Q and A
Megsmad

What’s wrong?
…..Nothing’s wrong, the sun is out, the birds are shining.
Something’s wrong… you said that backwards.
….. What? No I didn’t.
Yes you did. You said the sun is out and the birds are shining. What’s wrong?
…..Oh… nothing’s wrong. I’m just distracted.
Well, what’s distracting you?
….. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.
I’m not worried, I’m just curious.
….. Curiosity killed the cat you know…
Yes, because I put it in the microwave. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? You always tell me everything.
…..Because I don’t want to talk about it right now.
Why not?
…..Because I’m busy right now.
What are you doing?
…..You know what I’m doing, you’re right here with me.
Am I?
…..Yes, you are.
Are you sure?
…..Yes.
Well then where am I?
…..You’re right here; beside me like always.
Am I really?
…..Yes! Where else would you be?
I don’t know…
…..You’re here. With me. And that’s it.
Okay, I don’t believe you.
…..Well you should.
Why?
…..Because I’m right.
Are you?
…..Yes.
Really? How do you know?
…..Because I am. Because I’m always right. And, because I can see you.
Can you?
…..Yes! You’re right there.
Really?
…..Oh… no… you’re not.
Told you so.
…..Where are you?
I told you so.
…..I’m scared, where are you?
I don’t know. I thought you knew.
…..I don’t.
Come find me.
…..I’m coming.
Come find me.
…..I’m looking.
Quickly!
…..I’m trying!
…..
What’s wrong?
…..Nothing…

Split Lip
Megsmad

Date: April 1980
Time: 11.32pm

I split my lip the other day.
I was smiling, smiling big and my lip was so stretched that it split, Pop! Right down the middle.
It bled for a while but that didn’t matter.
What mattered is that he, for the first time, saw through my smile to what I was actually feeling.
And that was a problem.
A big one.
Because, for a moment there, he saw the real true me.
And she’s not very pretty.
She is raw and rough.
She has no control.
She is destructive.
And I don’t want her to mess this up for me.
So I have to hide her, have to keep her hidden away under mounds and mounds of thoughts and distractions.
He’s curious now.
He wants to know what he saw.
I lied and said that what he saw was shock and pain.
He said ‘mmm’ but I know he didn’t believe me.
If the real me can show through this easily then I’m obviously not trying hard enough.
Maybe I should talk to someone about it; it’s helped before…
We’ll see how it goes.
I’m stronger now; I’ve grown as a person so maybe I have enough control to keep it all inside this time.
Someone’s coming, so I’ll sign off.

Jean Grey.

Brutal
Mark P. Sinozic

Harrabanus’ bloodied face rose to the jeers of the stadium crowd. He glared through a curtain of black hair, matted with blood. A champion lay dead at the barbarian’s feet. Harrabanus sighed and stepped back. Sand crunched beneath his boots. The stadium circled him with its white wash walls rising about him. Throngs of men and women jeered. Above them, there hung the long banners of the tyrannical empire. Harrabanus glared up at the empty podium of the God-King.

The gilded iron gates squealed open and from the black tunnel strode a black uniformed warrior. His body rippled with steel-like muscle. He was cloaked in black, hands gloved and head hooded with a velvet mask. The God-King Lord Nolmak took in the sight of his fallen champion and the barbarian standing over him. His blue eyes glared across the stadium.

Lord Nolmak threw wide his cloak. He flexed his biceps and clenched his fists. He strode across the stadium. Harrabanus watched him. Sunlight bathed the God-King and sent a single gleam from a sword hanging by his waist. Harrabanus glared at it. The barbarian’s fists clenched, he flexed his tanked body and shook fresh blood from his eyes. Both men charged. They leapt, fists flying. Both warriors grabbed the other and slammed into the ground. They struggled for footing, clouding themselves in dust.

Harrabanus landed a right-hooked punch. The Nolmak’s head snapped back. He uppercut Harrabanus and sent the barbarian back. Nolmak pounded his foe. He kicked the barbarian’s groin. Harrabanus growled, teeth bared to the pain. Nolmak punched. Harrabanus dodged and attacked. Nolmak caught his fist and clamped a vice-like grip upon the barbarian’s throat. Harrabanus growled. His neck steeled against the pressure but the God-King’s grip tightened. Harrabanus snarled. His bloodlust took over. He kicked Nolmak’s groin. The God-King heaved the barbarian high. A laugh issued from beneath the velvet mask and Nolmak threw the barbarian across the stadium.

