Superhero

Pay attention to your other senses, the blind man said, words muffled by my failing ears. They’ll take over if you lose one. He laughed, and I pushed our shared plate of sushi towards him, because I knew his touch was in no way enhanced. I watched his lips then: I’m no superhero. In the silence, the sushi tasted the same, the salt of tamari, snap of wasabi. Still I'd hoped: I’d envisioned a saving grace, sniffing people out by their soap’s scent, the sweetness of body lotion. The blind man, wishing for another roll, groped around on the tablecloth.

From Guest Contributor Colleen Addison

His Touch

Staring out of the frosty window, Samaira inhaled the misty air. She was captivated by her onerous thoughts when, suddenly, an arm coiled around her petite waist. The touch of her stepfather suffocated her. She loathed the repulsive sensation of his hand brushing against her body. Still, she surrendered to the molestation silently so her dying mother could pass peacefully. Years after her mother’s demise, she’s no longer startled by such fondling. She feeds on the arousal ignited by the stroke of a man’s body against hers. These carnal touches, which earlier caused misery, are now her gateway to riches.

From Guest Contributor Hetal Shah

Hetal Shah graduated with her Bachelor of Commerce from SIES. She lives in Mumbai with her husband, son, and daughter. She rekindled her hobby of writing over the past year. She is the winner of Mumbai Poetry League 2020, and her poem was published in an anthology by Poets of Mumbai called Guldastaa A Bouquet of Poems. She also writes flash fiction, and has been published twice on 101words.org. She loves to read, and especially enjoys reading and writing stories of romance and everyday life. Besides writing, she enjoys cooking new cuisines, traveling, and singing.

Emptiness

Toniann held her infant daughter close to her chest. She hummed and rocked looking at her tiny eyelids, gently pressing her face against baby’s fragile skin.

The nurse came in to take her, but Toniann pleaded for a few more minutes. She loved the feel of her small body in her arms.

Kurt gently reached to remove the baby from Toniann’s arms. “Honey, it’s time to let the nurse take her.”

Toniann struggled at first, but then released her daughter into the hands of her husband. Emptiness filled her heart.

She’d never feel the soft touch of her daughter again.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Unexpected

Lucy turned up the car radio. It was their song and it reminded her of his soft touch on her body and the warmth of his breath on her face. Jim was taken too soon from an unexpected illness and the pain jabbed at her heart. She longed to hear his laughter and see his big dimples. His family didn’t approve of their relationship. She was older, divorced and not Catholic. But they were in love.

Lucy drove up the driveway and rubbed her stomach. How would she tell a family that disliked her that Jim would’ve been a father?

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

At The Lake

Sitting in the sun with her friends at the lake, she hoped for Cannon Stevens to notice her, she hoped her mother wouldn’t notice her tan line, and she hoped she didn’t get burned.

Water hit her legs and she jumped up and ran towards Cannon who stood laughing in the shallows. Scooping water up with her hands, she splashed him and he grabbed her hands, his laugh turning into a silly grin.

That night, her mom flipped, “Bikini lines! Not on my daughter!”

Aloe couldn’t heal the cigarette burns on her stomach.

The lake water and Cannon’s touch did.

From Guest Contributor Tyrean Martinson

Tyrean is a daydreamer, believer, and writer who lives in the Northwest.

Staking A Claim

It started with his touch and before that the way he looked at me; clear blue eyes that knew how to take me in, how to see through my quiet, my fear. We explored city streets that summer, always attached, love-linked. A goodnight kiss turned couch tumble—hungry hands searching, lips and teeth crashing, his weight pinning me down. And then that surprise on the back of my neck: sweat, tears so sweet. Surrender, yes, maybe even love; but later, and better, trust and understanding, an intimacy that allowed regrets to be shared, my darkness to escape, a homestead staked.

From Guest Contributor Holiday Goldfarb

Holiday is currently enrolled in the MFA Program in Writing at Lindenwood University, Saint Louis, MO. If all goes as planned, she will graduate in December 2016.

Death's Splendid Gifts

Death and beauty were bound by love.

Its strength bore them two children in turn.

A prophet, intuitive and quick.

A defender, strong and kind.

Content together, all offered their talents so the world could partake of their bliss.

Beauty blessed creation, allowing all to enjoy its earthly splendor.

The prophet gave insight to decipher and atone for man's errors.

The defender offered courage and strength to the masses.

Death bestowed his touch to all, releasing them from life's toil.

Under their hand, humanity found constants, forever extant as long as man lived.

All inevitable, all wondrous and all binding.

From Guest Contributor Michelle Vongkaysone