jeanne

Very, very late. Dark and cold. I don't know how much longer I can wait.
He's talking again. How much he loves me--blah, blah, blah. His words turn to frost in the air and I am mesmerized once again by the changing shapes of his promises.
Finally. Finally! I let go of the railing and lean back. Listening, this time, for the splash.

Sandy

Parrots flutter in front of her eyes while the scent of tropical soil embraces her. Like mist off a still lake, a softening rises within while a smile forms on her lips. It is the sun she craves, gently baking her skin to brown making it glisten like freshly cut mango. A sigh escapes as her eyes close. Looking up, she closes the travel guide in her broken plaster room and stares at the grey city outside her window.

å.

Youth ought BLK Africa nAME RICAN puerto 4 change? Half numb lack half saw heights till control. Garden close till dirty from harvests laves 4 year slater. Isle run but the coast may bien 2 terms åfloaT OR TILL A borders Enterprise, 2 boldly goad wear no owns lost beef ore chicken wrapped maiz. Vote form E=mc² & watch haven soap in down a pawn add am sup eve in chew will he. An dieu thought eyes white w/o color w/in?

Susan

No matter when it happens, those same emotions immediately surface. In those few seconds when the doe appeared in my windshield sight,standing on the edge of the highway, I owned her panic. As I drove by her, her panic and mine can best be described as one and most definitely the same. Her eyes were filled with a calculated terror about what to do, while mine were filled with a terrible longing to stop the inevitable. Talk about doe eyes; hers were bigger than Bambi's. In my rearview mirror, I watched as she made her decision. With the form and speed of a superbly trained Olympic athelete, she took off along the side of the highway mindless of anything but her mission. Her sense of purpose so evident as she drove her body toward the prize -finding the right place to cross over the four Indianapolis Speedway-like lanes. Then she was gone. Gone from my sight,only,I hoped as my panic crescendoed. Should I pull over? Run after her? I wanted to tell her, no I needed to tell her, that I would stop the traffic for her. But I didn't do any of it. I just kept driving waiting for my confidence to replace my panic.

Tony

His eyes shoot open at 4am, right on schedule.
He quick-closes them, hoping-but no, consciousness spreads like tension up the back of his neck. What will it be? it asks. Work? Money? Health?
It can’t decide, spirals out to family, friends, trying to hook something to tug at for an hour. Body’s tense but perfectly still, waiting for the center to give, for the edges to dull as they always do, minutes before the alarm.

Jools

Harlo could no longer navigate the economic storm. He was drowning in debt, with a house underwater. The only bill he paid anymore was for his life insurance, because he knew that if he was in the ground, his family could dig themselves out of debt. But his method had to look like an accident. After considering his options, Harlo plugged in the TV, switched on the nightly news and scared himself to death.

Catha

Question
Celebrating my daughter's engagement,I focused on her ecstacy filled eyes. But
behind her, I saw a man with an incredible disability. My daughter discreetly turned her head, and viewed the man dresed in a clining Nehru top displaying no arms. On a linen covered table, perched between his massive big toe and smaller toes was a glass of wine. My daughter's eyes turned from ecstacy, to horror, to wonder.

norman

coded id i went to 1 for next loop limited by y incrementally i stepped by 1 iterated over row do u see the value if so proceed between the columns i j variably taking a random walk do while hashing it out between the cells escape exit if u will return safe prisoners at tableau tableland backgammon bring them back to gamma function to execute as u will programmed spy

Brian

She was beautiful. I didn't know what that word meant, I still might not, but I know that she was. Sitting near her on the bus was some sort of drug. My heart beat slower. Her legs and the colors she wore were things beyond the realm of vocabulary. One day, Jim said to me, "If the only way I could have sex with her was to fuck her until I died, I would do it." Hours, and high school hours at that, spent studying her had allowed my mind to process only one true and undeniable fact: Christine was beautiful.

