Author: fictionphrog

 

As it goes I seek revenge, not of the lightest kind, where as one has had a jest played upon him, but in the sense of avenging what has been stolen from thyself. I have been robbed!

Where be the armed guards with shackles as to chain this thief and remove him, so that he not rob others as he has robbed me. Is there no justice?

Oh, Ruby lips that look to be as soft as rose petals, hair as brown as autumn leaves, cascading down her back, skin like that of a porcelain doll, and a bodice so slender with curves of a well developed maiden. Thus, behold an angel that had fallen out of the skies, right into thy arms.

Yes, as soon as I laid my eyes upon her, I claimed her to be mine, having her devote her love to me.

Loyal, complimenting her uniqueness, pronounced loi-ale, had promised her love to me and only me. We were inseparable, and we had an indescribable love. Then he thrust himself into our lives, so unexpectedly, but as always the ways of a thief; coming and chilling you with the swiftness of the wind. A poor beggar boy, whose visage of youthful looks was to be admired, something of him she of course enjoyed; thus stolen glances would imply.

I could only find one way to repay him, to repay them both, for I had come to realize their love so great, that nothing simple could destroy it. It was all to come about perfectly on the warm afternoon day, in a far away meadow, where lovers could live and rest in peace.

“Dermutio and my dear Loyal,” I greeted the two, with the utmost glee. If only to hide the need to spit.

“Ah Sir Vintner, you have requested that I and my lady join you on this beautiful afternoon in this lovely meadow, might I add,” he replied as his eyes lustfully glided over the meadow, with a grin only thieves and beggars wore. As for thy lady, she were as beautiful as I remembered her. Though did not, I recall the look of content as she glanced at her husband.

“Yes, you and your lady. I have come to admire your love and passion for one another, and bare a gift.”

I watched as the two lovers looked to one another, an unsure look passing over their faces.

“Do not take my words as an insult to you good sir, but as you are a man of little means, I dote on the opportunity to aid you in seeing to the well-being of thy fare maiden.”

As he stared into my eyes, I could see he wanted nothing more than to achieve this, nothing more than to keep his sweet Loyal from departing from his side.

“We gratefully accept Sir Vintner,” he agreed, as I moved forward to their long lasting gift of happiness. “Only a lowly man would settle for vengeful deeds, but you reciprocate with kindness.”

“Oh my dear friend, I would do nothing of the sort, revenge, what a wasteful deed, indeed. I seek only to aid your love in blossoming, to something more beautiful than what is.”

“Indeed Vintner.” I leered at him, as he informally addressed me. Then fought against my discomfort when Loyal leeched onto him with such love and compassion.

“I care dearly for my Loyal,” Dermutio doted. “She is my light and my peace, she is my happiness. A wonderful life can only come to me with her presence.”

“Oh how you drown her in compassion, oh what dying love. I only ask that you let me do the same onto you both.” I interjected, as I heard the stream that signaled our nearing to the lovers hut.

As we approached the hut, Loyal gasped her excitement, I could not help but notice as her supple breast moved with the gesture.

“It is to your liking Loyal?” I asked her, as I assumed she would. Woman always pursue treasure, but not all treasure is silver and gold.

“Yes, oh yes,” she replied.

Her eyes traveled over the stream that flowed beside the hut, and smiled brilliantly when a fish would fly up from the stream to greet us.

“Dermutio, if you’d please indulge me with your perception of revenge.” I welcomed him,  opening the door to the hut allowing them to view it with looks of pure pleasure.

“Oh Vintner you have out done yourself, as for revenge, it is disgraceful. How one can stoop so low, hmph, I will never know. A man of poor status indeed.”

“Poor status?”

“Poor status,” he confirmed, as we moved to a far back door. Which held their true gift.

“Oh but my friend, even the wealthiest of men could resort to such an act.”

“Rich in earnings and belongings, but broken and poor at heart.” In hearing this I caught his eyes and there I gave him a luring look of understanding. I could not deny him of how true his words were.

“In that my good and wise friend I must say I agree. Now, let us all continue this way then. I have built a cellar for you.”

“A cellar?” Loyal questioned.

“A cellar,” I confirmed, “You both know well that I birth the best wine there is to be created. So I gift you with plenty. Unless you are those who do not welcome the act of drinking.”

“I apologize in saying I do-”

“Oh no we’d love to gaze upon your kind givings,” Loyal interjected with greed, and hesitantly her dear Dermutio agreed.

We moved forward into the dark dank cellar, and my pulse quickened at the sound of water droplets dripping crashing to the ground like 2 ton boulder. The periodical drops making a sound as if to say time was running out, and that the moment was coming. I quickly grabbed a flambeaux, and continued forward. As we passed many bottles of wines, the sound of droplets rung in my ears.

“Vintner, how on Earth do you keep thieves from getting a hold of these bottles?” Dermutio questioned curiously. I reached into my cloak and pulled out a sturdy lock.

“With this my dear Dermutio,” I answered positioning the lock in the glow of the flames, he nodded with his mouth taking form of an “O”.

“Lock the doors with this sturdy lock and nothing enters,” he replied.

“Do not forget my friend that nothing can exit as well. I should indeed thank the smith for aiding me this very day.”

I waved them forward, toward the end of the cellar where there was a small opening embedded in the ground, the gate-like opening purposely left open.

“Take this flambeaux and descend, indeed what you see will be to your liking,” I beckoned Loyal. She of course quickly grabbed onto the the flambeaux and entered the small room below, her trust encouraging me to move forward with this. As for Dermutio who lingered like the cunning fool he was  at the top, I gripped tightly onto the lock in my hand and quickly struck him on his temple, causing him to tumble into the opening, and hitting the ground with an animal-like groan. Loyal was horrified and released and awful fear stricken screech, realizing too late that there were no such bottles of wine in that room below.

I shut the gate and clamped it shut with the lock. There were two clicks, and I watched as with perfect timing the water from the stream began to pour in from a well carved whole in the wall, with pressure from the fast flowing stream above. Loyal ran past her unconscious love, and moved toward the opening of the small room.

“Vintner what is the meaning of this?” she questioned me with a satisfying look of terror.

“Why it is your gift dear Loyal,” I answered her with a smile, as the water now reached her well above her knees, and I noticed yet again that she did not tend to her dear beloved, who was now drowning in the deep depths of the murky water below.

“Gift?” she asked grasping the bars.

“Gift,” I confirmed. “This is my gift to you in honor of your love for this man,”

She shook her head, “I will be with you, I would very much like to be with you. I feel nothing of the sort for him,” she replied. This aroused something dark and horrible inside of me. How dare she play me for a fool? How dare she not accept this glorious gift I am presenting to her?

