I see a homeless lady standing. Her sweater hangs loosely from her frame.
A man walks near her. He gives her a cigarette.
Her hair looks like dying grass.
I look at the leaves falling slowly, and I want to bury each one as if they were a loved one.
Jorge B. Valdes Jr., an SFA graduate student, lives in East Texas and contributes to movie, film, and book reviews for the Horrorzine, having contributed to their anthology, “Feast of Frights.” On his time off, he tries to ponder reality, and the reality of truly being and enjoying things. Valdes is happily married and has 2 wonderful dogs named Corben and Shadow.
Let us set the scene: The stubborn insomniac leans against my headboard, rubbing his sore neck, trying to keep himself awake. I lounge across the bed, vulpine, disobeying the rules, dying to paint his knuckles and his tired eyes.
“I am so tired,” he admits.
“I adore you,” I reply.
Corinne Engber currently resides in Ohio, where she writes lots of essays and likes someone she shouldn’t.
The butterfly hit the windscreen, but rather than splatter on the glass it seemed to filter through into the car in a burst of colour, then just vanished and everything for a second was still.
He looked across at her, took her hand and smiled.
They were no longer afraid.
N.F. Barlow is an English writer living in Friuli, Italy.
He stood amid chaos, tumult, and noise, hearing nothing.
A voice passed through his mind. “Speak your wish, and your hearing can be restored to you.”
He looked around him, at the lights, movement, and stone-eyed faces. “Do not restore my hearing,” he said. “Please take my sight, as well.”
This story is based on a title suggested by @PanzerVaughn.