She stared, blank; he gazed lovingly back. Perhaps it was true her skin hung a little loosely upon her bones. Perhaps it was true her hair was just a little sparse.
Yet his mother’s disapproval meant little. He loved her just the same.
After all, aren’t zombies just people, too?
Jenora Vaswani holds an avid fascination for the undead, and avoids horror movies like the plague, a rather unfortunate combination, really. Considering the gradual shifts in perception regarding the LGBTQ+ community, she thought it might be interesting to ponder the extremes of finding acceptance… within zombie/human relationships. Read more of her work at openingdoorsofperception.com
“How are you?” it starts.
“I miss you,” he says.
“When are you coming over?” he asks.
I say I’m fine. I tell him I’m busy. I say I’m too tired to come over right now.
I waste platitudes on him when I should just say two words: “It’s over.”
Lucinda is a housewife, blogger, and aspiring writer. She is currently experimenting with different writing styles, hoping to enhance her somewhat rusty writing skills.
The house’s weathered “For Sale” sign sways over the brown remains of the lawn. A cold wind licks at my bare feet. The crying grows louder.
I enter the basement where the infant’s body lay for months, abandoned in death as in life. An icy breath suckles at my breast.
Jayne Martin’s work has appeared in Boston Literary Magazine, Midwestern Gothic, Blink Ink, Literary Orphans, Flash Frontier, F(r)iction, Sick Lit, and Hippocampus, among others. She is the author of “Suitable for Giving: A Collection of Wit with a Side of Wry.” Find her at injaynesworld.blogspot.com
and on Twitter
He’s four. Pasty-white, squishy chubby.
I’m his patient day camp counselor.
Currently, he’s screeching while incessantly racing around the perimeter of the shade house.
He stops suddenly, begins repeatedly smashing his tender forehead against a support column.
We know not to intervene. He’s unstoppable.
He’s the son of mother’s psychiatrist.
Sadly, this is a true story. Leslie doesn’t know what became of this child. Her mother, on the other hand, thrived, despite her shrink.
Holding the colorful bracelet, Ellie remembers: its green beads had matched his eyes.
In the car, they’d laughed, hearts beating for tomorrow. Her wrist wrapped in sky.
“The next jewelry’ll be for your finger.”
Now, scraping red—paint? blood?—from the bracelet, Ellie regrets ever wanting more than him, then.
Kerry Graham lives, teaches, writes, runs, and photographs in Baltimore, MD. Connect with her on Instagram
“What a horrible final,” Gretchen mumbled to herself as the crosswalk light turned green.
She took a step off the curb and saw the reflection of her face on the black paint of a hatchback as it passed six inches from her face. She fell back and noticed the sky.
Floridian, but not “Florida Man
“, Anna Steward writes short fiction and poetry, and is currently working on her first novel.
The other survivors kill the animals and cut down the mango trees to build fires to cook the carcasses. No longer starving, they laugh and spit gristle, their greasy chins shining in the firelight.
In the peacock cage, I pick up a feather and put it in my lover’s hair.
Scott Ragland has an MFA in Creative Writing (fiction) from UNC-Greensboro. Before taking a writing hiatus, he had several stories published, most notably in Writers’ Forum, Beloit Fiction Journal, and The Quarterly. More recently, his work has appeared in apt, The Conium Review, NANO Fiction and Newfound Journal, among others. He lives in Carrboro, N.C., with his wife and two dogs. His three kids have left the nest.
First she declared a bonus for landing on Free Parking, then accidentally-on-purpose collected twice for passing Go. But even when she raised the rent on me, I didn’t object: it’s comforting to know that even at her tender age, my daughter’s got what it takes to run the family business.
Ingrid Jendrzejewski grew up in Vincennes, Indiana and loves cryptic crosswords and the game of go. Recently, she won the Bath Flash Fiction Award. Links to Ingrid’s writing can be found at ingridj.com
and she occasionally tweets @LunchOnTuesday
“What are you playing?”
“A virtual reality game called earth.”
“What creature are you?”
“I chose a human. They are hilarious! They actually believe they are alive!
“When I get bored of my human I just terminate and reincarnate.”
“I heard the earth game was better with the dinosaurs.”
Andrew Kessler is 37 years old and currently residing on the outskirts of New York City. He loves to express himself through his writing.
Location: empowering laguna
Where you can see the world.
A beauty resembling
a beach of the past.
Powerful pops pulsate past the timberline.
Banjos sound on a stranger’s radio.
In their tent, light above shakes,
With the slowly
Stilling momentum borne from
Love, that vibrant lightness,
Those lavender fingers.
J. of Newark is a custodian at his local library and writes fiction for fun.