Shapeless

by David Henson

My edges are blurring. People pretend not to notice, but I catch their sidelongs. The cashier’s hand stutters when he gives me a receipt, as if fearing the slip will pass through my fingers. I have to concentrate so it doesn’t. Some days my every step sinks to my ankles. In a recurring dream I fall through mattress, floor, planet — emerge in a lumiscape of shapeless words. Is it a dream within another? Occam’s Razor says no. I’ve started seeing the haze of others. We gather in the park, when not too windy, and seek ourselves in the clouds.

You Think That’s Scary

by Bill Diamond

Racing home in the dark woods, Daniel was frightened. He checked his watch. “Damnation!”

Mom had lots of rules: ‘No shortcuts.’ ‘Don’t go in the cemetery at night.’ Her most important was ‘Don’t be late.’ Every minute made it worse.

He snatched up a heavy stick.

Without hesitation, he jumped the cemetery fence and angled through the tombstones.

The shambling corpses were right in his path. He gasped, ducked and dodged, but didn’t slow.

A monster reached for him. Daniel swung the truncheon and knocked the skull from the rotted body.

It was scary, but Mom was scarier.

Of Sleepless Nights and Sunrises

by Lisa Briley

The hours that precede the dawn are the longest. Waiting for the sun to rise and bring back the light of the day. Kira finds them overwhelming in the worst of ways. Those hours where no one else is awake and there’s nothing to do except lose herself to her thoughts. And what thoughts they were. A haunting melody of thoughts that overran common sense. Telling her to run, jump, skip, and dance. To write until her fingers bleed. To do more, more, more. Everything piles on top and there’s nothing she can do but wait out the night.

And They Lived

by Beth Mead

You asked like kind men do, down on one knee, ring and eyes uplifted, hopeful. You weren’t the one I loved, but you were the one who asked, who saw me as something colorful and true, more real than I could ever be. You said we’ll be happy, so happy, so I said yes yes yes and I know and I didn’t say move away from me before I am scattered like glass on this dust-covered floor, like stones you throw by the handful across water. I almost said wait, listen, but I knew you would not.

The End of the War

by Diane Callahan

Scattered pennies cover her husband’s grave like confetti, and she plucks them up one by one. People honor the dead, even when the dead made you want to die.

Her yellow and purple battle wounds are still fading. There is still vodka in the pantry. She remembers being drunk with him, trying on his uniform. Part of her loves the echo of his belly laugh.

Her stomach flutters at the sight of a miniature Old Glory next to his headstone. This is the end. Freedom rings through her, a knell loud enough to be heard on the other side.