Old Fire Station - Berlin - March 20, 1939

HISTORICAL FICTION ENTRY:

Removing his peaked cap, Gerhard runs his hand thru his fair, slicked-back hair. He is only a soldier: molded by the Nazi party. He isn’t a person just something to enforce Chancellor Hitler’s government. This time though, the instructions come from Joseph Goebbel. Anything marked with an X gets no mercy.

Gerhard stares into the inferno that devours the art dubbed degenerate. The canvases feeds the blaze, bubbles, and burns: turning into searing embers that fade to ash. He never understood art. The only thing he knows is everything burns. No matter the color, vibrancy, culture, religion.

We’ll all burn!

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

The Needle's Tip Is Not Sharp Enough to Cut Me Out

I see the demons you dance with; chanting in your ear, ripping you apart, gnawing upon your flesh—consuming you. Your nightmare has peeled my eyelids open. You say, “I’m a monster that can’t be revived. My carcass is a puppet to the demons that infect my soul: A hollow shell filled with darkness and decay.” I realize the words tangle on your tongue like the English Ivy on the stone walls that trap you inside. I know you’re shackled behind your sapphire orbs that peer upon my face.

I am not scarred...

I am in control,

Of my fate!

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Patience Is The Hardest Virtue In Life

Blessed be the Gods that bring forth the life I’ve longed for in this grove I thought I’d decay in. Even Warriors have weakness—an Achilles' heel. Mine: the matching Fates tread to be woven with my golden strand.

The battle, memorable, left me stripped of my armor and shield. Broken and defeated. Among bare trees. Their roots burrowing down constricting me, but I learned to live with the pain.

Over a decade, I’ve waited for destiny to come home. Embrace me with open arms and a genital kiss. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, you knew he’d come back for me.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey 

Tell Me Lies! The Truth Is Harsh. Give Me Hope While I’m Falling Apart.

He gazed at her, longingly, knowing that it would never be. His dream crashing down upon the floor. Broken words won’t help no more. Her mind was made. His heart--betrayed. He brushed her cheek: a simple good-bye. What more could be done? What more could he supply? He fell to his knees, “my sweet don’t leave!” But, she just left him there to grieve. He fell to the ground, in a sprawl, as the only sound he heard were high heels, echoing off the wall.

There is no time to sit and wait.

Take life’s hand and run with fate.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Waiting For The Days To Pass

You’re my obsession. My addiction. I lay on my sheetless mattress under the black light--posters glowing. I’m chain smoking. Looking at old photos of us. Happy moments frozen in time; hugging, kissing, making faces. Going through my withdrawals. I wipe my nose. The music dwindles. I drift in and out sleep. Dreaming of babies. The one that’s decaying from our past mistakes, and your new plump one that’s not mine. I’m awake, and I’m breathing. Rapidly. I’m covered in cold sweat. Yet, this won’t stop me...when you call, and you will, I’ll come...because I need my fix.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

That Holiday We All Supposedly Love

I push in my code: 437. The sound mocking me as I snatch the clipboard off of its peg—the check list of the unforgiving. My job today: revision in the main isle. I garb my lime-green box-cutter. Time to unpack the new merchandise. I fill the cart with cardboard boxes and scoot to the holiday shelves. I slit open the tape and a waft of rich-bitterness hits my nose. I pull out the advertisement holder that holds crimson candy boxes with cartoon dogs saying, “I ruff you! Give me a kiss!” Lurking within, little cones of so called yummy.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Day 4 In This Dismal Place

The monster looms down upon the invariable doom that has captured me. I hide in a little rock den, but it knows I am here. I try to blend into the decaying leaves and dirt that surround me, but its two spying eyes fall and focus on my abdomen and eight legs. The beast knows how to disable the shield and picks the rock up. Its meaty paws drop down hoppers for me; a peace offering to feast upon. I show the four-legger my fangs, and it drops the rock down over me. It must not know how to fight!

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Family Portrait

I held her dainty hand, her fragile bones hidden deep within her withering skin. Her once cerulean eyes, now slate-grey from worries of not knowing, look at me longingly as if I had all the answers. Her time was slipping, and that’s what she wanted; to be with her Papa… her Mama… her Mamoo… I wish she could remember; the stories she told… her children’s names… me… I opened the photo album on my lap. She smiled down at the pictures. “What a beautiful family you have.” My eyes fixated on her, wishing she could remember… they’re her family, too.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey