Molded Reality

A tap on the shoulder a jolt back to reality, not reality to an abyss. Weary as someone falls on the ground blood everywhere. Running and screaming in vengeance. The puddle grows sticky I melt into the floor, watching time slow down. Put on a pedestal not to adore or admire but to pity. Voices behind me question our reality. Time slowly tick-tocks by. A car ride later, bright lights and people dawned in blue hovering over me. Green silk and glowsticks draped with fresh blood dripping on the expansive white linoleum floors. Going back, I see a molded reality.

From Guest Contributor Bandit Taylor

Bandit is a student at Pikes Peak Community College. He Is only 16 and is loving going to college for education. He is currently working on a novel based in Leningrad, Russia during the Cold War.

Who Cared?

Robots Contest Entry:

He tinkered for a year, ignoring his phone and only leaving the house for Wacko Wake or the hardware store. The rest was delivered.

The garage was littered with tools and metal shards. The WiFi flicked on for two hours each night so he could comb websites.

His friends had given up on him. Who cared? He was done. Done with living like an open wound, a scrap of plastic blown in someone else’s breeze.

Finally, it was time. He flipped the switch and felt an electric jolt. The eyes lit up. The battery hummed.

Then it spoke. “Yes, master?”

From Guest Contributor Faye Rapoport DesPres

Chicken

"Don't call me that," I, blue-in-the-face, scream at my grade school friend. The hallway is long and narrow, lit by one naked bulb, a beaded pull-chain hanging. I stand trembling at the edge of the basement stairs.

"Turn the light on, chicken."

The wall switch is to my left. Weeks ago, on a dare, I placed my hand on the switch plate to lift the lever. A jolt threw me down the flight of stairs. I landed feet first, hands crunched against the concrete wall.

Now I hover on the top step. Terror tight in my throat.

Ready or not.

From Guest Contributor Flo Gelo

Names

"Mihir let us call our daughter Roja or else Shahad?"

I am now being dragged by my hair through the courtyard, then the terracotta floor of hanuman mandir, the broken scalps of which kept poking my menstrual pad. Crying hysterically, I pleaded "Only Hindu names from now. No Muslim.”

Nani, plastering dung cakes for the winter, Raja beta biting nails in anticipation, and Mantu my sister-in-law licking her middle finger out of the pickle jar as Mihir unburdened his hands off my hair with a thundering jolt of Indra.

Later, men smoking bidi took my bleeding body to Shamshan Ghat.

From Guest Contributor Noya Nirriti

Halloween

Harold is frightened into a jolt. “Who’s there?”

He recognizes the silhouette standing before him. “Lois?” he answers staring wide-eyed. “If you’re here, who’s in your grave?”

“Spirits are allowed to visit on Halloween, the first anniversary of their death. I’ve come to say I love you. Now I must go. We can only appear and say what we’ve desired.”

“Don’t go, Lois!”

She backs away into the trees.

Harold awakes, his head leaning on Lois’ gravestone. “I can’t believe I dreamt I’ve seen Lois.” He drives away out of the darkness, and Lois appears blowing him a goodbye kiss.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher