrive.

They log the remains of a habitual thief, the main suspect in a spate of “Human Fly” style burglaries.

Whilst finding the injuries which caused his death consistent with falling from a considerable height, the Coroner will observe some fingernails on both hands have been impacted and crushed.

I am sitting on the balcony of my fourteenth floor apartment, enjoying an early morning breakfast, and panoramic ocean view.

My nine-pound hammer rests against the leg of the table. It will be cleaned and stored after coffee.

From Guest Contributor Barry O’Farrell

Barry O'Farrell had his 950-word sci-fi story Shakedown published in the December 2014 issue of Cyclamens and Swords.

An Alcoholic, A Nuclear Bomb

Fact: an atomic bomb was detonated 8.4 km from where Wally Kazinsky was repairing the toilet in a decent brothel. The brick house shivered violently from the blast, a few windows shattered. There’d been talk of an attack, and Wally considered the possibility. He grabbed his glass of scotch before he went to look out the window. His legs were wobbly. Maybe nervous, but definitely drunk.

People were crying, hurt, bleeding. Fuck. They were probably already bathed in radiation. Wally was dizzy but lucid enough. Time for emergency measures. He found his hammer, and headed to the corner liquor store.

From Guest Contributor Wil Wang

The Last Nail

Tat. Tat. Tat.

The tapping came in quick bursts. The blows were neither sharp nor strident, but in the absence of all other sound, they echoed in the silence.

Tat. Tat. Tat.

The carpenter was deft. Each nail hammered with economy of effort. If they were not perfectly straight, no human eye could discern a slant.

Tat. Tat. Tat.

As someone who prided himself on the careful attention to detail, it would have been a joy to watch such a master artisan at work.

Tat. Tat. Tat.

But I was too overwhelmed with dread. Which nail would be the last?