Thomas

by David M Wallace

It was never about doubt. Not really. Died and resurrected? Well, that’s some trick. But, I suppose, it’s got to count for something.

We could quibble about those miracles. Or dismiss it all as nonsense. Healing the sick? Feeding the hungry? Slumming with outcasts? Who does that?

And walking on water? Wow. That sounds risky. No thanks.

But put your hand here, Thomas. Where the blood is oozing. And know it is not about being saved. Or about heaven. No. It’s about the wounded.

Now what are you going to do?

Running with Wolves

by Azure Arther

No crackle of bones or screaming, no slow-sprouting fur or growling. It happened instantaneously, a terrifying rip, like a bandage, quick, if bandage meant skin, muscle, bone. Agony was too small a description, excruciating too complex. His body seized, frozen in pain. This moment, why the change was private, vulnerable, concerning. Why they hid: in wildernesses, behind closed doors, cages, basements. Besides exhilaration and freedom, the full moon meant foreboding, an underlying sense of dread. One solitary second, where silver bullets could tear flesh, and other wolves could set in. But they didn’t. In the next moment, he was gone.

Late

by Renee S. Jolivette

It’s late. No sign of life on my newsfeed despite my latest prompt: One night stands vs. friends w/benefits. Opinions?

Nobody ever posts after ten p.m.

The nurse has gone home. I’m left with the remote, my tablet and the morphine drip.

Nothing on TV. I scroll through friends. Study the women. Some haven’t aged well. At least they’re aging.

Theresa looks great, walking the beach with her scrawny husband.

“You’re incapable of love,” she’d said.

I’ve never fallen out of love. Not with any of ‘em.

I want to tell them. But what kind of asshole would do that?

Coworkers

by Val Maloof

I’ve seen you puke at the Christmas party, we disagree about spreadsheets, I eat cake on your birthday, I forget where you’re from, we go on coffee walks, I gave you a low performance rating, you are the only person I talk on the phone to, I have told you I’m thinking about quitting, we both have so much dirt on each other, so much power and yet no power at all, we hate it here, I really like talking to you every day, I really like talking to anyone every day, you could leave at any time, at will.

Both Sides Now

by T.L. Tomljanovic

The long wall behind the breakfast table is a mirror. Mesmerized by this other me, Mom teases I’m as vain as she is. Each of us smoothing wisps and pinching cheeks until they hurt pink.

A window display of bikinis superimposes over my swollen belly and breasts in a circus side-show illusion of my pregnant body. I try to suck in, but the baby takes up too much space.

Black water kisses my toes dangling over the edge of the dock. Wrapping wrinkled hands around a steaming cup of chai, I stop looking at my reflection and close my eyes.