As now the water reached her bosoms, at last I answered, “Enough!” I reached in toward her, but she recoiled. “Oh my dear Loyal, if only you had been to me what thy name suggest,” it flowed now at her beautiful neck, “then and only then would we be happy…”

“Please!” She stared at me terrified, thrashing and wildly shaking the bars that would not loosen, as now the water began to engulf her face, and I stood quickly making my way to leave this cellar, as I could hear the water flowing behind me.

“But now, dear Loyal, may you both drown in each others eternal love.”

Bio: I got my inspiration to write this from the short story by Edgar Allan Poe called “The Cask of Amontillado” that I read in my ENC 1102 class this year. I feel like this was written to the best of my efforts, and I hope that I not only get this published in the magazine, but also that whoever reads this enjoys it. Also the format or the story should be kept the way it is, because some words italicized in the story has meaning.

 

 

This black labyrinth reaches into the endless chasms of the Earth to a destination known only by fate for each who pass through it. These walls have never seen stars nor felt the warmth of sunlight. They reach deeper and deeper into the darkness, housing a fate that each of its travelers seeks.

Alan had been seeking out his fate for over a 163,752 steps. Exactly how many more steps he had taken he couldn’t tell. Alan had lost all sense of time thousands of steps ago and only had the echoes of his footsteps to tell him how long he had been in the darkness.

The darkness was a black fog that reached deep into the bowels of the earth holding secrets that Alan forcibly tried not to think about. As he journeyed deeper into the labyrinth, the flames of his torch fought back the black for a few meters, though Alan knew it barely singed the darkness.

Alan stopped his march through the labyrinth for a moment, and held his torch up to the walls. He placed the edge of a long knife on the stone walls, sliding the blade down and across until he carved a thin star into the labyrinth wall. When he finished his mark, he flipped the knife in his hand and sheathed it at his hip, looking at the other marks on the walls.

There was a long streak of dark brown, probably the blood of another one of the labyrinth’s victims. There were claw marks, possibly from one of the strange animals that hunted within the labyrinth’s walls. There were chunks of stone missing from the walls, either weathered away by ages come and gone or broken away by a life now long lost to the labyrinth.

Each mark had a story to tell, a fate to find within the labyrinth’s endless dirt road. Alan wondered for a moment what his mark would tell to those who passed by after the labyrinth had gifted him his fate. Would it inspire them to move forward? Or would it be lost amongst the sea of stories these walls would tell?

Alan shook the thoughts from his head and pushed his legs forward, continuing his march even though his muscles ached with fatigue. It was best not to ponder on the future too long within the labyrinth. A man could go inside filling his head with such thoughts in this endless darkness. For Alan, there was only the now, and his Fate ahead.

He held his torch up high in a fruitless attempt to cast more light down the nebulous chasm. Each step he took echoed back at him throughout the long halls, chiming a lonely tune. A calm sadness washed over him as he listened to the echoes of his footsteps, imagining that perhaps they were an invisible man walking beside him.

For tens of thousands of steps, Alan had trekked through the darkness, seeking out his fate with the tenacity of a desperate man. He moved onward, alone in the dark, because he needed what lay at the end of the labyrinth. He needed to find his fate.

But the darkness had taken its toll.

Alan found himself thinking of his family outside more often now. The  only other life Alan had come across in the labyrinth were small rodents skittering across the ground, and the horrific sounds he heard during the few hours he rested. The rodents made a decent meal when he grew hungry–having run out of food supplies a few thousand steps ago–but the endless cacophony of sounds he heard made him afraid to put out his torch and sleep, keeping him awake for what seemed like eons.

Alan’s legs grew weak from his march, and he knew he’d have to rest soon. He stopped and sat down, resting his back against the wall, holding his torch up next to him. He was too afraid to put out the fires just yet.

He looked around, trying to predict what might come should he fall asleep, but the light from the flames couldn’t pierce the darkness for more than a few meters. After a few fruitless moments, Alan put the torch down on the stone floor in front of him and watched as the flames slowly dwindled. The darkness crept in as the light receded and as the black came closer, Alan found his hand reaching closer and closer to his knife. By time the flames had disappeared and the black fog had engulfed him, Alan’s hand firmly gripped the hilt of his weapon and he listened, and waited, for the sounds to begin.

Alan jumped when he heard a soft cackling like that of a bugs wings. The sound came closer and closer until it sounded as if it were right next to his head and he jumped when he thought he felt something crawling up his shoulder. He patted himself down, but felt nothing crushed under his palm. He brought his legs up to his chest, hugging them tightly.

A long howl reached through the darkness and into Alan’s ears. The howl was followed by a symphony of howls, and as one howl began to fade, another would rise in its place. It was almost like a song to Alan, but one that ripped into his very soul. He buried his face into his knees

His heart raced, but his eyelids grew heavy. The howls persisted through the darkness and though he tried to fight it, soon enough he drifted off into a deep sleep.

He dreamt of sunlight shining against dark red hair.

#

A low growl resonated in Alan’s dreams, jerking him awake. His eyes popped open and he looked from side-to-side, but the darkness revealed nothing to his weary eyes. He patted the ground in front of him, and his hand eventually landed on the hard wood of the torch. He gripped the torch in his hands and lit it. Flames burst from its head and light filled the small space around him, cutting through the darkness and burning his eyes with the sudden brightness.

He brought his hands over his eyes and held the torch out in front of him, trying to cast the light deeper into the darkness, but the darkness just pushed the light back.

Alan relied on his hearing instead, listening intently for the noise that jolted him awake. The world was silent save for the torch’s cackling flame and Alan’s own beating heart ringing in his ears.

Alan stood up from the wall, unsheathing his knife just in case. He moved forward slowly, cautiously, deathly afraid that his next step might be his last. His footsteps echoed throughout the halls as they always did, but this time their tune didn’t feel lonely. Alan could feel the presence of another life nearby, and while he found himself excited by the prospect, Alan knew that the labyrinth was not known for the gifts its travelers received during their journey.

Alan winded around a corner and three steps in he heard the growl once more. This time it sounded like it had come from in front him, and Alan stopped in his tracks. He held his knife in front of him and stared into the darkness as if trying to will the creature out from hiding. The growl receded and all was silent once more save for the cackling of the flame.

Alan stood frozen as the echoes of inhuman steps tracked around him. He followed the sound as worked through the darkness until it was behind him. Having had enough, Alan pushed his torch forward in his hand and this time, the torch’s light pierced the darkness just enough. There it stood. The creature of the labyrinth.

It stood on four long legs, each with a large claw digging into the earth below. Thick muscles bulged from underneath its oily, black skin and a long maw protruded from its cheeks, with lips slightly curled up to reveal sharp yellow fangs. Alan found himself staring into the creature’s face, but it had no eyes to stare back. There was only a thick slab of skin where its eyes and brows should have been

Alan found himself trembling. “What are you?”

As the last words slipped off his tongue the creature jumped, smashing into Alan’s body. The torch flew out of Alan’s hands and rolled across the ground, dousing the flames. He barely managed to throw his knife-arm up in an attempt to slash at the creature’s jaw, but only his forearm slammed into the creature’s neck.

Alan could feel the creature digging its claws into his shoulder and screamed in pain, desperately trying to hold back the monster as its maw snapped in his face. The darkness did not reveal the monster to him, but he could feel its neck straining against his forearm and smell the scent of decaying flesh on its breath. Each loud crack of its closing jaw ripped through the air and Alan could only imagine how close each snap of its mouth came to tearing of his skin.

The creature dug its claw deeper into his shoulder and Alan screamed louder. He could feel his fate slipping away from him, his journey falling into nothingness . . . just another mark on the wall. He could feel his death drawing closer in the darkness.

But from the rim of his sight a light pierced the blackness and he could once more see a half of the creature’s eyeless face. The creature snapped harder than before, and Alan pulled his head back, throwing his cheek into the floor while pushing his arm into the creature’s neck. The creature’s fangs cut across his cheek and he could feel the blood sink from the stinging wound.

The creature’s head shot to the side as Alan looked back up and suddenly a streak orange slammed into the creature’s skull. The creature let out a screech that sounded as much like pain as it did fury, and was thrown off of Alan. Fire engulfed the creature and it made a painful howl that could break through the silence of death

Alan watched the flames rise with a twisted joy until he felt a hand grip his shirt and pull him up. He scrambled up to his feet to follow the hand and looked up to see exactly what’s hand was grabbing him.

The light of a torch showed just enough. It was a man.

“Run. More will come,” the Stranger said before spinning around and breaking off into a dash.

Without hesitation Alan followed the Stranger into the darkness, adrenaline challenging his legs to run faster than they had ever run before.

Their running steps broke through the usual silence of the labyrinth and Alan tried to count each one, but he couldn’t keep up. The sounds of both his and the Stranger’s steps disrupted his count, and Alan felt lost without his only grip on reality.

He tried to focus on the light of the Stranger’s torch and followed as best he could. Soon, more steps joined Alan and the Stranger’s, but these were the inhuman steps of the labyrinth’s creatures. They had heard their brother’s dying howls and came to seek their vengeance on the men who stole his life.

“We have to hurry!” the Stranger yelled into the darkness. “I can feel the labyrinth’s pull, but they will reach us faster than our Fate if we don’t push harder.”

Alan only nodded in return, knowing that the man couldn’t see him. Alan wondered what the man meant by the “labyrinth’s pull” until he too felt the strings pulling on his heart, as if they were guiding him down a path. He felt hope in those strings, and he prayed that he wasn’t being led under false pretense.

The creatures’ growls cut through the darkness behind them and the Stranger ran even faster. Alan had to push harder too, but he found himself lagging behind. Would his Fate be stolen from him so easily?

“It’s not long now! I can see a door!”

Alan wondered how the Stranger could see through the black fog, but it wasn’t the time to question things. He simply followed, and hoped.

The growls were louder now.

The stranger’s light stopped.

“What are you–“ Alan cut himself short when he saw what the Stranger had stopped for. There really was a door.

It towered above them high along the labyrinth’s walls and the torchlight revealed a sea of inscriptions carved into the door. There was a single, long handle just at a man’s height and the Stranger was grabbing for it, trying to pull the door open.

“Come here and help me!” he said, and Alan obeyed.

Gripping the door handle with both hands, he pulled back with all his strength alongside the Stranger. The growls were close now and Alan looked behind him as he pulled. He could’ve sworn he saw shapes moving closer in the darkness and they compelled him to pull even harder.

The door broke free, creating a narrow open just big enough for a man.

“Get in!” the Stranger said, and they both squeezed through the door. When Alan made it through, the Stranger shut the door behind them.

It wasn’t long after when he heard the demonic barks of the creatures and their claws scratching at the door. The Stranger and he were safe . . . for now.

“We did it!” Alan said. It hurt his throat to speak. He hadn’t realized just how long it had been since he last spoke, but it felt good to no longer be alone.

The Stranger didn’t answer. Alan looked at him and saw that the Stranger was looking off into the darkness as if he had found something within it.

“What is it?” Alan asked.

“Look at her,” the Stranger said.

Alan turned to face the darkness and slowly the black fog receded revealing a dimly lit room with stone tiles. In the center there stood a woman, shackled to a stone pillar in the ground.

When Alan looked upon her, his heart beat so fast he thought it would burst from his chest. She was clad in a white dress that reached down to her ankles and her figure was frail. Her face was gaunt, but she wasn’t old at all. She must have been starving. Alan looked into her face and saw strands of deep red hair had fallen over her eyes. There was something familiar and powerful about seeing her. Like an ethereal hand was reaching out from her, pulling him in.

Alan then knew. She was his Fate. Finally, he had reached the end of his journey.

“Finally, it’s over,” the Stranger said. “I’ve found her.”

Alan’s hopes shattered and his heart seemed to slow to a dead stop. Was this Stranger feeling the same as he? Did he believe the girl to be his fate as well?

“No . . . “ Alan said, his voice frail and weak like the girl.

The Stranger looked at Alan with a confused face, but it quickly dawned on him what must have been. “You felt it too?” he said. “The strings pulling you down the labyrinth?”

Alan nodded.

The Stranger sighed as a look of sorrow filled his face. “Then go. Hurry! Break her bonds and get out of this place.”

He was giving her up. “But what about you?” Alan said quickly.

“I’ll be fine. Just go.”

“But–“

“GO!”

Alan obeyed, running to the center of the room where the woman stood. She was thinner than he thought she was and her hair was dirty and dying. Her skin was drying and her wrists were covered in dried blood and bruises from where the shackles tore at her skin.

Alan grabbed the shackles to inspect them, trying to find if there was a way to pull them off, but he found nothing. No keyhole, or weakness in the metal. It was as if the shackles had been molded around the woman’s wrist. “What do I do?” Alan asked himself.

“Hurry!” The Stranger said from afar. “They’re breaking through the door!”

Alan heard the creatures throwing themselves against the stone door. A loud banging resonated within the room and he thought he could hear something crackling nearby the door.

He had to seize his Fate now.

Alan grabbed the shackles and started smashing them against the pillar. He threw them against the stone harder and harder, but he couldn’t even put a dent in the shackles’ chains. He tried again and again, but nothing came of it.

He pulled out his knife and in a desperate move tried to cut through the chains, sawing at the metal until the edge of his knife’s blade went dull.

He couldn’t break the woman’s bonds.

“I can’t do it,” Alan said to himself.

He had failed.

“Alan . . .” the woman moaned.

Alan’s eyes shot open. Was she calling for him? Did this woman know him?

“I’m here,” the Stranger said beside him. He pushed Alan out of the way and grabbed the woman’s hands.

The woman stirred a bit at his touch and Alan realized it had not been him, but the Stranger she had been calling for. Had they shared a name this whole time?

“I’m sorry,” the Stranger said as he gripped her hand tightly.

“What are you going to do?” Alan asked.

“Break her wrists.”

Alan heard a loud snap as the Stranger jerked the woman’s wrist against the shackle and she screamed into the darkness above.

Alan froze, jaw dropped in astonishment.

There was another loud snap followed by another one of the woman’s screams before the stranger started pushing the woman’s hands through the shackles, forcing her fingers to slide through the shackles’ tight openings. She grunted and moaned in pain. Alan just watched as the Stranger freed her from her bonds and she fell to the floor.

The Stranger crouched next to her and lifted her into his arms, turning to face Alan. The Stranger presented the woman to him, urging him to take her into his arms.

“Go now! This is your chance. Take your Fate and Go!” the Stranger said.

It was his chance. The Stranger had freed her for him and he could just take her and run away, leaving the Stranger behind. The woman would believe he had saved her and he could return to his family, to sunlight. He could leave this place and once again start counting days instead of steps. But, was it his to take?

“No,” Alan said, to both himself and the Stranger.

The Stranger looked confused. “What do you mean no?”

“She’s your Fate. Not mine. I’ll just have to find a new one.” Alan tightened his grip on the hilt of his knife smiling.

The light around them was fading away and the banging was getting louder, stronger. Soon the creatures would break through the door.

“Idiot, you need to take her away from this place,” the Stranger said.

“No! You do!” Alan thrust his knife ahead of him, aiming its tip at the Stranger. “You freed her from her bonds, now finish the job!”

The Stranger stood for a moment, but nodded, smiling ever so slightly. “I’ll come back for you,” he said.

“No. You won’t,” Alan said. “Now go.”

The Stranger held the girl in his arms and ran into the growing darkness away from the door, leaving Alan to stand there in the last bits of light the room held.

He would have to face the labyrinth and its creatures again. Perhaps he would have to face another hundred-thousand steps. It didn’t matter.

The stone door came crashing down in a thunderous roar and Alan could once more hear the growls of the creatures of the labyrinth. Light faded away, leaving only the darkness behind.

The creatures of the labyrinth surrounded him.

Bio: My name is William Hugel and I’ve lived in the Sarasota County area for my entire life. I began writing in early High School after being inspired by James Clavell’s Epic novel, “Shogun” and I would later be drawn into the fantasy genre by authors such as R.A. Salvatore, Brandon Sanderson, and Steven Erikson. I’ve always enjoyed telling stories and building worlds and writing has been my vent for this love.

 

A crash, sound of rumbling, a bang. Galvin’s eyes opened as he lay in bed, the sweat running across his forehead.

“What was that?” he thought, bringing his hand to wipe the small drops of liquid from his body.

Another crash, he got out of bed quickly, stumbling to the window as he tried regaining his senses; the sooner he could do that, the sooner he could comprehend what was going on. His hands rested on the window sill, grogginess causing his vision to only make out blurs, his hands quickly moving to his face to shake away the slumber he had just escaped, a bright glow coming through the window from the world outside. It was then he truly realized what was going on; the heat was apparent. The flames of the building beneath him spreading, the screams of confused children looking for their families. He raced to his door, smoke sneaking in from beneath it. Out of habit he instinctively reached for the doorknob, the metal too hot to handle as he pulled back in pain, the flesh of his palm seering and singeing, a layer of skin being left behind on the metal; a howl escaping his lips in utter horror. Pressing against the door did nothing; it wouldn’t budge. He was 26 floors up, escaping through the window wasn’t an option.

“what do I do!” the thoughts racing through his mind as he slammed into the door once more. Then it hit him– this could well be his last few moments of life. Galvin had always tried to do the right thing, bringing happiness to everyone’s life before himself , all that hard work of living a small simple life, going down the drain in a terrible accident.

“Veronica…” the word leaving his mouth in desperation as his back pressed against the wall. Smoke filling his lungs, the heat beginning to affect his barely clothed body.

“Veronica.”

 

#

 

“Veronica.” Galvin said as he stirred from his sleep. His lover laying in bed besides him. He looked over to her, noticing the beauty that his lover was; how she could make him feel. His finger traced her delicate collarbones, feeling her paper like skin before touching her silk hair, she rolled over, their eyes met as their arms wrapped around each other and their lips touched.

“Morning Beautiful.” Galvin said as he embraced her more, loving the way their bodies touched and felt together.

“Veronica.”

 

#

 

“Veronica.” Galvin’s breath hitched before finishing his sentence.

“Veronica, it’s not your fault that the baby wasn’t strong enough.” the worried expressions clearly showing his disappointment in the situation.

“Maybe I just wasn’t strong enough, maybe this is just a sign.” she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. Though it was true that they had been together for quite some time and were trying to start their lives together, something just always got in the way.

“You know that’s ridiculous. Things just happen and we can always-always try again.” He said slipping his arms around her waist as she placed her head on his shoulder.

#

 

The glow from the flames grew brighter and the air thicker with every moment that passed. Memories flooded Galvin’s mind as he continued to lay on the floor, his gaze becoming cloudier. He shook his head.

“Got to get up. Come on– fight!” he thought as he managed to get to his feet, dizziness from the lack of oxygen only causing more trouble.

#

“Veronica.” Galvin slurred stumbling into his apartment.

“Veronica! I’m home!” the intoxicated man said as he tripped over his own feet, sending him crashing to the floor. Looking up from his fall he noticed the engagement band she decided not to take when she unexpectedly left. His life had changed since then, the past few days he’d drowned himself in his own sorrow, not remembering what was right in his world and what was fabricated. He felt he lost the greatness that made him thrive. That paperskin, silk hair and now he would lose everything from her, he crawled the rest of the way to the table holding the ring, reached up, grasped it with his finger and studied it.

“I don’t need this, I don’t need you.” Galvin said in a hiss as he pulled himself up with the support of the table and headed to the kitchen, dropping the ring down the sink and turning on the faucet.

His mind wandered on what the reason could’ve been that she was now absent. They both had stable jobs and although it turned out Galvin was the weak link in reproduction, they said they’d work through it. Maybe he was wrong, maybe the conversation had gone another way. Maybe he said we could work through it and she didn’t respond.

“Most of those conversations went that way” he internalized as he slumped back to the floor, feeling the kitchen tiles coldness hit his skin.

