Vines

Amidst the barrenness of their surroundings, they found refuge in each other's arms. Though the winds howled and rained down upon them, they held on tight, refusing to let go. Together, they weathered the storm, their love growing stronger with each passing moment. And as the skies cleared and the sun shone, they knew they had found something special—a love that could withstand anything. Their hearts began to beat as one, like two vines interwoven, awaking a long-forgotten garden. It was as if fate had brought them together—two lost souls searching for a way out of the darkness.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Finding Deepstaria

I found her in the rust climbing over shower tiles, red-brown on sea-green. She began as spots, then shapes—a rabbit? A snail? A man, then a woman. She was a mermaid with me for five years, singing pirate songs of lost souls in fishbowls and other Pink things; then she grew out of her skin, became an unnamed creature, alive without lines, her hair like fire. Now only one wisp of her tail holds on to the faucet, for me. She floats free in the glossy turquoise beyond, laughing above the rusty piles of what she used to be.

From Guest Contributor Brook Bhagat

Brook Bhagat’s poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and humor have appeared in Monkeybicycle, Empty Mirror Magazine, Harbinger Asylum, Little India, Rat’s Ass Review, Anthem: A Tribute to Leonard Cohen, and other journals and anthologies. She and her husband Gaurav created Blue Planet Journal, which she edits and writes for. She holds an MFA from Lindenwood University, is an assistant professor of English at a community college, and is writing a novel. Her poetry collection, Only Flying, is due out Nov. 16, 2021 from Unsolicited Press. See more at brook-bhagat.com.

The Whispers

The whispering grows louder after exiting the shaman's hut. If her words are true, the voices following me are not of my own making, but rather the lost souls of the long dead, clamoring for attention.

I'd thought I was the only one, but she told me they speak to everyone, though very few will admit to hearing them. Those who do are branded as heretics or clinically insane. In a way, I preferred believing that I was unique, but perhaps knowing the truth will lead to acceptance from my peers.

I do, however, regret killing all those people now.