cp wren

The Best Broad gripped the balcony and loudly diagnosed, “It’s binna perfectly hideous party! Everyone! Get the fuck out!” You escaped boredom, “Excuse me,” your black-laced Spanish wedding fan snapped shut, “there seems to be a problem with one of the guests.” I ran with the speedy grace of a drunk on an ice rink. Your groom tackled me standing. He rocked me, held me tight. He murmured, “You’ll never ever lose her.”

George

Drizzle and my wide right turn caused it. She drove in the opposite direction and there was no space to pass. We stopped. She backed but not enough. Traffic backed up, cars honked and tensions rose. I asked if she could back up more. "No!" I walked back to my car:locked and engine on; drizzle now a torrent. As I walked back to the library I remembered my wallet spare key and smiled: a devilish grin.

Robert

To the twanging rhythm of rubber bands snapping and staccato footfalls, a family atmosphere is lost. Fingers that once pointed through glass have been severed by gnarled claws. Fallen brothers are gathered from platters; dragged between Coca-Colas and Arnold Palmers, over “customers” slumped in their booths. Tomorrow’s headline will read, “Revolution at Red Lobster”, while the quickest route to the sea is found.

norman

brush foam from my legs i would have dripped any i didn't share yet its you who must in danger drain your passion from your disdain taste me where i've been cleansed for your gleaming beaming dare unfold between my shins rapture sings down under skin my finger at your tilted chin do i lift you up or come down there for this is where we care past friends lick again and again

Ryan

We came through pink-grey neons, and got a Bombay tonic at the water-damaged block-brick bar, tasting like oil and dust and skin and hair. He pulled back slick dark tar, laughed like an engine mount ruptures. “Chill out, they enjoy it” and “It’s totally cool because she makes eighty an hour”. She smiles the whole time.

Amy

Before I could wrap my head around it, another shot fired. We dropped to the ground. Then a familiar voice,The Farmer!“Wolf, Wolf,” he cried. No one came. I ran to attack. “I shouldn’t have tricked them” he sobbed. Not the mission I thought. Found the closest sheep and bit in. “We got what we came for, let’s go.” I ordered. I think back to the boy who cried wolf, and wonder if anyone ever came.

Ruth

Amada saw her son on TV, blindfolded, kneeling. Seventy-two dead, the reporter said, a massacre. She let the TV blast on a few more hours, days. Why had his picture been posted there? If it hadn’t, she might still retain the hope he was alive, somewhere, lost in the desert. Finally, one of her friends turned off the TV. By this time, Amada was packed and ready to return to her country.

josh

Twisted, like sheets around a hens legs. Above me smoking; always smoking, always judging. "Length is not an issue"; 420.

Elise

A PRAYER
Darkness comes and the woman leaves the hospital. Her step is slow as she descends the subway stairs. A bundle of rags crouches against the platform wall and holds out her hand. The woman sees dirt, broken nails, arthritic fingers—she exchanges a dollar bill for a blessing and wonders if she’s made a bargain with God.

Danielle

And so she set out to find peace, as oil wells now sheeted across the ocean of her inner life. But then we all have missing parts, things we want to fill up with clean pure water. She looked at her daughter, a little jewel putting blocks in boxes, her legs spread out in the crystalline sunlight. Nothing could have brought her farther from her original plan. He wasn’t supposed to do what he had done to them.

norman

croaking stop calling yourself war lord it doesn't make you great anymore than confused about missionary joke all these hang-ups skulls crossed bones dress up party for luminary lunatics okay if i wash my face in salt water as long as i too can stain glass with my images gaiety without haunting stare stop calling down swords to rise up libido from obscure carnage fairylands for frogs ah go save yourself a soul

norman

you aren't suppose to finish this way even if this isn't a massage parlor you aren't suppose to just let go to release without anything complete not a generation to come not even an inkling a trickling a deposit or forbidden smile you've paid to come here with your full account supposedly yourself and yet you leave with nothing to gain and nothing for services rendered i am mad from dusk to dust

norman

coughing up crimson phylum one's heart has relinquished its circulating germs through breathing tubes tunnels for refugees byways to escape find nettle hair food clothing too to rest perchance to breed among natives though nomads in their sub-machines or body weeds eons amidst some billion stars brewing in light disease

George

A dreary Tuesday with intermittent drizzle. I argued about space. I had made a wide right turn to clear the library exit curb and saw the car coming from the opposite direction. I pulled over but ran out of space. I stopped and waited, then honked. She backed a little. Still, not enough. Traffic was building. More honking. This misunderstanding was launching. I walked to her car. "Can you back a little more?" She said, "No!" Launch! I walked back to my car. All doors locked, engine running and the drizzle was now a downpour. I hollered at the rain, threw my hands up, then walked back to the library. Halfway I remembered the spare key in my wallet but continued on. When I got under the library awning I counted to thirty(pretending to call AAA). When I got back to my car she'd left. All traffic too, except for a car behind me. The driver said,"I can't believe you parked in the middle of the street. I said,"Sorry, no; but it's a long story."

Tucker (My Story is Called 'First, Do No Harm')

Now, Jose thought, I’m a killer.
 
He expected the blood, the thick press of adrenaline, but never remorse.
 
Cold and calculating by nature, Jose thought this job was a perfect fit. They told him who to cut, and when. Jose pushed his knives in deep. Simple. Now an innocent man was dead.
 
“Doctor?” whispered his assistant, snapping him back to the moment, “The deceased’s family is ready to see you now.”

norman

they could never destroy enough evil to become themselves she turned the page kissing him she continued he awoke with ax in hand this time to cut down crops before the moon could cultivate the weevils into the night she read from her grandfather's leather bindings cotton south bourbon stained was ink legend hand ingrained he'd fallen asleep a retired vet a well cut man

norman

socrates died from knowing the truth had questions the story ended not yet with a comment from aristotle to descartes how hume would hew forested certainty bring a cart for newton's groove to fall in einstein's garden crush meshed light to its limits not even hitler could exceed by burning will conceive humanity from ash the story again begins with duality a friend an irony in theories m one is born in questioning

Stephen

Morning arrived innocently enough. We had no idea what was coming. It started with a perfunctory gathering. A few feeble words, feigning a subordinate clause, that swiftly turned into a sentence as long as a sweltering Andalusian midsummer’s eve where the sun, stubborn as a wounded bull staring down a proud matador, hung wearily above the horizon, not able to die, yet unready to stumble through another cursed day.

Ozan

The morning sun shines through the window. I wake to see a city completely void of humanity or sound of life. I am the only one left alive. This must be hell. Knocking on the door. It's my mother in law.. This IS Hell.

norman

next time come with prisoner parts i can eat from their preserved goods their thumbs perhaps their tips ear to ear i will hear their prophecy to me swallowed by my conquering fear go march saints' pious grin i will have their teeth smile through lanterns' each nautical mile next time bring their sea from greece flesh waived flags their eyes my beads none forget my gengish feat stomped their groins peed their tea