 

#

 

Waking up every morning without her now had become a routine. He woke up, went to the bathroom, looked himself in the eyes and said:

“Make it a good day.”

After this he would undress, shower, wash his face, his hair, his body, get out– dry off and get dressed. Same color shirt, same color pants, same color tie. He would walk into kitchen, toast the same type of bagel and eat it.

His life has become such a routine that all the color in his life was gone. Yet, he hadn’t noticed, realized or even assumed these things. He was content and for some unknown reason everything felt right.

Galvin had changed, he found no resolution, he had nothing in his world, except for his suit and tie.

#

He stumbled fourth, getting to the window, the heat causing the ledge to clamp onto the frame preventing it to open. Thoughts crossing his mind as he pondered a solution. He moved to his closet, grabbing the lone dress shirt placed neatly on the wire hanger. Only a few moments passed before the shirt was tightly tied around his hand, using this as protection he moved back to the window punching through it.

#

The sound of glass breaking brought Galvin back from his daze, the t.v was on and company was over. He looked over to the corner of the room to see a picture frame on the floor.

“Galvin! Sorry man! But you really shouldn’t have pictures of Veronica out anymore bud!.” Eric said picking up the remains of the once framed memory and throwing it in the trash.

Six months had passed since Veronica left him, his routine had changed and he finally awoke from his depression to become the person he once was.

“Hey Galvin!” Michael, his other friend said patting his back.

“Excited to lose another match today!” Eric said laughing from the other room as Galvin protested.

“You know you only beat me because of those Gorilla hands of yours!” Galvin said with a laugh.

His friends pulled him from his slumber without Veronica, his life was back on track and finally everything was for the better. He realized that though Veronica did in fact leave, he could do better. He could love himself and have friends that loved him for nothing more but their friendship– he was happy. He often would find himself staring at the front door, waiting for her to walk through, smiling, her small frame running to his, the love they once had re-igniting. Though this would never be a reality again, he knew it wasn’t something terrible to think of every now and then.

 

#

 

The flames engulfed the rest of the building as everything around began to fall. The smell of the burning wood, concrete and cherished linen filled the halls and atmosphere. The fire department had yet to get there– though it had gone past the point of no return.

“Help! Help! I’m up here!” screamed Galvin sticking his head out the window.

“They can’t hear me… I’m too far up.” he murmured as his gaze dropped down to everything below. His life was finally in order, everything was back to normal and of course something out of his control, like childbirth, would happen, yet again.

The bodies of the people trapped in the building would be mummified in ash and copper, death being too quick to escape.

Galvin refused to end that way, he moved back inside and quickly turned around. The heat was becoming too dangerous to stand, the flames now entering his apartment, the smoke becoming thicker and Galvin’s body becoming numb. He fell back against the ledge, his sight blurring and his judgement almost out of his grasp. He went to move, but only ended up going backwards, his now exhausted body slipping through the frame of the window.

As Galvin fell those 26 stories only one thing crossed his mind. The sight of her small body, her smile, soft touch and the laugh she exuded when everything was right. She was his soulmate, his one true love and though she wasn’t with him now, she was in spirit as he hit the cold concrete at the bottom of his journey.

“Galvin, wake up honey.” the white form said.

“You’re home.”

Bio: Doug Kolakowski born and raised in Sarasota, Florida– picked up writing at a young age. With the help of his parents and the guidance they’ve always given him, he’s been able to follow his dreams thoroughly and accomplish many goals set forth.

The heat of summer soaking through her uniform, Morgan waited on the school steps, tiredly scraping a stick into the pavement cracks. The beige colour reminded her of sand and holidays at the beach years ago, of sticky ice cream and small rocks that scratched her feet and her mother’s smiling face. She jammed the stick in-between the slabs forcefully.

A body heaved itself down to the steps beside her. Blinking, Morgan looked over.

“Bit hot, don’t you think?” asked the rotund girl, her cheeks pink and her mousy brown hair pulled into a ponytail, gleaming with sweat.

“It’s June,” Morgan replied tonelessly.

“But still,” the girl insisted, “It’s hot, isn’t it?”

Morgan shrugged. “I suppose.”

The girl leant forward, resting her elbows on her bare knees. She’d arrived at Harigate Primary school a few months ago, but Morgan only once recalled speaking with her in P.E. class as they dutifully tossed floppy beanbags to one another.

Morgan dug the stick in deeper, pushing up little heaps of mud. She wondered if there’d been anything alive in that ground, if she’d killed it; a ladybug, maybe, or something similar.

“And that’s Chester’s mum…oh, and there’s your dad.”

Morgan’s head snapped up.

She followed Sophie’s line of sight, peering through the crowd of suddenly faceless people, and then she saw him too. He was just like she remembered: balding brown hair the hue of her own, his cheeks oddly grey from a shave. Morgan felt her heartbeat slow as he neared.

For weeks and weeks she hadn’t seen him, nor heard a word. He hadn’t sent her a letter or rung her up on the phone. But, Morgan thought, it must be because he’s been so busy.

Sophie’s voice was suddenly loud in her ear. “They make such a nice couple, don’t you think?”

Distracted, Morgan gazed at the girl in bafflement, shaking her head as she turned back to her father. But then she saw what Sophie had meant.

Her father was not alone.

Chester’s mother, small and blond and beautiful, was at his side. Chester was talking to him, animatedly gesturing about something that Morgan couldn’t understand but which made him laugh. Chester, who’d once been her best friend, who’d lived in the flat above Morgan since the time they were small, toddling around in rainy puddles together and chasing imaginary creatures in the dewy grass of Morgan’s garden.

Still, Morgan waited for him. Surely he would glance around – searching for her, certainly – and see her. Then he would rush to her and hug her and he would be so happy he’d tell her how much he loved her.

But he didn’t turn around. She desperately wanted to go up to him, to force him to face her, but she was scared, for he was like a stranger to her now, someone she’d had once but had since lost, who’d gone away and never came back for her, a foreigner with a familiar face. It seemed improper to approach him now, rude even, as unwelcome as if she was thinking about someone else’s father.

Morgan watched as they walked away. He’d known that she was there, known that they attended school together, and he hadn’t looked for her.

Morgan focused on Chester’s golden head.

It was her fault, Morgan knew. She’d always shown Morgan up, ever the perfect daughter, the pretty, sporty, sunny Chester White over the plain, boring, quiet Morgan Evans. If only she hadn’t existed, Morgan knew things would be different.

When her mother finally arrived to pick her up, Morgan was alone on the steps. She didn’t say a word. It was only when she rose to her feet that she realised her stick had snapped.

She laid in wait in her dark bedroom, the light switch flipped off and her curtains partially drawn. The darker it was, mused Morgan, the easier it would be the see her father’s car lights as he dropped Chester off back home.

