The land shook; mountains and rivers burst into life. Trapped in her sensory deprivation chamber, Jess began to reconstruct a better world.
Zach Lome (@kuraiou) makes volcanoes out of molehills in Chicago.
The next time it was a cracked rib. She told him the doctor had also found a suspicious lump. “So I did you a favor then,” was all he said.
Susan Howe is a purveyor of short and even shorter stories. She lives in England.
They were back. I hid once more in the attic. Throwing open every door they searched the house for a second child hidden in the shadows.
Kaitlyn Elizabeth is sometimes an upcoming writer-to-be and a student in a classroom.
With the slant of sun through the window they touched. Light fades. He leaves. It ends like this, always. The bedroom in dark.
Iain Maloney (@iainmaloney) drank way too much coffee today.
Her salacious smile replaced by a manic rictus, blood smeared across her soft lips instead of lipstick. God help me, I still loved her.
Michael Coorlim has lived all over the United States but for now has settled into the northern suburbs of Chicago.
The free-floating anxiety hovered around John’s head, nagging softly, between when his mother died and when he finally called an exorcist.
Steven Saus writes, learns, publishes, injects people with radioactive stuff, and more.
Wanting to destroy all the people he’d been, he hit Delete. Files splintered. He mashed Control, but already the blood was flowing freely.
Tim Terhaar has since leaned into the values of $60 candles and BC poetry.
Fear breathes in the light shining under the door, in the shadow that crosses it, in the sound of a doorknob turning.
Paul LaTour, a freelance writer in Chicago, would title this story “A Father’s Love,” but that would be cheating.
A balcony crowded by dead leaves. The young boy kisses his mum good bye. She smiles sarcastically, then leaps.
Jack Jones tells lies in England.
His GPS told him the town where his birth-parents lived was two hours away. It couldn’t be right. It had taken him fifteen years so far.
Simon Kewin employs an infinite number of monkeys to write stories for him. It’s easier that way.