We talked philosophy all through the night, until the sun didn’t come up. When she finally left, I was no longer sure who or if we were.

Daniel Galef writes things sometimes.

As she plodded back towards her mama’s trailer after three long years, she wondered if that was a mirror waiting in the doorway.

Karl Lykken hails from Texas.

You walk until you can walk no further, then look up at the stars. Have they changed? Have you? It doesn’t matter. You are never going back.

Evelyn Benvie writes for fun and the distant hope of someday getting paid for it.

In the zombie version of Hamlet there’s this awkward moment when everyone gets back up and they have to decide what to do next.

Matthew Wester is amused by that moment he shares he’s a pastor and people start to worry about how many times they just cursed.

The Higgs field collapsed. Matter dematerialized at the speed of light. Neil confronted Herb and neither knew it when nothing hit them.

Frank Hubeny is enjoying materialization while he has the chance.

I have a wife and a mistress. Providing both believe me in the company of the other, they don’t look for me—freeing me to pray full time.

Soren James arrived on this planet incarcerated in language—later seeking to invert this prison to a temple of contemplation.

He filled the void in his heart with so many lookalikes that when he finally saw her again, briefly, he assumed she was just another one.

Davian Aw’s favourite vegetables include spinach, broccoli and asparagus.

“You won’t become like God. You’ll become more human,” said the honest serpent.

“That sounds alright, doesn’t it?” said Eve.

Justin Lau (@jusco15) is a vagabond at peace. He blogs at justinlau15.wordpress.com and runs Transect Magazine (@TransectMag).


She says the same thing about men and cigs: Everything that looks cool will kill you later. Same goes for shoes, cars, and stonewalling Mom.

@a_a_hutson likes to sing. Likes to dance. Owns a pair of shiny pants. Find her on the Web at www.aahutson.com.

Things looked different in his old town—the buildings smaller, the trees taller, the thistles flowering in the ravine they buried Father.

Monica Wang grew up in both Burnaby, Canada, and Taichung, Taiwan, so don’t bother looking for the body.