When the light came, glowing through her glass window and shifting shadows on her walls, Morgan remained still. She listened for the slam of the car doors, the soft mumble of words. Anger coiled in Morgan’s stomach, burning like acid, but she soothed it with conjured images of what the night would bring.

She waited half an hour to be sure that Chester was in her room and her father gone. Crawling out from under the comforting embrace of her covers, Morgan opened the bottom drawer of her bedside table, pulling out the thick sock and tying the end in a knot. Slowly, she opened her door and manoeuvred her way down the darkened hallway. She unlatched the lock of the outside door, stepping down into her garden, relishing the cold tickle of the grass on her bare feet.

Pacing half the garden back, Morgan turned and stared up at Chester’s window. The light wasn’t on anymore. Curling her fingers around the small stone she’d hidden in her skirt pocket, Morgan drew it out and flung it at Chester’s window.

Soon enough, as she’d expected, Chester’s pale face appeared on the other side of the glass. Her frowning features cleared as she spotted Morgan.

Morgan pointed to the shed behind her, at the garden’s edge.

Biting her lip, Chester nodded once and then disappeared from sight. Morgan headed towards the shed, patting her other pocket in reassurance.

The shed was old, but had spent many years under tender care. Morgan and Chester had loved this shed once, in awe of its bright pink shade and white shutter-windows. They’d spent other summers bunking in it over night, telling secrets in the dark, of Chester’s crushes and Morgan’s fears, their shared dreams, certain of these secrets’ safety in the immortality of their friendship.

Morgan had stopped coming to the shed since last year, since her father had decided he liked the mother and her daughters upstairs better than he did his own. In the glow of the moon, she saw that some of the paint had chipped away, that some of the shutters were missing pieces, and that the muck of the ground had risen up and tainted the lower portions of the shed.

Hearing the jingle of the door, Morgan twisted to watch Chester as she drew nearer, dressed in her white and purple pyjamas.

“Morgan?”

“Yes?” she whispered, ushering Chester into the shed. Morgan followed and closed the door firmly behind her.

“What are we doing out here? I mean,” she said, laughing nervously, “why did you get me out here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not even ten yet,” said Morgan. She’d made sure of the timing of it, after all.

Chester rolled her eyes. “I know that, silly, I just meant… it’s a bit odd.”

“Why? It’s not like you talk to me at school anymore,” replied Morgan bitterly.

“I can’t. What, would you like people to spread more rumours about everything?”

“I’d like you to act as though you were my friend.”

Chester’s face crumbled. “I am your friend,” she said timidly.

“Well, a right sort of job you’re doing of it, then,” said Morgan, her tone mocking, “What with stealing my dad and all.”

“I didn’t steal your dad!” Chester said through gritted teeth, her eyes flashing angrily.

Morgan glared at her coldly. “Don’t lie.”

Chester huffed, shaking her head as she sunk down to sit on the lower bunk bed. She fingered the moth-eaten fabric, curling it around her long-nailed fingers.

“I don’t see why you got me out here if all you’re going to do is shout at me,” she muttered.

Titling her head, Morgan asked, “Aren’t you even the least bit guilty?”

“About what? The fact that my mum is prettier than yours and your dad likes pretty women? How is that my fault?”

Morgan stepped closer to Chester, discreetly pushing her hand into her other pocket.

“Don’t you ever talk about my mum,” she warned.

“I don’t see why not. Everyone in school is talking about her.”

“Just don’t.”

Chester stared at her. “You’re so ridiculous, Morgan,” she said finally, disgust coating her tone. “You think this all about you, as usual, so you blame everyone else just because your dad doesn’t love you.”

Morgan tightened her lips. “That’s not true.”

“It is true,” said Chester, turning her head to look at one of the abandoned colouring pictures still tacked to the shed’s wall. “You’re just too stupid—”

Grasping the sock tightly in her pocket, Morgan quickly pulled it out and smacked it against Chester’s head. The heavy load of the pebbles inside, pebbles that she and Chester had collected years ago at the seaside, cracked loudly as they made their target at her former friend’s skull. The blood rushed out faster than Morgan expected; in the movies, the death scenes always took so long, but Morgan thought Chester might be dead already.

A low moan interrupted her thoughts.

Morgan watched as Chester attempted to move, her limbs flailing as they sought purchase on some solid surface. She reached for the bedpost, but Morgan pushed her to the floor. A gasping cry broke through the quiet air as she smacked against the hard ground, small pitiful sobs jerking the girl’s body.

Chester turned her head slightly, her pale eyes seeking out something.

“Mor—”

Bending down, Morgan once again aimed the pebble-filled sock at Chester’s head. Blood spilled out slower this time as Chester stopped her movements entirely, lying there limply, as floppy as those beanbags in P.E. class. Ruby red liquid trickled from her skull, vivid against the stark white of her neck. It darkened her golden hair, the strands clotting together, staining the wooden floor as it dripped to the ground.

For a while, Morgan felt frozen, unable to move as the body before her passed into rigormortis. She sank down on the floor next to it, drawing her knees to her chest and curling her bloodied arms around them tightly. Rocking back and forth, Morgan stared out ahead, unseeing.

Feeling something slide down her face, she raised her hand to wipe it off, expecting a splatter of blood but instead finding the clear liquid of tears. Her rocking increased then, as a howl of misery sought to tear itself from her throat, which seemed to close tighter and tighter as she tried to breathe—

But Chester would never breathe again. Morgan had taken that from her.

She sobbed then, the racking kind that seemed fit to bludgeon the heart, until her cries rose to screams but she couldn’t hear it because the pounding in her ears was too loud and the last echo of Chester’s plead ran through her head like a siren that just kept bleating—

“Morgan?”

Her throat still tightening in a scream, Morgan looked up to see her father silhouetted in the shed’s doorframe. His horrified gaze shifted between the two girls, both equally bloodied, though one was dead and the other alive. Morgan stared at him blankly, as though for the first time, realising that he must have been here the whole time. Morgan barely resisted the insane urge to laugh, for it was all too much, suddenly.

Because Chester was right.

Morgan knew it as she watched her father’s face crease in repulsion, knew that there was no point mourning the loss of her father’s love because she had never had it in the first place.

Soon there were more people than her father around her and at some point someone came and took Chester’s body. There was screaming and shouting and sirens but Morgan couldn’t understand any of it.

Eventually, though, someone came for her too.

Tears clouded her vision once more as she was thrown over one of the people’s – a man’s, she thought absently – shoulder.

They took her outside, leading her away to somewhere she knew not, but to Morgan’s eyes, everything was blurry except for the broken shed.

