Kara S

zeej qooj

Sunny Anomaly

Sean King

Josh Crawford

KW Taylor

Lauryn Zimmerman

Harmonie Winters

Tracie+L Mauriello

Michael Kennedy

Sam Becker

Sade Andre

The doll continued sewing in the dark corner, greeting the needle spiders as they clattered across the wooden shelf. Many avoided her, if possible, so solitude was the only constant friend she could rely on. Besides that, she had patients who screamed at her tattered face until

she finally stitched tight their eyes, ears and mouths, though not before stuffing them with moth eggs until they bloated up unable to move, at least until the hatching began. The grimy nurse doll spasmed again, her lidless jaundiced eyes rolling back into their perished sockets

as her head swung back, then rolled forward again as her head came back down. The poor nurse doll looked absolutely horrible, but not as horrible as she felt. She simply wished she could voice her feelings and that someone would listen.

What she really needed was a puppet. The puppet could speak for her, speak the truth. People would listen to a puppet they trusted. Kermit! He’s a news reporter, after all.

All she had to do was get rid of her first Puppet, Mr. Gizmode. With his complete lack of human enthusiasm it would be no contest who should speak for her. The obvious choice was Kermit! Right? Was she right? Gizmode was a loose cannon for sure but he was a survivor. It came

as no surprise when, upon attempting to put the puppet down the incineration chute in her apartment hallway, Mr. Gizmode’s eyes opened and his mouth flopped agape. “You can’t KILL me, my dear!” he shrieked. “I’m going to kill YOU!” She dropped the puppet and ran back to the open

apartment door. She slammed the door with a hard thud. Suddenly, the phone rang. She answered the phone as chills went up her spine. “I am going to kill you!” the puppet screamed into the phone. She hung up the phone and ran to grab her gun.

She rummaged through her tool box, desperate, only to come to a terrifying realization. In her haste, all of her weapons - her knives, guns, and bombs - had been replaced with a hefty collection of action figures.

She traced her fingers over the action figures in the tool box, wondering who could have replaced the weapons. Before she could fully consider the ramifications there was a sharp metallic ting at the door. Then again, and again. She had no idea if the door would hold.

The knocking grew more persistent with each moment. The Wonder Woman and Cat Woman action figures were of no use to her now. She would have to open the door and face what had come for her. But first she would create a disguise.

So she went to bed, cut two holes into her bedsheets with her Catwoman’s sharp fingers, threw the sheet over her head and prepared to confront the knocking as Casper the ghost !

The knocking grew louder as Catwoman waited, building up her courage. At last, she grasped the doorknob through her bedsheet and flung the door open. To her amazement it was Batman, dressed as Frankenstein. "I thought you were gone," she said. "Batman dead," he said. "ME ALIVE!"

An Assemblage of Dolls

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He brought his hands together in glee, his eyes gleaming. He received looks as if he had lost his mind, but that just increased his initial excitement. He finally knew the truth.

These people weren’t real. They were all part of an advanced simulation, so why should he care what they thought or the looks they gave? Still, simulations could be dangerous. If he gave away that he knew, they could easily lock him away in a psychiatric ward, then he could never

escape either physically or mentally. Just don't look, he thought to himself. Don't look. But it was hard, especially with an entire group glaring at him as they passed by in the simulation. Step by step he tried to calmly pick his way through the beta testing until- "Christy?"

He was confused. “My name isn’t Christy.” 

“No one uses their real names here,” the game master said. 

Right. The simulation seemed so real that I had forgotten where I was.

I looked at my hands and realized even those had been different just moments ago. The simulation had seemed so real. The game master repeated himself. Distant now. I put the equipment onto a table and walked into the deep green jungle just beyond the lab.

What I found in the jungle was unbelievable. Neolithic stone skyscrapers, ruins from a civilization long past. Did these ancient people live in this jungle and only come to the cave to experience simulations. Or was I still in a simulation myself ?

Life Is A Game

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Madeline Sammut

Rietje Becker

Grind the beans until they turn as smooth as sand in an hourglass. Pull the lever until the water streams down in an iridescent cascade. Pour the mixture from the pot into the cup elegantly and with a cold expression. Hope that you're not pretty. That is how you survive as a maid

I hated these rules. But I had no choice. I had to keep a low profile, and this was the only option I found. No one like me could get a bigger job. Too much risk. I was a “Special” and dumb name for the way we are treated.