A frenzy of cheers roared from the audience. Feet stamped. Flags flew. Nolmak stepped forward. He stared down upon the struggling barbarian. The sand was course beneath Harrabanus’ bare knees. His body seethed with pain. Every kick plunged fresh daggers of pain into his burning senses. Another kick flattened the barbarian to the ground. Irate, Harrabanus leapt up and threw his fist. Nolmak caught him and twisted his wrist. Harrabanus cried out. The God-King jerked Harrabanus around like a puppet.

He leaned close to his ear and whispered, “I will reduce you to a shell of a man.”
Harrabanus growled.
“As strong as you maybe, you are only an ordinary man,” whispered Lord Nolmak. “I am superior in every sense, strengthened beyond the limits of nature.”
Harrabanus cracked his head back into the God-King’s forehead. Nolmak cried out. Harrabanus tore his arm free, spun around and ripped the sword belt from Nolmak’s waist.

“No,” Nolmak snarled.
Harrabanus back-handed his foe and slapped the belt around his waist. The barbarian tore free the sword, his own taken days ago. Harrabanus held high the golden blade. The sun gleamed from its steel. A golden pillar of light leapt into the air. He roared, rage and the brutal indignity of capture sent his battlecry like a lion’s roar carrying over the crowds. Daggers of energy flared across the blade. Flames engulfed the steel. A white force flashed through Harrabanus and threw him into the air. He slammed down into the sand with renewed vigour and strength.

“Eat steel,” Harrabanus snarled and slashed his blade. Nolmak jerked back. He cried in shock and dodged a round of slashings. Harrabanus pressed his attack. Nolmak weaved away, missing the cold steel by inches. Nolmak swept a roundhouse kick into the barbarian. Harrabanus staggered and Nolmak leapt away. Harrabanus looked upon the God-King. Both men heaved and stank of sweat and blood. The barbarian drew a deep breath and ran across the stadium. Nolmak watched him go. He frowned and tilted his head. Then he saw the golden gates the barbarian was fast approaching. Nolmak roared to his warriors above him.

“SPEAR!”
Nolmak grabbed the steel shaft, shifted his footing and threw the spear across the stadium. It whistled through the air. Harrabanus glanced back. His eyes widened. He slashed his blade and sent the spear into the spectators, sending them screaming from their seats. He clumsily regained his footing and leapt for the gates. His sword sang. The golden steel screamed with sizzling power. The gates blew apart. Harrabanus skidded down the tunnel beyond. He grinned and vanished into the darkness beneath the stadium.
Nolmak stood irate in the centre of the stadium. He spun around, his arm thrusting at the tunnel.
His voice screamed, “Get him! He will burn for this! Bring him to me now!” Lord Nolmak trembled. Rage filled every one of his senses and a single obsessive thought filled his mind. He left the stadium with slow, deliberate steps.

Babysitting
Susan Donim

He hears breaking glass.

“What did you do?!”

“Me?! I didn’t do anything! Stop trying to blame me! You’re the one that pushed me!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!!”

He puts his book down. He really hates babysitting those brats. Even paying off those damned student loans isn’t worth putting up with evenings like these.

He enters the study and stops short, seeing the broken Ming vase. He sighs; now he will be blamed for letting the kids out of his sight. First, the parents tell him to not let the children run loose; the next, the parents say that the kids feel cooped up and he should let them do what they want. That was weeks ago. Every time he comes around, a different set of instructions awaits.

“Never mind,” says one of them, “Mom and dad’ll be blaming the babysitter instead. Heh heh heh…”

“Naughty, naughty,” says the other one, wagging a tiny finger at him, “That vase cost a lot of money. You should’ve kept a better eye on us…”

Both of them start to snigger.

He could feel his blood boil, and subconsciously he clenches his fists. That is the breaking point for him; he’s had enough. He closes the study door and grabs the bronze paperweight on the side table. Hefting it, he moves towards the children.

Blink of an Eye
Kev Matheson

“I need you.” Her voice is a whisper, barely audible through the choke of pain and static.

“I’m there.” I hang up and race the beating of my heart to get to her. It’s a road I’ve driven countless times, but the roads are longer, the speeds too slow. At last I reach the block and wait an age for the security door to open. I run upstairs down the hall to her door and in. I cannot find her. A mangled razor lies by the bathroom door, blades bent and scattered.

I find her curled up on a blanket, a cocktail of pill packets scattered on the tiles. I lie next to her and take her hand in mine. Her fingertips are dotted with caked blood. Her wrists are clean; the blades were too flimsy, I know. But the pills?

I talk to her gently and gather the packets around me: Panadol, Telfast, antibiotics. I hesitate. I need the number for the poisons hotline. Her computer is on the other side of the apartment, mere meters away, and switched on.