 

The Labyrinth by William Hugel

Nice Guys Finish Last by Doug Kolakowski

The Shedding of Love by Chloe Churchill

All Because of a Penis by April Newcity

Our Apocalypse; What Became of Us by Megan Finsel

Eternal Revenge by Catiana Jean

Psych by Brandie Hyde

 

As if being forced to explain and justify herself to some shrink that she wasn’t completely crazy, just stressed to a breaking point (there was a difference after all), wasn’t bad enough.  Articulating fundamental truths about her inner most being was verging on some level of Hell, she was sure.  Talk about the weather, talk about school, talk about work, or sports even… anything but about herself and about her life especially.  It was no one’s business.  Hopefully this guy would be smart enough to keep any Freudian theory speculation to himself.

Brenda sat looking out a window at the spots of sunlight that had fought their way through the trees to illuminate the dead fallen leaves on the ground below, and she appreciated the beauty of it.  This fleeting moment was summarily ended with the approach of a tricked out SUV booming some racket masquerading as “music” at levels that caused the windows of the small office to shake.  The driver of the offending vehicle lingered at the stop sign, just in case anyone on the street had missed him.  That figures.  She’s willing the noise to eventually vibrate the rolling irritant to pieces.

“Tell me a little about why you’re here Brenda”.

She resists the set up to ask Captain Obvious if he could have been bothered to read the chart before speaking.  “I was told that my eligibility depended on it.”

“Fair enough, but specifically I’d like to hear why it is you feel that your being alive is a mistake.”

Brenda pauses to carefully consider where exactly to begin.  After gathering her thoughts she says “Life’s positives haven’t outweighed the negatives for longer than I care to recall, which quite frankly isn’t anything new.  I’ve contemplated my death since early childhood, somewhere around the ages of seven and nine, which is right about when the nightmares started.”

The doctor leans forward, intrigued, and encourages Brenda, “go on.”

“In these dreams it was never clear how exactly it was that I died; the specific means by which that came to be were never defined.  The only common thread between them was that whatever happened did so after I turned 18 but before I could graduate high school.  I can only imagine that someone might easily assume that a kid would be terrified by such morbid thoughts… but not me.  In fact, to be perfectly honest, I looked forward to it.”

He stares at Brenda momentarily in a state of stunned disbelief.  “I see here that the nightmares eventually stopped.  Tell me more about that.”

“Yup, right on cue too, between turning 18 and graduating high school.  Life went on, and like a good soldier I trudged through it.  On the day of my 18th birthday, I withdrew myself from my old high school in Southeast Georgia, and the very next day I was standing at the Grey Hound station, holding a ticket in my hand and waiting to catch the 10am bus to Venice Florida where I enrolled back into school and completed my senior year, even though I desperately wanted to quit.  I was in Florida for three months when I had that dream for the very last time; and never again.”

“So what happened after that?  What was it that made you feel guilty for living?”

Once again, Brenda resisted the urge to rise from the couch where she was sitting, look him square in the eye and slap him for having the gall to collect $150 per hour to ask patients stupid questions.  Repeating herself was a major pet peeve and she had just gone over all of this in the lengthy paperwork that greeted her upon arrival at his office.  This merely served as further proof that someone didn’t bother doing their due diligence before walking into a room with an accepted new client, regardless of the reason behind it.  She felt it irresponsible.

“On Memorial Day weekend, one week prior to graduation, Carly, her fiancé Justin and another woman, Ms. Trevor who I had attended church with at one point were all murdered.”  For a long time I carried the guilt for what happened to her, feeling that it should have, was supposed to have been me to take my leave of this world and not her.  By then I’d been prepared for nearly a decade after all.  I never bothered applying to colleges since (a) I hated school, (b) my family had no money to pay for it and most importantly (c) it hadn’t occurred to me that I would still be breathing, so why even bother?  Then a funny and inconvenient thing happened… nothing, nothing at all.  What was worse, I found that she was too chicken to do the deed myself, having been imbued with various denominations of Christianity in which such things are considered a no-no along the way with the so called ‘fear of God’ thanks to growing up in the Bible-belt and all.”

At this point Mr. Shrink concludes that Brenda is suffering from is something called survivor’s guilt or a type of posttraumatic stress disorder and silently circles the little diagnostic code box indicating same for billing purposes.  She thinks to herself, well isn’t that all nice and tidy.

Leaving the office, she reflects on the session as she makes her way out to her car, satisfied that she had accomplished the deed she was sent to do.  Curiosity about how and when her inevitable demise would finally come eventually brought Brenda around to embracing a philosophy imparted on her by her dear departed friend Carly, whose idea it was to live life as though it were one big adventure and as often as possible, without regret.  And so she did.  Already suffering from a number of known conditions and likely a number of additional undiagnosed issues as of yet that may just as well remain unknown.  None of the things of which she is aware of are curable and all affect the quality of her life in a negative way with no significant improvement anywhere in sight.  Brenda fumbles with her keys when a smile spreads across her face at an all too rare moment of enlightenment.  The realization that the plus side to all of this is that there’s a 50/50 chance that she won’t be breathing ten years from now anyway thanks to a history of short lifespans in her family DNA.  She had already outlived her biological father by two years at this point and was fast closing in on the next deceased relative longevity milestone.

Sadly Brenda has had a front row seat to watching people she loved slowly rot away into nothingness; the wonders of modern medicine prolonging life far beyond the scope of any meaningful quality.  People are so focused on longevity that they agree to subject themselves to treatments that are more horrible than the diseases themselves.  It’s not until later that they regret their decisions and wait in hopeful anticipation of a merciful death that never seems to come.   Her epitaph would simply be that she’d “had enough”.  Sitting in the driver’s seat and having turned the key in the ignition, the engine purring gently, she pats the dashboard with affection as though talking to a cherished pet and says “Ok, Bessie, let’s go home.”

Bio: The past eighteen months have been, to put it politely, challenging. Essentially the end of life as I previously knew it. The return to college life following more than a decade hiatus has been, well… let’s call it colorful. I managed to survive my first semester back in the swing of things and am currently working on a second. It is my goal to complete an Associate in Arts Degree by December 2013 and continue on to study Criminal Justice Forensics.

A ray of sunshine poured through the crevice of a long draped burgundy curtain, and landed between two coconut shells tightly strapped around Myrna’s breasts. It gradually rose to the crease of her hair line, exposing her to the light. As it did so, she abruptly awoke with a throbbing headache and the sound of ACDC’s, “Big Balls” repetitively skipping on Jim Parker’s record player in the next room. With a failed attempt to disregard the noise, Myrna found herself in her best friend, Connie Pendergast’s house lying on the floor beside two middle age men. Myrna turned to them and noticed they were covered in regurgitated chunks of chyme, preserved from the night before on their excessively hairy chests. While the stench initially repulsed Myrna, she found their lack of consideration for their propriety, let alone her own, mainly concerning.

