Movie Star

Sunglasses don't make the movie star, but any screen icon worthy of the name looks damn good in them. Rutherford Love knew this for a fact and was no exception.

He glided through the airport hidden from prying eyes. All the ordinary people passed by never realizing how close to greatness they were, stroked by the soft brush of fame. As long as the polycarbonate lenses covered his piercing blue eyes, he could travel completely incognito.

He didn't understand the physics behind their power, but there was no denying he was completely invisible.

"Mr. Love, can I get a selfie?"

Authority

I know only one enemy in this world, that person who holds power over me. No matter how slight the exercise of authority, how minor the inconvenience, any attempt to coerce me in any manner, even if I would have otherwise been inclined to act in the desired fashion, will be met with the strongest disagreement within my power.

You insist I should eat more vegetables. I will only be eating meat from now on. I am a rebel. I am the rebellion. Tell me what to do one more time, and I'll be the leader of a third-grade revolution.

Fifteen Minutes

After a lifetime of deception, a sense of purposelessness persisted. Trapped in darkness, Sarah faced tests, time lost all meaning, hunger gnawed, and survival was vital. Guilt spiraled into self-blame. A presence loomed, with fear gripping her. A hidden cave, a reward, reality slipping, and power and control are beckoning. Uncertainty and choices lead to dark paths. Sarah complied, fearing the unknown. Urgency and the cave's depths awaited. A dangerous allure, dread mounting. Unease, an invisible stalker, the crunch of footsteps. The weight of a gaze, fear, and defiance entwined.

"I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to win!"

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

Giant Oaks

I sighed as my breathing slowed. The sun rose over my head, and I felt the power inside me waking, like the tree in the woods that had grown into giant oaks, covering the forest floor in the summer. I would sit in the shade of those trees until nightfall, waiting for the stars, reaching for the promise of sleep. The light in the sky became a distant memory, and I could almost feel the joy that the moon brought to those born in the middle of winter or during those spring showers that brought new life to the earth.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

The Curse Of Forest Mother

Muma is crying like a child while we are watching the river runs red and dead. The hills above us are crumbling away into the deep, giant sinkholes. The ancient forests are cut down or burned. Muma's hand is so cold, her body is trembling like a leaf. Muma's lips are motionless but I can hear her silent curse…

Now I understand the meaning of those untold words and feel the real wonder and power of her inner voice. The end is near because we are human and humans must be punished for all crimes against our dear Mother Nature.

From Guest Contributor Ivan Ristic

The Glory Days

Captain Sam of the starship Gillian's Folly watches as the stars pass in long white arcs of Doppler light. As a boy, he always wanted to command a ship. The power. The excitement.

In reality, today everything is controlled by the ship's intelligence. Captain Sam is a glorified steward, employed by the corporation to ensure all the passengers behave themselves. For some reason they find listening to orders from a man in a uniform easier to swallow than from a computer, never mind said computer controls how much oxygen they receive.

Captain Sam longs for the days of intergalactic war.

The Pencil

Spine broken. Pages deliver a scrambled story. I have the power to pick up the fragments. Rewrite. Write what others have tried to mute. Seventeen centimeters of lead might not be much, but I’m her voice. I’m sharp. I’m ready, but she turns away from me and picks up her glass of whisky instead.

We’re both small. Lead or crystal? One can save her. One can break her. Who will she choose?

Neither. She adds another plate to her dish-pile. It looks like the Tower of Babel, minus the words.

She turns. She’s getting closer. Closer. Picks me up and—writes.

From Guest Contributor Isabelle B.L

Isabelle is a teacher and translator currently living in New Caledonia. She has published a novel inspired by the life of a New Caledonian politician. Her work can be found in the Birth Lifespan Vol. 1 anthology for Pure Slush Books and Flash Fiction Magazine. Her work is also forthcoming in Growing Up Lifespan Vol. 2 for Pure Slush Books and Drunk Monkeys.

The Cycle Repeats

There are no bruises. No black and blue markings. The damp pillow muffles my sobs. Berating me with silence, his brand of torture is debilitating. I cower in the dark. The smaller I get, the more his power swells.

He dares me with a narrowed glare, and I shrink a little more. I bite my tongue to stifle my fear. The spiral deepens. He said, I was worthless. He said, I was stupid. I am all those things.

I wait, holding my breath until the deafening silence has passed.

Then he smiles. I can breathe again.

Until the next time.

From Guest Contributor Violet James

Deadly Decisions

She was just as charismatic as he had imagined her. She was not beautiful, really, her nose was too big. But standing there in the throne room, Marcus could see why Caesar had been fascinated. Part of it was the wealth and the power. Now it was his turn to woo her; he needed her money and ships to accomplish his plan to rule Rome.

He caught her gaze and the future became real to him. They would sail the Nile and have great military successes in the East. But he couldn’t see the asp slithering along in his future.

From Guest Contributor Janice Siderius

Prisoners

Auntie asks my mother and I to move out of her house. She says I make too much noise when I sleepwalk and my rock albums are causing Uncle Herman more brain damage from his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Upstairs, I take down my posters of Geronimo, John Lennon, and James Dean from the finely cracked yellow walls. Exhausted, my mother sits on my bed and breaks down. “It’s all your fault,” she says. As if I had the power. At night tiny policemen march into my ears. I’m not sure it’s a dream. They say come with us.

From Guest Contributor Kyle Hemmings

Kyle's latest collection of text and art is Amnesiacs of Summer published by Yavanika Press. He loves street photography, French Impressionism, and 60s garage bands that never made it big.