King Of The Court

Every afternoon, Marcus ruled the court. Sneakers squeaked as he crossed defenders, launched impossible threes, and hammered dunks that rattled the rim. His friends groaned while commentators crowned him a legend. He knew every hesitation, every perfect release, every seam in the opponent's defense. He was lightning—untouchable, unstoppable, airborne.

When the final buzzer sounded, the crowd’s roar thinned to a mechanical hum. “Marcus, dinner’s ready,” his mom called from the kitchen.

“Coming,” he answered, while unlocking the brakes on his wheelchair, gripping the rims of the wheels and pushing himself back from his desk. Beyond the doorway, reality waits.

From Guest Contributor E. Barnes

E. has work published at A Story In 100 Words, Spillwords, The Purple Pen, The Haven, and Medium.

Always Everywhere

She's haunting him everywhere he goes.

She's reflected in the mirror when the lights go black. She's in the storm clouds chasing him through the day. She's the hum of the air conditioner cranked ten degrees too cold. She's the wetness soaking through his clothes in the rain.

He doesn't mind. Ghosts lose the power to terrify when you're addicted to the jump scare. She promised him she'd never leave and if nothing else, knowing that she's true to her vow is enough for him to hold on to.

He never would have imagined himself living in a romantic fantasy.

A New Era

Robots Contest Entry:

One day everything stopped. I remember the terrible silence that followed the constant humming we were used to. Our beloved machines were made redundant, years of technological progress erased in an instant. We had become lazy and were set back decades. Over half the population couldn’t drive, (car accidents skyrocketed), people went hungry, (they had forgotten how to cook) and some left their homes for the first time in years. Then scientists said they found the cause, a virus, and soon the machines were back online. But the new hum sounded wrong, like a swarm of bees waiting to attack.

From Guest Contributor Paula Henry-Duru

The Landing

Andy hears a strange hum. He walks up the hill. At the bottom he sees a flying saucer spinning.

The saucer shows signs of corrosion, dents and dings dot the worn skin. Dirt and grime blemish its surface.

Andy thinks the damaged craft is landing. Too his surprise the vehicle starts spinning faster and gains altitude. In seconds the ship is above him, then gone.

Andy didn’t know they landed three years ago. Moments before Andy arrives the saucer had emerged from the ground. After spending all that time under the earths’ crust exploring and meeting the inhabitants they leave.

From Guest Contributor Denny E. Marshall

Lipstick Car Wreck

Finally alone, you open your coat in the snowRevealing the soft hum of your pilot lightLiving, walking to the water’s edgeTo pray for river’s cleansethe water is polluted with reflectionSo you run, you always do, into an idlecar on the street outsideOf where you need to be, you’ve circled around3 times already (you’re not getting any more inside)and drive, flood down the avenue to the last bridgeLeft erect from burned out comings-aliveswitch, from automatic to manualStop self-correcting let it careenA smile like wreckage smears across your face

From Guest Contributor Wyatt Martin

Failure To Thaw

The funeral didn’t make her cry.

She had been given a frosty life, locked out of warmth. Once she found the sun, she never looked back. And yet, here she was.

The chalky dough of a face, ice white and just as cold, with a slash of red lips and the hum of memories in the air bounced off of her like the wrong side of a magnet. She gave the packet of tissues to her sister before brushing past.

Leaning close, she touched the stripe of rouge. Some rubbed off on her finger.

Curious, she thought, the measures taken. From Guest Contributor Emily Fox

Emily has an MA in English and Creative Writing from SNHU. She currently lives in North Carolina. You can find her at emfoxwrites.com, or follow her on Twitter @emfoxwrites.

A Stubborn Speck

The elevator doors close with a ding. Alone inside, she hums and checks the mirror. The speck on her cheek looks unsightly, like a coal mine bent forward and kissed her.

She pulls out a tissue from her bag, and dabs at it. No luck. Nagging speck, like someone spit tar on to her face. Two more tissues, nothing.

The skin around it is reddening. Three more tissues, one after another. She’s getting restless as her floor draws near.

The seventh tissue does the trick. Someone from behind was kind enough to hand it to her.

The elevator doors open.

From Guest Contributor, Indu Pillai

Indu is a commercial writer based in Bangalore. Her fiction has appeared in Mash Stories and 50-Word Stories. She delights in all kinds of stories, written and unwritten. Twitter: @InduPillai01