by Stephen Monaco “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it,” Ethan said. His sister, Alyssa sat at the kitchen table and ignored him; the hard-boiled eggs cooling on a ragged towel had her attention. Rachel looked at her daughter and marveled at how…
by Rachel Fikes Prologue-August 2011 The acerbic stench of ammonia smacked her in the nose. She slowly opened her eyes to find that she was in a dimly lit room that resembled a small prison cell. As she lifted her head off the dirt, she moaned. She felt like she…
by Christy Bailes My drywall ears shook from French mumblings, like a Mass without God, continuing until her lips tasted coffee with hidden crumblings that replaced church talk with asylum laughter, so long, I bore a cross in my texture, waiting for God to shake religion on her head, but…
By Diane Walters Those younger years filled with teenaged days, borne of bittersweet emotions . . . everything is brighter, life wrapped in energy that bounces and zings with boundless possibilities. Until something happens to bring it crashing down, down, down. Those lows can reach as far down as those…
By Cynthia Roby When your lust is done with me I’m gonna need a hearse. I’m tired, dry. You have twisted and turned my hips pushed and pulled and stretched my thighs planted snatches of hair in my pillow loved me in every which way a woman can be put…
By Dawn Goodwin I hate it when people owe me money and act like they don’t know it. This kind of thing makes it easy for me to hold a grudge against them. I bet the first grudge ever held by mankind was between Adam and Eve. I’m sure Adam…
By Cameron Burry “How to Pick Your Dream Profession” By Julian Flowers To find your dream profession, you need to find your passion. What is it that you want to do with your life? Why is that what you want to do? Do you only want a paycheck or is…
By Jennifer Kopec Turn my back Just to please you Whap! I scream Whap! A sound I’ve grown to love Stockholm syndrome at its finest The love for the whip The love I live for The time passes by The clock ticks on Tick Tock Tick Tock The sound grows…
By Meryl Healy My wavy red curls lie in a pile on the floor; my bloody gold crown lies in a small wooden bowl, and my new brown loafers were ripped from me—in the same way that the bastard Nazis took Mama and Papa. My forearm is crimson and throbbing…
By Daisy Paltrow I sit on the oversized chair of execution that I’ve become accustomed to. Each day I wait in wonder for the moment it will all be over. My hands clasp the edge of the arms that hold the imprint of my shape; At once, the iron rings…