The Sound Of Silence

I pine for smiling yellow walls, the low murmur of conversation.

Social distancing exiled me.

I try to write among sterile walls. Blank screens taunt.

There’s no favorite table in the corner. This space is devoid of smiling baristas with big glasses. No laughter from large rectangular tables or sizzling coffee. No undergraduates talking of failed chem tests and parties. I can’t inhale fragments of conversation or insert myself into their worlds.

There’s just silence, the occasional clump of feet upstairs.

I play movies, but my companions are always lonely 80s working-class characters or Lifetime psychopaths.

I surrender to silence.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, 50 Word Stories, (mac)ro (mic), and Ariel Chart.

A Centuplicate Of Cosmic Horror

The audience sat, rapt, as the medium paced the stage before them, one finely-manicured hand cupped to his ear. “I’m picking up a name.” The crowd ooo-ed. “Does anyone here know a...sorry, can’t quite catch it.” He frowned in concentration. “Kuh- two...?” An impressed murmur swept the auditorium. “Too...too...Lou?” He scrunched his eyes up. A dimness began to beset the cheaper seats in the balcony. “Kuh-too-lou. Does anyone here, ladies and gents, have a loved one of that name who-” A rushing wind drowned his last words. The lights went out. Someone, or some thing, screamed.

From Guest Contributor Matt Thompson