Table of Contents
* Untitled by LE Jamez
Untitled by Charles W Jones
*Untitled by H. L. Pauff
Bridges by Jeffrey Hollar
Untitled by Mark Etheridge
Untitled by Lisa McCourt Hollar
Untitled by Rebekah Postupak
Ghosts of the Past by Chessny Silth
The Meeting by Robin Abess
Untitled by Nellie
* Debut entry
always so amazed by how clever everyone is. Great job!
Some of the more memorable stories include:
H. L. Pauff, who had me laughing at the depiction of a janitor
thinking he’s opening a door labeled Muffin Lab. Muffin Lab?!? Great
Jeffrey Hollar’s tale of a man asking for forgiveness at the end of
his life. Very touching and, once again, supremely eloquent.
Mark Ethridge’s action-packed tale of trans-universal baddies coming
through a mistakenly opened door. I love a good sci-fi action romp.
jerk of a boss, but then things get a whole lot worse for poor Joanne.
Ghosts of the Past
by Chessny Silth
“If I hadn’t opened that door, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” I said, and ran a hand through my hair.
After twelve months I still felt uncomfortable talking about it, even though Steven; my therapist, insisted it was good for me. My nails were barely existent, and the circles under my eyes were now a dominant feature on my face.
“You saved countless lives, and they will be forever grateful,” Steven argued, his tone a mild rebuke.
I shook my head. “What about those who didn’t make it? The ones who were shot?” I countered, and that was the core of the matter; the ones who died.
“They would have died regardless, because of the bomb; I’m positive they would understand – if they could speak to you,” he replied, and we approached my ‘illness’.
“I don’t care what you say, they still blame me – regardless if you see them or not; I do,” I said, and narrowed my eyebrows.
I glanced over my shoulder and looked in her eyes: the eight year old girl who’d been shot in the chest. She was still crying, always those silent tears that judged me and my decision.
Her brother, who was older, kept throwing rocks at me; though they never actually hit it still felt horrible.
I shook my head and bit off a piece of my nail, it started bleeding.
“Rebecca, they’re not there. It’s all in your head,” he said, and then he closed his notebook. “Perhaps it’s time we talked about different kinds of treatment.”
“You mean an institution,” I edited, my voice sour. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than sitting in a white room surrounded by eleven angry ghosts.
“We’re not getting anywhere, and you cannot continue like this. I think we’ve reached the end of our road.”
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Twelve months ago, we’d all been taken hostage at the bank. Twelve months ago, I’d managed opening the back-door and get most people out. They had a bomb attached to one of the hostages, and they had guns. Eleven people were shot to death once they realized what I’d done; and then the bomb went off.
“I’ll find a way to make it right,” I said as the egg-timer went off – announcing our time together was over.
I unfastened the breaks on my wheelchair and started towards the door. “Don’t do anything stupid, Becca,” Steven said.
“I won’t,” I replied, and gave him a lopsided smile.
As I waited for the elevator I looked in the mirror. Two missing legs, three missing fingers, and that’s only what was visible. My whole body was covered in burns; I had no life – not anymore.
The young girl who always cried put her hand on my shoulder. Join us, her lips read, and it wasn’t the first time.
Perhaps it is time, I thought, as this life holds nothing for me anymore. I made my decision, and now all I needed was a plan.