The world ends soundlessly and mid-confession.
First, there is only darkness. Because sight fails, scents strip my room into view. Charred electricity and ingrained grease. Then melting plastic and flammable plaster. Then Victoria’s Secret body mist and snot-kissed posters.
Continue reading “Solar Storm by Veera Laitinen”
Hell is a frozen lake.
Crashing from the far end of the house. It’s my wife, Anna, dragging the boy inside from the garage. She’s plucked him up from school on her rush home from work. They’re shouting at each other, arguing, both near tears it sounds like. I reach over and slap the bedroom door shut. On the bedside table, my phone screeches the alert siren again. Any minute now, my wife will appear at the door and tell me to get up. The siren alert wouldn’t let me sleep, so while she was gone, I hopped up and packed–or, hit, that is, the things I need to keep here, be sure she doesn’t take: a kitchen knife and an extension cord. Anna flings open the bedroom door; the knob spikes sharply against the wall. “Lee, get up. We have to get ready.”
Continue reading “To Martin’s Farm by Travis Flatt”
The Good was the worst. The Bad was worthless. The Zombie, at least, was willing.
Life is so energy intensive. Though the Zombie held few thoughts in its putrefying head, this one stuck as flies buzzed feverishly around, attracted by the kill on the street. The Good had done it. Savagely struck down the child and then walked on fingering his rosary beads as if he’d just blessed the poor little soul.
Continue reading “The Good, the Bad, and the Zombie by Matt King”
The Rapture came to pass on an Easter Sunday and the irony was lost on no one, except perhaps the two and a half billion people who were vacuumed off the face of the earth. What exactly the departed experienced, ironical or literal, remained a mystery. None of them ever returned.
Continue reading “Rapturous by Marco Etheridge”
I always thought that when it rains that means someone died. Funerals need rain like they need flowers or a priest or a rabbi or an imam.
It rained a lot that summer.
Continue reading “The Dying Disease by Elad Haber”
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