A Haunting Bolero – by Clark Zlotchew

Sometimes the mists of time seem to thin, and to part like the curtains of a play, affording an intriguing glimpse of the past.  Intriguing, yes, but disturbing as well. I had a very strange and personal encounter with the past in Cuba.  Not because they’re still driving cars produced in the Fifties. The experience…

The Day I Met Jesus and the Five Stages of Grief – by James Tucker

Jesus came into my lab (his nimbus was beautiful) announcing, “I have returned.” “Your father is dead. I’m sorry for your loss,” I tell him, honestly. “You’re lying,” Jesus accuses incredulously. “He died twice,” I inform him.  “It happened first on July 16, 1945 at Trinity Site.” “You know not what you speak of,” he…

Principal Reese Takes a Night Class – by Neil Floyd

Eugene Reese, Mist Valley High School’s principal, only wanted one thing: an explanation. What the hell happened to the school library? Rather, what the hell happened in the school library? Reese personally surveyed the damage and surmised it was less an act of vandalism and more a force of nature. Mist Valley’s local hoodlums couldn’t…

Darkness, My Old Friend – by Matthew Hoch

There are too many examples to choose from that illustrate how I became such close friends with sadness. I’ve been told, admonished even, to lighten up, find the good in this beautiful world. But, I’m too loyal a friend. The loudest voice protesting my somber ways was Terry Coalter, a friend since my elementary school…

Insanity – by Joyfrida Anindo

He is a little frail but he is okay most of the times. He finds it a bit difficult to sleep, He is burdened by our deeds. I always ask him to come and join me, to be free. He never answers, he just stares at the wall, but I know he considers it. People…

Reason Why – by Melissa Libbey

His hot breath on my neck sends chills down my spine. Quickly his hands are searching my body. Grasping for anything he can hold on to. He grabs my hips and looks in to my eyes. But instead of seeing in to his soul I see my reflection. My desire for him reflects back in…

Manicure – by Steve Campbell

I rub a blunt thumb over the tip of my finger to check for any unwanted nail growth and snag the faintest of threads. It stubbornly folds under the weight of every scrape so I move the finger to my mouth, where the familiar sound of gnawing echoes inside my head. Saliva begins to weaken…

Bump-and-Run – by Jack Somers

We both spotted it at the same time—a slate gray Acura rolling down Silsby Road, a thirty-something woman with black bangs and big sunglasses behind the wheel.  We let her go through the intersection at the bottom of the hill and then drove up behind her.  We knew this was it.  This had to be…

Poetry collection – by James Diaz

The Lost Poem I thought this doesn’t last long, learning curve, rock bottom, but it does. All my thoughts are shattered here and I can barely stand it breathing moving a cup off the edge of the table how slit body and winter under poorly nailed down floor boards comes rushing in, was I there with you?…

The Boy Behind the Wall – by Beth Kerring

Gabrielle splashed through the water’s surface and breathed new air into her lungs. As the waves around her settled, she sunk lower, the ripples lapping at her chin, her lips almost submerged. Her legs and arms treaded at her sides as the early summer sun beat down on her scalp. Something smooth and hard poked…

Poetry collection – by L.B. Sedlacek

Bruising History                                     Each window had a candle lit every day all day a burning bright white light the man living there said his wife liked the lights something to do with her history their neighbor across the street his house had no candles it was overgrown with vines he was a friendly man giving…