“It’s them again,” Luna hissed, grabbing Reznor’s upper arm.
He glared at the grotesque-styled ring-handle.
She scowled into his right ear.
He noticed because his peripheral vision was exceptional; the Sentry’s had to be.
“They’ll never get out!”
“Being damned breeds desperation.”
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry under the brooding brows of Donegal hills which he occasionally hikes in search of druidic inspiration. He even finds it on occasion.
From his chair, he watches the cellar door. His hands folded patiently along his lap, each knuckle stiff and cold. Eyes glazed over, witless.
The door hasn’t opened for three days. Only the smell has made the ascent. Fetid bloat, sweet with decay. Ripening, ever since he died down there.
Kyle Cortright is from eastern Pennsylvania. He is a pretty rad dude.
A streetlight, an escaping soul fuzzed the world behind the dizzying waltz of flakes, but even the gloomy yellow halo and lonely ghost of a breath were not as hazy as my head, as hard as my heart.
I had watched her leave her office for weeks now, alone now.
Colin Rinne is currently enrolled in Wabash College and is an intended English/Spanish Double Major with a minor in fanciful adventures and interesting conversations.
His breathing sounded like stones rumbling in a blender.
Twice, a nurse came in to take his pulse and make adjustments to the morphine drip.
Though his hair had turned stark white, his whiskers still grew in grey. I counted the wrinkles in his face, simply to pass the time.
Over the years Bob Thurber’s work has received a long list of awards and prizes. His most recent book is a collection of brief stories titled “Nothing But Trouble”. Visit BobThurber.net.
That night, I decided to walk down your street.
You were standing by your doorstep, deciding whether or not you should go inside. I thought of conversing with you, but I couldn’t. I stepped aside and blended in with the bushes. Careful now… You might hear me, might see me.
Emelyn Flores is a Filipina university instructor who is a sucker for coffee.
I watched her from across the street.
Dorothy, predictable, walking her dog, jogging, gardening.
I don’t know what it was about Dorothy. The first time I saw her, she strolled casually up the driveway; that was it.
She was mine, she did not know; my lovely Dorothy across the street.
Bill Drummond is a scuba diver with a writing problem.