One of the men lying on the floor, who appeared boisterous and ill-mannered to Myrna the night before, continued grasping an empty bottle of Jameson that was heavily smeared with black ink around the rim, but Myrna failed to notice this detail. Instead, her attention focused on the man’s blue name tag that read, “Hello, my name is Dick”. She muttered his name to herself five times, and each time she said his name, she seemed disgusted more than the time before as the bitter taste of the word ran off her tongue. She hated the resonating sound of his name, and everything associated with it, but made no effort to avoid it.

#

A few moments later, Myrna noticed a strange bright orange wristband around her scrawny wrist stamped with the phrase, “First Priority”. It reminded her of Patrick Bronskey, who was the first man to cover the entire scope of their firm, and the second man to ever break Myrna’s heart.

Two months prior to Connie’s gathering, Patrick and Myrna were perceived as a completely happy and functional couple by all who knew them.  However, this changed when Myrna came home to find Patrick in their bedroom with his bare ass on top of her stepsister’s fiancé, Fred Lloyd. Myrna was horrified by the sight dwelling in her memory, partially because of her lack of judgment then, but mainly because of the signs she recollected afterwards. All of which included: Patrick’s Owl City albums scattered throughout their apartment,  All My Children displayed on the recently watched portion of his Netflix account, his hidden feminine product collection, but most importantly, his fixation with embracing her in a “doggie-style” position, of which Myrna was hardly fond of.

Myrna desperately wanted to forget all of it. However, her attempt to remove him from her memory resulted in two coconut shells tightly strapped around her breasts, suffocating her into a state of panic.

Myrna quickly barged into Connie’s room yelling, “Connie! Connie, get up!”

“I’m trying to sleep here.” Connie said as she drowned her head into her pillow.

“Get up! I need to know what happened last night!”

“You had a good time for once in your life, and it helped you get over Patrick, didn’t it? Now, go back to bed.” she said with her back towards Myrna.

“That’s beside the point, Connie, and I can’t go back to sleep. I have a job to get to, and now I’m in no condition to work thanks to you! Just look at me! Do I not look ridiculous?”

Connie didn’t reply.

“I knew I should have never let you talk me into…”

Myrna paused as she looked over at Connie’s alarm clock.

“I’m late!” she screamed.

Myrna ran into Connie’s closet and found a bra one size larger than what she was accustom to, a white button down blouse with a harsh yellow stain protruding from the inside of the sleeve, and a charcoal pencil skirt with a slit running up farther than Myrna’s usual liking. However, Myrna was desperate to get to work promptly, so she wore the dreadful ensemble. She  rushed out of Connie’s house, stumbling over the bodies still lying on the floor, and hopped into her old beat up 2003 Mazda Protégé. It took her three times to start her ignition until it finally gave in. Myrna then drove to her law firm, but in the process, she approached five continuous red lights. At the last red light, she encountered a Prowler to the right of her. The man inside gently rolled down his window uncovering his fully grown beard. Myrna hated beards. More importantly though, she loathed the intense volume of his roommate’s metal band streaming out from the man’s car, because it drowned the sound of the whistle he directed towards her.

“Hey, sweet cheeks.” he said.

Only Patrick had ever called her that before, but she didn’t mind hearing the same words cross another man’s lips. She indulged in the moment very briefly, but then returned to reality. She slowly turned her head towards him, and rolled her eyes so far back that the color white shined brighter than her day. The man uncontrollably burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” she thought.

The man continued laughing, and as the light turned green, she bore as much weight into the gas petal as her body would allow.

#

Soon after, Myrna pulled into the parking lot and immediately found a spot close to the front entrance of the firm. She hurried out of her car and rushed up the long flight of stairs leading to the doorway. On her way up, she bumped into Patrick.

“Hey, sweet cheeks” he said.

“Hey, Patrick. I’m really late, so we’ll have to catch up some other time.” Myrna said as she rushed to open the door.

“I just wanted to say congratulations”

Myrna turned towards him.

“For what?” she said.

“For your little escapade last night at Connie’s house.  I heard all about it from Dick. It’s about time you let loose, Myrna.”

“How did you hear about that? And you know Dick?”

Patrick watched Myrna profoundly, finding the qualities written all over her face very enticing.

“Word gets around, and yeah. I like Dick.” Patrick said.

“That’s the problem…” she muttered.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing. I really must be going now.” she said as she opens the door.

“Oh, alright.” Patrick said, and as she walked away, he glided his tongue over his top lip very slowly.

#

Myrna hurriedly entered her scheduled meeting in Union Hall, where Miranda, her assisted secretary approached her with a folder filled with paperwork needing to be signed. She handed Myrna the folder, and as she looked up at her, it fell to the ground.

Miranda said, “Myrna, sweetie, let’s go to the bathroom. There’s something I need to show you.” as she picked up the remaining papers.

“No, the meeting is about to start. We can’t go now.”

“They will just have to wait,” she said as she pushed Myrna out of the room.

Miranda took her into the nearest restroom grabbing Myrna by the forearm.

“Ok, brace yourself” Miranda said.

Myrna entered the bathroom and approached the mirror. She intently gazed at her reflection where she found the silhouette of a giant penis drawn across her forehead with permanent marker. It stared directly back at her with a void expression as she stood in front of it motionless, and exposed. Myrna quickly turned to Miranda.  Myrna began to shriek, but in the process she slipped in a puddle of water. As she fell, the slit in her skirt completely ripped. Myrna then turned to Miranda, and burst into tears.

“Let’s try to get this off of you.” Miranda said as she bends down to wipe her forehead with a napkin.

“It’s no use. It must be drawn on with permanent marker.”

“Are you going back into the meeting looking like that?”

“I suppose” Myrna stated. “What other option do I have?”

#

Miranda and Myrna walked into Union Hall and approached a round table surrounded by all perfectly groomed middle aged men. As they sat down in their seats, the men stared intently at Myrna’s forehead, and the silence soon filled the entire circumference of the room. She gulped. The silence compelled her to say something, anything to revive the moment.

So she screamed, “Penis!!”

Myrna turned to Miranda with a smile.

“Penis!!” Miranda screamed even louder.

Soon, a few gentlemen from the round table followed the pattern. Myrna then listened intensely to the word, and the more she did so, the more appealing it became to her.

Bio: April Newcity is orginally from Savannah, Georgia where she studied and majored in dance and minored in theater at Savannah Arts Academy. She has choreographed eight pieces of works and has performed many leading roles. One of which was the Tin-Man in her school’s full length ballet, The Wizard of Oz. During her education at Savannah Arts, she attended many open mics at the school as well as within the community to support her sister and brother. However, she hadn’t promoted her own works of poetry and fiction until she attended the State College of Florida. There she hopes to further her education as well as expand her creativity in other realms of art.