Natured 

by Jeeya Balwani

I could see her reflection in the rippling waves or were they just her tears?
The water gathered around her or was it the hurt drowning her?
I wiped her tears or was it the sand soaking it?
I hugged her tight wrapping us in a promise or did we just spot the water do the same to the sand?

Murder Gone Wrong 

by Onyinyechi Ndukaire

The cops are knocking and trying to break the door. I have to think. Odin’s body is at my feet and there’s a chandelier above, so I climb. My heart thumps as they brush in. Up above the chandelier, I watch as they examine the body. Then, the rope cuts and I fall on his body with the gun in my hand. The cops laugh. “Well, that wasn’t so hard.”

The Writer

by Ian Willey

“Before I send you back,” says the attendant, “please be aware that in your next life you’ll be a writer.”
“Wow,” says the soul. “Sounds great.”
“Not quite,” says the attendant. “Though it will consume most of your time and impinge upon your every relationship, your writing will remain unrecognized in your lifetime and all lifetimes to follow.”
“Oh,” says the soul. “So it won’t be any good.”
“No!” says the attendant. “It will be beautiful. It will scintillate like the stars.”
“I see,” says the soul. “Well, what choice do I have?”
“Exactly,” says the attendant, pressing the button.

The Lifecycle of a White Shirt

by Amber Weinar

Day one: I am born from my packaging. Looking at my mother’s face, she’s ecstatic, already dreaming of my future.
Day two: She takes me out to see the world, cautious not to let anything happen.
Day ten: We go out again, but there’s an accident. Coffee drips down her face, and onto me.
Day eleven: My first bath; I’m in critical condition as my mother looks up various treatment options.
Day twelve: My second bath; I’m on life support, but hopeful.
Day thirteen: I’m laid to rest, buried in the back of her closet, never to be worn again.