I sighed and waited in the lobby for my turn to interview. There were at least half a dozen other women sitting around me, drinking the stale, weak lobby coffee and chit-chatting about this and that. I wondered how many of them were there to interview and how many were there

to make friends. Probably quite a few, these were lonely times, after all. Never good in social situations, I loudly proclaimed “I have a lonely heart but a welcoming spirit!” The room grew quiet. One of the women stood. Before she could speak a door opened “#57? You’re up!”

I glanced at my ticket - it read 93. I had a while to wait, and my attempt at conversation had turned the room silent. So I pulled out my travel bagpipes and started to practice.

I noticed some people tapping their feet to my music, then some got up and started dancing. Who knew the universal language was bagpipes. No longer paying attention i suddenly heard "93, calling 
#93". ... I stopped

my music. “It’s my turn,” I said. The crowd gave a collective sigh of disappointment, then several applauded, and one dropped a dollar into the purse at my feet. “Number 93!” the voice sounded again. “You’re up!” I scurried to the conference room, shoving the travel bagpipe into

a bin on the way. "Stupid instrument" I thought to myself. The moment I entered the room a hot spotlight lit me up, I was blinded yet could sense hundreds of people in the darkness beyond, the dull rustles of clothing and footwear, and the mental waves of disdainful anticipation.

I pushed through the crowd, annoyed mummers and screeches taking forefront of my mind. I was so distracted by my hearing I forgot of my blindness, getting lost in the terrors of my psyche.

A child crying. The whine of a small motor came toward me. I turn. A group of men laughed (at me?), then annoyed as I brush into one. I was in the center of a sea of noise in the black. Then the ground I expect beneath my foot was gone. I was going forward off the curb.

I landed face first, breaking my glasses. The bagpipes flew through the air and wound up under the tire of a school bus that slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting me. The bag deflated under the weight of the bus and let out a slow drone as if to mock me. Stupid bagpipes.

"Watch it ya Celtic freak!" The driver screamed.
I nodded my head toward him to say, "You're telling me!". I just sat on on the road for a minute blind, bloodied & swelling thinking on the disaster my life had taken in such a short time. 
"Waa Waah".

Celtic Maid of Disaster

Hannah Call

Dawn Rasmussen

Avery B

The plane was landing, and I was running out of time. I frantically looked across the aisle at his slack-clad legs, crossed at the ankle. ‘Think, Marianne, think.’ I nonchalantly put my seat back into upright position as the crew performed cabin checks, and grit my jaw. Time to

make my presence known. I stuck my leg out and gently kicked at him. His head spun around and his jaw dropped as he saw me there. He knew there was nowhere he could run unless he was crazy enough to jump out of the plane. “I’ve got my eye on you,” I whispered.

The man’s expression melted into a smirk. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” He tore off his jacket to reveal a compact parachute. “Cooper’s the name,” he said, deftly lowering the aft stairs. “D.B. Cooper.” And then with a jaunty salute, he flung himself out the open door of the

aircraft. I leapt forwards to the top of the steps gripping a handrail and peering down the steps into the open air. His diminishing silhouette stark against the hazy terrain I watched as he pulled his parachute cord releasing an array of small household items and random hardware

and I laughed at the sound of his scream as he realized that I had replaced his parachute. I watched as he grew smaller and hazier, and regretted only that I wouldn't be able to see the moment of his impact with the earth.

Another one of my enemies - gone. I was having a pretty good day. Once I got back to the ground, I made a reservation at my favorite

gaming den and began my favorite celebratory pastime after defeating my enemies. Gaming while trolling newbie gamers. Yet after an hour or so, some random newbie entered the server and started beating me every time, taunting me. I narrowed my eyes. I had another enemy to hunt now

- my own inadequacy. Whatever tactics I used, they countered. I couldn’t beat them, it was all I could do to stay in the game. How could Player489053 with 6.5 hours of play time be so good?

I felt lost for a moment, but then, I remembered I had a special weapon in my storage. The one I got with my Super Player membership card. This time Player489053 couldn’t beat me I was ready, so I equipped the Mega Laser Blaster Bomb Gun

My finger hovered over the button. Time slowed, my concentration at its peak. I would win, if it’s the last thing I did.

The screen went black. I heard a loud “Ha” from behind me, and gritted my teeth. Outside the window, a guy with held a sign with two simple words: “I won.”

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