“I’ll be right back,” I say. Faster than physics allows her fingernails are on my wrist. Her first movement.

“Whereareyougoing?” Pure terror lives in her eyes. Cut the hind legs off a puppy and it could not look so scared. I cannot leave her. Cannot even leave the room. I rely on my schooling to convince me one cannot OD on antihistamines. But the cocktail? Who knows…

I cannot leave her.

Should I call 000? She will never trust me again. She swears she didn’t have enough Panadol to kill; she knows that dose. I think I can trust her even in this state. She will be sick. But she won’t die.

…………………………Will she?

I lay down again, hold her hand, gently stroke her fingers with my thumb. I have no words to say. Am I doing the right thing? Am I killing her? If I call 000 for an upset tummy will she ever trust me again? What if she won’t call me the next time round? What if there is no next time? Am I killing her?

Time passes.

She needs to vomit. I step out of the bathroom and close the door. My heart stops when the latch clicks. She’s shut me out. There is a wall between us. I can’t get to her in there. What if something happens?

…………………………………………..What if it doesn’t?

I gather the mangled razor blades and scan the war zone of her apartment. Pill packets, blades, scissors all go in my pocket. What if she turns to bleach?

I hear a flush. The lock turns. A brief relief.

I am by her side again. She wanders out, her movements sluggish. I start to guide her to bed but she suddenly drops to the floor like a rag doll. Curls up. Her body hiccups.

Amid the harsh reality I stifle a laugh.

She spasms again. The laugh dies. Convulsions come and go. Short bursts of neural misfires as the medications work through her system.

I wonder again if I should call 000, but I am sure she won’t overdose and I can’t lose her trust. At first I try to hold her still, then remember the dangers of binding an epileptic. Instead I clear the mess on the floor that she will not harm herself further. I sit at the very edge of her circle of movement and hold my knees to my chin, and gently rock back and forth.

In time, the fits wane and I wait for the final ripples to fade. Soon, she is still again, curled like a newborn. I inch closer and lie beside her again. I hold her hand in mine. She does not hold it back. Her eyes are unfocused and the lids loosely closed. A tear draws a line from eye to ear. A whimper. A wail. Then, cries of anguish I have never heard pass human lips. Beyond simple pain. Beyond mortal woe. The wail of a banshee from the halls of death.

I hold her as well as I am able, but she does not acknowledge me, does not acknowledge anything. Her world has disappeared.

Time passes.

The sobbing fades. The rivers run dry. The wind slows. Her whole body relaxes in complete release, succumbing to some inner working. The eyelids drop, leaving a sliver of sight barred by lashes. She is perfectly still. I cannot see her breathing.

My breathing speeds. I bring my hand from her back to her ribs. Do I feel a soft rise and fall? I cannot tell for the trembling of my hand. I watch her keenly. I whisper her name.

Nothing.

………..My world disappears.

Her inanimate body is all that exists. It does not move. It makes no sound. No flutter of eyes. No grip of hand. No hint of breath.

My blood turns to mud. A heat swells behind my eyes.

So this is how it ends. With me by her side. Tears won’t come.

Is it still too late; I know CPR? Would it help, or pump the poison faster? Do I have time to call 000? Can I stop to let them through the security door? Can I call someone else? Same problem. What do I do? Why didn’t I call someone earlier?
Have I killed her?

…………………..Can I save her?

Her body is all there is in my world. My world is dead.

Was that -

a flicker of life?

Did the eye twitch?

I lose my wind.

Again. Movement. Unmistakable.

……………………………………Life.

I breathe again and then tears come.

Muscle Memory
Evan Sanders

I miss her before she even gets out of the car.

“I should really go,” she says to me, with no real conviction.

“You really should,” I reply with the same acceptance of the thought.

There is never enough time for us; I suppose there may never be. As she leaves the car, I’m already remembering the day in my own ways though. This makes me miss her even more.

As I head back home, I smile as I remember her smile. She has a few different smiles, ones that tell me how she’s feeling among other things.

There’s her happy smile. I love seeing that one, it makes me smile too.

There’s the odd smile. That one usually comes up in a very random conversation that ends up in an odd phrase that we will continue to repeat.

There’s the unabashed smile. The one I see when we just lie there and look at each other and see each other unashamedly, unabashedly.

And then, oh, then there’s that smile. The one that has no name, but the one that just gets flashed at you for a second and will always end up with her getting her way. Not that I really mind, of course. It’s not like I was completely against her way.

