Up The Hill

The new boy lived in the old house on top of the hill. The house was abandoned years ago and every kid knew it was seriously haunted. If you rode your bike by at night, a witch could be seen standing in the window.

The new boy was shunned at school. He seemed normal enough, the first clue something was wrong. Only Ricky Landover sat with him at lunch, so he was shunned too.

When it turned out the new boy's parents were vampires, and every family in town was killed except the Landovers, it seemed a particularly harsh punishment.

The March Waters

The stillness of the air weighed heavily on the landscape. The lake, melted during the false summer, was paved over again.

Every kid in the neighborhood was under strict orders to stay off the ice. After the first melt happens, you can't trust its solidity.

The best part about even the mildest of late winter storms is that school shuts down but parents still have to work. By 10AM all the boys, and a few of the girls, had started an epic hockey game.

That night, they all bristled at the injustice of their punishment. After all, they'd been right.

Revelations

When it comes to online multiplayer games, the reflexes people have are insane. Someone thousands of miles away kills you before you even have time to reach for the trigger. As a kid, I thought they must play all day and night in order to be that good.

I sat there, waiting to respawn, my eyes had begun to water and I’d started drooling onto my Xbox controller from concentrating too hard on CoD Black Ops 2. I thought about how much free time I’d have to play when I was older.

Now I realise just how naive I was.

From Guest Contributor Liam Lloyd-Hughes

Indignation

The kid just ran out. I was only doing twenty-five in a twenty zone. You’re allowed some slack. He magically appeared from behind a van. I didn’t put the ice there that caused me to skid. I didn’t put a school gate by the main road. I wasn’t the one teaching road safety and I didn’t call myself on the phone, talking garbage. Yet I stand accused.

A hundred times his face turns toward me in slow motion, eyes widening, then everything becomes rapid, the exploding noise and flying glass.

Was no one responsible for a traffic patrol? So unfair.

From Guest Contributor Duncan Bourne

Ghost Milk

Before going back to the backyard she checked on her husband and her two-month-old kid who were fast asleep. The bed was undone, the dishes were huddled up in the sink unwashed, the rugs were clumsily rolled up. She knew that the child would wake up in an hour exactly. Those midnight crying fits. Last Sunday the infant was inconsolably crying, craving for milk, while she was in the backyard. She wanted to feed him, but couldn’t. Her breasts were heavy with ghost milk. The newspaper on the table read, “Delhi woman electrocuted by wet electric pole in the backyard.”

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar

Papers

- Good afternoon, sir. Can I see your papers, please?

- Is there a problem, officer? I don’t think I was speeding, was I?

- I said: papers.

- ...uhm...all right. Here they are.

- Are you the person on this ID?

- Yes, I am.

- This picture isn’t very recent.

- Can I take a look? ... No it isn’t.

- I’m afraid I’ll have to bring you in, sir.

- What? Because my picture isn’t very up-to-date?

- No sir, because of the consequences it might have.

- Such as?

- Well...you might run into someone you bullied as a kid and who is now a cop.

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Life Misspelled

Intelligent machines probe not only my words, but also the silent spaces between words, searching for hidden doors to secret rooms. As a kid, I won a goldfish at the county fair by tossing a ping-pong ball into the fish’s bowl. My mom flushed Goldie down the toilet while I was at school. I think of it sometimes when I see Nazis invading Poland on the History Channel. “Last name?” the woman behind the counter asks, eyes on the computer screen, hands poised on the keyboard. “Good,” I say. “How do you spell that?” “Like God, but with two o’s.”From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Library Literate

I was the kid who sparkled when they walked in the door. The bookish brat who would make her father chuckle while balancing a mountain of literature above her head.

There, I discovered the internet’s secrets. Every minute on their computer spent in obsession.

My friends and I chattered like hens between the book shelves. We scavenged through comics like vultures through the teenage fiction.

I read novellas under the summer sun. I ate my lunches before memorial statues.

Every trip was coming home and every inch towards the door was a step back in time.

Until it was gone.

From Guest Contributor Alexandra Sullivan

Perspectives

In the past, they described Michael as an “introvert” and “sensitive.” They said he was “different, but he’s harmless.” “He’s a good kid, just a little shy.”

Today, they said he’s a “loner” and is “withdrawn.” “I knew something was wrong with that kid. “He had no friends at school and never seemed to want any friends. He sat and ate alone in the cafeteria.” “Sometimes other kids teased and made fun of Michael.”

The headline read: Michael Stocktan, age 19, entered Morris High School with his dad’s handgun and shot 19 students and a teacher. Three are critically wounded.

From Guest Contributor David W. Cofer

The Painful Meditations Of A Modern Day Buddha

Kevin enjoyed the contemplation of his morning walks, the perfect ritual for tuning out from his devices. Sure, he'd steal the occasional glance at his phone, but only to ensure he wasn't missing an important message.

By 9am, the sidewalks were normally empty, so when the preteen on his bicycle came wheeling towards him, Kevin was surprised. He expected the kid to move into the grass or skip off the curb, yet he continued straight towards him, until Kevin had no choice but to step aside.

The anger rising inside him at the inconvenience was certain to ruin his day.