The Beauty Of Summertime

Sarah sat on the beach swooshing her toes through the hot sand. In the near distance, two young girls were building a sand castle, arguing about who was the better swimmer. Sarah turned up the radio and tuned them out. She closed her eyes and let the warm ocean breeze sooth her tension. With a smile on her face she listened to the waves, in between her favorite songs.

“What a beautiful day,” she said.

Within minutes the sun disappeared and it began to thunder and lightning. Seconds later Sarah was drenched and running to her car, the day ruined.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Taking The Leap

"I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Andrea says.

I look over at my best friend, then down at the water below us. I swallow nervously before replying.

“It can’t be that bad. After all, Alex has done this at least twenty times.” I wince at how shaky my voice sounds.

“Yes, well, Alex is Alex. Remember the time he stayed underwater for two minutes because Tim offered him a frappe?”

We laugh, breaking the tension.

I take a deep breath. It’s time. “Alright, together. Breath, crouch, and jump.”

We clasp hands. I see the doubt and jump off the cliff.

From Guest Contributor Neroli Ladner

Waiting For The Days To Pass

You’re my obsession. My addiction. I lay on my sheetless mattress under the black light--posters glowing. I’m chain smoking. Looking at old photos of us. Happy moments frozen in time; hugging, kissing, making faces. Going through my withdrawals. I wipe my nose. The music dwindles. I drift in and out sleep. Dreaming of babies. The one that’s decaying from our past mistakes, and your new plump one that’s not mine. I’m awake, and I’m breathing. Rapidly. I’m covered in cold sweat. Yet, this won’t stop me...when you call, and you will, I’ll come...because I need my fix.

From Guest Contributor McKenzie A. Frey

Old Flame At A Party

“Long time no see,” she says tipsily, introducing me to a ‘Rick.’ There’s tension between them, something’s not quite right.

Though remaining a looker, she doesn’t turn heads anymore.

I was too dull for her then, with my monogamy, my love of poetry. Chatting, I mention I still like T.S. Eliot, and have a family.

“Oh, settled down, have we?” she says, her tongue as sharp as ever, yet I sense an envy beneath the sarcasm.

“Well, I’m not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be,” I quote, a certain satisfaction in my self-deprecation, when bidding these lost souls goodnight.From Guest Contributor Ian Fletcher

Ian studied English Literature at Oxford University many years ago. He has had short stories published in various genres in Schlock! Webzine, Schlock! Bi-Monthly, Short-story.me, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, and in anthologies by Horrified Press and Rogue Planet Press. He is an Affiliate Member of the Horror Writers Association.