Things always come back, though, when you don’t expect them to. For the rest of the night after I drop her off, I will just remember. Not in images, or thoughts. Not in any way that can be explained properly.

I remember her with my body.

I remember how it felt to have her entire weight on top of me. To feel exactly where every part of her was touching a part of me.

I remember lightly running my fingers over her skin. The electricity stays in the tips of your fingers for a while after.

I remember every inch of her skin that I touched, just as I remember every inch of mine that she touched in return.

All this comes to me as I finally arrive at home. And though it may seem to be overwhelming, I’m just glad to remember.

Hunger
Mark P. Sinozic

The girl’s milk jugs shattered across the tavern’s porch. The sexy young serving girl lay limp and cold in the barbarian’s arms. Harrabanus tensed. His eyes swept over her pale, soft skin. He could not fathom the problem for a moment. A gleam caught his eye, an arrow struck through her chest. Blood dripped from its tip. He glared at it.

He trembled with rage. The savage unnecessary violence stabbed deep into his heart. Stairs lay before him. Harrabanus stomped into the cool interior. The fallen doors bowed beneath his heavy step. He charged up the stairs. With heavy thumping steps, he made no secret of his approach.
Harrabanus quickened his pace, tightening his grip upon his battle-axe. He kicked out the final door and a brilliant glare of light blinded him. He squinted and stepped outside. Cool wind blew about his stringy black hair and breathed upon his bare chest. A solitary figure stood at the building’s far edge. A deep growl rippled from his throat. He stalked forward. His grip tightened on his battle-axe and he swung its doubled-sided blades high. The figure did not move. It wore a long, hooded cape and turned about with a dancer’s grace. Harrabanus halted.
The sun shone its light upon a woman’s pale skin and delicate, slender fingers, nails painted red. The hood was thrown back. Long, black hair flowed down in two thick braids. Her face was proud. Her bold blue eyes held Harrabanus’ gaze. The barbarian was paralysed by her beauty. His brow furrowed. His grip loosened on his battle-axe. It dipped. The archer swept her cape behind her, slid her bow over her shoulder and strode across the rooftop. Her tight, athletic body was bound in a green tunic and leg-hugging slacks. Her leather boots ran to her knees and a thick belt hung loose around her waist. Harrabanus gazed at the wonder walking his way. She moved with cat-like grace. Harrabanus sighed. He enjoyed her every detail, her incredible, well-kept figure and the swell of her breasts, cruelly hidden within her tunic. A Huntress, well acquainted with capturing her prey, her thin lips grinned. They parted and flashed fine, white teeth. The sweet, musical tone of her voice startled Harrabanus.

“We belong together. It is our destiny,” she whispered.

He tossed the knife aside. It clattered across the rooftop and the barbarian walked to the rooftop’s edge. He looked out over the town and the forest that surrounded it. Beyond was the cool blue of the mountains and their snow-capped peaks. He turned and looked at the fine, elven bow.
Shame for a fine weapon to go to waste, he thought.

Ever After
Danny Beaton

I hit her. She liked it deep down. She said ‘no’. I hit her again.

Memories
Jack McInbox

The woods were a part of Jonah, like a second soul. A soul of winding dirt tracks and green sweeps of pine pinned together by a giant grandfather pine, the largest Jonah had ever seen. Walking down the tracks always flooded him with memories. Memories that were painful to recall, but more painful to forget. So he came here; to walk and remember.

He remembered guiding Lily through the woods, her soft hand in his. He remembered the way the sun shimmered on her red-gold hair and the way his heart thumped about when she’d smile. It was the first time he’d shared this place with anyone.

He remembered weaving a circlet of daisies for her and how they’d pressed against his forehead when he kissed her for the first time beneath the great pine. The smell of crushed daisies and her washing over him.

He remembered the way shards of light danced off the diamond engagement ring when he proposed and the way the pine needles pricked as they made love beneath the trees.

He remembered the awe he felt as he touched her stomach when Lily told him she was pregnant and the pride he felt when he built a small rope swing off one of the great pine’s branches.

He remembered joy turning to fear as a doctor, with blood up to his elbows, ordered a nurse to escort him back into the hall of the delivery room. And later, when he dug two graves—one large, one small—beneath their pine, the warm weather and cloudless sky seemed mocking to him.

Jonah sighed and stared at where his feet and memories had taken him. Where they always took him: to the largest pine he’d ever seen. He knew why he’d come here. He couldn’t keep living like this. He’d wanted to feel and remember this place one last time before he moved on. He grasped the rope swing, glanced up at the strong branch it was tied to and smiled. No, he couldn’t keep living like this at all.

Exodus
Susan Donim

We walk.