That Summer Feeling

Stephanie walks from her apartment to the subway every morning on her way to work. During the summer, the sidewalks are crowded with fellow commuters and hawkers and a general hustle and bustle smelling of sweat and petrol.

There's a viral eagerness that has infected the city on these days, and she's one of the few people who's immune. She's turned off by the aggressive friendliness that so easily tips towards hostility. There's too much skin and fake pleasantry.

It makes her wonder why so much of her life's been given over to strangers and people she doesn't care for.

Charles’ Walk

Charles’ aide was fast asleep on the couch, television blaring. He slipped out the back door and walked not knowing where he was going. He watched the strangers pass and smile as if they knew him. Charles had been lonely, scared, and uncertain about where he belonged, so he walked and walked. It became dusk and he wasn’t sure of his surroundings and stared confused.

A woman with dark hair walking a small dog approached Charles. It was his neighbor of twenty years, Lily.

“Charles, what are you doing walking alone at this hour?”

Charles stared blankly at the lady.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

I Overhear My Grandmother In A Dream

I knew about the tarpaper roof torn in the shape of the mountains she had just left, the shape of her youth spent in birthing a dozen children. I did not know she sang only to the sons, who arrived looking like wrinkled old men. When I asked her why she wouldn’t sing to her daughters, I already knew the answer: the girls would just leave her for strangers.

I saved my voice for prayer. The light flinched under the lie, but it was only my shadow. That light came from some distance, she said. You really shouldn’t impede it.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Snell

Cheryl is a classically trained pianist who writes by ear. Author of several collections of poetry, she has also written a series of novels called Bombay Trilogy; and been published in hundreds of literary journals and anthologies, including a Best of the Net. Look her up on Facebook.

Thoughts And Prayers

Small furry animals have crawled out of their holes for a look. Such sights! Smashed-in skulls and severed feet and angels covered in blood. Like a nasty drunk, God has been exceptionally belligerent of late. A cadaverous woman in blue scrubs who says her name is April asks, “On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being the lowest, how severe is your pain?” Strangers on social media offer thoughts and prayers. Even then, the leaves on trees instantly wither as a burning airship passes overhead. My wife refuses a ride. We cling together just like the words in a poem.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of Failed Haiku, a poetry collection that is the co-winner of the 2021 Grey Book Press Chapbook Contest. It is scheduled for publication in summer 2022.

I See You

If we could only look deeply into the eyes of strangers, we’d see not a stranger at all, but a piece of ourselves.

As I stand in line, I see a man pull his shirt over a large belly. Beside him, a teenager glances anxiously at passing faces.

If people knew, they’d feel more compassion for one another. Indeed, they’d offer kindness even as they are shown anger.

The knowing inside me is too big. I’m surrounded by the noise and lights of the world, seemingly unchanged from before. My heart aches. I see you, but do you see me?

From Guest Contributor Caitlyn Palmer

Brumal

“I often find myself laying still in bed with the ceiling fan on and windows cracked. I’ll wait for the cold air to shrink the tissue in my joints, for my nerve endings to cool, and to feel the agony of hypothermia even though I am perturbed by all things cold; snow, door knobs, the hands of people with poor circulation. I am fazed by freezers; and those stainless steel stretchers that will latch the cold onto my body.

I don’t think I’ll mind dying as much as I’ll mind sleeping in a freezer—my brumal body boxed beside strangers.”

From Guest Contributor Shanique Carmichael

Life, A Very Short Story

You talk to family photos, suffer from migraines, play Chopin with unshowy facility on the parlor piano. Strangers often comment on your eyes – gull’s eyes, someone called them. The sea heaves just outside your door, and from the back window, you can see the cemetery where your father is buried. Weeds have sprouted up overnight among the headstones. You aren’t interested in stories of success, only failure. “Sunshine,” you say, “is an overrated virtue.” The words echo. There’s a feeling that something terrible is about to happen. You watch for a while and then shrug. Maybe because it’s all disappearing.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press and Spooky Action at a Distance from Analog Submission Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Invasion

Crowds of strangers gather to see an unfamiliar lightning storm. The thunder roars and howls as the storm grows angrier. The ground begins to shake and rumble. Lightning bolts strike near and far.

What was once a quiet town was now invaded by alien-like creatures. So small, yet full of razor sharp teeth. They leap from one victim to the next, craving the taste of human blood. Their bodies growing by the millisecond.

Their nests all around. Cone-shaped and green. Clumped together. Millions of babies hatching. The human race dwindling by the minute.

The invasion has just begun.

From Guest Contributor Alexa Findlay

Alexa is an Undergraduate student at the University of California, Riverside. She spends her time writing fiction and poetry. Her work has been featured in Pomona Valley Review, Better than Starbucks Magazine, Adelaide Literary Magazine, Halcyon Days, Grotesque Magazine, and Blood Moon Rising Magazine amongst others.

New York City Runaway

Crystal hid from the crowds of people by darting from shadow to shadow. Luckily, everyone was too busy to notice. The tall, hairy strangers in suits and uniforms were frightening, yet nothing scared her more than the thought of returning home.

She secretly flitted about the streets of the city, searching for a doorway to slip through. But not jut any doorway. Crystal had a long list of requirements that needed to be fulfilled before she picked a location. She hadn't run away in order to settle just anywhere.

After all, once a fairy enters someone's home, it never leaves.

Thunder Shook The Bibelots

Ralph hated thunderstorms. Tonight's had him cowering in his father's study. Each crack of thunder shook the shelves, rattling his father's war memorials and the family bibelots, and left him cringing abjectly in the corner.

When the storms came, Ralph would rarely understand the reason. His father would have to explain, with varying degrees of patience, that hadn't cleaned his room or had embarrassed him in front of strangers or hadn't done a good job of listening.

But tonight, he knew exactly why the storm had come. His bloody hands and his father's limp body told the story in full.