Wanderlust

The pulse of the city is becoming my own. I woke up with a thrumming headache this morning. The night and the dawn are a patchwork in my aching head. When I walk down the street, steam ripples off the pavement, as intangible as my disintegrating memories. How is my stranger? I wonder. The one from last night’s club. Gone now. He’s returned back to his own life after our brief collision: my drunken frame hung off his neck. His glassy brown gaze still holds me. Power lines cross my heart. My eyes swim in the summer sweat and rain.

From Guest Contributor Siri Harrison

Be

Sherman breathed deeply, concentrating on emptying his mind of all thoughts. The contradiction of thinking about not thinking about anything gave him a headache. His spiritual advisor instructed him to repeat his mantra at times like this.

"Be...be...be..."

He chose his mantra because of the fundamental reason he'd begun a meditation practice: he wanted to stop analyzing everything and just be. He wanted to overcome all of the angst that seemed to plague all of his waking thoughts, prevented him from sleeping and leaving him chronically depressed.

His advisor didn't understand. "Why do you sound like a bumblebee?"

Headache

I’m having trouble concentrating and so I close my novel with a thump. Then I curse, having had a headache for several days that I can’t get rid of. On the coffee table there are piles of bills that I haven’t paid in months. Hence the headache.

My dog Charlie cuddles beside me and rolls over for a stomach rub. Sadly, he’s my only true friend.

“Hey, boy, thanks for always being around.”

I get up to take two aspirins when the phone rings. What I hear on the other end worsens the migraine.

I’ve been evicted from my apartment.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

It’s Not What It Seems

Mike, feverish, tossed in bed. Head aching and muscles tense, he dreamed of the beach, the hot sun beating on his face, when a voice awakened him.

“Babe, how are you feeling,” asked his wife Liz.

“My body feels like a truck hit it.”

“You heard what the doctor said. You have the flu. Rest, Tylenol and fluids is what he prescribed.”

“Yeah, well, the flu stinks and I feel like it’s more than the flu.”

“Stop being so dramatic. I’ll make you some homemade chicken soup. That should help.”

Mike laid back, closed his eyes, and never dreamed again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Missing

He felt he’d been travelling. Couldn’t be sure. His memory was as misty as the panorama. It looked like Kiev: all those domed churches. How would I know that? The question hung there, unspoken. The answer ignored it.

He looked down at shapely legs and high-heels. What the–

The world spun. Elise was a woman: always had been. The last thing she remembered was the headache at Lloyds. Oh God...work. Did I walk out?

She reached into her handbag. Passport, cash, credit cards...no tickets.

She determined to make a doctor’s appointment the minute she got home.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid

An Ending, A Beginning

Dr. Philippa Marsden awoke with a start, the hard cold wood of her desk on her forehead. She clasped her hands to either side of her head, as if she was trying to hold her splitting headache prisoner. Her breath wheezed through her pursed mouth, but the fever was gone.

"Jonathan?" He lay on the floor, white coat stained with blood, stethoscope laying beside him like a dead snake. Pulse? None.

Philippa ran from ward to ward, the cacophony of the previous night replaced by silence. Pulse? None. Repeat. She ran outside to the street..

"HELLO! ANYONE?" Nothing but silence.

From Guest Contributor Ross Clement