Richard

The problem with short stories is that they just cut short. Readers get a kick out of being left on a precipice but it's a little forced and lame. Why not just say what needs to be said and be done. That's when I realized I left the window open and I heard the sound of dragging footsteps, shadows began seeping under the door. Damn, I shouldn't have used all the garlic for the fettuccine .

norman

she fixed the chain on his bike as easily as he fixed her shoes when she was a bit older than he was in possessing workmanship his craft had taken him since to milan hers to alabama road shops they met over a rodeo bull name chester drinking foam through broken incisors chester had her first yet he came back with pumps to delight her by the close of her business chester had been stomped

norman

calendar girl on tuesday monday wasn't reoccurring her panties stayed in the proper draw by wednesday she'd bought new perfume soap to put in among her nighties she never wore any thursdays if she was off on friday she'd do him as laundry one load after another afternoons on saturdays she'd have to wear out her bottom working overtime elastic shifts on sunday she prayed he bought groceries dreading period mondays

norman

squid ink we need more squid ink a diffused view a dispersed one to be sure enough water has a part in emanations how many parts per billion are we these past few additions editions we've been so underwater red ink yeah that's what we need more red ink to publish this ship has wrecked all hands on board bring me my maps to find the allusions spell check islands where no man is one bering sea between straights

Brege

The Baker

“You’re beautiful and I want to bake you a pie.” The well-dressed man at the corner of the bar doesn’t blink.
“Thank you.”
“You look like a girl from high school—she never spoke to me. I would stare at her tiny ears, so cute I wanted to bite them.”
“I’m sorry. High school was rough for everyone. No boys ever spoke to me.” My voice quivers from intuition. My mouth goes dry. “So you like to bake? Me too. Apple is my favorite.”
The cook has left. The loud storm has convinced the other patrons to head home early. It’s 4 a.m. The phone rings.
“Answer the phone Jenny. Now.”
“My name is Brege.”
“Don’t talk to me like that Jenny.”
He is calm. He takes a sip of his scotch neat. His eyes locked on mine. I pick up the receiver. My hand trembles.
“Be smart Jenny. I can tell you’re very smart.”
“Everything is fine… no, there isn’t anyone here… yes, the cook left early.”
I see a silver flicker in his tweed pocket dancing from the fluorescent lighting.
“You’re so beautiful Jenny. I think I’ll bake you into a pie—tomorrow.”
He walks out the door.

norman

share my autumn feeds me this winter as i am my chestnuts berries furry as i am with creatures share these undressing trees as they for their limbs forgive us carry with me these burdens chopped for winter begs to feed the flame to recall the warmth heed hearth's heaving hold to heart sounding pulse between us i have the gift of hollies if you need hawthorn red removed as yes i have at my best left not a pilgrim

Aaron

“In here,” the teacher says, staring at his students with eyes as big, round, and dark as plates covered in the shit of life lived too long, “you are mine.”
A mousy student, at the back of the musty, basement room, raises her hand.
The teacher’s bushy right eyebrow shoots up. “What?” he asks, his voice masking his frustration with a veneer of curiosity.
“It’s the 21st century, sir,” she says. “You’re mine.”

Molly

You built a wall between yourself and the world, split up your heart & soul into pieces unrecognizable. You lost track of your invented tales; conflicting threads tugged all directions. How am I to forgive, forget or despise you? The very elements of your character are calculated! I’m eclipsed by the shadow of your façade. Tumbling through time, you’re crushing me— I’ve been extinguished by your fantasy of yourself.

Stephan

They tried to take the dearest thing to me. Twenty four hour searing lights, the humming of the forced air and windowless near total isolation were nothing compared to the fear of losing my life affirming sense of time. But their efforts failed. Cleverly, I convinced them to replace the offered thin gruel with a fistful of corn, and I let my body’s natural rhythm serve as my clock. The earth turns, the bowels move.

Victoria

It’s happening. My heart flutters. My palms sweat. Ever since my zit-faced, pubescent freshman year I’ve been waiting for the stars to align, for the impossible to become so, for the woman I love to notice me. The perfect woman, Vivian. Leggy, pouty-lipped, “You’re smart, let’s be partners,” Vivian. Vivian, whose mane swept over one seductive, hazel eye. This is it. My one and only chance to finally get the girl.

D.L.

Joe used to turn the bezel on my watch, and we’d pretend good fortune was winding up inside, dispensed when I reset the arrow to 12. The arrow was turned to 4 on the day of the accident. He was gone so fast there was no time to get the luck. Afterwards, I put the watch away and thought the luck would go to waste, but I put it on again today. And before I put the pistol in my mouth, I turn the dial to 12.