by Maya Asregadoo
Day after day marked off of the calendar
Endless ticking of a clock
School, job
life
Make it stop, make it stop
Sticky-sweet apple juice on my fingers
Cracker crumbs on my lips and
Wet soil packed onto my pants and
Gravel stuck between the cracks of my
Shoes
My mother shook her head in
Exasperation but she still
Smiled with secret pleasure
Days devoted to learning and play
In equal measure Continue reading
by Michael Lutzker
Happy
Valentine’s
Day
I said as she
Walked Away
She walked nowhere
but Away
My amorous thoughts are like little droplets Continue reading
by Maya Asregadoo
My
darling
dearest
sweetheart
I want
to tell
you all of these things
You have stolen my
breath
You have stolen my
thoughts
You are sweet and you love
sweet things
I want nothing more
than to hold
y
o
ur
attention
You
called me yours
once
and I smiled
When I see you
my heart beats
faster
and louder
and faster
and louder
still
You make me feel
very shy
I always
want
to see you
If you read this
you will not know
that it is a
bout
yo
u
by Michael Lutzker
Here’s a crudely constructed stream of consciousness, in need of editing, perhaps. Hopefully I don’t come off mentally insane or inebriated. But here goes:
I’ve been thinking a lot about God lately. My thoughts have been rattling around between my ears, like in a pinball machine, setting off an array of alarms and buzzers left and right in some way you just can’t understand how. And you are just frantically, jamming on that plunger as if that little metal ball was your life, and you can’t take your eyes off the lights and you can’t hear anything but those sounds, man, those buzzers. You don’t know what they mean, or how you trigger them, but they are satisfying, and you seek them out through experimentation. You just keep jamming that button on the side frantically to keep that ball up, as if your life depended on it. Then eventually, either because your pulsating finger fails you or because, and you swear, that the machine is broken, that metal ball cascades down out of reach of the lever. But you insert another quarter, eyes still transfixed, and a ring of foamy saliva below your lower lip, and try it again. One game flows into the next, without stammer. Thoughts continue to rattle and roll and swirl. Next thing you know you’ve spent half the afternoon away and are down $18.75 in quarters. But that’s life, sometimes.
Anyway, I’ve been having mind-boggling thoughts life the one evidenced just now all weekend. Maybe I’m just sobering up after a semester-long adrenaline high, but the thoughts are coming in like a broken gumball machine, and I’m slippin’ and slidin’ all over these gumballs in slapstick fashion trying to plug up the hole but can’t seem to make any forward progress. It’s really quite comical, and everyone’s getting a good laugh this weekend, because I’m really tickling a lot of funny bones and being abnormally chatty with meek acquaintances. It seems as though I cannot interact with anybody without sounding like a drunk boss toasting all his neglected employees and getting a little grabby with the female secretaries at the annual Christmas Party. Continue reading
by Christian Theodossy
I see them.
I see them through the fog. Behind the glass. Across the vastness of a chasm.
They say things to each other, things I want to hear, things I have to hear.
But they’re too far away, the fog is too thick. I can’t break through.
I try to say something to them, just so they’ll know I’m here, but I’m too quiet, they don’t hear me.
I’ll say it a little louder, maybe they’ll hear this time.
They don’t.
I shout, and a few of them look around like they noticed something.
But still, the glass stands. Unbreakable.
But I have to hear. I have to know.
So I work up as much voice as I can, and I take a deep breath.
And I shout. Continue reading
by Natalie Rich
Thousands of years ago, long before Dante became inspired the Divine Comedy, another living human travelled down to Hell. Unlike Dante, this man was but a child, only eight years into his life. The young child was elfen in appearance, with bright red hair and ears that tapered into points. Scarlet freckles speckled his face, and devilish mischief shone from his startling emerald eyes. The rumor in the village was that his father had been the Devil himself. One day, while walking in the woods, the boy was drawn to a peculiar circle of trees. Directly in the middle of the circle was a decrepit stump. The young lad stepped cautiously into the circle and towards the stump. As he neared it, a sense of dread filled his soul, but the child had never been afraid, thanks to his mother’s whispers about his true patronage. Curiously, the boy laid his hand on the moribund stump, pushing his hand through the moldy, soft wood. All of a sudden something grabbed his wrist, yanking the child down to whatever horrors lay below. Continue reading
In this week’s prompt, we asked our writers to write about the concept of evil. Does it exist? How is it manifested in the world, and what is your understanding of it? As a famous sardonic comedian once said:
“May the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.”
~George Carlin
Shades of Gray by Angela Guo
Dark Natures by Declan Quinn
Evil by Natalie Rich
Simplicity by Maya Asregado
Definition of Evil by Jack Joseph
Notes: An origin myth of a society self-aware of its flaws, praying for deliverance from its hell. 3 sons create a trichotomy of human error. In reply to the Myth prompt.
Continue reading
Words 