The Cedar Chest

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Do inanimate objects pick up the energy around them? Do they absorb our emotions?

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…am a unique, cedar chest.  My purpose is to keep priceless treasures safe and secure. Although other woods may grace my outside, inside, cedarwood lines my inner walls, bottom, and lid.  Cedarwood is a natural preservative which protects by deterring moths and other insects.

In 1964, a young woman became my new owner. She refinished my exterior, changing the color to an antique blue, and I became her hope chest. The young woman would always keep me against the footboard of her bed.  Periodically, my lid…


By Nancy Lou Henderson

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Regrets? Not I

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…you had it to do again, would you?” The expression on her face, tubing in her arms, the beep of the machine and her head resting on a pillow warned me to craft my response carefully. Would I? the thought echoed. There are things I would do differently; study harder, be more resolute about my future and career. Overall, however, I have no regrets regarding choices I made or their consequences.

In that moment of thinking I realized how much she had sacrificed, and how selfish I was. She raised four children while I chased an education. She stayed at…

By Robert L. Scarry

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Mr. Sunshine

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…Sunshine has struck again,” the news reporter said from Bree’s TV. “Another woman—his tenth victim—has been found. Like the others, she was bound, strangled, facing east, and her eyes…” the reporter blinked, shaking her head.

“She shows signs of the same torture as his previous victims,” the co-reporter said. “Time of death, again, correlates to early morning hours.”

Bree shut off the television. “What kind of crazy fu—”

Hinges squeaked and she spun around. Her breath caught as she watched her closet door swing open. A man rushed from behind it and tackled her, shoving a wet cloth over her…


By L.L. Asher

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Rain Song

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Dreams and ghosts. Memories and midnight. Was I lonely or alone?

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…cheap night.

It was always the same thing. A dirty street, across from a muddy park, down from a polluted river.

She would sit on the bench at the transit stop with her brown bag poison. Sometimes she would hold it up to the sky, as an offering; sometimes she would just drink it.

After a few choked back slugs she would begin to sing. A throat warble, really, but she tried.

Songs about heaven and songs about horses.

One night as I was watching her party for one…


By Shauna Woodbury

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Inka’s Curse Part 23: A Prayer

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…tries a bunch but they all fail. He can barely complete a sentence.

“Alright then I need you two to be as quiet and as still as possible.” At that point, she knelt down and closed her eyes.

“Listen to me,” Rachel said out loud, “Listen to my prayer and enter Mother Nature’s arms. Find safety and peace within her.” She recited her short prayer. The ship shook minutely as Rachel chant some words she probably thought she lost with the rest of her memories. They rolled off her tongue, and she prayed that Mother Nature would manage to hear…


By Cristina Collazo

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Inka’s Curse Part 22: Found

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…what I can tell, those are not the same spirits assailing us. They seem like just a memory on repeat. Still, I wouldn't want to run into them. They sound physical. They sound real. I take one step at a time hoping to at least make the least amount of noise as possible. 

As I reach down the staircase, all I hear is the sea. Then as I continue to walk, I hear voices. The leader's voice and a considerably more youthful voice who sounds concerned. I hear them get closer, and I run back up the…


By Cristina Collazo

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Looking Ahead: A Worthless Gesture

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Planning ahead only works if you control the outcome.

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…unusually quiet bird watched the squirrel repeatedly half hop, half run from the oak tree to the flower garden near the house. After seeing the bushy-tailed rodent make several round trips the crow’s curiosity surfaced. “What are you doing,” he asked with his raspy voice.

“I’m burying acorns for the future,” the squirrel proudly responded.

“That does not sound like a pleasant use of your time on such a beautiful weekend day.”

“Well, this way I’ll have them when supplies are limited and I need them,” he explained to the crow…


By Robert L. Scarry

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Sweat

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This is a short crime piece I wrote, which is a departure from my usual suspense!

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…steam was especially thick. It was the kind of steam that made you wish that you had gills instead of lungs. It was the perfect steam to melt the toxins out of large, subcutaneous bodies. One such beluga sat, piled on the tile bench leaning his Grecian mane against the dripping wet wall behind him, a thick gold chain draped across his chest, a white towel loosely covering his less-than-impressive unmentionables that were pasted by sweat onto the cool tiles of the…

By a stump

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Inka’s Curse Part 21: Alone In The Dark

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…fear is the parts of the armor are missing. They help me look there the boxes. “Here,” Rachel said. 

Something was wrong. It sounded like Titan was trying to mutter something. I turned to him. I couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Something was assaulting him. But I couldn’t observe it. My whole body tingled. 

“I don’t get this. I don’t sense anything,” Rachel said.

What can we do? How can we defend ourselves against something that we can’t see? Time to think outside the box. Something strikes me from behind. Maybe I can seize the box and run for…


By Cristina Collazo

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Better Pikin

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…first time papa said:

"Son, we’ve a serious talk,"

'Serious talk with papa' an afterthought came as I out-walk from the inner room to the sitting room, from there to the veranda.

I was in the mood of music with the piece in my ears making me go gaga like lady gaga. Papa was actually outside waiting for me as he glanced through The Punch Newspaper, he sat on a chair with his leg crossed viewing a vivid picture of some gang rapist.

"I’m here father."

I shouted as though I whispered due to the earpiece in my ears while…

By Williams A.Beloved

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