by Emry Dinman
This is the first thing you think as you crawl out of bed, the noonday sun beginning to warm the room. A breeze pulls little eddies of air into circulation, stirred by all the vague pressures like heat and the density of pollution. The smell of depression-sweat and rotten fruit floats around, but you don’t gag like you used to.
by Tim J. Myers
It’d been a rough weekend. The kids were antsy from too much time in the house, and the weight of the low gray sky was working silently in her, firing an almost maniacal longing for sunlight.
by Christopher Ayala
He put on his socks. They were white, bleached, and clean. Socks without smells. Not even a scent from the dryer. Blank cleanliness. That was the kind that would do. Anything else reminded him of germs. Of disease. Of infection. Of himself.
by Paul Negri
As the months passed Tom became more methodical in his work. He found a number of websites that listed accidents on New Jersey highways and roads, including those with fatalities. He put the locations and dates of the fatal accidents on his list and waited a week or two before going to the site. Not always, but frequently, a memorial would sprout up on the spot and he would find it and root it out.
by Lori Carriere
She comes in through the faucet. I’m pretty sure. Colin’s former lover. You’d think I’d know, that I’d notice something like that.
by JP Miller
Waking up was not an easy thing to do. There are stages to waking from a drug-induced sleep. First, I could hear. Then, I could feel. Then, I could see. And, then I could think. I remembered the dream and cried a little, just a whimper that turned into the moaning sound.
by Frank Scozzari
In the minutes before reaching the summit hut, the snow had been coming at them sideways. Still now they could hear it piling on outside.
by Charles Harper
Aton’s head began to thrash. His mouth burned fiercely and he needed a drink of water. He gulped his drink. He left an ice cube in his mouth which began to melt instantly. Aton saw a singular pale light atop a cave in a dark desert.
by John William Dye
The father's hair thinned out, pulling away from his forehead. The children stretched and hardened. Then, suddenly, the mother vanished.
by Elena Moretti
The older man shook his fingers toward the terrace, like he was ridding them of excess whiskey.