Wanderlust

The pulse of the city is becoming my own. I woke up with a thrumming headache this morning. The night and the dawn are a patchwork in my aching head. When I walk down the street, steam ripples off the pavement, as intangible as my disintegrating memories. How is my stranger? I wonder. The one from last night’s club. Gone now. He’s returned back to his own life after our brief collision: my drunken frame hung off his neck. His glassy brown gaze still holds me. Power lines cross my heart. My eyes swim in the summer sweat and rain.

From Guest Contributor Siri Harrison

Bells

A clang-like sound from hell fills my head. As you make your way closer, I fill up to the brim with dread. My pulse quickens as you close the divide. What is it that I just cannot find? There is a puzzle within me, stirring my mind. ALIVE! There is a constant feeling buzzing, electric and alarming. But then your smile is just so disarming. You pull me close and breathe in a kiss. My lips feel pierced by the tip of something I missed. The bells--screaming inside. Though I cannot see it yet, there is something you hide.

From Guest Contributor Jessah Rutledge

Jessah is a Marketing and Admin Assistant for a Realty Company and a Pikes Peak Community College student studying Fine Arts and Writing.

Werewolf

NATURE SUBMISSION:

It is nighttime. Myriad dots of light litter the sky. We lie on our bed with our distinct commitments disinterested in rekindling a lost pulse. As a pack of wolves practice their choric song, my wife trembles, scratches her skin and flutters her limbs trying to repress an urge. She grinds her teeth as if she wants to sing like the baritone owls and soprano sparrows. I ask, “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t bother with an answer. Instead she escapes into the toilet. A high-pitched scream perks my ears. She returns with calm on her face and nuzzles into my neck.

From Guest Contributor Anindita Sarkar

Anindita is from India. She is a Research Scholar at Jadavpur University. Her works have recently appeared in Indolent Books, Ariel chart Magazine, and Flash Friday Fiction.

Sirens

He’d risen early this morning to plan the house his wife had dreamed of, but the hilltop’s stark beauty had rooted him to the spot.

His tea got cold.

It suddenly seemed a travesty to spoil the land’s personality.

Don’t seek to dominate, Mother Nature whispered, explore me as you would a lover.

He felt his pulse race at the imagery. There were enticing little copses in his eye line.He wondered if Elaine was up for–

“GRAHAM!” Her voice scattered the erotic thoughts.

He sighed and slouched towards the mobile home.

“Coming.”

He reflected on the nature of sirens.

From Guest Contributor Perry McDaid