Written Florida

The hospital counter balanced the consequences of Chloe’s belief in radiological.

“Poise Samuel. It’s dosage and daydreaming. Don’t slam this shut, there’s no ambush in it.”

Samuel’s reptilian wheelchair spontaneously defended his ego with a damp pelvis moan.

“You need to explore your obsession with maintaining haste.”

And then Chloe was behind him, creating an exit.

Outside the gravity of habit drew dated windows and naked brick into Samuel’s response.

“Chloe, you are the answer to a whistle.”

Her blouse threw out naked holes of laughter until the urban inside her tongue finished the joke.

“But you have no teeth.”

From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Miller

Obsession

Are you addicted to chocolate? Creamy on the tongue. Eat it all you want, whenever you want it. Secretly in your room, for you and nobody else. Life’s hard. Chocolate melting in your mouth makes you whole. Briefly.

They’ll call you an addict. They’ll tell you to get help.

Are you addicted to a person? Soft in your ear. Ring her, mail her, message her all you want, whenever you want her. Secretly in her arms, you and nobody else. Life’s hard. Melting into her softness makes you whole.

They’ll call you in love. They’ll tell you you’re lucky.

Briefly.

From Guest Contributor Amita Basu

Amita is a graduate student of cognitive science. Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in The Right-Eyed Deer, Gasher, St. Katherine Review, Star 82 Review, Proem, Muse India, and Dove Tales. Her nonfiction has appeared in Countercurrents and Deccan Herald. She has finished a collection of literary short stories, and is working on a mystery novel about art. She lives in Bangalore, India.

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

The Other Side Of Obsession

Nothing was as he remembered. Not the walk, with the chipped and uneven flagstones, nor the dusty, desiccated garden, nor the house itself. The two decades had ravaged the property and Stephen immediately regretted its purchase.

As a youth, his mother brought him here on Saturdays. He'd sit in the chamber to the rear of the kitchen reading library books, hoping the owner's children failed to notice his presence.

The Packards had long since moved on to a much more modern estate. It seemed he was still trying to catch up in a race only he knew they were running.

The Wonder Of Pictures

Beth became chilled from the eerie black and white photo. A picture of supposed birds, looked like three monsters from a low-budget horror flick. Still, she stared at it wide-eyed. What did it mean? Why was she fascinated? She turned the picture upside down and sideways studying it, hoping to find meaning. It was useless. After all, in the digital world, anything could happen. She decided to let go of her obsession and tossed the unpleasant picture into the garbage can. After she left the room, that same photo appeared on the coffee table waiting for the next family member.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Cramming For Midterms

Back against the wall, arms at my sides, and my heart pounding in my throat and toes, I closed my eyes and let him explore the soft wetness of lips, the tight reluctance of tongue. My fingernails dug into my thighs, the way love, or maybe obsession, forces its way into the folds of your brain, seeping into your consciousness and taking over everything you thought you knew about yourself.

I surrendered, flat, still, and unendingly insecure. I hated him.

He caressed my hair and my face. The ground gave way, an unexpected and fragile molehill, and I found myself.From Guest Contributor Stacy Gorse

The Diapason

Before the stroke, Malcolm was obsessed with football.

Afterwards, Malcolm found a part of his brain that had never been used before was now actively engaged. In grade school, he had failed to learn even a rudimentary song on the piano. Now music was everywhere.

When it came to natural phenomenon, the wind, breathing, the setting of the sun, he heard their rhythms as a harmonious symphony. Machines and furniture emitted a cacophony of unholy clamor that caused waves of nausea.

Malcolm held the keys to the universe inside his injured brain. His new obsession was the destruction of God.